It took a few moments to convince the lifeguards to let him try again, and even then they only agreed to escort him a few steps onto the bridge. Matt grudgingly let them stand in front of him again—although he privately thought they were being entirely reasonable about not going any further, especially when he remembered the feeling of the bridge going unstable beneath his feet. Then he sunk into the focus of the spell and reached out along the bridge once more.
This time, the destruction was even more complete. The bridge had absorbed a single shattering blow and remained standing; the second blast of magic along its structure was too much to bear. For a single frozen moment the structure stood, even while shot through with cracks and trembling from the weight of its own parts.
Slowly at first, and then all in one rush, the bridge crumpled into the waters below. The roaring of the falling stone drowned out everything in the world for a long while. Even the columns that had supported the bridge itself collapsed, bending and breaking apart in a cloud of stone dust. Matt watched the last of it vanish into the water below.
Then he looked up and saw the Knights still staring at him with silent hatred from the walls of Brensville. He smiled. They knew, just as he did, he had just cut their supply lines without needing to stay here. If they were smart, they realized his army had just marched to where they were by crossing at Coorsford, which meant at the very least another crossing was out of their hands.
It left them with two options. They could attempt to retreat back through Coorsford and fight their way through there, or they could march to Bridgeton, where they might be able to find a less-risky way across. Part of him wished they would march east to Coorsford, just to realize that they had wasted the trip.
Unfortunately, he knew very well where they would be headed. Matt turned to look back at his army. He found most of his soldiers staring at him in a mix of awe, horror, and satisfaction. He walked back to join them. “We can rest for another few minutes, but after that, we march west again. Our goal will be Bridgeton. There, we can secure the last crossing over the Blackstone, and make sure any enemies in the Sortenmoors are cut off from supplies and reinforcements. Let’s move.”
The soldiers nodded, and their captains organized their troops to move. Matt went back to Nelson, swinging himself back up into the mount’s saddle. He paused long enough to look back at the walls, and grinned as he saw at least one Knight raging and shouting on the wall. Perhaps it was one of the ones affected by the Oath. If it was, he was sure they would meet again soon. Very soon.
Later that night, with a few more hours of road behind them, Matt finished seeing to Nelson’s needs. He walked over to his tent, where the lifeguards were waiting. He gave Mulwan and her companion a brief nod and then ducked inside.
He found his small writing table with his maps already spread out. Melren was also there, sitting on a folding stool and waiting for him. His advisor stood immediately. “Sire.”
“Melren.” Matt crossed to his table and checked the maps. If they were anywhere near accurate, his army would reach Bridgeton by the end of the next day. He didn’t know if the town would be in Alliance hands or not, but at the very least, he wanted to get there before the Knights of the Raven arrived. Given their heavy armor, their late start, and their possible lack of supplies, he hoped that his troops would be able to manage it. Either way, he’d find out the next day.
He shook his head and looked up at Melren. “How can I help you, Melren? Did you have questions about what we’ll be doing at Bridgeton?”
Melren shook his head. “No, sire. Although I imagine you intend to cross back into the Sortenmoors.”
Matt nodded. “It’s the only way back, so yes.” He looked back down at the map with a sigh. “As long as the Alliance isn’t there to stop us, of course.”
“Of course.” Melren paused. “If you have time, sire, I think it might be important for us to discuss your training in the future.”
“Oh.” Matt blinked. Then he shook his head. “I actually have been practicing my mantras when I have the chance. I…”
Melren stepped forward. “Sire. I don’t mean the mantras.” Matt blinked again, and the advisor continued in a firm voice. “Your magic is powerful, sire, but it cannot do everything. You need to learn to use it in combat more effectively if you are going to rely on it going forward. That means we should begin to train you as not just a mage, but a combat mage.”
The seriousness of Melren’s tone cut Matt’s argument short. He frowned. “I think I’ve been doing fairly well so far, Melren.”
“On a tactical level, certainly.” Melren shook his head again and sighed. “When it comes to personal combat, however…”
Matt grunted. “Hey, I managed to win that duel against the Red Moon Orcs.”
Melren gave him a level look. “Because they fell into a trap you planned ahead of time. If they had managed to avoid the mud, however, what would you have done?” Matt reached for an answer and paused. The Imp nodded and continued. “The same thing happened in our last battle. You managed to slow down the Oath-sworn royal, but you didn’t stop her. If Balred hadn’t gotten to you in time, this war could have been over already.”
The Imp’s points were ringing uncomfortably true. Matt shrugged. “She seemed like she was an anomaly. Like her magic was much…”
He trailed off, and Melren smiled ruefully. “As if her magic was incredibly strong compared to a normal Knight’s? As if her Oath had given her additional power?”
Matt rubbed at his face for a moment. It made sense. There was probably more than one reason behind the Oath, after all, and if it lent the enemy additional power as well as committing them to their cause… “So every one of them is going to be that strong?”
“It is very possible, sire. Of course, it isn’t necessary for them to be that strong to reach you.” Melren shook his head. “What happens when your next enemy knows all about the handful of spells you’ve already mastered, and prepared for them? If I remember right, the Maiden mentioned that you were nearly killed in Shadowfen because the assassins attacked you when you were on a wood floor. Do you really want to be defeated by flooring?”
Matt grimaced. Of course, Tanya had mentioned that incident. “That’s why I have the lifeguards, Melren. And you, for that matter.”
“Yet you didn’t bring me along on your last little run into danger.” Melren raised an eyebrow. “If the archers had been a little more accurate and effective, your plan with the bridge might have failed. Then where would we be?”
The question stymied Matt for a moment, and before he could respond, Melren pressed on further. “If it helps you, sire, think of it as training a crucial strategic resource. I’m aware that leaders in your world may not enjoy such personal power, but you are a critical part of our defense right now. We cannot continue using you as bait without preparing you to adequately defend yourself.”
Matt grimaced. “So what would this training involve? More sparring?”
Melren nodded. “In part. We would also do drills to help you form your spells more quickly. Mental exercises to make sure you can’t be distracted from your framework or lose control of a spell.” He paused. “We’ll also need to practice having you channel while you are wounded, or at least after you’ve taken a hit. I’m sure practice weapons and healers will help with the process.”
It sounded miserable, but Matt knew his advisor was correct. “You’re right, Melren. I agree.” He held up a hand as his advisor made to speak. “I see the point you are trying to make, and I agree for the most part, but I do need to survive the next couple of days first. Once we take Bridgeton, I’ll put my focus on training as well as building my next Source. For now, though, I need to be well-rested for tomorrow. All right?”
Melren nodded slowly. “Thank you, sire. Rest well.” The Imp left the tent still looking a bit frustrated, but Matt just shook his head over the man’s attitude. It seemed like teaching his people to stand up to him was starting to work, but it was going to be a lot more trouble in the future if everyone began questioning his decisions.
He took one more look at the maps and then forced himself to head to bed. Bridgeton would wait until tomorrow, and like he had explained to Melren, he needed the sleep. Hopefully, he’d find the town wide open for the taking, and then he could get down to learning how to use more magic while he fortified it.
Matt looked out over the land around Bridgeton and cursed to himself. He kept it quiet, almost under his breath. Melren, sitting on the dogelk beside him, just sighed.
Bridgeton, unlike Brensville, had been built in a spot where the Blackstone had cut deep into the terrain. A sharp ravine flanked the river on both sides, and the water that rushed through it was frothed with rapids among sharp rocks. The town had been built around a pair of bridges, both of which converged on the bend in the river where a small fort had been built. Houses, shops, and other buildings had grown up around the fortification, with a small wall rising around the edges of the place.
It was far and away the easiest town to defend. Compared to the other three crossings, Bridgeton was practically a fortress, which is why Matt hoped to use it to hold back the Alliance hordes that were probably already on their way. Whoever owned Bridgeton was likely going to be able to hold it for a very, very long time.
Unfortunately, it seemed that he was not the only one that had embraced that idea.
The town was under siege. He saw at least four, maybe five banners of troops dug in around the bridges on the Alliance side; the gatehouses at the ends of the bridges showed signs of recent fighting, with trails of smoke drifting up into the air. On the opposite side of the town, even more banners were dug in around the walls, though they didn’t look as well entrenched. There wasn’t as much smoke there, but there did seem to be far more troops.
Matt examined the siegeworks on either side and then looked towards the fort. “Can we tell who holds the town? What flags are they flying?”
Snolt was leaning forward in his saddle, peering at the banners that were half-obscured by smoke rising into a gloomy grey sky. “Looks like… Crown Guard banners, sire. I think it’s the First Spears, the Tenth Foot, and the Sixth Warg Riders. Maybe even the Sixteenth Spears too?”
Surprised, Matt turned to look at the Captain. “Weren’t they dead? We haven’t heard from any of them in months.”
“Should have been, probably.” Snolt shrugged. “Maybe they just haven’t been able to get the word out. Or maybe they were going to try and set out for themselves and got stuck here. At the very least, it’s better to run into them here than on a battlefield somewhere.”
Melren snorted. “As if this doesn’t count. Those are Dwarves down there, from the Onyx Holdings unless I miss my guess.” He paused and then snorted again. “Doesn’t look like they brought any Crossguard, but those Siegemakers are going to be nasty enough to deal with. Especially without any magic heavy troops of our own.”
Matt ignored the significant look that the Imp gave him. “Siegemakers. They’re infantry, right?”
“Yes, sire. Close quarters fighting and sieges are their talents.” Melren adjusted his reins. “They have the usual Dwarven heavy armor and are quite skilled with Earth magic. I don’t know if your abilities will be able to outmatch them, my liege.”
“Then perhaps I’ll just rely on my overwhelming charm, Melren.” Matt tried not to notice the chuckles and sudden attacks of coughing among his lifeguards. He turned his attention back to the trenches the Dwarves had carved into the plains below. “It seems like if we move quickly enough, we might be able to catch them between our forces and the walls.”
Snolt was still chuckling. “It looks like they didn’t prepare any stakes or anything behind their lines, either. Probably weren’t expecting an unfriendly army to show up at their backs.”
Matt nodded. “Then let’s get moving. Bring up the Footmen in front, and have them ready to drop back behind the Spears if the Dwarves counterattack. Snolt, you and the other Riders should get ready to charge if we get the chance.”
The Captain saluted and went off to deliver the orders. Matt kept his attention fixed on the enemy below. There didn’t seem to be any traps waiting for him here, and he had the enemy outnumbered. If he moved fast enough, he might be able to break both of these armies before the Knights of the Raven appeared. If he took too long, though…
A drop of water struck his helmet. Matt glanced up at the glowering clouds above, and another drop hit him on the shoulder. He grimaced as more drops began to fall, and then spurred Nelson to get into position. Rain or not, he had a battle waiting for him today, and nothing was going to stop him.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Matt’s army moved across the plains, closing with the Dwarves waiting for them below.
He’d broken his troops up into a few different sections. Three of the groups were made up of a banner of Footmen and another of Spears, advancing in two lines that formed a large semi-circle of steel. Between the left and right flanks and the group in the center, the Royal First and the Headhunters were also advancing, hoping to charge forward in a wedge that would break through the enemy’s ranks. To the rear, Matt was with the Seventh Warg Riders. They had already suffered enough casualties in the last fight, so he wanted to use them as a reserve.
The Dwarves had reacted by trying to form up to face his troops. Three of their banners had left the trenches behind and lined up in a smaller semi-circle. The other two remained in the trenches, facing each of the bridges; apparently, they didn’t trust the garrison inside the town to not charge them from behind. None of them seemed any more bothered by the steadily increasing rain than his troops were.
Matt watched as the lines of troops closed. As they reached the range, the Footmen among his troops paused and raised their crossbows. A wave of bolts streaked skyward, slicing through the downpour. They descended on the Dwarves, and Matt saw the metal projectiles bouncing off the enemy’s thick armor. Some of the Dwarves actually managed to swat the bolts aside. Others were not so lucky; he saw at least a handful of the armored soldiers topple and fall as bolts punched through their protection.
His soldiers stopped advancing while the Footmen reloaded, and Matt saw a stir pass through the Dwarves. Clearly, they had hoped that his troops would close to melee rather than standing off to fire at them. Matt hadn’t seen a reason not to take advantage of their lack of ranged attacks, not if they were just going to sit in place and fight.
The front ranks of the Dwarves began to move, a strange chant echoing across the rain and mud. Lumps of soil rose from the ground. Matt grimaced when he saw them. They were probably going to build themselves cover to hide behind. The ability to create an instant wall was definitely something he wished he could use, but he couldn’t have everything.
Yet even as the bulwarks formed, there were orders being shouted from the rear of the Dwarven lines. Men and women were turning in surprise as a heavily armored figure forced their way forward, waving his war pick. The troops that were being held in reserve abruptly abandoned their trenches and started towards the ranks of their friends. Matt felt a burst of surprise as he realized something. “They’re going to charge.”
Melren looked sharply at him. “You’re joking. Leaving their defenses and running across an open field—”
“They have a royal with them. They’re coming for me.” Matt heard Melren swear, and he turned to the signaler. “Send the signal for the Foot to pull back after their next volley. I want the Spears and Riders ready for a countercharge as soon as they—”
A roar from hundreds of voices temporarily drowned out the rain. Slowly at first, and then faster as they gained momentum, the banners of Dwarven warriors began to run. Mud and water splashed as they charged across the open field, their heavy armor weighing them down and their massive weapons swinging in their hands. They looked like a waterlogged wave of metal and leather, one that would slam into and through the lines of Orcs and Imps in front of them.
Yet as the Dwarves covered the distance, they started to spread out. The tight, disciplined formation that they had been keeping broke apart as each Dwarf charged at their target. Gaps appeared, and instead of a united front, they became a dispersed crowd of yelling warriors. Some of them tried to stay together, but by and large, the level-headed warriors simply didn’t seem to be able to convince most of their companions to do the same.
The only exception was the group headed in Matt’s direction. Both of the reserve banners had reinforced the one charging at the center of his lines, and they were clearly ready to sell themselves dearly if they needed to. Matt gritted his teeth as he saw the Dwarves come closer. Whatever prince or princess was commanding them over there was going to cause a bloodbath, just to satisfy an Oath that should never have been necessary. He’d make every single one of them pay.
He watched as the Footmen finished reloading their crossbows. They lifted them into position calmly, as if there weren’t a crowd of screaming Dwarven berserkers bearing down on them. For a moment, they held their fire, steadying their grip on their weapons.
Then they pulled the triggers, and three banners of crossbowmen loosed their bolts directly into the faces of the charging Siegemakers. Their strings were less effective, thanks to the driving rain, but at point blank range they didn’t need to do much at all. There was barely even an arc as the projectiles crossed the distance. Bolts punched through plate armor as if it were nothing. Dwarves fell screaming or tumbled to lie still in the mud.
The impact of the volley set most of the Dwarven warriors reeling. Those who avoided getting hit were even more isolated than before as their ranks thinned. Yet they stubbornly continued their futile charge, even as the Imps fell back behind the Orcs who were stepping forward to take their places. Matt grimaced as the Spears formed a wall of spears and shields and braced themselves for the incoming charge.
It was a moment of terrible impact, one that saw the heavily armored soldiers smashing into and through the shieldwall like bearded, screaming wrecking balls. Dwarves died as spears found gaps in their armor, but those who survived were hacking and slashing with axes, war picks, and other heavy weapons. Orcs fell back, but their now-superior numbers allowed them to push back in, their warcries rising to challenge the fanatical screams of their opponents.
Just as the weight of the charge was spent, the Riders thundered in. The snarling Wargs smashed through whatever remnants of a formation that the Dwarves had maintained. Curved swords did little to hurt the armored warriors, but the weight of a full grown Warg was still enough to knock a Dwarf to the ground. Fangs or blades could still wound or cripple a Siegemaker, and then move on before the yelling Dwarf could recover.
As the Riders smashed their way completely through the Dwarves, they left a trail of wounded and downed Dwarves in their wake. Orcs rushed in behind them, cutting down the hapless warriors and surrounding the few left standing. The Dwarven banners on both flanks collapsed almost immediately, overwhelmed by the sheer number of casualties and the shock of the countercharge.
The Dwarves in the center, however, had kept going. Their greater numbers had allowed them to keep pushing the Second Spears back, and Matt’s eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the commander in their midst. He looked up beyond them and saw the First and the Fourth both wheeling around and preparing to charge the remaining Dwarves from behind. On either side, the Third and Seventh Spears were closing in with a wave of spears ready to strike at their blind sides.
Then Matt looked back at the commander. Even through the chaos and the rain, their eyes met. Matt saw fury, hatred, and pain beyond anything that he’d ever expected to see. He felt a fresh wave of disgust for what the Alliance had done to themselves. He turned away.
He could still hear the Dwarven commander screaming for his blood when the Wargs charged in, and the Dwarves collapsed before them. The battle was already over.
As soon as the last of the Dwarves had surrendered or been killed, Matt rode towards the nearest of the two bridges. He could see the battered gates of the town already starting to creak open ahead of him.
A messenger came riding for him as soon as the gates were open wide enough. It was an Imp riding a dogelk; Matt wondered if the Wargs in the city were simply too precious to spare for a messenger at this point. The breathless messenger drew up alongside him a moment later. “Captains Urled, Montfar, and Gassen send their greetings, sire. Welcome to Bridgeton.”
Matt blinked. “Are there only three banners in the city, then?”
The messenger shook her head. “No, sire. Captain Liru died in the fighting two weeks ago. The Sixteenth still hasn’t chosen a new Captain yet.” They paused and grimaced. “There’s also a banner of Irregulars, sire. They claim to follow the Voice of the Sortenmoors. They aren’t well organized, but they have helped us to hold the city.”
He nodded. At least it explained how these isolated soldiers had held out for so long. “Good. We’re going to join you, and then take care of those banners on the other side of the river. Make sure that the Captains of all the banners—both of the Crown Guard, and the Irregulars—join me for a meeting as soon as possible. We have work to do.”
Matt’s army entered Bridgeton under the driving rain.
The wounded and the prisoners were quickly ferried off to the healers and the town’s dungeon with all due haste. Matt could see the townspeople peering at him from where they were taking shelter in their houses. They all seemed frightened and thin, as if they’d been living in fear and hunger for quite some time. “How long have you been under siege?”
The messenger shook their head. “This time? I’d say we’ve been holding out for nearly two weeks. It’s not the first time, though. There was one siege that lasted almost a week before that, and another one that had us facing daily attacks for nearly ten days straight! At least that Teblas never managed to break the walls, but it was a close-run thing, sire, a close-run thing indeed.”
Matt nodded thoughtfully. He glanced at the fort, which was a simple structure. Just four tall walls and a central tower. “Hopefully that will be done with, now. Has the Crown Guard been here the whole time?”
“Parts of it, sure. The First Spears has always been stationed here, since the Red Sorceress claimed these lands, but the others kind of straggled in later. Guess they heard that there was still some order here and decided that it was better here than out in the madness. Can’t blame ‘em, honestly. I wouldn’t want to be traveling the Sortenmoors right now for all the gold in the High Peaks.”
They walked the path to the fort in silence, with Matt and the Captains of his banners following along. Melren had stayed behind to help oversee the soldiers, apparently not wanting to be the only noble in a room full of Crown Guard captains. Matt’s lifeguard was still with him, all watching the various sentries and soldiers with wary eyes.
There didn’t seem to be any threat of assassination, however. Most of the soldiers they passed looked tired and curious, but none of them seemed actively hostile. In fact, there were quite a few that seemed relieved that someone had shown up to rescue them, which Matt supposed had earned him some goodwill. It was hard to picture them trying to kill him just after he broke half of the siege for them, after all.
The other captains were waiting for him in a room near the middle of the tower. He’d climbed a spiraling staircase to reach it; the spacing was tight enough that he could imagine a single soldier could hold it against an attacking force. Once they left the stairs, the messenger led him down a hallway and to a room that had windows placed so that the people inside could see out over the bridges on one side, and the roads leading to the rest of the Sortenmoors on the other.
A cluster of people were waiting for him there. There were two distinct groups. One was a trio dressed in the plain uniforms of the Crown Guard, an Orc, Imp, and Goblin. They all stood as he entered and bowed with appropriate levels of respect. Their eyes flicked over the captains that Matt had brought with him, as well as resting on the lifeguards who were already taking up positions on either side of the door and in the corners of the room.
The second group was dressed like a group of hunters or farmers. Matt might have mistaken them for such if they weren’t so clearly war-weary; many of them had bandaged wounds or looked at him with the expressions of warriors who’d seen plenty of battle. They were a far more eclectic bunch; there were two Wizards, a Gnome, an Orc, and an Elf of some kind.
Most of the second group jerked with surprise when the captains bowed and then hastened to follow suit. The only one who did not was the Elf, who simply inclined his head in cautious deference. Matt’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but then he turned to the Crown Guard group.
“Captains, thank you for holding this town for so long. Who is in overall command here?”
The Orc raised his hand. “I am, sire. My name is Captain Urled.”
“You’ve done well, Captain Urled. All of you.” Matt looked around the room. “We’ve broken the Dwarven army here, but there is another army coming soon.”
The Imp Captain frowned. “From the Alliance, sire?”
“Yes, but on our side of the river, unfortunately.” Matt grimaced. “It would be better if we could scatter the banners already out there before they arrive to reinforce them. Do we know how strong they are?”
To his surprise, the Guard captains exchanged a wary look between them. The Elf spoke up instead. “They are mostly bandits, sire, mercenaries whose loyalty was bought with Alliance gold. Or even just promises of gold, really. If you show your presence here, they may start leaving on their own.”
Matt looked at the Elf. The man had spoken with far too much confidence for a simple serf. “And you are?”
“I am the Voice of the Sortenmoors, sire.” The Elf bowed, a curiously graceful gesture. “My name is Tanniven. Welcome to Bridgeton.”
The reason for the others’ discomfort was a lot clearer. Matt inclined his own head. “It is good to meet you, Voice Tanniven. I have heard a lot about you.”
“And I, you, sire.” Tanniven smiled as he straightened up. “My fellow freeholders are ready to give our lives for the Kingdom. Say the word, and we will fight by your side.”
Matt tilted his head slightly. There was something about the way the Elf had said the words that made him uneasy. “I am glad to hear it. I wasn’t aware that the freeholders of the Sortenmoors had chosen a Voice, however.”
Tanniven paused, his face going blank for a moment. His smile grew a little more wary. “With all of the fighting, communicating has been difficult, yes. We did try and get enough of our people together to select one, and once the Sortenmoors are safe, we’ll have a true Assembly where all can speak freely.”
The Guard captains shifted on their feet, with Urled muttering darkly under his breath. Clearly no love lost between the Voice and the soldiers, then. “And if they choose someone else, Tanniven?”
“Then I will serve the Kingdom in some other way.” The Elf shrugged. “I, and the others here with me, have sworn to defend the Kingdom’s borders for at least two years, after all. We owe you that much, and more, for the gift of our freedom.”
Then the Elf paused. His eyes narrowed. “So long as that promise holds true, of course.”
Urled growled and stepped forward, his hands going for the knife strapped to his belt. “Insolent serf! You are talking to our monarch, and if you do not—”
The Orc cut off as Matt made a sharp gesture. He looked at Matt in surprise, so Matt tried to keep his voice even. “I know that most of the news from Redspire hasn’t made it this far, Captain Urled, but it is the will of the Council that a Voice cannot be attacked or restrained in any way. Attempting to do so is considered treason, and is worthy of death.”
Tanniven broke into a brilliant smile, while Urled gave Matt a stunned stare. Matt continued in that same casual tone. “Of course, it is also considered unwise to have a Voice command troops. After all, they have so many responsibilities that burdening them with service in the army would be foolish.”
The Elf’s happy expression faded slightly. “I… see. Of course, in such difficult circumstances…”
His words trailed off as Matt raised his hands. “I completely understand, Voice Tanniven. It only makes it more important that we drive these invaders out of the Sortenmoors so that you can surrender your command and take on a different role.”
Matt turned back to the rest of the room. “I want a message sent to the banners outside. Tell them they have until the rain stops to surrender or run. After that, whoever stays will suffer the consequences.”
The messenger who had led them into the room nodded and left. Matt looked back at the captains that had followed him into Bridgeton. “Get your troops some rest. Creps, make sure all the Footmen dry their crossbows, or switch out the strings.”
Snolt was chuckling to himself again. There was an air of glee in his expression. “You sure you want to wait that long, sire? After all, we’ve only fought one battle today, and the rain could last until tomorrow.”
Matt gave the Goblin an irritated look. “I’d go out there now, if I could, but the rain is going to make it harder to maneuver. Besides, it should have slowed down the Knights as well, so we should be able to get at least a little rest in.”
“Of course, sire, of course.” The Captain of the Royal First nodded easily. “Now, if you want, you can go see the field we’ll be fighting on. I can… help our new comrades get used to a few things. If you don’t mind, my liege.”
It seemed like a suspicious suggestion, but as Matt opened his mouth to disagree, a sudden stab of pain shot through his skull. He winced and put a hand to the bridge of his nose, gritting his teeth against the agony. “Yes. I’ll do that. Just be ready to move as soon as we get the chance.”
Snolt nodded, along with the rest of his captains. “We will be, sire.”
Still feeling a little suspicious, Matt nodded to the assembled officers, who bowed back in return. Then he walked back out of the room, his head still pounding. Was it the stress, or had one of his falls done something to him? He obviously needed some time to rest, but it would have to wait. One, maybe two more battles, and the Sortenmoors would be secure. Increasingly uncomfortable headaches could wait until that was done.