“Well that is finally over.”
Matt walked into the room and tossed his crown onto the broad, flat table it contained. There were a series of other chairs set up around it, but he and Gorfeld were the only ones who were there. He fell more than sat in the nearest chair and slumped over the table, using his forearms as a pillow.
Behind him, he heard Gorfeld ease the door shut. The Imp had been a constant presence, hovering at his side as the events of the coronation had unfolded. There hadn’t been all that many surprises, but still…
“I was impressed, sire. You managed to dissuade almost half of them from declaring war.”
The cautious tone to the words was interesting, given how much the Imp knew about his new king, but Matt ignored that irony and focused on the actual words themselves. “Yeah. I was hoping for at least a third, and we managed a bit more than that.”
A full nine of the twenty-three messengers had awkwardly congratulated him on ascending to the throne and then excused themselves to communicate with their lieges. The remaining fourteen had been far from sure of their own victory at that point. Even Hethwellow had seemed a little off balance, his face starting to sweat even as he delivered his promised declaration of war.
There was a pause, and Matt lifted his head from the table. He looked over to find the Imp hesitating by the door, as if he was trying to pick his next words carefully. “Come on, Gorfeld. Out with it.”
The Imp still waited a moment longer, and then he spoke carefully. “I noticed that you…modified the coronation ritual, sire.”
Matt cracked a tired smile. “Yeah. I know.” He waved a negligent hand. “All that stuff about demanding fealty and devotion just rang hollow to me, so I changed it a bit. Made it closer to something the leaders in my world sometimes say.”
“I…see.”
“Besides, I wasn’t going to swear to stay here the rest of my days, like you said I would need to. I figured there wasn’t any harm in changing that part to mention it would last until the end of my reign.” Matt eyed the Imp. “Though you could have mentioned about the light show and the hovering thing. I didn’t realize anything like that was going to happen.”
Gorfeld dry washed his hands for a moment and looked away. “If you’ll forgive me, sire…that’s because it’s the first time I’ve seen that happen. The only time I’ve ever even heard of it, in fact.”
Matt paused. He ran back through the memories of the coronation, remembering the shock and fear on the faces he’d seen. “Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.”
He tried another smile. It felt a little hollow. “Any chance you haven’t seen that many?”
“I’ve been present for four coronations here in the throne room, and I’ve acted as my master’s messenger at three others.” Gorfeld’s eyes locked onto Matt now, his cat-irised pupils focused. “Again, this is the only time I’ve seen anything more than a crackle of magic around the crown itself.”
It was hard to tell if the Imp thought the abnormality was a good thing or a bad one. Matt decided that either way, he was in up to his neck now, and shrugged it off. “We’ll have to search the records or something and figure out what might explain it. I wouldn’t want…”
He trailed off as he realized the Imp had let an important detail slip. “Wait. Four coronations? How old are you?”
Gorfeld fidgeted slightly. His expression grew a little hunted, and he looked away. “I have seen at least twenty-seven winters, sire.”
“Twenty-seve—! How far apart were each of those coronations? Seven years?”
“Closer to four, sire. The shortest was three.” Gorfeld shrugged. “I was too young and inexperienced to attend the others.”
Matt stared at the Imp for a moment longer. “Each of them only lasted four years. Is that unusual?”
“Not particularly. Our monarchs have always been beings of power and action, and such things attract competition easily.” The Imp glanced back at Matt and then looked away again. “There are other kingdoms whose rulers live longer, but they are rarely in as…interesting a situation as our realm is in.”
“Obviously.” Matt shook his head. He doubted that any of those previous rulers had died from old age or accidents, either. Waiting around until the same thing happened to him didn’t seem like a good idea either.
Thus motivated, he looked back at Gorfeld. “All right, then. Let’s get started. I need maps.”
Gorfeld blinked. “Of the palace, sire?”
“No, the kingdom. I want to see all of our territory, our borders, all of it.”
“Ah, yes.” Gorfeld nodded hesitantly. “I can request that the appropriate maps be gathered and brought here. It may take some time.”
Matt resisted the urge to look at that delay as an excuse to rest. “You have to gather them? Who has the maps?”
“The Red Sorceress entrusted most of such information to the leaders of the High Clans. They were instructed to arrange things as she demanded, and—”
He suddenly wished that the woman was alive, if only so he could shoot her again. “Tell them to bring all their maps to me. I want them all here immediately, with whatever information they have about our settlements, troops, and enemies. If they aren’t here within two hours, I’ll start looking for someone who will listen to instructions better. Any questions?”
Gorfeld straightened up. Surprise and alarm warred for prominence on his face. “No, sire. I’ll tell them right away, sire.”
The Imp was out the door and running before Matt could even dismiss him. With a tired sigh, Matt pushed himself up and walked over to the door to close it. He doubted he would have much time, but at least he was going to try to rest a little before all the shouting started.
The first to arrive was Nuramesh, his arms wrapped around an untidy pile of parchment that threatened to spill out with every step. Matt stood as the Gnome entered. “Welcome!”
Nuramesh jumped in surprise and then made a desperate grab that kept one of the scrolls from falling out of his grip. “Th-thank you, sire! I appreciate the opportunity to be here.”
Matt fought to keep himself from frowning. He had needed to scare the little guy, if only to keep his people from rebelling, but the last thing he needed was for Nuramesh’s spirit to remain permanently broken. “I’m glad to hear it, Nuramesh. What do you have for me?”
The Gnome stared at him, blinking a little. Then he moved forward, his hands shaking a bit as he tried to rummage through the scrolls. “I-I have our most recent survey maps and the best trail charts for the northwestern passages. You should be able to see how far we’ve delved easily, sire.”
He nodded along as the Gnome deposited his pile on the table, reaching up in a mostly futile attempt at stacking them in some kind of incomprehensible order. “I see. So I believe your people are in charge of the mines in that area?”
“Y-yes, sire.” The Gnome nodded. “We have brought ore from the Carfesh Rift for the past seven rulers of the realm. We are eager to serve your cause.”
So eager, Matt noted, that they had been more than willing to rebel if it gave them the chance to escape. “I’m happy to hear that.” He leaned over and began to sift through the stacks of paper himself. “These tunnel networks are quite…extensive. You still haven’t run short of metal?”
“No, sire. There are many active seams that hold great promise.” Nuramesh’s voice was laced with a combination of fear and desperation. “Our work will continue to provide you with what you need.”
“Okay.” Matt’s attention had already drifted away, back to where the map of the trail charts showed the Gnomes’ territory. “Your homes are in the Small Heights, right? Basically, everything up to and almost under the Bronze Range?”
Nuramesh nodded, his eyes looking momentarily distant. “Yes, sire. We have shared a border with the Red Moon Orcs to our south for a long time. In fact, it was their warriors that conquered us and made us a part of the kingdom.”
It was obvious from the look on Nuramesh’s face that the events had not left behind a lot of fond remembrances. Matt glanced back at the map. “It looks like you share a border with the Winterfast, as well. Itrelia’s territory.”
“Yes.” Nuramesh’s expression grew hunted. “She was…very persuasive, sire. I regret listening to her.”
Matt held up a hand. “All water under the bridge. You already made the right choice.” Internally, however, it showed what Itrelia’s real objectives had likely been after. With the Gnomes and the Frost Elves united, they could turn on the Red Moons and attack the Spirelands at the same time. With a good supply of weaponry and a few other advantages, she might have had a good chance of pushing all the way to the capital.
Not that he had any intention of allowing that to happen.
The doors parted before he could say anything else, however, and both Braden and Grufen walked through, carrying their own smaller bundles of maps. Neither Orc seemed to pay much attention to the other, though they had left plenty of space between them. Grufen bowed slightly, followed a moment later by Braden. “Sire.”
Matt eyed their dueling armor and raised an eyebrow. “I’ll forgive the armor, since it’s been a long day, but next time you might respond quicker without it.” He gestured to the table. “Okay, let’s see what you have.”
The Orcs exchanged a glance. Grufen was the first to step forward and add a patch of crudely drawn maps to the pile. “Here is the information that I have, sire.”
“Thanks.” Matt sorted through them quickly. They showed the western portions of the kingdom, out past Braden’s homelands in the Red Plains, and to the southwest of the Small Heights. The Hard Scythe Orcs lived in the Broken Hills, populating an area with little farmland and hostile Elves for neighbors to the west. Not the happiest location, but at least those Elves hadn’t been among the group that had already declared war. He looked over at the other Orc. “Braden?”
The Red Moon grunted sourly. He dumped his own maps on the table, apparently disgruntled at the task. “Here, sire.”
“Again, my thanks.” Matt picked through them, scoring a decent map of the southern borders, a suspiciously vague one about Braden’s clan home, and one that showed roughly the same area as Nuramesh’s trail routes. There was also a fairly decent one of the capital itself. “You have a map of Redspire?”
“Yes, sire.” Braden’s smile was obvious, even under his helm. “Fearing for the security of the capital, I brought several hundred men, and I wanted to know where to station them during your coronation.”
The implicit threat was obvious, but Matt simply grinned. He didn’t think the Orc was ready for a military coup, not until he knew what the others were going to do. “That is excellent. I’ll put them to good use shortly.”
Braden’s stance seemed to go slightly awry, and he gave Grufen a suspicious glance before the doors opened once again. This time, Tek and Suluth came through together, followed quickly by Gorfeld. The Low Imp steward seemed out of breath, though neither Tek nor Suluth showed any signs of it. “They…are here…sire.”
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“Excellent.” He waved the gathered nobles to their seats, grinning widely. “Just place your maps here, and we’ll get started.”
The High Imp and the Goblin padded forward to deposit their maps and then retreated a little. Both of them eyed the other nobles carefully, with Suluth touching the handle of a blade when she passed both Grufen and Braden. Neither Orc reacted, but they both watched her until she took a seat. Tek, on the other hand, watched Matt for a moment, as if expecting something. When Matt simply ignored him to pour over the maps, the High Imp muttered something and took the seat closest to him.
Matt organized his pile of maps again, searching for a way to lay them out that would show the entire situation. Suluth had brought maps of her own territory in the Dark Woods to the south—again, almost blatantly vague—while she had also provided a much more highly detailed map of the Orcish homelands. Tek had included his own map of the capital, and then another that apparently traced the leylines throughout the realm. He found others showing the Impish lands to the east and south, as well as a few from the Leaffall Orcs to the southeast.
He paused, tapping a section of a map that Suluth had included. “This here. The Sortenmoors. About half the people who declared war on us mentioned this place.”
Braden’s voice carried a bored, almost challenging tone. “Yes, sire. The Red Sorceress had us seize the place from the Wizards of Celrii. In response, they formed the Alliance of Light to retake it. We’ve fought over it for the past two years.”
Matt grunted. “Who lives there now? Wizards?”
“Some.” Tek sounded a bit bored as well. “There are also some Orcs and Goblins, though not many have chosen to settle a place where wars are still being fought.”
“I see.” He traced the borders of those lowlands, noting how close they were to the Leaffall Orc homeland in the Copper Hills. He could see the edges of Teblas’ plan as well, now. All the Orc had to do was cross the Grim Hollows—a region that apparently had only a few Low Folk nobles and villages scattered across it—and the rebel could take the Sortenmoors for his own use. Too bad it was going to be a pain to counter the move, but he had to work with what he had.
When he looked up, he found all of them staring at him. He smiled. “All right, so to summarize, we have four different fronts to fight on, and at least two of the seven regions of our home are in rebellion. Gorfeld was kind enough to tell me we have roughly six weeks before snow begins to fall. Is that correct, Tek?”
The High Imp started slightly. He nodded. “Yes, sire. Our forecasters have predicted a heavy winter, as well.”
“The campaigns against us are probably going to slow down at that point. So our first objective is to hold things steady until we get to winter. Does that seem wise?”
The assembled nobles nodded, though some were far more emphatic than others. Matt looked down at the patchwork of maps before him, and made a mental note to have his own, more effective map drawn up. “In that case, here is what we are going to do. Braden?”
“Yes, sire?” The Orc sat a little straighter in his seat. He seemed almost ready to spring out of the chair and declare a charge against something, which was more or less what Matt expected. Braden had seemed to be the most eager to fight, if only because it would give him the chance to take the glory he might need in order to usurp Matt’s throne. It was a fair reminder that the supposed loyalists around him were only hesitating to kill him and take power because they weren’t certain yet.
Best to keep them off balance and uncertain then.
“You are to take all the soldiers you have in the capital and march out immediately. I want you to be in the Grim Hollows before the week is up.”
“Yes sire, I will make sure she—what?”
The confusion in the Orc’s voice was beautiful to hear, but Matt didn’t let the smile touch his lips. “I am sending you to the Grim Hollows. Gather whatever troops you can from the villages and nobles there as soon as you can. When they join you, I want you to push as far into the Copper Hills as quickly as you can before snow stops you.”
“But…sire.” He could almost smell the Orc’s attempt to phrase his words carefully. “My homeland is closer to Winterfast than the Grim Hollows. Our kingdom would be served better if I gathered my forces there and launched an attack against the Frost Elves.”
Matt looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “That is probably what Itrelia is expecting us to do, yeah. I’m sure she’s got plenty of defenses ready for when we tried.” He shrugged. “On the other hand, I’m just as sure that Teblas is probably going to be crossing the Grim Hollows as soon as he can reach home. He’ll be aiming for the Sortenmoors, since most of the settlers there are likely his people, and if he can take it from us, he’ll have something he can use to barter for help from the Alliance of Light.”
The sudden silence was slightly satisfying, though the sudden stricken expressions on some of his nobles were not filling him with optimism. Suluth spoke up, her voice suddenly concerned. “With traitors at his back, I think even Braden might find it hard to stop the Leaffall Orcs.”
He nodded. “Which is why I will need to borrow one of your fastest riders, Suluth. I need to send a message to the Sortenmoors before Teblas can speak to them.” He looked at Gorfeld, gesturing for him to take up his ink and a blank parchment. “Any being who takes up arms in defense of the kingdom in the Sortenmoors for at least one year will be granted the rights of a freeholder and a piece of land. Those who serve for two years, and are willing to fight beyond the Sortenmoors, gain those rights for themselves and for their immediate family.”
There was a silence as the nobles looked at one another. Finally, Grufen was the one to break it. “Freeholder, sire? I don’t know that term.”
“It refers to a person who is not a serf, but is not raised to the nobility. Someone who owns their own land, who can move around the kingdom as they will, and can arm themselves.” He looked carefully around the table. “They may also form Assemblies in order to pass laws that affect themselves, but not the nobility. In short, they owe fealty to the kingdom, but they are not in bondage.”
There was another, more dangerous silence. Braden spoke up this time, his voice pitched low. “A dangerous concept, sire. To free the serfs would—”
“Immediately give us an army to hold the Sortenmoors. One that would be loyal to us, no matter what else is happening. After all, who else is going to give them that kind of promise?” He paused. There was another reason to do it, after all. Freeholders wouldn’t be tied to a pack of treacherous nobles, and they would remember who had freed them. Within the year, the Sortenmoors were going to be a place that he could depend on to stand for him no matter what happened at the capital.
He could see some of them thinking over the potential results of the declaration, but he didn’t want them to think too hard on it. Better to keep the momentum going. “In any case, that will help to guard your backs, and will keep the Alliance of Light busy, too. Especially since any Orcs that would join Teblas in rebellion are going to be tempted to stay with us instead.”
Braden nodded slowly, his skepticism clear even through his armor. Matt smiled as he continued. “Just to make sure, however, I will be sending Suluth and her best warriors to keep things secure.”
Suluth turned to look at him, her expression growing still. “You are, sire?”
“Yes.” Matt gave her a confident nod. “I’ll be depending on you to organize the freeholders that join you, and train them. You’ll also need to keep the rebels already in the valley from gathering and becoming a problem. It will be difficult work, but I am sure that you can hold.”
The Goblin nodded, her black eyes fixed on him. He was certain that she had hoped she would stay in the capital—the better to backstab both him and Braden, of course—but the lure of being the one to free the Sortenmoors and gain control of them seemed very tempting indeed. She nodded. “It will be done, sire.”
“Good. I know I can count on you.” Matt smiled, fervently hoping that both Braden and Suluth would manage to get themselves killed before spring. “One more thing you must do. If the Alliance of Light gets a clear picture of what is happening, they may try to press the advantage. Keep them from doing so. Kill or capture any scouts or spies they send across the border. Let none escape. If a bird flies from the Sortenmoors south, I want it to be because you and your troops made sure it was loyal to us first. Am I clear?”
Suluth nodded silently, and Matt turned back to Braden. “There. Your rearguard will be protected, and you have your mission. Bring Teblas down and take back our land.” Another idea occurred to him, and he held up a finger. “But be careful. I don’t want to lose one of my best commanders. Do not let him provoke you into single combat.”
Braden stiffened slightly. His fingers twitched, as if he wanted to reach for the sword at his side. When he finally responded, it was a low growl. “Of course, sire. I will strive to avoid it.”
“Thank you.” Matt clapped his hands, silently cheerful. If the Red Moon Orc got himself killed in a duel, so much the better. “Then go. The sooner you are both moving south, the better. My steward will entrust the message to the serfs there, and I’ll be sure to send duplicates soon to get the word out faster.”
If he hadn’t been watching for it, he would have missed the slight hesitation from Suluth. Clearly the Goblin had wanted to waylay the message and prevent the serfs from ever hearing about the plan to free them. He wasn’t going to make it that easy, however. Sooner rather than later, both Braden and Suluth were going to be in the middle of a war surrounded by troops loyal to him, and him only. It was the best that he could do, given the circumstances.
Not that he was done. As soon as the two nobles strode out of the room, he turned to Grufen. The Hard Scythe Orc was watching him carefully, his helmet off and his face bare. There was skepticism in those eyes, which was justified enough. “Are there any questions before we continue?”
Grufen paused, and the remaining nobles exchanged another look among themselves. Clearly, they had plenty to say, but no one wanted to be the first to bring the subject up. When no one spoke, Matt spread out the maps, looking for another one. “All right then. The next phase of our plan will depend heavily on you, Grufen.”
The Orc blinked. “It will, sire?”
“Yeah.” Matt selected a map that showed the border of the Hard Scythe territory and the Small Heights where Nuramesh’s Gnomes lived. He traced a path from one to the other. “I want you to return home immediately. I know most of your forces are gathered there, probably to fight off anything anyone was going to throw at you.” He left unsaid that they were likely expecting to fight against him and his loyalists. “Take them and every piece of supplies you can find and reinforce our holdings in the Small Heights. Nuramesh, you are to reinforce him and keep him and his Orcs as well supplied as possible.”
Nuramesh jumped a little in his seat. He glanced at Gorfeld before he answered. “Y-yes, sire. Of course.”
“Why?” Grufen’s question was a blunt hammer, one that brought the momentum of the conversation to a halt. Matt looked back at Grufen, finding the Orc staring at him. His expression was one of frustration and confusion, but not one of anger. “Why are you sending me to the Small Heights? Do you not trust these little ones to stay loyal? Or are you trying to keep an eye on both of us?”
Matt glanced at Nuramesh, who was cringing a bit lower in his chair. He shook his head. “No, Grufen. There’s something else going on.”
He reached out to the maps again. “Both your territory and the Small Heights border one another, but there’s probably never been much interaction, right?” Matt swept one finger out to the western border, where the mapmaker had scribbled the names of several nations. “I recognize some of these names. I’m sure some of them offered you plenty of promises if you abandoned us. When you didn’t, they held off on declaring war against us.”
Grufen nodded reluctantly, and Matt continued. “I assume that Nuramesh made similar arrangements, but probably with more than one group. He might have talked to the Dwarves, but I didn’t see many of their messengers here today, so it might not have worked. So Nuramesh would have turned to someone else.”
The Orc looked from Matt to the Gnome. His eyes suddenly widened. “Itrelia? You would have trusted her?”
Nuramesh cringed a little more, but he brought his chin up stubbornly. “S-she promised that we would be free. That we would no longer know the slavery the Redspire has given us.”
“I doubt she meant to keep that promise, but I understand, Nuramesh.” Matt kept his voice even and then switched to another map. This one showed Itrelia’s territory, Winterfast, and the border between it and the High Peaks, Spirelands, and the Small Heights. “What she did mean to do, however, was use your territory, though. Her plans are probably not to just sit in her woods and wait for us. She’s going to be coming for the throne, in her own way.”
“And she’ll have been counting on the Small Heights to be friendly.” Grufen nodded slowly, his eyes now fixed on the map.
“Which is why I want you waiting there for her.” Matt tapped the portion of the map leading to the Small Heights, picturing it in his mind’s eye. “Judging by how things played out, I expect she’s been talking to the other big alliance that declared war on us today, too. What was their name again?”
“The Noble Races, sire.” Gorfeld’s voice was very, very level. The little Imp gave little clue of how he felt about the name, but it was clear that the rest of them didn’t much care for it.
“Yeah. Hethwellow’s friends.” Matt switched maps again, this time showing the mountains along the eastern border. “They’ll have to cut through the High Peaks to get to us, and that seems like it would be a nightmare for anyone who tries. We have plenty of High Imps there, and a good number of chokeholds. Attacking through those mountain passes would be suicide, especially with the winter so close. Only an idiot would consider it viable.”
Nuramesh raised a tentative hand. “So they won’t come right away?”
“Oh no, Hethwellow and pals are absolutely going to rush right in.” Matt grinned. “Not only is he a little overconfident, Itrelia’s probably promised him that she will be attacking our rearguard and keeping our reinforcements busy. Once he breaks through the passes, she would be able to keep him supplied through the winter, and then they could both move on Redspire.”
“But not if the Small Heights remain in our hands and on her flanks. She’ll have to drive us out if she wants to advance unhindered.” Grufen nodded slowly, his eyes still on the maps. “I see.”
“Good.” Matt leaned forward. “You’re going to have to hold her through the fall and winter. In the spring, you can start pushing into her territory, but for now, it’ll be enough to keep her occupied. Tek will send reinforcements in to the High Peaks to keep the Noble Races busy and out of our hair, but we also have to hold the Small Heights.”
“It will be done.” Grufen saluted and then rose. He gestured for Nuramesh to follow him, and then strode out with the Gnome scuttling along at his heels. As the door closed behind them, Matt turned his attention to the last of the nobles.
Tek sat quietly, examining him with a curiously intent expression. The High Imp took a deep breath. “So I imagine you will send me to the High Peaks? You will dispose of me, as you have the others?”
“No.” Surprise flashed across the Imp’s expression, but Matt shook his head for emphasis. “I will ask you to send your best troops to take care of the border. From what Gorfeld tells me, you are practically in charge of the mages and the taxes in the capital. I want you to familiarize me with all of them. We need to be able to supply our troops, send help where needed, and prepare for the coming spring. Can you help me with that, Tek?”
The High Imp nodded slowly, his face incredibly serious. “Yes, sire. I absolutely can.” He tapped the table with one long finger. “I will send Crupesh to the border forts. My aide Normed will stay by my side here to help us with our work.”
“Thank you.” If alarm bells hadn’t already been ringing for him, Matt would have been hearing them now. The High Imp was just a little too excited to remain behind in the capital—a place conveniently vacant of any other competitors for the throne. All the same, he forced himself to smile. “With your help, I am sure that we can bring prosperity to our kingdom.”