He woke on the day after they arrived at the Forks and walked out of his tent to find a fairly decent battlefield waiting for him.
Between his magic and the industry of his men, there was a broad section of earthworks that stretched across most of the Forks. Trees had been felled on the opposite side of the earthworks, with some of the smaller trunks being sharpened into stakes and hammered into some of the forward ditches to catch enemies as they charged. He could see some of his men still hard at work, digging up more ground to the south, while others stood at the edges of the dead town and looked out across the field for signs of the enemy.
Karve met him as he started to head for the nearest campfire. The smell of bacon and bread was beckoning him, but he nodded to the Margrave as he drew close. “Good morning, Margrave. How are things progressing?”
The Orc looked around at the progress of the field and the organized chaos of the camp. He snorted. “We’ve come a decent way, sire, but I’d be more comfortable if I knew where the bastard was coming from.”
“Still no news from the scouts?”
“Had a few of them come in this morning, but most seem to be taking their time. Starting to think we should give them explicit orders about how far they need to go in this cursed wetlands.”
Matt gave Karve a grin. “Why Margrave, you sound like you don’t appreciate living in this beautiful swamp! You can’t tell me it isn’t a change of pace from all those crowded cities.”
The sarcasm in Matt’s voice went unnoticed. Karve grimaced. “I’d prefer a place where I could dig a trench without having it fill with water before I get more than an arm’s length into the soil, sire. A warm bed not on the ground would do nicely too.”
Despite himself, Matt laughed. He slapped Karve on the shoulder as they drew near the cookfires. “I can’t say you’re wrong, Margrave, but I’m surprised! I thought Coldhearth Orcs were legendary for their heartiness.”
Karve gave him a cool glance. “Just because I’m tough doesn’t mean I want to suffer, my liege. Besides, anyone who prefers waiting out in the snow for Headhunter Teblas to come find them is a little too far gone to give a command, wouldn’t you say?”
Matt looked at Karve in surprise. “Headhunter Teblas? I didn’t know he had that title.”
The Margrave shrugged. “It’s an unofficial one. Kind of like a nickname, you could say.” Karve stepped up to the chow line and snagged a hunk of bread. “It wasn’t wise to mention it around him. Usually led to a duel, and a quick death.”
“I see.” Matt grabbed his own loaf, smiling in amusement at the awed look on the cook’s face. The camp always seemed to be a bit surprised at the fact that he ate what his men ate. Perhaps they were used to more high-quality supplies, but Matt liked to think that sharing the rations meant his men would feel closer to him—that, and the general rations wouldn’t be as easy to slip poison into. At least, not if they were specifically trying to kill him.
Karve continued in a low voice. “He really did earn that title, by the way. Really likes to go after the enemy leaders.” He gave Matt a level look. “Thank you, again, for making sure I was one of those, by the way.”
Matt smirked. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to miss out on the fun, Karve.”
“So you do remember I have a real name! How nice.”
He was still searching for a reply to his newest Margrave’s jibe when he heard a horn blow from one of the sentries in the abandoned town. Both he and Karve looked at one another. Then they grabbed a bit of bacon and started for the river.
It wasn’t far to jog, even with all the mud and snow. Matt made it while the first echoes of the horn were rolling away across the bright blue sky. The day had begun with an absolutely beautiful morning; there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the sun could be seen clearly through the unclothed branches of the Grim Hollows, brightening the eastern horizon.
Matt only had eyes for the west, however. He saw a scout on a small Warg, riding for everything she was worth across the unbroken snow between the Forks and the deeper forest. There was a whole pack of Orcs on a new kind of beast he hadn’t remembered seeing before, all charging after her. They were like horses, but with flatter, wider faces and a heavier build. Most striking were the pair of horns, gnarled like a goat, but pointed straight forward like a bull. “What are those?”
“Bicorns, sire.” Karve’s voice was grim. He was already gesturing to the nearest soldiers. “They’re what the Leapers ride. Whoever that scout is, she’s found the enemy. We’ll just have to see if…”
His voice trailed off as a double handful of Wargs burst from the lines and crossed the fords. They streamed out across the snow towards the incoming scout. Matt thought he could recognize Snolt and a handful of his Riders from the Royal First, while the rest seemed to be Shadow Hunters who wanted to try to score the first kills of the engagement.
The scout saw them coming, and abandoned her wild dodging pursuit for a full-on sprint towards her rescuers. She wasn’t alone in noticing; behind her, the Leapers put on their own burst of speed, trying to narrow the distance so that they could put their lances and swords to work. It turned into a brutal, uncompromising race, one that would either end in death or redemption.
Matt watched as the Leapers started to draw close, the steam rising from their ugly, powerful mounts—and then suddenly their riders were twisting away from the oncoming Wargs and heading for the trees. For a moment, it seemed like Snolt and the others were going to give chase, but as soon as the Leapers disappeared into the trees, they all curved back and started to lope alongside their smaller cousin that the scout was riding. The whole group slowed to a much more manageable pace, and Matt grinned with triumph at the fact that his soldier had returned safely.
He finished off his breakfast with a quick couple of bites, and then hurriedly wiped his fingers on his surcoat. “Come on. Let’s go see what they’ve found.”
“Their whole army is west of here. Maybe another couple of hours of marching.” Gwelfed seemed half dead where she stood, utterly exhausted by her narrow escape. She grimaced and leaned back against her Warg, which was still flopped flat in the snow. Steam rose from the beast as it panted, its tongue lolling out to try to vent just a little more heat. Matt was no expert, but he could tell that the animal wasn’t going to be useful for much, not for the next few hours, at least.
Gwelfed seemed barely any better, for that matter, but the Grimfen Goblin seemed determined to give her report, no matter the cost. Matt could only appreciate the dedication as she continued.
“I saw at least four banners of archers, and at least two of the cavalry on those bicorns.” She paused, and Matt nodded. Those numbers roughly matched what he’d expected Teblas to have left of his veterans.
Then she caught her breath enough to continue. “There were more than six banners of militia, though. I’d say closer to eight, maybe ten. I couldn’t see the whole army before they caught me. Half of it was tucked away in a valley that I almost missed. Tried to see a bit more, but they came out of the trees, and they nearly had me as it was.”
Matt felt a spark of concern. If Teblas had gathered more forces from somewhere, it made it that much more likely that he would fight instead of running or surrendering. A battle would mean casualties on both sides, casualties that he could ill afford. He needed every soldier, especially with the Alliance only a handful of weeks away from beginning their promised invasion.
Still, he wouldn’t have had a clue about any of it without Gwelfed’s efforts. He forced himself to smile at her. “Thank you, Gwelfed. You’ve more than earned your reputation today.” Snolt was hovering nearby, clearly worried about his scout, and Matt nodded to him as well. “Captain, she’s all yours. If we make it through this, she might just be up for the Award of Valor too.”
Gwelfed perked up at the mention of the Award; at the moment, there were only ten people with the medal to their name, four of whom were dead. He’d handed out those rewards after the battle of Folly’s End, and from what he could tell, every single soldier wanted to be the next to earn both the medal and the coin attached to it. Despite his hopes, Matt was starting to feel like he would need to hand out quite a few more after today’s struggle.
All around him, the soldiers rushing into position. He wanted them to be ready for when Teblas approached the Forks, so that he would give the best and most intimidating perspective of what was waiting for the rebels. If he could shake their confidence early, then it would give him the chance to force some to desert, or maybe even beg Teblas to give up without fighting. Which would be stronger, his courage or his personal loyalty?
There would be only one way to find out.
Teblas’ forces arrived at the Forks only three hours later—slightly slower than Gwelfed’s estimate, but perhaps the Leaffall Orcs were a little slow to rise that day. Either that, or maybe Teblas had waited for his patrol to come back and report on what they had found. Matt had actually been worried that the Orcs would run when they heard about his army waiting for them, but luckily it appeared Teblas was still the brave and bold leader he’d read about. Rebel or not, he wasn’t going to withdraw without at least facing Matt’s forces.
The Orcs remained in the trees, lining up in a formal wall. Matt could pick out the veterans easily enough; the ones riding bicorns stood out the most, their beasts tall and dark amid the snowy undergrowth. Defiants were a bit harder to tell apart; aside from their longbows and heraldry, they didn’t seem all that much different from the unruly mobs of militia that had accompanied them.
Unfortunately, Gwelfed hadn’t been exaggerating their numbers after all. If anything, she’d guessed low. There were at least ten banners of the peasant-soldiers lined up across from the Forks, their mixture of weapons and armor brandished against the clear blue sky. None of them seemed too worried about the forces facing them, but maybe the relative weight of the armies hadn’t sunk in yet.
Additional militia or no, Teblas was still outnumbered, and greatly outclassed. He’d be facing nearly two-to-one odds, and the grand majority of his troops would be peasants without the magic and equipment of Matt’s more veteran forces. The rebel might hope for a strike that somehow allowed him to kill Matt and demoralize his army, but it would be a thin strategy to lean on. Matt sat on Nelson at the center of his lines and waited, hoping to see some sign that Teblas was either trying to withdraw or give up the fight.
Then, as if to give him a spark of hope, a bicorn rider stepped forward from Teblas’ lines.
The Orc carried a plain grey banner. Apparently, grey had taken the place of a white flag in this world; too many heraldries used white for it to be recognized consistently. Matt saw the Orc dismount about halfway between the lines, and plant the flagpole in the soft earth. It took a few moments to make sure that it would stay upright, and then the Orc was riding back to his own lines.
Matt watched for a few more moments, recognizing the gesture. Teblas wanted to parlay. At the very least, he wanted to speak to Matt, which was more than most of his opponents had done so far. A part of him was instantly suspicious; killing a King under parlay was almost as old as a parlay itself. At the same time, Headhunter Teblas had never broken parlay in his whole life. Would he start now, on this cold winter morning?
He shook his head. “Margrave Karve, send out our own banner. We’ll see what the traitor has to say.”
Karve nodded and gave the order. Then he looked at Matt with concern. “You have the right to bring your lifeguard, my liege. Them and a few others, I’m sure.”
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“Let’s keep it to four lifeguards, you, and myself, Margrave.” Matt smiled a little to himself. “And let’s try not to start anything while we are out there. I’ll tell the lifeguard to ignore any snakes at the very least.”
The Orc’s expression was a bit baffled; apparently, the legends of King Arthur hadn’t made it to this world somehow. Matt turned his eyes back to the banner, wondering what it really represented. Was it a sign of peace, or merely a formality before the war truly began? Either way, he suspected that the day would be one to remember.
Teblas was already waiting for Matt by the time his party was organized and set out across the snow.
The Orc had ridden out with eight companions of his own, which led to an immediate argument among Matt’s own advisors. Karve was a clear shoo-in for attendance, but Lady Einreth had argued for the right to meet the man as well. She’d been denied the right to confront her brother’s murderer when Karve had killed Lady Suluth. Einreth didn’t want to miss the chance to face the one that had wounded Braden in the first place.
Matt had finally agreed, under the condition that she not bring a weapon along. Several captains had argued for the right to attend as well—notably, Snolt had not been among them—but Matt turned them down. Instead, he decided to bring along six of his lifeguard, all of whom were suddenly intent on making sure that all of their weapons and magic were ready to strike.
They didn’t think his joke about the snake was funny either.
As Matt approached, still riding Nelson, Teblas finished setting up the tent he’d brought with him. It wasn’t a very big one, but it was enough to give a bit of shelter from the sun. The same pair of servants that had set up the tent had also brought a pair of chairs and a table; they set them up and then retreated into the back of the tent as Matt dismounted. Teblas’ other six companions had simply watched, the hoods of their cloaks drawn up to conceal their faces.
Matt spent a moment checking over Nelson, making sure the warbuck was comfortable. After all, it looked likely that the meeting would take quite a bit of time. Karve remained mounted; at the first sign of trouble, the Margrave would ride back to the lines and take command of the army. Two of the lifeguard remained with him, holding the reins of the various mounts and watching the servants from afar.
The other four accompanied Matt and Lady Einreth as they walked up the small hill to meet their enemy.
Teblas, as he had during Matt’s coronation, wore dueling armor. This time, however, it looked far, far more functional. The set he’d worn at the coronation had already seen hard use, but this version had clearly been designed for heavy combat—and used extensively in that role ever since. The Orc himself was heavily built, and he watched Matt approach from behind the grill of his helmet.
Matt reached up and took off his helmet. He stared at Teblas a moment and then handed it to one of his lifeguards. “I don’t suppose you’d agree to a handshake, Lord Teblas.”
Teblas, standing beside the chair opposite Matt, tilted his head a little. Then he laughed, a harsh bark of incredulous hatred. “Why not?”
The Orc extended his hand, and the figures on both sides of the meeting tensed. Matt raised an eyebrow and took Teblas’ hand. There was a terrible strength behind the Orc’s grip as they shook, but it didn’t seem like Teblas tried to crush his fingers. A minor point in the man’s favor.
“Well. You aren’t as weak as you once were.”
The compliment almost took Matt off guard. He smiled. “I’m glad you think so.”
They released each other, and then sat, the wooden chairs creaking beneath them. For a long moment, they studied one another. Matt thought through the various ways he’d want to start the conversation. The arguments he’d use to convince the man to give up his rebellion, to spare his men the battle, to conserve all the strength of both sides to fight the Alliance. If he could just be persuasive enough…
Then Teblas spoke first. “Were the messengers false, then? Or have you really begun a campaign against the Copper Hills?”
Matt considered lying and recognized the lack of gain in it. “They were honest, Lord Teblas. Margrave Morteth is leading his forces against your home as we speak.”
Teblas tilted his head to the other side. “Margrave? I’d heard of this title, but I do not know it.”
“It is a way that I honor those of my people who excel in war. They are my advisors in combat.” He neglected to mention Karve’s new title. Despite his teasing before, he didn’t actually want his new Margrave in Teblas’ crosshairs. “Morteth proved himself against our other enemies.”
“Other than me, you mean.” Teblas leaned forward, the chair creaking beneath him. “That’s why you are here. Because we are enemies, and you wish to kill me.”
Matt shook his head. “I don’t wish to kill you, Teblas. I never did.” Teblas leaned back, his posture shouting contempt. “You’ve made it necessary for me to do so. I warned you when I took the throne. I cannot allow you to rebel and suffer no consequence.”
Teblas had straightened up again at the words. He glanced at the others in the tent. “So we will fight.”
“A wise man once said, ‘the supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.’” Matt leaned forward and tapped the table in front of him. “You can see the field as well as I can. I have twice your numbers, and I am ready to fight you here today. If we fight, men on both sides will die. You won’t escape, and your friends and companions will be slaughtered.”
Across from him, Teblas folded his arms. “I see no way around that result, tyrant.”
Matt ignored the epithet. “Whatever you think I am, I am not a bloodthirsty monster, Teblas. I do not want to kill your men. If anything, I want them to stand with me against our enemies in the Alliance.”
Teblas cocked his head to the side again. A hint of humor had filled his tone. “The Alliance?”
“I’ve already made peace with the Coalition, and the Noble Races agreed to a truce, but the Alliance still seeks our destruction. Until I can stop them, all our homes are in danger.” Matt shook his head. “What good does it do me to kill men who could help me defend their lands from invasion? Why should I punish men whose leaders led them astray?”
He saw Teblas slowly clench his fists, heard the armor creak gently. “So, what do you propose? That we all just join with you against the Alliance?”
“No.” Matt shook his head. “You surrender. Your men will be given parole, and likely called to help defend the Kingdom against the invasion. Your serfs will be made freeholders, sworn to the Kingdom and not the nobility, just the same as I’ve done in Winterfast. They receive enough land to make them independent and free.”
“Free from all except for you.” Teblas uncrossed his arms and leaned forward again. His bulk seemed to loom over Matt, and anger filled his voice. “And what would you do with me, tyrant? Would you swear me to your service, the way you would the serfs?”
Matt looked back at him. Once again, a convenient lie was possible… but he thought that neither of them would really have any use for it. “You would be taken to the Tower of Blood. The Great Council would decide your fate.”
Teblas snorted. “That pack of mangeflies would sentence me to death just for a nod from you. We both know that. Why should I let you smash me down the way you did Old Tek?”
“That depends.” Matt glanced at the servants at the back of the tent. “How many of your men are you going to kill defying that fate? How many more of my men are you going to murder with your stubbornness?”
“Murder? You speak to me of murder?” Teblas’ voice nearly trembled with rage. Matt couldn’t easily see his face, but he imagined the Orc’s features twisted with hatred. “You have murdered your way across our Kingdom, outsider! How many of the leaders of the High Clans still live now? How many have you arranged to die, for your convenience?”
It was a fairly uncomfortable question, actually. In all honesty, only Nuramesh and Grufen were left, and only one of them was still the leader of their Clan. The others had all either been assassinated, killed in combat, or executed.
Matt grimaced. “Had they been loyal, they would all have lived. Had they not plotted to murder and rebel and betray, they would have lived. Do not hold me responsible for their decisions, Teblas—or for yours.”
Teblas laughed, a low, mocking sound. “Oh, a pretty lie, tyrant. Truly.” He turned his attention to Einreth, who had been staring at him with a fixation that would have worried Matt if she had her sword at hand. “Did you hear, Lady Einreth? Your brother would have survived if he had been more loyal! Surely it was his lack of fidelity that cost him his life.”
Einreth offered him a thin smile. “My brother was not a perfect man, Lord Teblas, and neither are you. I don’t claim perfection either, but I have seen the good our King has done. That is worth forgiving a few misguided words—and a few mistaken offers of lenience.”
The bite in her words appeared to have no effect on the rebel. “I see. Well, I suppose that is fair enough.” Teblas turned back to Matt, his voice growing lower and less amused. “She doesn’t seem amused that you would spare me an instant judgment, tyrant. Perhaps she will be the next to feel the weight of your expectations?”
He pushed away the burst of anger he felt. “This isn’t about Lady Einreth, Teblas. She has proved her own loyalty to the Kingdom. It isn’t her that is facing the results of her own decisions. You are.”
“And should you escape your own punishments, murderer?” Teblas leaned forward abruptly, in a way that made the lifeguards tense. “You killed her. You murdered our true ruler. Your whole reign is based in blood, and you pretend to offer mercy now?”
It was the core of the problem, and one that Matt was beginning to feel he was powerless to solve. Teblas had not just been the Red Sorceress’ lover; he’d actually cared for her, a genuine love. Whether or not she’d reciprocated, he’d loved her.
And Matt had gunned her down next to a shipping container on Earth.
He forced himself to speak carefully. “I had little choice there, either. She was threatening a boy’s life. She threatened my life. I had no intention to kill anyone that night. Should I have laid down and died because she wished me to?”
Matt saw the trap just a moment too late. Teblas pointed a finger at him in victory. “And should I not refuse the same choice, tyrant? You would have me lay down my life for a chance at mercy. Why should I let you kill me when you refused to do the same?”
Anger speared through him. “Because you would save the lives of your people, Teblas. I wouldn’t have saved anyone by dying that night, but you could save hundreds, maybe thousands, right now.”
Teblas shook his head. “Every single one of my men has sworn to follow the course I charted. They are as committed to my cause as I am to theirs. None of us will submit to your tyranny, none of us will fight for your Kingdom of Iron. Not now, not ever.”
A sense of resignation welled up inside of Matt. He fought it down, as well as the anger at Teblas’ stubborn frustration. “So you remain committed, then. I am sorry to hear that.”
The rebel glanced back at the robed figures once more. His words held more than a hint of smirking triumph now. “I’m sure you are. Now, if you have nothing else to say—”
Then Matt leaned forward, placing his clenched fist on the table. “Then if you are not willing to surrender, are you willing to do something else for your people? I challenge you to a duel. The loser’s army surrenders.”
His words seemed to paralyze every person in the shade of the tent. Matt thought he could hear the members of his lifeguard cursing internally. Einreth actually took a step forward, reaching for him. He looked back at her, and she stopped, dropping her hand to her side.
Teblas was staring at him, frozen in apparent shock. Matt didn’t know how much information Teblas had gained about his magical abilities, or his progress as a fighter, but he had to know that Matt had managed to win every fight he’d been in so far. Maybe he had the same impression those idiots in Heartlight had suffered from, that he was some weak puppetmaster that could be crushed as necessary. If so, he could be convinced to make the same mistake—and Matt would promptly drop him into the deepest hole he could make, right in front of both armies.
The silence continued, so Matt broke it again. “How about it, Headhunter Teblas? Do you want to avenge your Sorceress or not? If you think I’m such a tyrant and a coward, hiding behind his armies, then here’s your chance. Come kill me, one on one, and no one else has to die.”
He could see the rebel starting to come out of his shock now, could see the anger and pride warring their way to the top. Teblas would take the chance; he’d never seen Matt as a warrior, not during the coronation, and not after. The Orc would relish the chance to break him, to collect another head for his lost love, and overthrow the Kingdom in one cut of his sword. Matt watched him start to lean forward, sensed him opening his mouth to accept.
Then one of the cloaked figures behind him spoke in a voice that carried an accent that Matt felt was both familiar and strange. “No. We cannot accept this.”
Incredulous, Matt turned his attention to those figures. Then he paused. Why couldn’t he see inside their hoods from this range? Why were their figures so indistinct?
As his suspicions began to form, Teblas twisted around and threw himself out of the chair. It clattered to the ground as he snarled at the figures. “You cannot accept? What do you—”
“You recall the meaning of our assistance, Orc?” The figure shook her head, her voice twisting with contempt. “I will not permit you to throw aside this opportunity for your own pride.”
Teblas took a step towards them, his fists clenched. “You do not believe that I could win? Are you insane? He’s just a fool!”
“A fool who has slaughtered the Noble Races and convinced the West to bow to his wishes? Who has killed or arranged the deaths of four of your High Clan leaders, and secured the loyalty of the others, or their heirs? No. I don’t trust his offer of a fair duel, and neither should you.”
Matt slowly rose from his own chair, an alarm bell ringing in his head. “And who are you, my lady? I don’t think Teblas has introduced us.”
“He has not.” Amusement laced her tone, and he could feel the eyes inside that dark hood regarding him calmly. “I believe he was waiting for a more opportune moment. Perhaps your time has come, Lord Teblas?”
The mocking way the woman put a twist on Teblas’ title made Matt’s stomach twist. Teblas glared at the woman for a moment longer, and then turned partially back to Matt, his posture still shouting frustration and rage.
“Tyrant, it is not I that is outnumbered and outmaneuvered here. May I introduce my new, esteemed… allies from the South. They are princes and princesses of the Alliance of Light, come with their banners to help free us from your oppression.”
As Teblas spoke, the illusions fell away. They revealed a pair of Knights, a pair of Wizards, a Dwarf and an Elf, all of whom were smiling at Matt. Contempt and hatred marked their expressions, and Teblas turned his back on them to face Matt fully.
“They have promised me the freedom and protection of my home, tyrant… and in token of that…”
He signaled to one of the servants, who blew on a whistle of some kind. As he did, a ripple of fading illusions washed over the armies on the hill. Behind and around the Orcs were banners of Knights, Wizards, Dwarves and Elves, all ready and prepared for war. Matt felt his stomach drop as he counted those forces.
Matt had thought he was facing sixteen banners with thirty-one. Now, he was facing at least forty.
Obviously, his situation had changed.
Teblas studied his expression, and a kind of satisfaction entered his tone. “We will allow you a few hours to decide whether you will make the same noble choice you offered me. Surrender, you and all your troops, and we might let you live. If not, then you will suffer. For all your murders, all your crimes, and all your lies.”
“Go now, and make the best decision, for both you and all your people.”