They set out early the next morning, while the fallen snow was still fresh on the roads. A blanket of white softened everything, from the rooftops of Redspire to the battlements of the outer walls. The mounts of his lifeguard struggled through the powder regardless, with Nelson forging ahead of the pack. A small crowd of the citizens had gathered to see him off; many of them cheered and shouted, despite the early hour, and Matt waved back at them with his mace.
It wasn’t the worst way to start the journey east, but the snow made things so much harder that Matt started to regret making the choice to come personally after only a few hours. They were taking the road that had led them out to the battle of Folly’s End, but the snow seemed so much worse now. If he hadn’t been riding Nelson, the snow would have been up to his hip. As it was, the warbuck was having to step high as it made its way forward, occasionally bulldozing through a thicker snowdrift in order to keep making progress.
The Wargs that some of his lifeguard were riding made better progress, but not by much. Their paws were still heavy enough to break through the crust of the snow, and they were smaller than the warbucks, which meant the snow came up higher on their legs. Matt was quickly grateful for the fact that the previous snowfall had left the sky clear; a bright blue sky and mild sun mocked them as they floundered along the path. An occasional gust of frigid wind did not improve things, especially since it seemed to fling stinging snowdust into his eyes when he least expected it.
By the end of the first day, he was revising his estimates of their progress. It wasn’t going to be quite as easy a trip; he was probably looking at closer to five days than three to reach the Imp capitol. The only comfort to it was the fact that anyone who wanted to come after him was going to have a terrible time trying to chase him down. Speed just wasn’t going to happen in such poor conditions.
At the very least, he wasn’t on the journey alone. He had taken twenty of his lifeguard this time, leaving twelve of them behind to guard Tanya and recover from wounds they’d taken. Two of the ones left behind had actually been sick with some kind of cough. He hoped they hadn’t had enough time to spread it to the others before they’d gone, but most of them seemed to be fine so far.
They camped on the road that first day, settling into a small campsite as darkness fell over the forest surrounding them. It had been tempting to try to light torches or magelights and press forward, but in such awful conditions, it was like asking for an accident of some kind. All it would take is a Warg or warbuck to slip, and then they’d be moving even slower to accommodate the injured.
The lifeguard had still been kind enough to pack his folding table, and Matt had spent some time going over the mantras and Spell Chants he carried with him. He could feel the Mind portion of his foundation settling into place, day by day. Just a little more time, and he’d have completed his first Source. Then he’d have to see how useful magic could be, after all.
Of course, it wasn’t just magic he was studying. He’d packed every map he could find of the border between the Copper Hills and the High Peaks. It was a sparsely populated, primeval place, one dominated by glacier-carved ravines and dense forests. There were practically no settlements or strongholds in the area, but there didn’t need to be; a single banner guarding the only bridge over a steep ravine was as good as a fortress. Not ideal for an attacker, going either direction. That terrain was probably one reason Teblas hadn’t tried to go north and hook up with the Nobles Races, instead of pushing west.
Still, difficult did not mean impossible, and he had to hope there was a way to put pressure on the Leaffalls. He didn’t need a successful invasion. Just one that seemed threatening enough to bring Teblas out of the snake pit where he was currently hiding.
He spent a couple of hours studying those notes, going back and forth between maps and magic, until fatigue dragged him to his blankets.
The next two days were more or less the same. As the terrain grew steeper and the mountains closer, Matt continued to lead his lifeguard east. Luckily, the weather held; no further snow seemed ready to drop loads of misery on his small company. There weren’t many travelers along the roads to share the journey, either. It appeared most of the villages in the area remained abandoned, thanks to their evacuations during the invasion of the Noble Races. Matt caught sight of several clusters of burned buildings, places that Hethwellow’s troops had burned during the campaign that had led to Folly’s End. He wondered how many of the inhabitants were gone forever, and how many would return when the weather began to warm.
Not that there seemed any risk of that change anytime soon. The chill grew worse as they continued east, with the wind beginning to cut straight through his cloak, armor, and the padded clothes beneath it all. Those cold knives of air seemed to make even the hardiest Coldhearth Orc shiver, but the lifeguard continued on their way without complaint. None of them seemed inclined to do much more of anything than study the forest for signs of threat and coax their mounts to greater efforts to stay with him.
It occurred to him that he didn’t know much about the men and women who had devoted themselves to his protection. He knew they were loyal and discreet; each of them had been carefully selected, and Gorfeld had made sure that none of them were obvious spies from the Council. All the same, he’d never really tried to get to know them before now, possibly because he’d felt it was unhelpful if he had to choose to send them into danger. Would he have been able to use them as bait for the Frost Elves if he had known them better?
He started to watch them, trying to pick up on their relationships and what they were like. Surely they weren’t all a bunch of grim-faced warriors, right?
At that point, he started to notice how…separate they all were. The Orcs didn’t really talk to the Goblins, the Goblins and the Imps stayed in their own bunches. Those who were Low Folk reacted with barely concealed suspicion to those of the High Clans; the lifeguards from the High Clans seemed to hold their supposed lessers in contempt, despite their martial abilities. Divisions were everywhere among the lifeguard, now that he was looking. At best, they occasionally shared tasks, but outside of that, it seemed almost like they seemed as suspicious of each other as they were of the surrounding terrain.
It was the kind of behavior that might have been useful for a paranoid dictator, but it was less than good for someone who wanted a team of cooperative, heavily armed soldiers between him and the next threat. They’d be able to catch each other if one of them turned out to be a traitor, but if someone from the outside hit them, they’d work far less well.
In a way, it was like a microcosm of the entire Kingdom. Red Moons distrusted High Imps, High Imps suspected Goldplains, Goldplains watched Blackleafs, and so on down the line. None of them trusted one another, and all they did was bicker and compete. The Great Council saw some of them make temporary alliances, but if Matt died, who was going to keep them from launching themselves into another civil war over the next leader? How long would they even wait before the next round of revolutions and assassinations would begin?
Those thoughts drove him into introspection as they settled in for the next camp. His maps didn’t hold his attention, and he lacked the focus to concentrate on the mantras of the Mind. He had taken the throne with the goal of forging a society that could live on without him, without any King. How could he accomplish that without hammering them together as a single society, as a nation instead of a fragmented collection of rivals?
It was a problem that continued to haunt him as they drew closer to Ashpeak, and the mountains rose before him.
He still hadn’t landed on a solution, not before the road crested yet another painfully snow-covered hill, and he saw the city of Ashpeak nestled in the cliffs ahead of him.
Unlike Summerhall, Ashpeak was a far larger and older settlement, a city that had been carved into a step of the mountainside by some ancient tribe now lost to the histories that remained. Where Summerhall had been crushed and layered on top of itself by the need to stay contained within the hillforts and walls, Ashpeak was a place that hinted at glorious days now past, with sweeping ramparts and grand buildings that now seemed to be left vacant. There were close to twenty thousand Imps living in a city of old ruins that could easily have fit five times that many.
The signs of that forgotten glory still remained everywhere, most especially in the waterfall that cascaded down the side of the city. Some ancient artificer had channeled the flow of the Ashen River down the side of the mountain, convincing it to flow out from a crevasse right next to the city. It leapt and tumbled down the ridges, where it powered gigantic wheels that in turn drove dozens of ancient devices within the city. As Matt approached the ancient, grey stone walls, he could see that the edges had been softened and molded by erosion over thousands of rainfalls. Snow had been cleared from the walltops, but there were far fewer troops patrolling the barrier than he would have expected. How much of the wall was completely undefended because there simply weren’t enough troops to protect it?
As he and his lifeguard approached the enormous gates, he saw some of the Imps above shouting to one another and pointing in his direction. The gates were open already, and a steady stream of people were passing through them. Matt examined the elaborately forged doors, seeing the evidence of delicate inscriptions that had been worn almost smooth by time.
An Imp came running from the gates, her face flushed with exertion. “Sire! We were…not expecting you…to come!”
Matt smiled pleasantly. “I can see that. I trust that Margrave Morteth is still here?”
The Imp nodded, her breath still coming in gasps and pants. “Yes, sire. He is…still here.”
“Good. I’d like to speak with him as soon as possible.” He paused and glanced around at his lifeguard. “I’d also like a place for me and my companions to stay for a day or two. Would that be possible?”
The question seemed to baffle the woman, and she gaped at him for a few moments before she managed to respond. “I…believe so, sire. If you would follow me?”
There were a few chuckles throughout the lifeguard, and he heard a few of them trading jokes at the poor Imp’s expense. Matt could guess that most rulers hadn’t really asked permission for a place to stay, so it was probably extremely odd to do so.
All the same, it would be interesting to see how the local nobility responded. By not demanding a place, he’d given them the opportunity to compete for his favor a little. Lord Torth’s family might claim the right to house him, seeing that his House had leadership of the High Imps at the moment, but the others might try to lure him away. Others might ignore his request to show their independence, or even hostility towards him.
Of course, Tek’s former House was probably not going to welcome him with open arms. He’d not only executed their former head, he’d also crippled their power and allowed Lord Torth and House Ndai to usurp their place. House Kerall would probably be one to watch while he was in the city; Suluth wasn’t the only one capable of sending assassins, after all.
Matt led Nelson and the lifeguards through the gates of Ashpeak, passing through the gatehouse and onto a relatively narrow path that wound its way up the side of the small plateau where the rest of the city was located. He could see guardposts and a second wall curling around the cliff overhead; anyone who breached the first walls would find themselves trying to climb the incline while being assaulted from above the whole way. It was not a small trip, either; Matt was starting to get a picture of why some of his advisors had claimed the defenses around Redspire were nothing particularly special.
Carts and other travelers passed by them in both directions. The carts entering the city appeared to be weighed down with food or unsmelted ore, with the ones carrying the latter often being driven by Gnomes. Those leaving seemed to be loaded with weapons, armor, or other manufactured goods. He’d known that much of the trade to the city consisted of raw materials to be refined in Impish workshops, but seeing the evidence of the fact leant the city just a bit more importance in his mind. He was suddenly very glad that he hadn’t allowed Hethwellow anywhere near the place. Losing the source of his Kingdom’s weapon production would have made recruitment a nightmare for his armies.
Eventually, they finally completed their curving climb to the level of the city, and found themselves at a second, far better maintained gatehouse. This one rose high above the road, and there were two sets of doors, one on each side of the small fort. As Matt rode through, he glanced up and saw murderholes, just as there had been at Summerhall, though this time the sides also had firing slits for Imps that carried crossbows.
Luckily, none of the defenders appeared to have murder on their mind, because he and his lifeguard rode through unmolested. Their guide continued to lead them deeper into the city, weaving her way through the thickening crowds with the confidence of a born native. It appeared the population of the city had packed themselves into a narrow slice of the old buildings rather than spreading out across the ruins; from a certain standpoint it made sense, but Matt wondered how many people were squatting in the ruins of old temples and corroding mansions while supposedly rich merchants crowded together in cramped inns here.
After several winding streets, the guide led them to a short, sturdy looking building that had been constructed right up against the wall. Matt thought it looked a little like an old, formerly broken tower; he could see a difference between the old, worn stones at the bottom and the newer, less expertly fitted ones at the top. Whatever its history, the place appeared to be part of the garrison, and Morteth’s personal livery was hung from the pole over the door.
Matt smiled as he led Nelson into the stable beside the place. Imp courtiers streamed forward to take the reins, and although the warbuck snorted and stomped at them, the servants soothed him with the offer of an apple and a dry place to lie down. His lifeguard gave up their mounts as well, though many of them were grumbling under their breath. Several were stealing suspicious looks as the animals were led away, as if they expected an ambush to happen at any moment.
He sighed at the continuing signs of distrust and led the way into the building. There was something he had come here to do, after all, and it would be better to get it done quickly, before all the nobles started to descend on him.
Matt found Morteth in the main hall of the garrison building, watching as a pair of High Guard warriors dueled in a cleared space in front of him.
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The others in the room were giving the contest a wide berth, and it quickly became clear why. Both Imps were armed with the traditional swordstaffs that all High Guard carried, but that wasn’t the primary danger they posed to both each other and the observers around them. Though the blades flashed and stabbed, the real duel was being fought with far more explosive tools.
Fire burst from their hands and sword tips, lashing across the space they moved through. Matt winced as one errant shot washed across the floor towards a crowd of servants, but a ring set into the stone shimmered to life, and the fire died out before it crossed the barrier. Another blast nearly reached the ceiling, but something that looked like a dome dispelled the magic before it hit.
With evidence that the errant magic was being contained, Matt leaned closer to watch the two Imps struggle against each other. They didn’t tend to block very much unless they were fending off an actual physical attack, and even then they preferred to dodge to one side and counterattack instead. Flames missed by the barest of margins, but they did miss, and neither combatant appeared to shy away from the fight as they continued to strike at each other, looking for an opening.
He remembered, as he watched the display, that the original name for the High Imps had been the Firebloom Clan, a name they still occasionally used to refer to themselves. It was obvious they had earned the name, and the intensity that they all had as they watched the duel told him that the High Guard all took their magic just as seriously as both Morteth and Vumorth had when they marched with him.
Matt looked around the room and found Vumorth, standing just a short distance from Morteth. The Captain of the High Guard that had been with him at Folly’s End had accompanied Morteth to the east, intending to more or less act as his personal guard while he supervised the eastern border. Neither Imp had reported any problems—though he did notice that she was wearing a talisman around her neck. It was the equivalent of a marriage ring in Imp culture, if he remembered right, and Matt smiled when he remembered the favor he’d done her. Apparently, the newly ennobled Imp had made an honest Imp out of her as soon as the title came through.
Morteth looked over and blinked as he recognized Matt. He came to his feet smoothly, and the Imps in the dueling circle suddenly faltered. They separated and went to one knee, their swordstaffs planted butt first in the stone. Their leader spoke in a voice used to calling commands across a battlefield.
“You have both fought well, and your skills have greatly improved. It appears you have had an additional honor—you have displayed your skills before our King! Welcome, sire, to Ashpeak.”
Matt stepped forward as a ripple of surprise went through the onlookers. He smiled. “Thank you, Margrave Morteth. I’m sorry to have dropped in unannounced.”
“Nonsense! We ever stand ready to serve you.” Morteth bowed, a gesture echoed by every warrior in the rest of the room, except for the lifeguard. His personal escort stayed standing and continued to search the room for threats instead as Morteth straightened. “May I ask why you have come? Is there trouble in the capital?”
Muttering broke out among the Imps, and Matt hurriedly shook his head. The last thing he needed was a rumor spreading that things were falling apart in the middle of the Kingdom. “No, actually, things are going well there. The Noble Races are paying their tribute, the Western Coalition has signed a peace treaty, and the rebels in Winterfast have surrendered. Our Kingdom is prospering against its foes, and I know that a large part of our success is owed to the steadfast guardians who live here.”
The news wasn’t earth-shattering—there had to have been messengers or bards that had carried the tale ahead of his arrival—but it was apparently still fresh enough to cause more murmurs to spread through the crowd. This time, they seemed more excited than worried, though, and Matt thought he saw a handful of servants breaking off from huddles to go spread the word.
Morteth, for his part, seemed to sway a little in shock. He spoke in a near-whisper, barely audible above the rising mutters. “Peace? An actual treaty?”
Matt nodded. “Yes, Margrave, an actual treaty.” Then he went on in a slightly louder voice, trying to be heard above the chatter. “Unfortunately, our work is not yet done, and I have work for you and your brave troops to do. Can we speak?”
The question was not really one that Morteth could refuse, but the Imp still shook off his dazed expression and nodded. “Of course, my liege. If you would follow me?”
He gestured for Vumorth and another High Guard Captain to follow him and then led the way out of the main hall. Matt smiled, stalking after them before the crowd could get excited enough to start asking for handshakes. His lifeguard formed an unsmiling wall between him and the rest of the room, but the crowd mostly parted to let him through, anyway. A few quick strides had him catch up to Morteth in the corridor just outside the hall.
Morteth slowed enough that Matt drew up alongside him easily. The old Imp gave a lifeguard a raised eyebrow when the Orc tried to step between them, and Matt gestured for the guard to fall back. “Thank you, sire. Your arrival is… unexpected.”
“I know, I know.” Matt shook his head. “I saw an opportunity to force things to change, and I didn’t want to miss it. Besides, if I had let you know I was coming, then a lot more than you would have been ready and waiting for me. I can’t afford to have assassins catch me on the road, and I can’t get bogged down here either.”
“A good point, but a little warning might have been helpful.” Morteth winced. “Aspeth and Forgund have been itching to duel for rank for weeks now, and I was just able to arrange things so that they’d have to avoid crippling each other. It might take some time for me to do that again.”
Matt grimaced. Dueling for rank seemed like a good way to lose promising officers, but there was only so much he could change at once—and the High Imp nobility controlled the High Guard and its traditions, so their word was law. “Sorry about that. Would it help if I intervened?”
“Perhaps. If you could spend a day allowing a few duels, they would leap at the chance to impress you. I could twist their arms into making it all nonlethal, but they wouldn’t fight me on it if it meant they could say they had proved themselves to you.”
It might cost a day, but it seemed like a worthwhile investment. “I’ll see if I can manage that—though I think they’ll all have plenty of chances to prove themselves soon.”
Morteth exchanged a look with Vumorth and then sighed. The Margrave gave Matt a wry smile. “I was afraid you’d say that, sire. Let’s see what insanity you have planned for us this time.”
Matt finished laying out his idea and waited. Vumorth was staring at him in resigned horror, while the lifeguards that had followed him into the room both looked surprised.
Morteth, for his part, was still looking down at the map, his brow furrowed in concentration. His lips moved as his eyes darted across the parchment. Matt forced himself to wait for the man to finish thinking it through. He could tell when the Imp made his decision; his expression grew set and his eyes flicked up from the maps to look at Matt squarely. “I’m sorry, sire, but this cannot be done.”
The words were delivered in so serious a voice that Matt didn’t respond immediately. He contained his first reflexively irritated response and kept his tone even. Morteth had earned his title through consistent good decisions; the commander deserved his respect. “Can you tell me why, Margrave?”
For a moment, Morteth exchanged another look with Vumorth. Then he answered in that same voice. “Your plan will have me lead nearly all of the forces along our eastern border towards the Copper Hills. We’d attempt to overwhelm some of their border guards, and then cause enough of a threat to draw Teblas’ attention east. Am I mistaken?”
Matt shook his head. “No. That sounds like what I imagined.”
“There are three problems, sire.” Morteth held up three fingers. “First, if we strip the banners from the entire border, we’ll have to leave the caravans that guard the tribute unprotected.”
He broke in at this point. “I had planned to leave at least two banners behind to—”
“You are underestimating the draw of those caravans, sire.” Morteth shook his head. “They contain more than enough funds to fuel a bandit lord for years. If there are any would-be rebels among our own people, they’d be able to finance their own campaign of resistance for a similar length of time. Two banners will not be enough—especially when those same banners might suffer from…similar temptations. Do you understand, sire?”
The question brought Matt up short. He thought it over, and then immediately saw that Morteth had the right of it. An ambitious captain might see all that gold and decide it was time to set out for himself. There was no one banner that could be trusted with any of those caravans; Morteth was probably intending to split up the banners in charge of the protection and divide them across several caravans, to make sure that no one could coordinate a heist.
He should have seen it, but he was having trouble picturing the amount of money being so vulnerable. On Earth, most cash was tied up in ones and zeroes online. The idea of someone being able to steal a government-altering amount of cash seemed impossible to him, but it was clearly the case here. “You’re right, Margrave. I apologize. Please continue.”
Morteth nodded. He reached out to trace the route from Ashpeak to the Copper Hills, a twisting, difficult path filled with ridges, ravines, and mountain passes. “We can still advance on the Copper Hills with some forces. I’d estimate we could spare at least five banners, maybe six. If we are extraordinarily fortunate, I could persuade eight banners to come with me. The next problem would be the route we would follow.”
Matt kept himself from answering. He knew it was a difficult route; that difficulty was why he didn’t expect Morteth to make all that much headway. All he had to do was act as a lure, not take the whole Copper Hills by himself. Still, he owed Morteth his attention, and he waited while the Imp continued.
“This path is one that a single banner could hold against six for months. Even if we have all eight, we’d still be stalled long before they felt threatened. The rebels know that as well as I do. They won’t be too worried about us; they probably already have a couple of banners stationed along that route, with a few more ready to switch with them for as long as it takes to break us.”
It sounded unpleasantly realistic. “You think they are already in position?”
“I am fairly certain. After all, it is what we’ve done.” Morteth tapped a spot along the path, just north of a bridge. “We have a banner of Footmen and High Guard positioned here, and have since the wars started. None of us worried at all that anything would happen to them, even though we knew Teblas could have attacked north instead of west. It was for much the same reasons. If anything, they’d laugh at us for our foolishness.”
Which meant an assault like that would be useless, even for the purpose that Matt had wanted it to serve. He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, feeling the premonition of a headache beginning to build behind his eyes. “That… does sound bad. You said there was a third problem?”
“It’s a piece of the second, made a little worse.” The Imp stood back from the map and folded his arms. “If by some miracle we do fight our way past those forces, they’ve almost certainly put a backup plan in place. The most likely one is to take down a bridge.”
Matt grunted. “That would keep us from advancing, yes.”
Morteth laughed. “That’s if they take down one we haven’t crossed yet. What if they destroy one behind our forces?” Matt froze and then groaned as his general continued. “That’s right, sire. No supplies, no reinforcements, and no retreat. Even worse is if they get both at once. We’d be trapped and starve to death before we ever managed to get out. Marching our troops into that place would be giving the enemy the chance to do all kinds of mischief to us, without ever risking anything serious themselves.”
Try as he might, Matt couldn’t argue against the point. Morteth had been completely right about every one of the problems, and if he had been thinking more clearly, he should have seen them himself.
Yet even as he recognized the obstacles, something about the situation still stuck with him. There had to be some way to take advantage of the situation and pull Teblas out of position. Without it, there would be a bloodbath almost as bad as what it would take to get his troops into the Copper Hills.
He stared down at the maps, his mind running over the issues again and again. It seemed like no matter what he came up with, he couldn’t figure out a way past the enemy. Not unless he could find a way to bypass their defenses entirely. The only way to do that would probably be to fly. Either that or…
Matt paused. His eyes narrowed as he stared down at the maps. Then he turned to look back at Morteth. “You said that you could promise me six banners?”
The Margrave’s expression was guarded. He nodded. “At least five. If I had a bit more time, then six is doable.”
Matt nodded. “What if I could promise you at least four more within two weeks? Would you be more confident of your chances?”
Morteth considered it a moment before lowering one of his three fingers. “That might solve one of the problems, sire, but numbers are not our only issue.”
“I understand that.” Matt smiled, his idea suddenly starting to fall into place as he thought it over. “What if those additional banners were Hill Guard?”
The Imp frowned. “Hill Guard? You mean the Gnomes?” He looked over at Vumorth, his expression uncertain. “They may be decent fighters, but still…”
“They are tunneling experts, Morteth. Siege experts. Those mountains and ravines won’t slow them down, not the way it would everyone else. If the enemy drops a bridge, they could build another one with magic. If you need a tunnel, they could burrow one through for you.”
Morteth was still frowning down at the map, but he’d started to nod. “They could be useful, yes, but any bridge they make or tunnel they burrow will still be a chokepoint the enemy can defend. They’ll still be able to stop us cold.”
Matt looked down at the map, and his smile grew. “Not if we attack more than one spot.” He traced other paths along the route south, moving through passes he’d thought were too narrow and ravines that seemed too rough before. “If you split your forces, they’ll have to guard more than one place. You could send a banner of Hill Guard and one of your own to three or four different spots. The enemy would have to cover all of them to keep you from advancing, and if they don’t…”
“Then we flank the ones that held position, or push far enough to cut them off from their reinforcements.” The Imp was still eying the map, but his expression was slowly growing more satisfied. “We’d still have to move slowly, but they couldn’t stop us completely. Bit by bit, we’d push further into their territory.”
“Until they panic or surrender.” Matt grinned. Maybe he’d just managed to salvage the thing after all. “Does that seem like something that would work?”
“Only if we can depend on the Gnomes, sire.” Vumorth’s words actually surprised Matt; she’d remained almost stubbornly quiet before. “They are hard workers, I’ll admit, but the Hill Guard has never been known for their dedication to the cause of the Kingdom. They may work as sappers or support troops, and they might even be able to build the occasional siege engine, but in a frontline engagement…”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure if they would stand and fight. Would our plan still work if they run the moment they face an enemy?”
The other captain, who had also been silent up until now, nodded along with her. Doubt was far stronger on his face than hers, but it was still clear to see despite his obvious reluctance to disagree with his liege lord.
Matt looked at Vumorth, but he saw a bit more than just one doubtful captain. He was picturing the distrust among his own lifeguard, and the divisions that ran through the entire society of the Kingdom. It was the same problem, and the same weakness. He’d avoided it so far because the same troubles didn’t seem to infect the Crown Guard, which was mostly drawn from the Low Folk. How did he cure it among the nobility?
Morteth was looking doubtful again. “She’s right, sire. On paper, a banner of Hill Guard is a valuable resource, but to rely on them in combat… I do not know if it would be wise.”
“You say they tend to run, is that right?” Matt watched as both Imps nodded. “Can you tell me why they wouldn’t? Why should they have fought for the Crimson Peaks? Or the Reign of Obsidian before that? Or for any of the tyrants that ruled over them since they were conquered? What reason would they have had to lay down their lives for any of them?”
Silence was his only answer. Then Matt continued, trying to sound confident. “It will be different this time. The Gnomes have stayed loyal when they could have rebelled; we have sent others of the Kingdom to guard them from harm, and we have shown them we value their participation. Even more than that, we’ve set most of their people free from serfdom. They will answer the call to arms, and they will help you put an end to the rebellion in the south.”
Vumorth seemed unconvinced. “And if they do not, sire? Their nobles may not even answer the request to join us.”
“Then I will call on the freeholders in their lands to do so in their stead.” When both of the Imps blinked in surprise, Matt smiled. “Freeholders have a responsibility to help defend the Kingdom. Banners of Irregulars made up of Gnomes may not have the same power as the Hill Guard, but there should be plenty of freeholders with Earth magic. One way or another, you will have the sappers you need.”
Morteth started to chuckle, and Matt looked at him in surprise. The Margrave shrugged. “Captain Vumorth warned me that you have a tendency to be surprising. I suppose I should have expected something like this from you, sire.” He looked back down at the map. “If you can give me those troops within two weeks, then we should be ready to advance when you need us to do so. Lord Teblas would hear of our invasion about a week after that.”
“Which means I’ll have about three weeks to get my own forces in position.” Matt smiled. “Not a problem, right?”
As self-assured as he might have sounded, his mind was still roiling with concerns. The fact that he’d nearly bungled this part of the campaign was not exactly filling him with confidence about the rest of his ideas to deal with Teblas. What if he had missed some other problem, and he didn’t have someone like Morteth around to point it out? He needed to find more Margraves; two obviously wasn’t enough.
He shook his head, trying to clear those doubts away, and smiled up at the Imps. “It looks like we have our plans. Let’s try and get them set into motion. We don’t have much time, after all. Spring is coming.”