The return of the Royal First happened during a small rainstorm that did absolutely nothing to stop the citizens of Redspire from coming to see them. By the time the Warg riders came into the city, their soaked banner waving in the occasional autumnal gust of wind, Goblins, Imps, Gnomes, and Orcs already lined the streets, many of whom were cheering or shouting as the parade went past them.
Matt grinned as he waved to the crowds. He could see many of his men smiling as well, some of whom were bending from the saddle to reach out to the crowds. Some of them laughed as their Wargs shook a bit of water from their coats, spattering both their fellow soldiers and members of the crowd. As the captured Knights rode past, their hands still bound, some of the crowd’s cheers turned to jeers and insults. A few unwise people tried to throw things, but the Wargs guarding the prisoners snarled and snapped at those who did.
In general, it was a fairly good start to a display of victory. Matt hoped it would make enough of an impression on the Council to give him some space to work with. At least, he hoped it would keep them from immediately making trouble, though he didn’t know if that was just wishful thinking.
As if summoned by the thought, Gorfeld appeared at his side. The Imp didn’t appear to have any trouble walking beside Nelson’s shoulder, though he did cast a suspicious look around. “Welcome home, sire.”
“Gorfeld, good to see you.” Matt tried to make sure his voice remained even. He kept a smile plastered on his face while he continued to wave. “Do you have a report for me?”
The steward didn’t seem surprised by the demand. He nodded. “The arrest of Lord Tek went well. He and his captains are in the Tower as we speak, and no one has attempted to rescue them.”
“Good.” Matt’s smile struggled a bit. “I heard something about a banner that refused to leave?”
“Yes. Lord Melren’s men. He swore to your cause as soon as he and the other captains were arrested, and his men are still here, waiting for the chance to swear fealty to you directly.”
Matt looked down at the steward, whose expression remained carefully blank. “Are they serious?”
“They seem sincere. At the very least, they aren’t causing any trouble, and they have obeyed all orders from the Guard.” Gorfeld shrugged. “It’s possible that Lord Melren is just abandoning a sinking ship. He must know that Lord Tek is no longer a reliable patron. Even among the High Imps, it appears that Tek is no longer considered a viable leader. Lord Torth has taken over the High Imp faction within the Grand Council almost immediately after the arrest.”
“Lord Torth?” Matt shook his head slightly. “I don’t remember what House he is from.”
“He is the nominal head of House Ndai, sire. Lord Tek was the head of House Kerall.” Gorfeld paused, and then looked forward, as if to avoid meeting Matt’s gaze. “Lord Melren also owes fealty to House Ndai, and several banners from Ndai were garrisoned at Greymouth.”
“Ah.” Matt considered that development for a moment. Tek had probably considered House Ndai a competitor of sorts. Betraying Greymouth would have led to hundreds of Ndai soldiers being killed; that betrayal would have been a logical reason for Ndai to turn on Tek in response. That fact meant that Torth and Melren might actually be sincere allies to his cause.
Of course, their involvement in things might also mean that they would be the next new plotters against his reign, so he would have to watch them carefully. Just like everyone else, now that he thought about it.
Speaking of which… “I heard there was a battle at Greymouth, led by a Captain Morteth. Is he another member of House Ndai?”
“Yes, sire. Though he seemed to have little court influence, at least until his recent victory.” Gorfeld glanced back at him, his expression unreadable. “He followed your orders and assaulted the enemy siege camp at a moment when some of the enemy had withdrawn. Apparently, the Noble Races were running quite low on supplies.”
“That’s what happens when I burn all of your supply convoys.” Matt’s smile grew less kind and more sincere. “Is he loyal?”
“As far as I know. He returned to Greymouth after the Noble Races fled. I haven’t heard any news about him marching on Redspire.”
Matt nodded slowly. “Is there any news from Braden and Suluth? Or Grufen and Nuramesh?”
“Fighting continues throughout the Small Heights. Lord Grufen has reported several battles with the Lady Itrelia, but for now they appear to be holding her at bay.” The steward paused and then looked away again. “There was a battle in the Grim Hollows. It… did not go well.”
There it was. He knew there couldn’t have been only good news. “How badly did it go, Gorfeld?”
“Lord Braden was badly wounded, and the army he led was overwhelmed. They have retreated towards Redspire. Lord Teblas has marched on the Sortenmoors, where he is currently fighting the militia.”
Matt grunted, letting his expression grow unhappy at last. “Has there been any news from Lady Suluth?”
“No, sire. I imagine that she has simply been too busy to respond.” Gorfeld glanced around at the surrounding Goblins. They might not have belonged to Suluth’s Blackleafs clan, but they might show a bit more loyalty to Suluth than Matt might have liked. “We’ve also received news that Lord Braden suffered some sort of…incident during his recovery after the battle. He is dead.”
This time, there was no way he could hide his reaction. Matt pivoted in his saddle to glare down at Gorfeld. “Are you saying that he was murdered?”
The steward gave another careful look around. “Apparently, a messenger arrived claiming to need to see him. The messenger stabbed him, and Braden succumbed to poison shortly afterward.”
“Great. Just great.” It wasn’t that bad; after all, Braden would probably have turned on Matt at the first opportunity. At the same time, Braden was a somewhat reliable commander, and the last thing he needed was for someone to be picking off his generals. Especially since the prime suspect was the same noblewoman who was supposed to be defending the Sortenmoors from both the Alliance of Light and Teblas’ troops. “If we get any information on Suluth’s activities or location, I want to know it immediately. Until then, I want the troops Braden used to lead to regroup inside the Darkwood. They can camp there until winter is over.”
“I’ll send the message right away, sire.” Gorfeld let out a slow breath. “Fortunately, it appears that there were several militia formed in response to the decrees you sent, and they have been holding their own against Lord Teblas. His forces have been struggling to establish a foothold in the Sortenmoors, and the Alliance of Light hasn’t launched their own assault yet either.”
Matt nodded. He hadn’t expected the Alliance to attack quite yet; unlike the Noble Races, their leadership was probably taking the time to arrange their supplies and let the situation settle a little. They’d be a much bigger problem, especially in the spring, but for now, they were less of an issue than the rebels. “What else Gorfeld?”
The steward coughed slightly. “The workmen you requested to gather at the capital have mostly arrived. Nearly four hundred Gnomes and about six hundred other workers. The Low Folk representatives are already organizing them to start on the first projects you had listed.”
“The water systems?” Gorfeld nodded, and Matt felt himself relax slightly. “Good. Are we gathering enough brick and mortar for their work?”
“Yes, sire, though we did have a bit of work in order to find the sand and gravel.” Gorfeld chuckled a little. “Your demands were very clear, at least, so the Low Folk have been diligent about carrying them out. I believe they might finish the first of your projects before the end of the fall.”
“That is excellent news. Tell them I am especially happy about that, and that once I deal with the Grand Council, I’ll be meeting with them directly.” Gorfeld nodded, and Matt congratulated himself for another small victory. It was one that was more of a long-term effort, but in the end, he expected it to be just as important as any of the battles he was fighting. “Go ahead and get a change of clothing ready for me, Gorfeld. Once we are done here, I’ll be calling the Grand Council to order.”
“Yes, sire.” Gorfeld bowed slightly and then vanished away through the crowds. Matt thought he could follow the Imp’s progress for a while, but he kept his eyes back on the road. Regaining his smile took some effort, mostly by picturing Suluth joining Tek in prison, but he managed it. The people didn’t want to see him scowling in a victory parade, after all.
The Grand Council was waiting for Matt when he arrived.
It was a big name for what seemed like such a small group. Each of the noble Houses had sent a representative to stand for them and their interests. There were almost fifty of them, ranging from High Imps to Hard Scythe Orcs, from Gnomes to Blackleaf Goblins. All of them were watching as he entered the room. The instant Matt entered the room, he made a note to himself to have a new place built for them. It was apparently the old room where the Council had met a few rulers ago, back before it had been disbanded. If the cramped conditions hadn’t given away how later rulers had neglected the place, the slightly shabby furniture was another fairly direct clue. Even the nobles themselves seemed unhappy about their seats.
Though of course, they probably had other things to be unhappy about.
Matt walked to the ornate chair set up at the rear of the room, where he could preside over the proceedings. He heard the murmur of conversation among the nobles come to a stop as he walked, as more and more of the nobles turned their full attention to him. At least he wasn’t still covered in mud from the road. The palace servants had been more than happy to draw up a quick bath and provide him with a copy of the tunic and cape that he’d worn to the coronation. One of them had even taken the time to clean off his mace, which was a nice touch.
He could tell that some of the nobles felt uncomfortable that he’d brought that weapon into the Council chambers, but he didn’t care. There was too much to do; he couldn’t waste any time today. Not if he was going to get everything done.
Reaching the throne, Matt turned and regarded the now-silent room. He held his mace at his side, less a ceremonial weapon and more of a reminder that he was not just some fortunate fool. It wouldn’t hurt for them to remember that he had led troops into battle and claimed victory. People tended to respect leaders on the front lines, especially ones that had a habit of surviving.
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“I bid you all welcome to the Grand Council of Redspire. You all have my gratitude, both for traveling here from your homes and for biding your time until I returned.” Technically, the Council should probably have been welcoming him, but Matt wanted to set in stone where the power lay. If the Kingdom wanted a King, he would give them one. At least, until they no longer needed him. “Unfortunately, there was work that needed to be done in the east. Now that my responsibilities there are settled for the moment, we can begin to care for the rest of the Kingdom.”
He paused, looking around the room again. “As members of this Grand Council, you will have much to debate and consider. Going forward, it will be your responsibility to consider new laws and taxes, to muster armies for our defense, and to appoint new judges and officers. When embassies come to make treaties, it will be your chance to secure peace and tributes for our people. If the Kingdom needs to declare war, it will be your decision to do so. The prosperity of our people lies in your hands, and if you fail, so will our future.”
There had been smiles at the beginning of the speech. It was clear that the Red Sorceress had never given the nobles this much of a say in the government of the Kingdom; in fact, he doubted they had had much of a chance to do much more than manage their own serfs and plot behind her back. While it was tempting to try to make all the decisions on to himself, Matt knew the wiser course would be to stick the Council with all the paperwork, debates, and negotiations while he handled things that were far more immediate concerns.
Of course, by the end of the speech, some of the smiling nobles looked a little more grim. It might have settled in exactly the kind of attitude that their new King was going to have towards them. He met some of their eyes and nodded slightly. “It is my responsibility, as King, to make sure that you have the chance to fulfill those responsibilities. To that end, I will see to the defeat of the invaders. I will put down those rebels who seek to destroy our Kingdom. I will punish any and all who betray us, and build up our people. Together, we will build a Kingdom that will stand as our legacy throughout time.”
At the mention of betrayal, more of the nobles had gone quiet and serious. Matt silently congratulated them for their understanding, and then he gestured towards the doors, where two of the soldiers from the Eighth Spears were waiting. “As the first of those actions, I must take the time to punish the betrayal of one of our own.”
One of the soldiers stepped back to open the door, and four other soldiers filtered through the door, a small figure in chains shuffling between them. There was a sudden burst of murmurs from the gathered nobility, one that was swiftly silenced. “You know him as Lord Tek the Mad, a leader among the High Imps. He betrayed our Kingdom, first to the rebels under Lady Itrelia, and then to the invaders from the east. He did so out of ambition, hoping that by killing so many of our brave defenders he could seize control of the Kingdom in the chaos.”
Each of those accusations was true, as far as he could determine. At least one of the captains under Tek had confessed, and some of the Frost Elves had corroborated it. Matt was leaving out at least one part of the plan, the part where Tek would have captured and killed him personally. None of the nobles would have missed that step, but he didn’t want to remind them of the potential power a simple assassination would give them.
Matt looked down at Tek. The old High Imp glared back up at him, his eyes glinting with repressed rage and bitter disappointment. “Each of these crimes would have crippled our people, and opened the gates wide for our destruction. For this reason, he must be punished.” He paused. “Do any here speak in his defense?”
There was a deep, lasting silence. None of the nobles stepped forward, each of them refusing to meet Matt’s eyes as he looked around. The only exception was a High Imp—he assumed it was Lord Torth—who simply met Matt’s eyes and nodded.
Matt turned back to Tek, who was still glaring at him in hatred. “I do not wish to condemn a man without any friends or allies to speak for him, but it appears your treachery has offended the entire Kingdom. Do you have any defense to say for yourself, Lord Tek?”
Tek glanced around the room. Then he spat a gob of phlegm onto the floor at his feet. “None of you would have done any different. This Kingdom should have been mine, not yours. I only did what needed to be done, for the good of whatever remnants would remain. Redspire should be ruled by our own, not outsiders! Do whatever you will, but I die no worse than any of you.”
Another silence fell, and Matt waited, just to make sure the old High Imp was done. Then he sighed. “Outsider or no, I was called here as King, to defend and protect this people. By betraying Greymouth and treating with rebels, you would have failed those responsibilities before you even gained the crown—and despite your accusations, you are the only one I know who participated in this plot.”
Matt stepped forward, hefting the mace in his hand. “Lord Tek of the High Imps, you are sentenced to death. Are there any who protest this sentence?”
Another silence followed. Then, reluctantly, Lord Torth stepped forward. “Sire, though it pains me to speak for this traitor, would exile also suit this crime? Once banished from our lands, we would no longer need to worry about him, and we would be seen as merciful.”
Torth had framed the question carefully enough that Matt nearly smiled. He recognized the attempt to challenge his authority without blatantly coming into the open as another traitor. It was a healthy sign of a confident leader—but also a possible sign of trouble in the future. Lord Torth would probably make an interesting debate opponent if the stakes weren’t so high.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t playing some game. Exiling Tek would give the Imp the opportunity to go to their enemies and provide information. It might even allow Tek to scheme to take over another nation, as the Red Sorceress had done here, and turn even more people against his Kingdom. Almost as bad, it would give the nobles gathered in the room the idea that he would tolerate a little betrayal. Ceaser had been a merciful man; it had not ended well for him. Tek had to be the example of what would happen if these self-absorbed aristocrats tried to murder and scheme their way to the top, to the detriment of the thousands who depended on them.
So instead, Matt shook his head. “I understand your concern, Lord Torth. It is unfortunate that we begin a day like this one with bloodshed, and mercy is a sign of strength.” Then he turned to Tek, stepping forward again. The mace swung at his side. Why did it seem heavier now? “Yet in this case, it would lead us astray. Our mercy would allow this man, who has already plotted with our enemies, to go to them and scheme to our disadvantage. No, for this traitor—for any traitor—there is only one end.”
Matt raised the mace and brought it down hard. The impact smashed Tek to the floor, breaking the High Imp like a toy. He delivered another two blows, just to make sure, and then stepped back. When he looked around the room, he saw several of the nobles had grown pale. Lord Torth, for his part, seemed more satisfied than anything else, and he gave Matt another nod when their eyes met.
“Such is the fate of those who betray our Kingdom.” Matt gritted his teeth against his own feelings and gestured. The soldiers that had guarded Tek lifted the body and retreated back through the doorway. As they disappeared through the door, Matt walked back to the throne. He sat in it, leaning the mace against its side. “Now, shall we begin?”
There was a shuffling amongst the nobility, as if none of them wanted to be the first to speak. Matt waited another moment and then leaned forward slightly. “My first proposal, as the King, would be that we see to it that no further treacheries endanger our people. To this end, I must commend the actions of both the Crown Guard and of the freeholders of the city. Their actions allowed this treachery to be destroyed at its root, and without their help, we could have seen far more bloodshed than this.”
A general mutter of agreement ran through the room, with some of the nobles even going so far as to tap the floor with canes or feet in a kind of applause. Matt nodded and continued. “As freeholders, many of these citizens have the right to gather in Assemblies. They feel as strongly loyal to our Kingdom as any of the men and women here, and are often less… afflicted with the curse of ambition. For that reason, I propose we extend a new right to the freeholders of our realm. Each Assembly will have the right to promote a single one of their number as a Voice, who can then stand to prevent any action of this Council, or any noble, that they deem to be a threat to the Kingdom or its people.”
The proposal fell among the nobles like an explosion. Several of them flinched as if he had struck them, and Lord Torth almost immediately stood up from his seat. “Sire, while I believe your concerns about plots are valid and wise, I do not know if this course would lead to a good end. The people are often fickle, and giving them such power could lead to disruptions among the Kingdom. Surely we would not want to encourage them to undermine the natural order of our realm with such a plan.”
Matt looked over at Torth, who returned to his seat immediately. “Your concerns are natural, Lord Torth. After all, not a few weeks ago, the freeholders were merely serfs, unused to making any of their own decisions. They might often be unsteady, quick to anger, and overly gullible. Yet none of the rebellions we now face have come from them, have they?”
His question provoked another rumble of protest, followed by another contemplative silence. He continued in an even voice. “However, let us pretend the freeholders do grow overly excited or ambitious. Perhaps they are resentful over their many years of servitude, or believe that they have been oppressed. Currently, what would they do to avenge themselves?”
Another of the nobles rose, a Goblin wearing the colors of a Blackleaf Clan noblewoman. Her voice was only slightly unsteady. “I have seen such an occurrence. There had been some…incidents involving a younger member of my house. The serfs rose up and rioted. They burned down his home, slaughtered him and his children…”
She turned to Matt, her eyes accusing. “You would give such people the right to challenge us?”
“Better that they challenge you here, that they voice their complaints here, than to have them descend into chaos like you described.” Matt sat back on the throne, looking around the room again. “Riots are not the only thing they could do. How long would our Kingdom last if the Low Folk simply laid down their arms and tools? How would we defend our borders and tend to our fields and workshops if they simply refused to help? Violence is not the only weapon they can use. Simple disinterest on their part would doom us just as quickly.”
There was another silence, and the Goblin noblewoman sat down. After a moment, an Orc dressed in Hard Scythe blues stood. “Your suggestion is that by allowing them a chance to counter us, we would prevent more serious problems in the future. Yet what if they simply obstruct everything we try to do? What if they refuse every tax we levy, or refuse to muster themselves to arms? Their obstruction would destroy us just as easily.”
Matt opened his mouth to respond, but Lord Torth stepped forward instead. The High Imp’s eyes were glittering with realization this time. “A true concern, Lord Worben, but I have just realized something. You said that these Voices could stand in our way. Could they also stand in yours?”
The noblemen turned toward Matt, and he smiled. “A good question, Lord Torth. No. As my responsibilities involve those things crucial to the Kingdom, a Voice would not be able to veto my actions.”
“So if a Voice has grown too obstinate, we could turn to you for judgement.” Another mutter ran through the nobles. Some of them were whispering to one another, as if working out the permutations of the system. Lord Torth simply gave Matt a broad grin. He was definitely going to need to be watched closely. Someone that clever could be a great ally…or an even greater enemy.
“You are correct, Lord Torth. I would be able to make a decision on the matter.” Matt made a dismissive gesture. “I would be diligent in answering such petitions. I have no desire to see our Kingdom grow stagnant.”
“Indeed.” Lord Torth gave him another, slightly more respectful nod. “Then I will only hope that you will continue to decide wisely. For the sake of our Kingdom.”
“Of course.” Mat shrugged. “Aside from that, I would propose that these Voices be given the greatest protections we can offer. Any assault or bribery on them should be answered as if it were treachery, to keep them safe. To keep them honest, a Voice would also only serve for a handful of years, and would have to be a freeholder, not a serf or a nobleman. In addition, the Council would be able to ask a particular Assembly to recall a Voice and choose a new one, should they believe that the current one has grown corrupted.”
He paused, looking around. “Are there any other questions or concerns about this matter?”
There was more muttering among the nobles, but none of them seemed excited to stand. Only Lord Worben remained, the Orc’s expression a little stubborn. “You are asking us to make this choice. If we do not, will you declare it anyway?”
The question brought another of those sudden silences to the room. Matt shrugged. “Yes. I consider this measure a crucial part of our Kingdom’s growth, so I would make it a royal decree if you do not agree. I would consider it better if the decision came from you, however. It would…promote more trust between this Council and those we rule.”
Then he looked back at Lord Torth, and couldn’t help but smile. “In the end, I suppose I must only hope that you will decide wisely. For the sake of our Kingdom.”