It took a full two days for the banners he’d chosen for his journey to prepare themselves for the march to the Sortenmoors.
Compared to the army he’d left with to defeat Teblas, his forces this time weren’t nearly as large or varied. Most of the banners he’d taken south into the Hollows had suffered heavy casualties in the fighting, especially considering those who had been wounded and later succumbed to illness on the way back home. Matt had no idea how long it would take to find and train new recruits to take the place of the veterans who had died taking down Teblas and defeating the Alliance’s first attempt at an invasion. Karve had estimated the banners wouldn’t be ready to deploy again until the summer at the very least, perhaps longer if people didn’t respond as quickly to the Council’s calls for another muster.
Fortunately, he’d left at least a few banners in Redspire itself, and not every banner he’d marched with had been hurt so badly. The Warg Riders, in particular, seemed to have escaped trouble, though their friends in the Shadow Hunters had been decimated. Together with the former garrison banners, he had a fairly decent group of soldiers to escort him as he marched into the absolute bloodbath of the Sortenmoors.
It was a fairly well-balanced force as well. The Second, Third, and Seventh Spears were all joining him, along with the Fourth, Eighth, and Ninth Foot. Captain Creps was grimly satisfied to be included in the action this time, though Matt might have suspected he would have wanted to go anywhere but the place that had been consumed with months of nonstop infighting. The First, Fourth, and Seventh Warg Riders were joining as well, with the Fifth reluctantly staying behind to help guard Redspire. There were no Irregulars with the column this time; the experienced militiamen were going to be recuperating from the fighting for a long time.
Einreth had wanted to join him at first, at least until she’d heard that Karve was being left behind in Redspire. There had been a suspicious level of ambition in the Red Moon Orc’s eyes when she informed him she’d stay and rest her Clan’s troops in the capital. Matt might have suspected her of raising some kind of rebellion in his absence—if he hadn’t noticed exactly how she kept sneaking glances at Karve when the Margrave wasn’t looking. He wasn’t entirely sure how an Orcish romance worked, but Matt wasn’t exactly going to be surprised if he came back to find that his newest Margrave was a bit more… attached to Einreth than he had been before.
His colder, more pragmatic side told Matt that he should be worried about how much power a Margrave and the leader of a High Clan would have together, but he trusted Karve enough to know the Orc would resist any foolish schemes. Karve had never once failed to back him up, and his history as a serf-turned-freeholder would naturally make him skeptical of any nobility looking for his support. All things considered, he felt he could trust the former commander of the Iron Eighth to hold to his principles and stay loyal.
Loyal, but probably not unattached. From what Matt had seen, Einreth had a way of being forceful about what she wanted, for better or worse.
It was impossible to hide the fact that he was marching out again, so he didn’t really try. As expected, the Council requested an explanation for his departure, and Matt gave them his prepared answer. The Sortenmoors had been an ulcer Kingdom’s side for long enough, and he judged it a good time to put an end to the chaos and bloodshed there.
Matt had no doubt that the Alliance would hear about it before his troops even made it outside the walls, but that would be part of the point. If he could bait some of their forces into an unwise assault into the Sortenmoors, it would prevent them from gathering enough soldiers for the kind of massive, overwhelming force that he worried would descend on them now that spring had begun. At the very least it would throw off some of their plans, since he was already hearing about troops pushing into the Copper Hills to fight with Morteth’s small army.
He was making the last few adjustments to the orders he wanted to leave behind for Parufeth, Karve, and the Council when there was a knock at his door. Matt looked up in surprise as it opened before he had gestured for the lifeguards to open it. His protectors tensed immediately, but then they settled back into resentful postures as they recognized the person who walked through. It was hard to lecture the soldiers about it; after all, a bodyguard would never be happy to hear that there were certain people they simply weren’t allowed to inconvenience or stop in any way.
Girtun, Voice of the Freeholders of Redspire, still smelled faintly like iron and smoke. The former blacksmith had a habit of borrowing a forge to work out some of his frustrations, something that Matt felt like he could understand easily enough. There was nothing that could make him want to pound something into shape like debating things with a bunch of noblemen.
Normally, the Orc was cheerful and enthusiastic enough, but today he had an apprehensive look on his face. He wasn’t alone, either, and Matt felt his eyes narrow as he studied the approaching newcomer.
She was a Copperflame Goblin, one of the Low Folk that was commonly seen among the people of Redspire. Her eyes were a light red, so bright they almost looked pink at first glance, and her pale-yellow leathery skin seemed to contrast sharply with the plain brown dress she wore. Her head was covered by a plain white scarf as well, something he’d seen among the servants in the palace on occasion.
Her expression told her that this woman was no servant, however. She was staring at him with undisguised challenge, and if there was a hint of fear in her eyes, it was already half-buried beneath some other strong emotion that he failed to identify on her inhuman features.
The newcomer came to a halt next to Girtun. Matt looked at the Orc, who cleared his throat and bowed slightly. “My liege, it’s my pleasure to introduce the new Voice chosen by the people of Redspire to replace Wokneth. This is Cholia.”
Matt blinked. He’d known that the Assembly was choosing another leader from among the freeholders, but he’d been expecting it to take a little more time. He stood and came around the desk, offering his hand. “Cholia. It is good to meet you.”
Cholia, for her part, glanced at his hand with clear suspicion. She shook it carefully, as if expecting some trap. “King Matthew.”
Feeling a little uneasy, Matt gestured for them to sit and walked around his desk towards his own chair. “It is good to hear that we once again have two Voices here in Redspire to represent the interests of the freeholders. Losing Wokneth so soon was a tragedy.”
Girtun nodded as he took a seat, but Cholia’s eyes narrowed. She had remained standing and spoke in a voice that was so husky that Matt had to concentrate to make out the words. “You are planning to leave the city. After a very short stay.”
Matt paused halfway to sitting down. He frowned slightly as he finished lowering himself into his seat. “Yes. As I explained to the Council, the fighting in the Sortenmoors has gone on long enough.”
“You march to battle.” Her tone was almost accusing, now. “Still with no Consort. No Heir.”
His frown became far more pronounced now. He glanced at Girtun, whose face had grown a little pale now. “That is correct, Voice Cholia.”
Girtun coughed into his hand. “The King has felt that it is his duty to—”
“A King should not rely on soothsayers for his rule.” Cholia glanced at Girtun, and a flash of contempt filled her expression for a moment. “Without an Heir, you risk the entire Kingdom. If you fall in battle, anyone might take the throne.”
Matt felt a flicker of annoyance at her for pointing the problem out. He’d listen to that kind of logic from Gorfeld or Tanya, but this woman barely knew him. “I understand that danger. Unfortunately, it can’t be helped.”
Cholia met his eyes and shook her head. “You could send your captains and stay here instead.”
He felt his eyes narrow. Pain throbbed behind his forehead. “No. I will not. The Sortenmoors require my personal intervention. I will not abandon my duty there.”
She clenched her hands. “Leaving Redspire is a way of abandoning your duties. In your absence, people have lost their homes. Your construction projects run wild while you march all over the Kingdom. The nobles plot and scheme to turn us out of our homes for their amusement, while you and your Maiden turn a blind eye. I won’t—”
“That’s enough!” Girtun threw himself up out of his chair. His face had gone dark with anger and he stepped towards Cholia as if he was ready to strike her. “I won’t stand by and see the King’s honor questioned by some ignorant—”
“Girtun.” Matt felt a private burst of gratitude to the man for standing up for him, but he didn’t let it enter his tone. Girtun looked back at him and visibly restrained his temper.
“I’m sorry, my liege.”
Matt shook his head. “Differences of opinion are natural. Our Kingdom will come to depend on the ability to hear those differences, in time.”
He turned his attention to Cholia, who was watching him warily. “Now. Voice Cholia. Has Girtun informed you of your rights and responsibilities as a Voice?”
She inclined her head, just barely. Her anger still smoldered in her eyes. “Yes.”
“Good. That knowledge will be important in the days ahead.” He gave her a crooked grin. “You are going to be the restraint on the Council for the benefit of the freeholders of the Kingdom. It is a difficult, demanding responsibility.”
Then he paused and allowed a small portion of his own anger to infiltrate his words. “Do you remember what authority it gives you over me, Voice Cholia?”
Cholia’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
“That’s because it doesn’t give you any. In fact, as King, I retain the right to overturn any decision you make, in person or in writing.” Matt allowed those words to hang in the air for a moment. When he continued, all pretense of friendliness was officially abandoned. “It is not a role I asked for, Voice Cholia, unlike you. Yet it is by my efforts, and my decisions, that you have the right to stand here, in this room. It was my reforms that gave you freedom, and a voice in the Council. My predecessor was not nearly as lenient when it came to… disagreements, I understand.”
Some of the fire seemed to drain away from the newly appointed Voice, and Matt nodded. “All the same, I appreciate your… reminder about the concerns the people of Redspire have. I want to assure you I am trying to resolve those concerns as quickly as I possibly can. When I return from the Sortenmoors, I hope we can speak more.”
He paused and then rose from his chair. “Until then, I have preparations to make. You’re dismissed.”
For a moment, Cholia stood there, still glaring at him. Then she turned on her heel and strode out of the room, the tail of her headscarf flapping in her wake. Girtun gave Matt a brief bow and retreated as well, anger still stiffening his stride. Matt watched them both go, and then sat back down with a sigh.
He couldn’t just arrange for Cholia to be replaced. The Council would probably be happy to go along with it, given her outspoken nature and their native dislike for the Voices in general. At the same time, it would undermine the very institution that he’d created as a limit on the power of the nobility. The fact that it limited him as well as them was a part of the design, not a bug he needed to remove from the system. If he really wanted to build a place that had no need for Kings, he needed to get them to trust a political structure that occasionally clashed with would-be dictators—even if it occasionally got in his way while he was acting like a dictator himself.
The dull ache behind his eyes faded slightly as he forced himself to think through the issue. There was another, more important reason to leave the disagreeable Goblin in place. Cholia wasn’t just some upstart who wanted to ruin his day for no reason. She’d been chosen by the freeholders to represent them, which meant that she was a sign of what they were worried about. Replacing her wouldn’t make those concerns go away. If anything, throwing out the troublesome Voice would only convince the freeholders in Redspire to demand to be heard in much more disruptive, violent ways.
Matt drew in a deep breath and then let it trickle back out slowly. For the next few weeks, he wouldn’t be in Redspire to handle things directly, but at the very least, he could trust Girtun to rein Cholia in a little when it came to the Council. Frankly, it might be good to show the Council what could happen if they ran around approving projects like the art museum without thinking about the consequences.
Of course, it might also help if he reassured the freeholders that he was actually taking their concerns into consideration. He turned his attention to the desk again, shifting through the piles of parchment until he found the plans he had intended to leave for Parufeth. It showed the builders’ next project, the one he wanted them to start after the Arsenal was done. Unlike the first building, this one would be specifically to provide housing for the people of Redspire, hopefully in a way that would make the residents forget all about how many of their houses he’d knocked down, via earthquakes or construction crews.
He considered the page for a moment longer and then shook his head. Something told him that Cholia wouldn’t be in much of a mood to listen at the moment. Better to approach her and her backers once the Sortenmoors were under control, and the Alliance was somewhat less of a problem. Matt tucked the parchment back into the drawer of the desk and turned his attention back to the pages he’d been working on before. There wasn’t much time before he needed to go, and there seemed to be an infinite amount of work left to do.
At least there wouldn’t be much time left for surprises, either. That fact was the one comfort his short schedule provided him.
“Well, hello there!”
Matt gave Tanya a glare as he rode up to where she sat on her icestag. The Maiden of Art seemed to ignore it, though, bending slightly to comfort her mount. Beyond her, the troops he’d gathered were marching along the road towards the gates of Redspire, already moving along the route that would take them south and east towards the Sortenmoors.
She continued to ignore him for a moment longer, though her two attendants, both once again riding their diminutive Wargs, exchanged worried glances. The third person with them, Melren, looked incredibly out of place on top of the dogelk, though Matt guessed his discomfort had to do with more than just the apparent lack of natural talent that Imps had when it came to riding things. Beyond the small group, Matt saw Captain Snolt catch sight of him and wince before slinking away with his massive, battlescarred Warg mount.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Finally, as the soldiers continued to march past, Matt let a frustrated snarl work its way across his expression. “Tanya, what are you doing here?”
“Well, you told me to help out however I could—and so I remembered exactly how helpful magic has been for you. Both yours and mine, when it came to dealing with things in Shadowfen.” Her smile was both brilliant and malicious.
Matt winced. She had been crucial in keeping him from being killed in Shadowfen, but she’d almost ended up on the end of a traitor’s sword as well. Even if it hadn’t been a severe risk for her, the battles in the Sortenmoors weren’t going to be some attempted assassination in a dining room. It was going to be sporadic combat interrupted by actual full-scale battles. There would be no place for Tanya in the middle of a melee.
Before he could say that, however, Tanya continued in that too-bright voice. “So I decided it would be the perfect chance for me to help you if I asked Melren to come with you on the way to the Sortenmoors! Since you aren’t going to do anything that dangerous, you could always just keep up your studies and get that next Source secured.”
He glanced at Melren, who looked mildly ashamed of himself. The Imp was technically Matt’s magical instructor, though Matt had been too busy going to war and almost getting assassinated to learn anything new lately. Matt wondered briefly what kind of lines Tanya had fed the former noble to get him to agree to the plan. “I won’t have a whole lot of time available to study, Tanya. We’ll be fairly busy.”
“Well, when you are busy, he’ll just be around to keep an eye on things. He did save you from an assassination attempt, didn’t he? You know, like I did?”
The question made Matt pause. Technically, it was true. If Melren hadn’t saved him, he’d have been dead before Tanya had ever been kidnapped. “And I’m betting you’re planning on coming along too?”
Tanya rolled her eyes. “No. Absolutely not. Warzones aren’t really my thing, remember?”
Relief warred with suspicion as he considered her. There was no chance that she’d decided to be reasonable, and if she was already here and mounted… “Where are you going then?”
“Oh, I was just thinking of visiting Winterfast. You know, where all the Frost Elves live?” She smiled. “Apparently, they have plenty of spells I might be able to use, and some of their nobles invited me to come see what things are like. It should give me the chance to get to know Margrave Grufen too, which should be nice.”
Winterfast. Where a horde of formerly treacherous Frost Elves lived, and might like to kill someone attached to the man who had put their rebellion down. “Tanya…”
“Yes?” She smiled a bit wider, the very picture of attentiveness.
He sighed. “If I order you to stay here, are you actually going to do it?”
She squared her shoulders. “No.”
“Fine.” He looked at Melren, thinking things over. The possibility of gaining more magic was not that bad of an idea. The Source he’d already gained had helped him survive the ‘duel’ at Heartlight, and had given him the victory at the Battle of Seven Princes. Maybe a little more would help him put the Sortenmoors back together again. Matt looked back at Tanya, his decision made. “If you’re going north, you have to take lifeguards with you. Don’t get in Grufen’s way and don’t cause him any trouble. You stay where he tells you, you run when he says. Understand?”
Her grin faded a little, but Tanya nodded. Both of her attendants nodded as well, and Matt turned his attention to Melren. “Can you manage to teach me a few of the mantras as we ride? Or will you need to wait until we make camp?”
Melren relaxed slightly. He’d obviously been waiting for a shouting match. “I can do my best, sire. What is the next Element that you are going to start with?”
Matt hesitated. “I’d heard that using opposites might help stabilize the second Source as you work on it, so I was thinking of using…”
“Air!” Tanya cackled in victory; she’d used Air as her own first Element. “Seems like you’re jealous after all, cowboy. We’ll have to see who learns more by the time you get back.”
He gave her an exasperated scowl as he prompted Nelson to join the marching column. “I was asking Melren, Tanya. Besides, I was thinking of using Spring for the second part, not Winter.”
“Oh sure, now you are. I think you’re just jealous of how easily I saved you in Shadowfen.” She reached over as he passed her and grabbed his arm. Matt brought Nelson to a halt for a moment as she leaned in, her dark eyes flashing. “Don’t get yourself killed out there, cowboy king. I’ll see you soon.”
He nodded, and she leaned back. Then she trotted off with her attendants, headed for the bridge that led north. Matt looked back at her for a moment and then gestured for Melren to join him. They had a long march ahead, and spring had just begun.
The formal end of winter hadn’t exactly improved the weather by much, or the condition of the roads for that matter. Half-frozen snow still littered the muddy tracks they were following, and the supply carts that followed their column were pulled by aurochs half-covered in splatters of muck before they had made it out of sight of Redspire. Chilly bursts of wind brushed across Matt’s face as he led Nelson along their route.
Despite the cold, it seemed as if the troops were moving well, and in high spirits. A few of them even started to sing a marching song as they walked, while others were trading jokes and laughter as they moved. Matt watched them with faint incredulity. Surely they would have heard of the massive casualties the other banners had taken. They couldn’t expect things to be better in the Sortenmoors, of all places. What were they expecting?
Captain Snolt, who had forced his way through the lifeguards to ride next to Matt again, seemed amused by the question. “Well, sire, you’ve made a reputation out of leading your troops into battle and winning them glory. Even more than that, you’ve shown them that a mere soldier might win himself a title if he works hard enough.” The Goblin eyed Melren, who was riding along beside him. “Or lose one, if he doesn’t.”
Melren’s eyes flashed. The former noble snarled at the Captain. “I surrendered my title so I could serve, Goblin, not so I could bear insults from the likes of you. I’ll remind you I was a Captain too, and for good reason. If you require a demonstration of why, I’ll be happy to provide one at any time.”
Snolt gave the Imp a smile that was more teeth than humor. “Maybe after you ask someone to show you how to ride that dogelk, Imp. Unless you manage to fall off and break your neck before we make camp.”
The Imp recoiled slightly—a move that made his steed shift uneasily under him—and Matt spoke up before Melren could throw back another insult. “Gentlemen, if you’re going to spend the next week attacking each other, do I need to send you back to Redspire so you can do it more effectively?”
They both looked at him as if they were surprised, and he sighed. “Captain, Melren gave up his title because he wanted to act as my advisor and not be locked away with the traitors. He’s loyal, and the magic he taught me is the reason we won the Battle of Seven Princes.” He still hated that name, no matter how much everyone else seemed to enjoy it. “As for you, Melren, Captain Snolt has served me loyally since the first time we fought together. He’s a brave soldier, and while sometimes he can speak without thinking, he serves me just as you do.”
He waited until both the Imp and the Goblin looked away. Then Matt continued. “I don’t expect you to be sworn brothers, but I do expect you to not bicker like children all the way to the Sortenmoors. Our Kingdom is counting on us. I won’t fail because I was too distracted by a slap fight between two people who should have known better. Understand?”
They both muttered something that might have been an agreement, and Matt felt another spike of pain run through his skull, severe enough to make him close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose again. The headaches had been happening more frequently lately. It was starting to worry him.
He shoved those concerns aside and opened his eyes again. “Captain Snolt, how long do you think it will take us to reach the Sortenmoors? You’ve served there before, right?”
The Goblin nodded. “I’d say five days, maybe six. The roads between Shadowfen and the moors aren’t as good as they could have been, and this winter will have only made them worse.” He glanced up at the sky and grimaced. “It’ll be longer if we get rain or snow along the way. Maybe your Fortune will hold out long enough, though.”
Fortune wasn’t something that Matt liked trusting in, but he didn’t have much of a choice this time. “Then let’s make sure that we make the most out of the daylight we have. Our friends are waiting.”
The army made good time along the road, and they reached the city of Shadowfen after only two days. Their pace had been helped by the fact that they weren’t carrying much in their wagons yet; Matt had planned on asking for supplies from the Goblins as they made their way further south. Hopefully, he would find the Matriarchs in a good mood, since he’d stopped Suluth from murdering all of them a handful of weeks before. Perhaps they’d even have some reinforcements ready for him.
It was a hopeful sign when the Matriarchs were waiting to greet him at the gates of Shadowfen. All three of the elderly Goblins were there, and it seemed they were all recovering well from the wounds the assassins had given them. Matt smiled and dismounted from Nelson. “Matriarchs, thank you for coming to speak with me.”
Matriarch Rithune bowed low, barely wincing as the movement pulled on one of her wounds. “Welcome to our city, my liege. We’ve prepared quarters for your troops. Would you care to join us for a meal? We have a matter that requires your attention before you leave for the Sortenmoors.”
Matt hesitated for a moment. The last thing he wanted was another diplomatic meeting with a Goblin that was placing demands on him. Then he nodded. It would be unwise to ignore a request for a simple meeting. Their loyalty was probably a little frayed already, given the number of their Shadow Hunters that had died at the Battle of Seven Princes. “Of course, Matriarch. Lead the way.”
She bowed again, and the three Matriarchs all turned to head towards the Citadel, the highest tower in the city and the seat of their power. Matt winced as he looked at the place; the last meeting he’d been to in the Citadel had ended in an attempted regicide. Then he shrugged aside his misgivings. Whatever the Matriarchs wanted, it wasn’t likely to involve any more assassins, at least.
Matt examined the cluster of Goblins with ill-disguised unease. “So. Assassins.”
“Yes, sire.” Matriarch Calthune nodded. “These are the remnants of Suluth’s assassins. They were some of her greatest assets.”
He didn’t doubt that she was telling the truth, but the small group of Goblins didn’t seem like much to look at. Of course, it was probably part of the job. None of the six Goblins seemed like anything more than Blackleaf servants that had been dressed in plain clothing. The only real clue about what they might possibly be was the way both the lifeguards and the Blackleaf guards surrounding them were watching them carefully. It was like they expected the women to try to kill Matt or the Matriarchs at any moment.
Matt studied them a moment longer, waiting for one of them to say something, or to make some sort of move. When nobody did, he looked at the Matriarchs. “Are they still loyal to her?”
One of the assassins spoke up, her voice rough. “Hard to be loyal to a dead woman.”
Matriarch Calthune gave the assassin a silent glare. “They have forsworn their allegiance to the traitor. Not all of them did so; the ones who remained enemies have been hunted down and killed.”
Matt raised his eyebrows. “None surrendered or were captured?”
Matriarch Rithune laughed, a decidedly hoarse sound. The wounds she had taken to her throat had robbed her of her former smooth tones. “Those who were captured were questioned and sentenced, my liege. Only these six repented and provided the whereabouts of the others.”
He winced. Torturing and executing people was not ideal, but he already had a lot on his plate when it came to reforming his Kingdom. Once he dealt with slavery, perhaps humane treatment of prisoners would be next. “What do you want of me, then? I can send them to the Tower of Penance, if you like.”
Matriarch Selthune blinked. “The Tower of Penance?”
“I renamed the Tower of Blood.” Matt had taken care of that as soon as possible. “It can hold them for as long as you like.”
“Ah.” Selthune glanced at the assassins and then shook her head. She had been the only Matriarch to remain unwounded during Suluth’s assault, but her expression held no more mercy than the other two. “By their treachery, these assassins have no more real use for us. We could not trust them to serve us without being carried away again.”
Rithune broke in again, her voice severe and serene. “Yet the covenant between our Houses and the throne of Redspire gives you the right to determine their fate, if they express remorse. Other rulers have often found such tools… useful in their efforts.”
Matt grunted. From what he’d heard of Gorfeld’s stories, the Red Sorceress would have mutated them into some kind of monstrosity, while the others would have tortured them to death or hunted them like wild game. He had no real need for any of that kind of thing, especially not with the Alliance already invading his Kingdom from two different directions.
He opened his mouth to tell the Matriarchs to do with them whatever they wanted… and then paused. His troops were marching to the Sortenmoors, where he could try to deal with the situation there. Morteth was holding strong in the east, but he doubted the Imp Margrave would be able to make much headway against whatever troops the Alliance had there. As long as the Oath of Enmity was driving those forces, they would never stop fighting, never lose morale enough to cut and run the way the Noble Races had.
Perhaps, while he was hammering away at things in the Sortenmoors, he needed to use a different sort of tool against his enemies in the Copper Hills.
Matt looked at the assassins. He tilted his head to one side. “How do you want to die?”
They looked back at him. Defiance still glimmered in their eyes, even as they glanced at the lifeguards around them. The one who had spoken before answered him. “In the defense of our people, outsider. We serve our people and are proud to die for them!”
She finished that last statement with a snarl, and Matt heard the Matriarchs start to mutter. He turned back and gestured for them to wait. Then he looked back at the assassins again.
“You believed that Suluth was the best ruler for your people. That she would have led the Kingdom to what it needed to be. Correct?”
The assassins nodded, their eyes a little more wary now. They’d probably been expecting executions or torture, not conversation. Defiance was a fire that ran through fuel quickly; Matt remembered that fairly well.
He made his voice a bit harder. “Suluth is dead. Teblas and Braden and Itrelia are all dead. The only ones left to serve are me, and the ones who support me. You know this?”
Matt waited until he saw some of them nod. Their uncertainty was back. “The only choice now is between me and the Alliance. They’ve already taken the Copper Hills; the Leaffalls are working with them now.” There was a stab of pain through his head that made him pause. He continued in what he hoped was an even voice. “The Alliance is not coming here for the good of your people. They won’t care about the differences between the Blackleafs and the others. To them, you’re all just monsters and beasts for them to hunt and eradicate. Do you disagree?”
The talkative one’s snarl was mixed with disbelief now. “Perhaps it would be better to die than to be ruled by you, outsider.”
“You certainly have that choice, assassin.” Matt grinned. “Say the word, and I’ll have you executed, if that’s the point you want to make. That way, when you get to the other side, you can boast about how little difference you made.”
Her expression twisted in anger. “And if we don’t? You’ll put us to work for you?”
“For the Kingdom, assassin.” Matt felt a chill run through him, but he pushed forward anyway. “I’ll send you to the Copper Hills. You’ll be able to fight the enemies of your people that way until the war with the Alliance is done. Every royal commander you kill, you’ll make the rest of the Kingdom safer. That way, if you die, you die doing what you claim is important. Fighting for the good of your people.”
Matriarch Calthune hissed, her expression distorted with rage. “Sire, you cannot mean to let these traitors free!”
“Not free, Matriarch. Their lives are bought with a price.” Matt spread his arms wide. “Once the war is over, you can do as you please. You can even try for my head again, if you want—but first, you take care of what has to be done for the Kingdom to survive. If I were you, that would be how I would want to die. What do you say?”
The assassins stared at him. At some point during his words, their anger had shifted to shock and disbelief. Their apparent leader was watching him with wide eyes, her jaw slightly slack. He glanced at the Matriarchs. “Do you object, Matriarchs?”
Calthune seemed about to, but Selthune put a hand to her shoulder. Rithune looked at both of them, and then nodded. “No, sire. As the ancient promises say, their deaths are yours to decide.” Her lips worked into something approaching a smile. “I don’t believe a ruler has ever chosen old age before.”
“That depends on how successful they are. After all, I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Matt looked back at the assassins, who were now gritting their teeth. He smiled. “Though they did get closer than the others that tried. Well?”
He extended his hand. The gesture was an alien one, he was sure, but the message behind it was clear enough. His lifeguards tensed, their hands going to their weapons, and the assassins looked at him as if he had gone insane.
Then one of them stepped forward, her eyes burning. “For the Kingdom, then.” The others followed, shaking his hand, one by one, until they all had.
Matt looked back to the Matriarchs. “Give them whatever equipment they need. They can leave tomorrow, after my troops have marched out. Give them an escort south to the Grim Hollows; the swamps might not be the best place for an army, but I’d wager they can get through just fine. Right?”
The assassins smirked and nodded, and Matt tried to set aside his own unease. “If they give you any trouble, or show any sign at all of going back on their word, then they are yours. Deal with them as you see fit. This is the only chance they get; I don’t have the time or luxury to hand out another one.”
Their smirks had faded into seriousness now, and Matt nodded. He didn’t know if he was being foolish or brilliant at the moment, but at the very least, he had a good chance of turning six exceptionally deadly tools from enemies to assets. It was worth the risk, especially if they killed at least a few of the Alliance leaders without him having to deal with it directly.
Besides, if they wound up succeeding and then coming back to try to kill him again, at least he’d only have them after him, instead of the Alliance. He’d take six killers over six nations any day.
At least, that was what he kept telling himself as he rode away from Shadowfen the next day, trying to convince himself not to look behind him for killers coming up in his wake.