The rest of the day passed in something of a blur. He rode Nelson while he traveled through the streets of Redspire, with only a handful of breaks. The warbuck seemed eager to run, but he responded well enough to the bit and bridle. All the same, there were several times when Matt could sense the beast’s temper flaring as the carts and crowds jostled along nearby.
“I apologize for the press, sire.” The bureaucrat, a Grimfen Goblin named Seb, wrung his hands a little. He was walking rather than riding, his plain clothes and high boots apparently more suited to the packed dirt of the road. “The city has grown crowded these days, and I worry that we have not had the chance to organize them all.”
“I understand. It’s a problem a lot of places face.” Matt nodded, careful to keep Nelson at a comfortable walking pace. The Goblin didn’t seem to have any trouble keeping up, but he didn’t want to make the man run the whole time, either. “Are the food supplies stable? Or will we need to worry about rationing during the winter?”
“Oh no, sire, no worries there.” Seb shook his head so violently that Nelson gave a sudden snort and toss of his antlers. Matt leaned forward a little to soothe the warbuck, but the Goblin continued as if he hadn’t noticed. “Our granaries are almost full, in fact, and we should have plenty of stores available for the soldiers and citizens. We should weather the season just fine.”
Matt paused for a moment. “So we won’t have any problems with starvation in the city? That gives me some relief, then.”
Seb was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke next, his voice was low. There was still a trace of respect in his voice, but the flatterer’s manner had left him. “I am glad to hear you say that, sire. Redspire has not always had so…charitable a ruler as you.”
It was not the first time that Matt had heard a similar statement. At least five of the Low Folk representatives had said something along the same lines. He was starting to wonder how low the bar had been. Were they somehow in awe that he hadn’t started things off with a citywide butchering program?
Still, it was a good sign that at least the Low Folk of the city were on his side. Or at least, as much on his side as they were on the side of the nobles. That support would be important soon. “I don’t see it as charity, Seb. I am only doing my duty to the people I have sworn to protect. That’s all you need to expect from me.”
“Yes, sire. I see.”
Seb seemed uncertain still, but Matt didn’t give him enough time to stew in it. He pressed on in a casual voice. “How are people dealing with the decrees of liberation? I get the impression that things are still sinking in for them.”
Seb nodded absently. “Yes, that would be a good way to phrase it.” The Goblin looked around, as if he didn’t quite understand the new order of things himself. “The newly promoted…freeholders, as you call them, are still adjusting to their new status. Many of them, if you pardon me saying so, are wondering what the actual difference will end up being in their lives, especially if they are doing the same work.”
“A fair question.” Matt kept his smile easy, though he had a moment of frustration inside. All of the Low Folk he’d spoken to had asked the same question. It was part of the problem with living in a pre-literacy society, he supposed. Things were going to have to spread by word of mouth, in most cases literally. “Well, for one thing, they’ll receive wages for their work. A fair wage, that will let them buy what they need.”
“Yet for the most part they will be buying the food they raised for you and paying rent on the homes they already live in.” Seb’s eyes suddenly widened, as if he had recognized the danger of his own tone. “M-my apologies, sire, I did not mean—”
Matt held up a hand. “I will never blame you for voicing the doubts of others, goodman Seb. So long as you do so in honesty, and not in argument.” The Goblin nodded, and Matt continued. “They may be in the same place, but they can also choose to do something else with their lives. Perhaps they stay on their farms and in the workhouses, or perhaps they strike out on their own to find a new lot in life. As a freeholder, they will have the right to choose.”
Seb gave him a crooked smile. He seemed to struggle to regain his insincere respectfulness. “Yes. I see now.”
“Of course, their choices might upset some who would rather they stay bound where they are.” Matt kept his voice casual, but it was hard to miss how Seb tensed up. “That is why they also enjoy the right to bear arms. They will have the responsibility to stand for the defense of the realm, and I will have the duty to see they are justly treated as a result.”
“So they become soldiers. Or militia, rather.” Seb nodded slowly. His fingers strayed to a small belt knife, something that had skirted the laws forbidding serfs from owning anything that resembled a weapon. “And you commit to standing for these rights?”
“Yes. Absolutely.” Matt tried to make his voice as firm as he could. “I will see them taken care of, and I hope that will mean they will keep faith with me and the rest of the kingdom. Does that set your heart at ease?”
Seb was silent for a few more moments as they walked. When he nodded, it seemed as if he had made a decision. “Yes, sire. It does.”
“Good.” Matt glanced upward, checking the position of the sun. He missed his phone, but it wasn’t like the battery would have lasted long here, anyway. “Now, I want to see you at the castle tomorrow. I need your help organizing some of the work we’ll need to do over the coming months, and I’m afraid I don’t have much time before I leave.”
“I will, sire.” Seb obviously recognized the dismissal, and he bowed deeply. “Thank you for your time.”
The Goblin broke away, scurrying through a side street. Matt glanced over to see him make the first turn beyond sight and then sighed to himself.
Gorfeld appeared as if out of nowhere at his knee. “I believe you have no one else to meet with until we reach the Guard barracks, sire.”
“Good. I could use the break.” Matt stretched slightly, looking around at the people milling in the streets. They flowed around him, as if magically leaving the space for Nelson to travel through the mass of people. Many of them were peeking at him out of the corners of their eyes. Clearly, they were curious about him, and he couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t every day a new ruler appeared and especially wasn’t normal for the new monarch to free more than half the city from serfdom. Many seemed worried he was going to lash out at them. He hoped it was an impression left by the previous rulers, not a sign that they feared he was capricious or insane. Crazy people didn’t tend to last long on a throne, at least not without some interested advisors.
The steward appeared to be worried about the same thing, given the way he glanced up at Matt. He chose his words carefully, as always. “I wonder if it would be wise to delay your departure, sire. For a week or two, until the city is settled.”
Matt shook his head. “No. That’s the last thing I can do, especially with war starting on our borders.”
“Your absence would give some the opportunity to reach for more power. They might gain a high position for themselves before you return, and you would face having to take the city from them in response.”
“True, but they wouldn’t have the support of the people. Not like I do.” He kept his voice low, knowing the crowd was filled with eavesdroppers. Tek would have sent someone to watch him. The High Imp would have been insane not to. “Besides, we all know that the only way to rule the whole kingdom is to kill me. If someone in the city wanted to do that, it will be hard for them to accomplish while I am riding east.”
At least, it would make things more difficult in some ways. Matt had been studying the maps, and he’d already come up with at least one possibility that his enemies could use. Fortunately, he was already planning on turning that possibility to his advantage.
Gorfeld was hesitating, trying to look in every direction without actually turning his head much. “Yet it would still be wise to stay long enough to organize the various projects you are planning. The last thing we need is to run short on funds by wasting our efforts.”
“I’ll be back before the work can really begin. The first part has to be gathering the workers and materials, which will take a couple of weeks easily.” Matt made a dismissive gesture. “The Low Folk can handle that business already, and I’ll leave them detailed instructions on how to begin if I am delayed.”
The steward sighed again, this time in apparent defeat. His shoulders slumped. “All the same, sire, you are heading into a battlefield. Any number of catastrophes could happen, and then the kingdom will fall into the hands of outsiders.”
“So what? Technically, it already has.”
Gorfeld gave him a glare, or at least as close to one as a steward could give a mounted king. “You are not the same. You are from a different world. Those who are outside our borders, but from this world, may be less willing to work for our benefit.”
Matt frowned. “What do you mean? You think they would just wipe you out?”
“I’m sure some of them would love to, yes.” Gorfeld shook his head. “There is a long history of war between our peoples and those outside our borders. The past few rulers have only worsened that reputation, even though several of them came from the outside.”
“Really?” Matt thought back over the night it had all started. “I guess the Red Sorceress didn’t look like she was a Goblin, Imp, or Orc. What was she, a Frost Elf?”
“She was a Wizard, actually, from the Circle of Gold. One of the members of the Noble Races, actually.” Gorfeld scowled. “She was cast out for her…overenthusiastic…studies of transformation magic, and brought her abilities here. The previous ruler, the Obsidian King, welcomed her into his court, where she curried influence. In time, she killed him and took the throne for herself.”
“And promptly started wars with the people who threw her out.” Matt nodded slowly. “So the surrounding nations view us as a problem to be solved.”
The Imp nodded. “Yes. As permanently as possible.” He gestured around at the crowds, which had started to thin the closer they got to the barracks. “Some of them, such as the Western Coalition, believe that simply breaking the kingdom and disarming our people would be sufficient. Others, like the Noble Races, wish to subjugate us, placing all of our people in servitude under their nobility.”
Matt grunted. A nation without a military would be toothless and vulnerable to anyone who wanted to carve it apart. It might even become an even larger dumping ground for malcontents and bandits than before, with no central authority to guide or restrain them. “And the Alliance of Light?”
Gorfeld paused. “They believe the kingdom is a corrupting influence, one that will never be solved. They would rather be rid of us forever. Exile, extermination, it doesn’t matter how. We would be reduced to wanderers or gravestones, in the end.”
The words brought a chill to Matt’s blood, and he resisted the urge to shiver. It was the kind of brutal theory that people had put into practice throughout history, and he could only imagine how much worse it would be in a place where the differences between people were so much easier to define. He looked around and nodded. “All the more important that we keep that from happening, then. Wouldn’t you say?”
His steward glanced up at him and then looked ahead. The crude stone walls of the barracks came into view, wedged up against the city walls. “Of course, sire.” He then muttered something under his breath that Matt couldn’t quite hear. It was easy to imagine it was some kind of hope that Matt knew what he was doing.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Time would tell.
The barracks was a crowded, foul-smelling place, but Matt could tell it had started out with a sort of severe logic behind it. It was the home of the Crown Guard, the official army under his direct command. They were made up of Low Folk, not nobles, but their service guaranteed them a certain amount of respect that their fellow freeholders did not always enjoy. These particular soldiers were trusted with protecting Redspire itself from attack, as well as keeping usurpers from taking the throne. Placing those soldiers close to the walls meant they wouldn’t need to travel far to start their patrols, or to leave the city on a mission close by.
At the same time, whoever had designed the place had apparently ignored the fact that they were right near a large public latrine. The smell was putrid, and Matt gagged a little as an errant gust of wind intensified the stench slightly too much. “Gorfeld?”
“Yes, sire?”
“Tell me that the well they draw water from is upwind of…that.”
“It is, sire.” Then the Imp frowned. “Though not by far, I suppose. There are only so many places to draw water from, unless they take it from the river itself.” Gorfeld made a face, showing his opinion of that option.
Matt quickly rearranged the order for his building projects in his mind. Clearly, some things would need to be attended to first, if he was going to avoid having almost constant bouts of plague among his most loyal troops. He was still rearranging things as he rode slowly into the courtyard.
It was a wide, open space where there had been flagstones laid down and a set of stables built. They differed from the stables at the palace; here, the beasts were all serious and less friendly. Nelson grunted a little as a couple Wargs glanced in his direction and licked their chops. Matt gave them a level stare, and the giant dogs turned away to examine something else.
Soldiers and servants half-filled the space, walking back and forth on some errand or another. Matt hoped it was something related to the mobilization orders he’d given earlier in the day, but it was hard for him to tell. At the very least, he could see a half dozen supply wagons being filled with food and water barrels. It was a good sign at least somebody was thinking of logistics.
One of the Goblins—a Copperflame, by his bronze skin—who had been supervising the loading caught sight of Matt and dismissed the others he had been talking to. The officer came over to him as Matt dismounted and snapped to attention when Matt turned to look at him. “Captain Snolt, sire. At your service, sire.”
He delivered the words in a gruff, reluctant growl, one that Matt could easily imagine the soldier had practiced repeatedly. Matt nodded casually to him, handing Nelson’s reins off to Gorfeld to hold. “At ease, Captain. I’m happy that you could fit me into your schedule today.”
“Of course, sire.” A hint of impatience crossed Snolt’s features, but the Goblin still managed to bury his frustration. “If you would follow me, sire?”
Matt nodded again and went trailing after the captain. Gorfeld looked momentarily frustrated at being left behind, but the steward wasn’t going to be privy to all of Matt’s plans. He would just have to get used to that idea. Hopefully, he wouldn’t end up regretting inviting Matt to stay, but that was the Imp’s problem, not his.
He was still smiling at the thought when he saw a series of Orcs pile out of the barracks. They wore wooden armor, clearly some kind of training set, and carried stiff wooden swords, with a small amount of padding wrapped around them. Snolt made a beeline towards them, talking quietly.
“The men are eager to leave for the front, of course, but they are a bit worried. Some of them might be under the impression that you haven’t seen much battle, sire.”
“They’re correct.” Matt tried not to notice the shocked look the soldier gave him. “All the same, I am the one who killed the Red Sorceress, and I’ll be the one to lead them to victory in the east. Are we going to have enough supplies for the trip?”
The Goblin recovered enough to answer, though he seemed like he was having to fight back a truly impressive amount of swearing. “Yes, sire. You asked for us to have enough for a four-week campaign, correct? Along with the usual supplies for the fort?”
Matt nodded. Those supplies were important in more ways than one, especially since Tek would know where they were going and when. It would be an irresistible target. “Good. And the banners I requested are all ready to go?”
“They are, sire.” Snolt hesitated. “Some of them might need a bit more time to prepare themselves, though. We weren’t expecting to leave so quickly.”
“Speed is important, Captain Snolt. So is readiness.” Matt gave him a steady look. “Let the other five banners of the Guard know that they should also be ready to march at a moment’s notice. You and the others got the draw this time, but they could just as easily be next, and I don’t want anyone to catch you napping.”
Snolt grimaced despite himself. “Yes, sire.” He looked up as one of the Orcs strode over and braced to attention. His dark blue skin marked him as a member of the Coldhearth Low Folk, from what Matt remembered. “This is Sergeant Nikles. He will be helping you with your form today, sire.”
Matt suppressed a smile. ‘Helping with his form’ was a good euphemism for trying to give him basic military training. He’d gotten in plenty of fistfights when he was younger, and had the odd self-defense course drilled into him, but fighting with medieval weaponry was not something he’d ever expected to do. After all, that kind of a fight was what a good pistol was for—but he was a long way from one of those, wasn’t he?
He looked over at the sergeant, who was doing his level best to impersonate a statue with fine military form. The Orc looked like he could lift Matt and maybe use him as a club. Then he glanced back at Snolt and inclined his head slightly. “Thank you, Captain Snolt. I’ll be sure to find you again after.”
The Captain jerked slightly at those last words, then came to attention for a moment. Matt thought he could hear the swearing finally start as the Goblin strode away, but at least Snolt was keeping it under his breath.
When he looked back at Nikles, the Orc looked a little worried now. Nikles glanced down at him and cleared his throat. “The Captain has had a hard morning of it, sire. Please excuse his manner.”
There was something refreshingly honest about the request, and Matt grinned despite himself. “Don’t worry about it, Sergeant. We’ve all had a bit of a rough week.” He glanced at the other Orcs. “What banner are you with?”
Nikles glanced at the others before responding. “The Eighth Spears, sire. We’re going to be with you on the road.” One of the other Orcs muttered something under his breath. Matt ignored it as Nikles continued. “My brother is stationed with the Ninth up at Greymouth. It’ll be good to see him again.”
Matt heard a bit of the worry in the Orc’s voice and gave him as confident a smile as he could. “Yes, I’m sure it will. I’ll do my best to take care of both of you, Sergeant Nikles.” He paused and grimaced a little. “Unfortunately, you’re going to need to try to beat the crap out of me first. Try not to break anything, though. I don’t have that long to heal before we go.”
There was a silence filled with shock and surprise, and then a low roll of chuckles came from the Orcs behind Nikles. The sergeant himself seemed to struggle to hold one in himself, and responded in a strained voice. “I’ll do my best, sire. If you would follow me? They have armor ready for you in a separate space.”
With a sigh and a nod, Matt followed, the Orcs grouping up around him. They headed for a nearby building. He didn’t exactly want an audience for what was going to come next.
The practice sword came up and around with a sound of rushing air. Matt saw it coming, knew there would be no way to avoid it, and braced himself.
It hit him under the arm and knocked the wind straight out of him. He went to one knee almost instantly, sucking air and trying to fight the feeling of dizziness as the pain shot through him. One part of him remembered the feel of his pistol with terrible fondness, but he shoved that aside to focus on staying alive. Air in, air out—that was all he could hope for at the moment.
His opponent, fortunately, didn’t follow through. Instead, the Orc simply stepped back, a grin on his scarred features. He looked back at the rest of the Orcs, who were watching from the sidelines. Some of them gave him gestures of congratulations; others made dismissive waves, as if the victory hardly counted.
Given that Matt hadn’t beaten a single one of his opponents yet, it was hard to blame them. Still, his pride was nearly as battered as his body at this point. He kept sucking in air and looked over to where Nikles was standing.
The sergeant was staring at him thoughtfully, his arms crossed. His companionable demeanor hadn’t kept him from assigning one after another of his men to pummel his king, but then again, that was kind of what Matt wanted to happen. At least it was happening in a small practice room, isolated from the rest of the barracks. Once upon a time the place had been used for storage; now most of the space was dominated by a makeshift ring formed from discarded crates and piles of lumber from some forgotten construction project. Matt could only imagine the impact on morale if he was seen to be so weak in front of the whole army.
Nikles motioned for the Orc to step back, and the soldier obeyed instantly. The sergeant walked up to Matt and examined him a bit more closely. “Are you all right, sire?”
Matt sucked in one more breath, ignoring the pain still lancing from his ribs, and nodded. “Yeah. I can go again.”
“Impressive.” There were a couple of muttered comments from the sidelines, and Nikles gave the others a sharp look. He turned back to Matt. “You’ve taken more of a beating than I expected you to.”
Despite the pain, Matt laughed. “Not…the best compliment, sergeant.”
The Orc raised a hand to scratch at the back of his head. “No, I meant… I apologize, sire. I just meant that anyone who had taken that many hits would probably need to lie down somewhere. You’re tougher than you look.”
Matt shrugged slightly, the ache in his ribs starting to fade. “Either that, or you are all taking it easy on me.”
“Small chance of that, sire.” Nikles snorted. “Captain Snolt let us know you wanted to be challenged. None of us are going to dishonor ourselves by not following through on that.”
“Good to know.” Matt grounded the point of his practice sword in the dirt and used it as a crutch to get back to his feet. He felt at his side a little, trying to draw in a deep breath. Nothing broken, hopefully, but his entire torso felt like one big bruise at this point. “So what suggestions do you have for me, sergeant?”
The Orc glanced around the ring and nodded to himself. He walked over to a pile of weapons sticking out of a barrel. “Well, I’d say you have more than enough stamina and conditioning to hold up in a fight, but you just don’t have the skill needed for something like a sword. Let’s see if something like this would work better for you.”
Nikles pulled out a battered-looking mace and handed it over. Matt took it a little skeptically, looking over the well-worn metal. It stung a little to be told that a basic weapon like a sword was out of reach, but he supposed it made sense. “Any tricks to using one of these?”
“For now? No. Just swing well enough to hit and let the weight batter them down.” Nikles shrugged. “Honestly, the mace is probably better at getting through armor than you might expect. We’ll get one a little less…well-worn than that before we go.”
Matt tried an experimental swing with the thing. He paused and then tried it again. It felt remarkably good, and lighter than he would have expected. “I’d have thought it would be heavier.”
“Doesn’t take a lot of weight to bash a head in.” The Orc picked up a shield and held it up. “All right, let’s see you knock into this for a while. Then we can see about getting you fitted for some real armor.”
By the time they left the barracks an hour later, Matt’s arms were aching along with the various bumps and bruises he’d suffered, but he already felt a little better about his situation. At least he had no illusions about what being in actual combat would be like, and he thought he had started to get the hang of swinging the mace by the end of it. Maybe he wouldn’t cut the most heroic figure, but at least he would manage to get a few licks in if anyone closed in on him.
Nelson and Gorfeld were both waiting on him in the courtyard, and the steward seemed to let out a heavy sigh of relief when he saw them leaving. Matt gave a nod of dismissal to Nikles and his fellow soldiers, and then did his best to stride across the courtyard without limping, wincing, or falling over. Gorfeld met him partway and spoke quietly. “Are you injured, sire?”
“Mostly just my pride. And maybe a little of everything else.” Matt gave the Imp a tight grin. “Did you manage to confirm that they were preparing like they were supposed to?”
Gorfeld nodded, his voice still low. “They are. The Third and Eighth Orcish Spears, the Fourth and Tenth Impish Footmen, and the First Warg Riders are all drilling and packing up. They should all be ready to leave by the date you selected.”
Captain Snolt was the leader of the First Riders, so that meant Matt could enjoy his bright presence during the journey as well. “Excellent. And the other banners?”
Gorfeld glanced around the courtyard, noting the eyes that were following them. He went on after a lengthy pause. “The Second, Seventh and Thirteenth Spears are all far less ready for combat. Same with the Ninth Footmen and the Fourth Warg Riders. They definitely have chosen the best banners available to ride with you.”
Matt glanced over at the Imp. “And their captains?”
The steward gave him a sharp look. “They seem cautious, but loyal. Many are skeptical about the rights you are giving to the freeholders, but the increase in wages you ordered has satisfied them.”
“Good. Let it slip that one of my first priorities is going to be a new barracks for them. That will hopefully keep them from letting their loyalties wander.” Matt hesitated. They’d reached Nelson’s side, and the sudden prospect of swinging himself up into the warbuck’s saddle was discouragingly painful to think about. He sighed and reached for the saddle horn. “Do you think they’d be able to stand up to whatever Tek has in the capital?”
Gorfeld caught the reins as Matt groaned and lurched his way into the saddle. The steward glanced around again. “Maybe. The High Imp only has three banners in the city, but they are all High Guard, which means they have plenty of training and battle magic besides. Under the right circumstances, the Crown Guard might be able to bring them down, but if Tek is given enough time to prepare…”
Matt grunted, and not just from the fire that crawled up his torso. Magic seemed to have a way of interfering with things, but he’d just have to plan for it. “Good to know.” He turned Nelson to head for the exit, giving the nearest soldiers a wave as he went. They nodded respectfully, with a few tentatively touching their hands to their hearts in deference. Most just seemed to watch him as he went.
It was a relief to leave them behind and be back in the streets of Redspire. The crowds were still there, but they seemed even more willing to part before him than they had been before. They’d be back at the palace in no time.
At which point he only had another three days of panicked preparation to go before he launched himself into the middle of a war. No pressure at all.