An hour later, as the nobles scattered to the four winds and Tek made excuses to be about his own business, Matt walked down the hallway to the royal chambers. He pushed open the doors and half-fell, half-staggered into a chair. Gorfeld came through the door right after him, bearing a careful selection of the maps that they had gathered in the council room.
The Imp shut the door carefully. Even when it was fully closed, he kept his voice low. “You know, sire, that even though he is old, Tek is not without danger or ambition. It might have been wise to let him lead the defenses to the east.”
“No, I need him here. Otherwise, I worry that Itrelia would learn of our plans a little too quickly.”
Gorfeld blinked in confusion, and Matt chuckled a little. He sounded tired and worn, even to his own ears. “I’m about forty percent sure that Tek was conspiring with the Frost Elves. At the very least, he’ll be ready to pull back from the High Peaks the moment it looks like he might lose some of his forces to the Noble Races. If Grufen can’t keep Itrelia busy enough, he might pull them all the way back to Redspire.”
“And then he’ll use them to overthrow you.” Gorfeld nodded slowly. “At least with him in the capital, you’ll be able to keep an eye on his messengers. Is that why you requested that all of the riders in the city be monitored?”
“That, and I can’t be sure that Teblas or Itrelia don’t have their own spies here. It will help either way, if we can keep the enemy in the dark.” Matt waved a tired hand at him before pinching at the top of his nose. “At the very least, we have everybody on their way. For now, we can try to set things up in a way that will give us the best chance to reach spring. Did you already send for the parchment?”
Gorfeld nodded. “Yes, sire. They are bringing many sheets of it as we speak. Plenty of ink, as well.”
Matt grinned. “Excellent. Make sure that any cartographers and scribes get invited, too. I want to sign things, not write everything out myself.” He paused. “Now that I think about it, I don’t know how to write in your language, do I? Or does the magic work for that, too?”
The Imp hesitated. “I believe it should, sire, though you will need to consciously choose which language you write in.”
“Hmm.” So English would be a secret code for a while, at least. “Okay. I’ll have you double check everything, just to make sure I am using the right words.”
Gorfeld nodded. He placed the papers on the nearest desk and then poked through them. “You are certain you want your own map, sire?”
“I do. A big one of our entire territory. No more picking through everyone’s leftovers.” Matt placed a hand over his eyes. “We can update it as we go, but I need to be able to see everything at once. Especially once the wars start up.”
“Yes, sire.” The Imp’s voice became somewhat less certain. “You were saying you wanted to send out more declarations?”
“Yep. At least three or four more.” He opened his eyes and looked over at Gorfeld. “First, a copy of the muster in the Sortenmoors. If we can get more of our people to gather there and defend it, the Alliance of Light will have that much harder of a time taking it from us, let alone the rebels.”
Gorfeld nodded, and Matt continued. “Of course, that’s going to cause some trouble with the nobles. They’re going to see a lot of serfs start to think about leaving their farms and workshops to go have a chance at land and freedom. Some of them might be stupid enough to try to force the serfs to stay on their farms.”
The Imp blinked. “You think they would fail, sire?”
“I think there are a lot more serfs than there are nobles, and the last thing we need is a bunch of serfs deciding to rebel. At the same time, I’m not going to leave them in slavery, either. If you want me as King, I’m going to do my best to free the people under my rule, one way or another.”
It seemed like the Imp was at a loss for how to respond. In the end, he shook his head. “I don’t understand your goals, sire, but it does seem dangerous. I don’t know if you would survive a rebellion led by the nobles any more than one led by serfs. In fact, that might be all the more dangerous, to be truthful.”
“You’re right.” Matt sat forward. He shook his head again, trying to clear it as he thought over the problem. Like rich people throughout history, the nobles would not embrace any change that didn’t seem to help them get ahead of everyone else. Even if the entire nation prospered, they’d see it as an offense to their position. There were too many in his world that would have burned down the forest to be king of the ashes; it didn’t seem like anyone was all that different here.
So if he wanted to free the serfs, it was going to have to make those same selfish pigs a little fatter. He grunted and then shrugged. “Okay, so the second declaration will need to go out at the same time as the first. Every rider will carry both.”
Gorfeld hesitated. “The…second declaration, sire?”
“Yeah.” Matt struggled to find the right phrasing. “From here forward, any noble has the power to grant the serfs under his domain freedom and the status of freeholders. At the same time, the granaries of the capital will pay fifty percent more for any produce or other trade goods that were originally produced by freeholders, even if it was gathered and shipped by a nobleman.”
“Sire!” Gorfeld stepped forward, his eyes wide. “Our treasury will be spent before the year is out!”
Matt held up a hand, still grinning. “I doubt it. Not every noble is going to free their serfs, and not all at once. Those who do might get a little ahead, but not everyone is going to jump on it. At least, not until they see their peers start to pull ahead of them.” He shrugged. “When they do finally get onboard, we’ll be in a much better spot to handle the strain.”
Gorfeld swayed a little, but he stayed upright. He scribbled something down on a fragment of the parchment he’d brought and then sighed. “Were there any other declarations you wished to make, sire?”
“Yeah.” Matt tapped on the table idly, still not finished. “When the Red Sorceress was in charge, I get the impression that it was mostly just her giving orders. Did the nobles ever have say in things before she ruled?”
The steward looked a bit nonplussed. “Once, there was something called the Grand Council. A gathering of the High Clans that shared power with the King or Queen of the time.” Gorfeld shrugged. “The Grim Queen felt it was unneeded, and the Council was disbanded during her rule. Those who protested were…corrected.”
“I see.” Matt nodded slowly. “All right, declaration number three. It goes with the other two. Actually, probably at the top of the page for anywhere that isn’t the Sortenmoors.” He paused, thinking through the words he needed. “I want the Grand Council to reconvene. Every noble house—whether from the High Clans or the Low Folk—are to send a representative to Redspire. The Council will be given the power to determine tributes and taxes, to negotiate peace, and create new laws for the Kingdom.”
Gorfeld’s jaw dropped. “But sire, that amount of authority will be dangerous to release. What if they turn against you?”
“They seem ready to do that anyway. I might as well give them the illusion that they are already getting what they want.” He shrugged. “Besides, they are going to be a bit worried about all the invasions and other rebels. Before long, they’ll probably be worried about the other people in the Council more than me.”
“And if they turn against us, sire?”
“I’ll retain the authority to do whatever needs to be done to protect the kingdom.” Matt smiled. “They can’t argue very much against that. After all, it’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”
The Imp nodded in return. “True enough, my liege.” Gorfeld paused again, as if reluctant to ask his next question. “Is there…anything else, sire?”
It was hard not to laugh out loud. He grinned even wider. “Why yes. There is one more thing.”
“You want to what?”
Tek’s expression was absolutely marvelous to behold. He stared at Matt with the kind of surprise that had to have been bone deep. Gorfeld looked far less impressed, though the steward had been given the benefit of a few extra hours to get used to the idea. The Low Imp had not been nearly as excited about the pronouncement the first time Matt had explained it.
“I want to proclaim a public works project, funded by the royal treasury. It will involve as many freeholder workers as I can find, drawn from all over the kingdom.” Matt paused. “We’ll need to start clearing the space immediately, of course, and over the winter we can try to train them so that things can be done by the end of the next year.”
The High Imp had recovered a little by that point. His little beard seemed to quiver with indignation. “How will you even find that many ‘freeholders’ to participate? Supposedly, only the nobles have the power to free them, and I don’t see them allowing such treasured workers to leave just to work for you.”
“Once they are freeholders, they are free to move where they will, and sign contracts with whoever they want.” Matt let the reality of those words sink in for a few more moments, and then he smiled. “Luckily, we won’t have to depend on the nobility to provide these workers. I understand that out of all the people in the kingdom, I own the most serfs.”
There was a stunned sort of realization in Tek’s eyes. “Wait. You can’t…I mean, it isn’t…”
“By law, they are my property. Or rather, they were.” Matt folded his hands behind his back. “As of this morning, every serf under my direct control has now been given the status of a freeholder. Any who wish to join the public works project can sign a contract with me for a fixed salary, effective immediately. Those who wish to stay on the farms where they live, or in the workshops I own, will paid a good wage for their work.”
Tek was still gaping at him, seemingly too shocked to speak, so Matt simply continued on. “Of course, they will need to pay rent on the lands they owe, and will need assistance in bringing their goods to market. I will be happy to provide them with those services, for a price.”
Gorfeld cleared his throat. “And of course, those goods will be bought at the same high rate as those provided by other freeholder-produced goods.”
Tek’s mouth closed, and his eyes seemed to drift out of focus a little. “A rate that has been artificially inflated by your own decree. And the rent and other costs you place on the freeholder can more than defray the wages you give them…” His words trailed off, and he turned his sharpened gaze back on Matt. “You are quite clever, sire.”
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“I’m glad you recognize that.” Matt inclined his head a little and breathed a little internal sigh of relief. He was glad that the High Imp hadn’t figured out his real motivation, which was to not be the chief slaveowning bastard of the kingdom. It would also make it harder for someone to replace him; after all, it was easy to tell a bunch of serfs that they had a new master. Who knew what they would do now they were free?
The answer, of course, was that they would probably just carry on as they had already done, just like they would have at home. He had no intention of letting Tek or anyone else figure that out, though. Not until he had changed things enough to keep any would-be traitors and tyrants from taking his place.
Luckily, he had a ready-made distraction to keep the High Imp busy, at least for the short term. “So, my project will have three different parts. Two of them will require substantial amounts of building material.”
Tek frowned slightly. “You mean stone, sire? We have a steady supply, but it is often hard to secure large quantities.”
Matt grimaced. “That’s what I was afraid of. If stone wouldn’t work, could we use brick?”
The Imps exchanged a look. Gorfeld spoke first. “The Red Plains are known for making large quantities of brick, but they rarely send it far from their own territory. Perhaps we can enlist their help?”
“A good idea. Maybe we could even send them a few mages to help fire the things, so that we have enough of it?” He looked at Tek.
The High Imp looked a little offended and amused at the same time. He seemed to mull the problem over for a while before he answered. “I can think of several rather…underachieving mages that might be employed in such a manner. I can give them the assignment right away.”
“Excellent. Send them to me immediately.” He nodded. “I’ll also need to meet with the leaders of the blacksmiths in the city. They’ll need to provide the freeholders with weapons, of course, since they will now have the right to arm themselves.”
There was another silence, and then Gorfeld cleared his throat. “The better to serve in your armies, sire?”
“Exactly.” They wouldn’t really measure up to career soldiers—at least, not yet—but they would be loyal and ready to defend the city. That extra reserve of troops was all he really wanted at the moment, anyway. “While I’m at it, who has the best excavation crews?” When both Imps gave him a blank look, he tried to reword things. “I will need groups that excel at digging and tunnelling. Are the Gnomes my best bet for that?”
“Yes, sire.” Tek’s lips warped into something approaching a smile. “They are always quite good at creating their little hiding holes.”
Ignoring the contempt in Tek’s voice, Matt turned to Gorfeld. “Send another message after Nuramesh, and have him send me four hundred workers. I’ll leave plans for them to carry out in my absence.”
“Your…absence, sire?” The steward looked as alarmed as Matt had ever seen him. Even the declarations this morning hadn’t caught him quite so badly off guard. “Do you plan on going on a journey?”
“I do, of a sort.” He tapped a bit of parchment, where he had been gathering details. “According to this, I have at least ten banners of troops in the city that answer to me directly. Is that correct?”
Gorfeld nodded, his eyes darting to Tek. The High Imp was silent, still watching Matt through hooded eyes, and the calculations in his expression were rather obvious. Troops that had belonged to Suluth and Braden had both mostly left the city, marching or riding south towards the Grim Hollows and the Sortenmoors. Tek’s High Imps still had three banners of High Guard in the city, however, which meant he would have the chance to seize control of Redspire if Matt showed any signs of weakness.
Not that Matt had any intentions of doing so. Machiavelli had been fairly clear on what a new ruler should do, and the fools that were going to attack him were going to give him exactly the chance to do so. If he lived through it, of course.
“I’m going to lead five banners of my troops east, through the High Peaks.” If he hadn’t been watching, Matt might have missed the way Tek’s eyes flickered a little. Was that a bit of alarm and concern? “I’m going to reinforce the garrison at Greymouth. I think that is where the Noble Races are probably going to attack first.”
Gorfeld spoke cautiously. Matt doubted it was out of respect so much as it was out of worry that Tek would catch on to what he was implying. “Is it wise for you to attend to that problem personally, sire? I would think there are several other lords that could—”
“I’m going, Gorfeld.” He tried to put as much arrogance and stubbornness in his voice as he could. Maybe Tek would believe that as clever as he was, the new king was a little reckless as well. Easy enough with all the other changes Matt was making. “Some things need to be handled personally, and these Nobles Races are going to be the first.”
Tek smiled broadly, his beard quivering a little. “A bold and ambitious idea, my liege. I’m certain your presence at the front will bolster our forces and set the enemy to flight.”
Matt saw Gorfeld gathering himself for another response and gave him a slight shake of the head. The steward subsided, but still watched him carefully. “Good. Now, I need to familiarize myself with some of the people of the city, as well as the tools you have available. Tell me, do you have any horses here?”
The Imps exchanged another look, this time with a bit more confusion. When they looked back at Matt, he could see the plain denial in their eyes. He sighed. “Okay, let’s see what you have to ride.”
A handful of minutes later, Gorfeld was leading him through the castle towards the stables. The Low Imp’s stride was hurried, to keep up with Matt’s longer gait, but it didn’t seem to inconvenience the smaller man much. “Are you sure this is a good idea? You have to know he isn’t as loyal as you think.”
“Loyal or not, he’s going to make trouble. Better to get him to make the first move soon, rather than sticking around and waiting for it.” Matt kept his voice low, despite the lack of others in the hallway. He didn’t believe that there weren’t at least a handful of spies hiding somewhere, keeping an eye on the new ruler. “This way, I’ll be surrounded by my own troops, and the city will be full of newly armed freeholders who won’t want to go back to being serfs. He’ll have a hard time killing me, and an even harder time trying to take Redspire while I’m gone, whether he knows that or not.”
“True, but you’ll be traveling through the High Peaks. That’s Tek’s territory, and I don’t put it past him to arrange a suitable ‘accident’ for you while you travel.” Gorfeld paused, waiting until they had turned the next corner and found the next hallway empty as well. “And that’s if he doesn’t send orders for his captains to assassinate you as soon as you arrive at the garrison.”
Matt smirked a little. “True. He might even have a cover story ready in case I survive that, too. Something about a High Imp taking bribes from Itrelia or Hethwellow’s friends. I wouldn’t put it past him, after all.” He shrugged. “Still, I have to go. If I don’t trust him to watch my back here, I definitely can’t trust him to hold against the invasion there. Just redouble our watch on any messengers leaving the city and let me know if he tries to slip someone past the gates.”
The Low Imp seemed to have no reply to that, though he was obviously struggling to hold his responses close. Gorfeld hadn’t quite managed to find his words before they had arrived at the royal stables.
It was a very different place than he would have expected back on Earth. Horses were unknown here, so the typical wooden stalls weren’t in place. Apparently, the main cavalry used by the kingdom was called a Warg, which was essentially a massive wolf. The Goblins were especially well known for using them regularly. Almost all of Suluth’s troops were mounted on the things, and all of Matt’s own cavalry used them as well. Accordingly, the stables looked more like a kennel than anything else.
To Matt’s relief, the Wargs weren’t the only options for cavalry. As cool as it would have been to ride a canine into battle, he was too much of a rancher’s son to be entirely comfortable with the idea of riding a huge wolf. Besides, Gorfeld had been certain about the beasts only being large enough for Goblins and Imps to ride. He hadn’t mentioned Gnomes at all; apparently, Nuramesh’s people only really trusted their own two feet.
As they walked past den after den where the giant, panting beasts were lazing about, Matt couldn’t help but note how their eyes followed him. Each was big enough that their jaws could probably fit around his head. He tried not to remember the Dire Hounds leaping at him from out of the dark.
Fortunately, his subjects had captured a few other beasts to train as mounts, and Gorfeld led him to the section of the stables that contained them. It was located towards the back, a short distance away from the Warg kennels. While the rest of the stables seemed to be filled with the doglike sounds of Wargs growling, panting, and sniffing, this part seemed much, much quieter. There were fewer Goblins too, and the one attendant that appeared to be waiting for them was actually an Orc.
Matt inclined his head politely as the Orc bowed low. His markings looked very different from the Orcs he’d seen so far. “May I ask your name?”
“My name is Withar, of the Greenriver Orcs, sire.” The Orc’s voice was a little unsteady. “I have been a servant here for many years.”
Matt glanced at Gorfeld, who did not seem to notice the look. “You were a serf under the Red Sorceress?”
“Yes, sire.”
It was hard not to smile—that explained the subservience at least. “Then as of this morning, you are a free man, Withar Greenriver. Have the palace secretaries already organized your salary?”
Withar looked up in surprise for a moment, and then looked back down. “Salary, sire?”
“Yeah. If you’re planning on still working for me, I intend to pay you for your work.” Matt smiled a bit crookedly. “You’ll have to buy your own meals and pay for your own place to sleep, but all the same, you’ll have the right to choose.” He paused. “You aren’t armed?”
The groom blanched. “N-no, sire. I would not—”
“Then allow me to present you with a gift.” Matt drew the short blade from a sheath at his side. He’d asked for a few from the palace smithies, making sure they knew he wanted plain, unadorned work. It was a fine, long knife, one that would serve its owner well. “Here. I want you to keep it on you at all times, so you may be ready to serve your kingdom.”
He held out the blade, hilt first, and Withar stared at it in complete astonishment. The business of the rest of the stables had suddenly gone still, as the rest of the groomsmen paused to watch. Even some of the Wargs appeared interested, peeking out from their dens.
The groom put out a hand, slowly. His fingers closed around the hilt as if he were grasping a live coal. “Th-thank you, sire.”
Matt released the blade and unbuckled the sheath. He held it out, and Withar accepted it with numb obedience. “If you need help learning how to use it, tell the captains in the barracks that I asked them to give you lessons. It is every freeholder’s right to have such things. Do you understand?”
Withar finally met Matt’s eyes. The Orc seemed completely unable to process what was happening. “Yes, sire. I understand.”
Ignoring the white lie, Matt stepped back and turned to the stall door. He inspected it a little. “Excellent. Now then, Gorfeld said you might have something I could ride here?”
The groom paused, caught between trying to buckle on the unfamiliar sheath and the need to open the stall door. “Y-yes, sire. We do.” He managed to get the blade arranged on his hip and then darted forward. “We caught this beast quite some time ago, but we had not found someone who was willing to saddle it.”
Withar pulled open the stall door, and Matt stepped back despite himself. He’d heard Gorfeld describe the creature as a kind of odd deer, but the Imp hadn’t done the thing justice at all. It was enormous, easily as big as a large horse, with antlers that reminded him more of a moose than a simple stag. It was standing with its back to the stall wall, as far from the door as it could be, and regarded him with eyes that were deep and bright and far too clever.
“They call it a warbuck, sire. Some of the Elven tribes and Knights breed them for war, though the Frost Elves do not use them often.” Withar stepped forward cautiously, as if nervous to be near the beast. “They are strong and brave, but they are hard to please. Still, I am sure that with some time, we should be able to—”
“That’s okay.” Matt stepped forward into the stall. He’d seen bigger horses—though not by much—and he’d had to ride a few lunatic ones on his father’s ranch. He kept his voice level and his stride steady. “I think we’ll get along with each other just fine.”
“Sire, I worry that—”
“It’s fine, Withar.” He stepped forward again, trying to keep an eye out for any sense of tension in the warbuck. It didn’t seem to be getting ready for a charge, but he already knew how panicky a horse could get. One of those was dangerous enough once it gave into the fight, flight and die response hard-wired into every horse on Earth; he didn’t want to find out what the addition of those heavy antlers and sturdy looking hooves would do.
Still trying to seem confident, Matt reached out a hand. He kept the apple he’d palmed at breakfast carefully concealed in his palm, hoping not to give the secret away. “Here, now. We’re going to be best friends, you and I.”
The beast considered him for a moment. Then it slowly bowed its head, carefully nuzzling Matt’s hand open and eating the fruit. Matt kept very still as it chewed a bit, letting it get used to his scent.
Then he moved a little forward, stroking the side of the animal’s neck. “There now, there now. We’re friends, aren’t we? No need to be so nervous.”
To his infinite relief, the warbuck didn’t respond immediately. It kept chewing the last of the fruit, shaking its head a little in a way that nearly knocked Matt’s brains out with a heavy antler. Then it simply heaved a large sigh and turned away slightly, still watching him with one bright eye.
Matt let out a sigh himself. It had gone about as well as an introduction could. “Withar, could you bring the saddle for me? I think we’d like to go for a ride. Me and…what should I call you?” He thought about it for a moment and then smiled. “Me and my friend Nelson, here. There we are.”
The groom backed away from the stall, stammering an acknowledgement. Matt mostly ignored him and waiting, continuing to soothe the warbuck with one hand. He looked back at Gorfeld, careful to keep the movement slow and measured. “So, how am I doing so far?”
His steward raised an eyebrow. “Well, we aren’t dead yet. Sire.”
Matt suppressed an inappropriate laugh and waited for Withar to return. As a measure of victory, he hoped he was going to aim a little higher than that—but he had to admit it was a good start.