“Report,” Alaric ordered as he dismounted from his horse and led Fire off to the side of the road and up to the waiting scout. “What did you learn?”
A few dozen feet away, Grayson had drawn his horse to a halt and also slid off, his boots landing amidst the layer of leaves carpeting the ground. “Keep marching, boys,” he said to the head of the column. “We’re almost there.”
The scout, Krebbs, had drawn himself up to attention and, fist to chest, saluted Alaric.
“Well?” Alaric, impatient for news, asked.
“My lord,” Krebbs said, “the town is garrisoned by the local militia. The militia is patrolling the streets and manning the walls. I saw no thugs about on the streets, and I looked good and hard. The mayor is still in charge. At least that’s what me mum said.”
“Dark Forge is under friendly control?” Grayson pressed the scout as he joined them, leading his horse by the reins. The captain’s eyes searched Krebbs’s face for any trace of uncertainty as he walked his horse off the road and out of the way of the marching column. “That’s what you are telling us?”
After what had happened in Thornwicke, Alaric had sent Krebbs on ahead to gather intelligence on what they would encounter when they got to the town outside his family’s keep. They had expected him back more than an hour ago and feared something had happened to him.
Alaric held the reins of his horse loosely as the animal nosed at the leaves lying upon the ground in search of a snack. The surrounding trees of the forest, ancient and towering, seemed to lean in, crowding close, as if eager to overhear the tidings that Krebbs brought. The Stonebridge Road was an ancient artery, winding through the dense forest like a serpent, leading them inexorably toward Dark Forge and, beyond that, Alaric’s familial seat at Dragon Bone’s Rest.
The column of march stretched back through the forest, a weary procession plodding steadily one step after another, crunching the fallen leaves underfoot. As the men passed, they picked up their heads and stared at Alaric, wearily and with mild curiosity, and then they were by, their boots carrying them onward, farther up the road.
Alaric knew they would be speculating and gossiping about what Krebbs was reporting. In a short while, there would be dozens of stories, all wrong and not even close to the truth, running up and down the marching column. The wilder the tale, the more it was believed. There was no stopping it. That was just how things were in the army.
“Is the captain right?” Alaric asked. “Is Dark Forge friendly and loyal?”
“It seems that way, sir,” Krebbs affirmed to Grayson and then Alaric with a nod, his voice carrying the weight of personal witness. “I seen me mum. She lives there and said things had got dangerous out in the countryside. There now be hundreds of people in town, all on the streets or in others’ barns. I seen that with me own eyes too. It ain’t gonna be a good winter for them when it comes and gets cold.”
“Refugees?” The word fell from Alaric’s lips. It was a term that carried the echo of desperation, of lives uprooted by unseen storms of conflict and hardship. During his campaigning in the holy land, he had seen plenty of refugees—people, families fleeing war, homeless and desperate for a safe haven along with the next meal.
“Yes, my lord,” Krebbs confirmed, his gaze dropping momentarily before meeting Alaric’s once more. “Mostly farmers and those from remote villages seeking protection of the town’s walls—scared, frightened. There’s talk about the Duke of Laval sending soldiers to help restore order. Me mum told me some think it might be better if he took over.”
“You are talking Dekar?” Alaric asked.
Krebbs gave a slow nod. “Yes, my lord. I am.”
That stirred a ripple of unease within Alaric. His knowledge of the duke was limited, framed largely by his father’s disdain for the man—a disdain whose origins Alaric had never fully understood. What he did know was that Laval was no friend of his family. He might even be an enemy.
A gust of wind swept through the forest, stirring the canopy overhead into a whispering frenzy. Golden leaves danced around them in a flurry of autumnal splendor, casting the moment in a fleeting, ethereal beauty that belied the gravity of their discussion and the news being passed along.
“Laval…” Alaric echoed, mind racing to piece together the scant information he had about the duke, trying to gauge the implications of his potential involvement. “Are you certain that his was the name mentioned?”
“Yes, my lord, I am,” Krebbs continued, his voice a somber note against the rustling backdrop. “Things are bad. Food is in short supply, as much of the harvest was not taken in, and there are many mouths needing feeding.”
Along their march, they had passed several abandoned farms. For the most part, their crops had been allowed to rot in the fields. Alaric had not liked what he saw. He had a flash of one farm that had been burned to the ground, the crops torched.
“Me mum says it wasn’t safe for many of the villages and outer farms to take in the harvest,” Krebbs continued. “There are bandits and raiders all over Dekar and they’ve been pretty brutal, killing and raping. Now there be hunger in the town. I am sorry to tell you, my lord, some of your people are starving.”
Alaric and Grayson shared a glance, a silent exchange that conveyed volumes between them. Alaric was deeply worried by what he was hearing. In Grayson’s gaze flickered the recognition of the complexity of the situation before them, a tangled web of political intrigue, social upheaval, and crisis—the bandits and raiders, refugees, the specter of hunger, the uncertain role of the Duke of Laval mixed into it all. Alaric wished he had a better grasp on what was happening.
“Did you tell your mother Alaric has returned with the Iron Guard?” Grayson’s question cut through the ambient murmur of the forest and the backdrop of crunching boots passing them by, his gaze fixed on the scout with an intensity that conveyed the seriousness of their venture and the worry the man had said too much.
“No, sir,” Krebbs replied, a trace of resolve in his voice. “You told me to say nothin’. I said nothin’, not even to me mum. I swear by our lord and all that’s holy and true, I said nothin’.”
Alaric, his mind strategizing, shifted the topic to another crucial piece of information Krebbs had brought him. “You mentioned the town mayor. Did you get his name?”
“Nightwell,” came Krebbs’s prompt response. “Mum said he’s been mayor for a good long time… well before your da died, my lord.”
“That means he was appointed by my father.” Alaric thought it a good sign, that some of the news was encouraging.
“Edmond Nightwell?” Grayson probed further, recognition of the name clearly sparking interest. “Is that the man or his son, Kana?”
“Edmond, sir,” Krebbs confirmed. “That’s be the man. Me mum told me so. She likes him. Said he be doing his best in a bad time, trying to feed as many as he can.”
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“I take it you know him?” Alaric’s question was directed at Grayson. When Alaric had left Dekar, he had only been a wet-behind-the-ears teenager. In truth, he knew little of the inner workings of Dekar, especially after so long away, let alone the political machinations of his fellow nobility. However, having served the Cardinal King, Alaric had become a quick study. He’d learned the backstabbing game of politics and had become quite an astute player himself. Now, he only needed to know who he was playing against. Was it Laval or someone else? One of their neighbors?
“I do know him, my lord,” Grayson affirmed as the wind chose that moment to gust once more, this time strongly, not only stirring the leaves on the forest floor, but sending a shower of them cascading from the branches overhead. “He’s a good man—or was—and served your father as one of his company captains before my time. If my memory is good, he is seven years my senior, maybe a little older.”
“So, he should be loyal to me, then,” Alaric surmised, trying to piece together the puzzle of allegiances that would be critical to their cause—that would help him rebuild Dekar. “Especially if my father appointed him to his current position.”
“He should be, but with what we are learning about the condition of Dekar and Laval’s potential intent or involvement…” Grayson trailed off for a couple of heartbeats as another strong wind rustled the leaves overhead and swirled them around at their feet. He gave a slight shrug of his armored shoulders. “We’ve also been gone ten years. Who is to say where Nightwell’s loyalties now lie?”
“That is a good point.” Alaric’s nod was one of contemplation. He turned his gaze back to Krebbs, his eyes lingering on the scout, thinking. “What of Dragon Bone’s Rest? Did you learn anything of my mother?”
Krebbs’s response was hesitant, a reflection of the uneasy news he bore. “No one has seen her for some time, my lord, months,” he admitted with a shake of his head. “Rumors are she’s alive and being held against her will by her guard. My mother said no one in the town likes them much, the keep guard, that is. The captain of the guard is a man named Masterson. He was brought on after your father died and is a shady sort of fellow. At least that’s what me mum says. She doesn’t much like the look of that man. It’s said he fought in the Crusade, but no one knows for sure. He frightens people and is likely a bully. For his part, Masterson and the other guards claim your mum’s in mourning and wants to see no one.”
“And people don’t believe that?” Alaric asked.
“No, my lord,” Krebbs confirmed. “They think Masterson is living like a king in the keep with his men while your mum is locked up. Few are allowed into the keep.”
Alaric felt a cold sensation slither down his spine. If true, this was not good news, not at all. He was more worried for his mother than ever before. Worse, if they closed the gate to him, he would have to force his way in and find a way to rescue her—if that was even possible. As if in response to that thought, the ring on his hand began growing warm. He glanced down at it and idly moved it around with his thumb.
“They don’t even see the keep servants anymore,” Krebbs added, “and them lot have kin in Dark Forge. They are not allowed to leave the keep.”
The thought of his mother, isolated or possibly held against her will within the very walls meant to protect and shelter her, kindled a flame of righteous indignation within his chest. He was already angry, but that fire was beginning to grow hot to a true rage.
The hot glance he spared with Grayson was laden with a mix of frustration and determination, an unspoken vow passing between them in the brief exchange. The wind, ever present, seemed to echo the tumultuous emotions stirring within Alaric, whipping through the trees with a renewed and bitter vigor.
The stakes were clear, and the path forward, though fraught with uncertainty, was also one that could lead to the reclamation of Dragon Bone’s Rest, along with the restoration of Dekar. In fact, Alaric meant to do just that. He would not rest until his family’s rule and order was restored fully to his lands. Anyone standing in his way—and that included his fellow nobles—would soon learn to regret it.
“How far are we from Dark Forge?” Alaric asked, his voice imbued with a newfound sense of urgency.
“By foot, no more than an hour, my lord, much shorter by horseback,” Krebbs responded promptly. He turned and pointed in the direction the column was marching. “The forest ends in about a quarter-mile and then gives over to fields. The town is just past that. Few are out beyond the walls.”
“Because it is not safe,” Grayson said.
“Yes, sir,” the scout responded.
In the brief silence that followed, Alaric’s thoughts weaved through the possibilities and outcomes the next hours might hold. It was a moment of decision-making, underlined by the gravity of his responsibility and the anticipation of what awaited them in Dark Forge, not to mention his family keep.
Turning, Alaric’s gaze found Thorne, still astride his horse. With him, Ezran and Jasper also remained mounted. All three were waiting patiently as the column of soldiers continued to march steadily by. Kiera was somewhere back in the column, walking with Rikka.
“Thorne… loan Krebbs your horse.” Alaric’s command was swift, a clear directive that brooked no hesitation.
Thorne immediately dismounted. Moving forward, he handed the reins over to Krebbs.
“Krebbs, I want you to ride with all possible haste to Dark Forge. Find Mayor Nightwell. You are to tell him and anyone else you encounter in the town that I have returned home with the Iron Guard and will be at the town’s gates in less than an hour.” The mandate was more than a mere announcement; it was a declaration of Alaric’s intent, a harbinger of the changes poised to unfold. “You tell the mayor that, as the earl, I expect to be welcomed properly. Can you do that?”
Krebbs’s response, a grin accompanied by a confident nod, was more than an affirmation of his ability to carry out the task. It was a promise it would be done right.
“Good,” Alaric stated, a decisive note in his tone as he turned yet again. “Jasper, go with him. Make sure there is no trouble, and if there is, deal with it.”
“And what if the mayor refuses to see him?” Jasper asked. “What then, my lord?”
“Tell the mayor he is commanded by his earl,” Alaric said. “If he still refuses to see you, then tell everyone in town I am coming, that the earl has come home. You tell them all that I have returned to save Dekar.”
“And what of the mayor in that instance?” Jasper asked.
“He will answer to me afterwards for his actions if he refuses to see you both.”
“And what of the keep, my lord?” Jasper asked. “What of your mother? Shall we tell them too?”
“No. I will deal with that after the town and mayor have knuckled under,” Alaric said. “Now, we’ve wasted enough time. Both of you, get going. Ride hard and fast. I want word to spread concerning my arrival before I get there. I need the people excited. If Nightwell is against us, it will make any move on his part more difficult.”
Jasper’s nod was swift, a silent vow of commitment to the task. As Krebbs spurred the horse into a trot, the animal’s hooves kicking up small clumps of dirt along the road, Jasper followed. Both rode alongside the column, rapidly overtaking it.
Together, both men would became the vanguard of Alaric’s intentions, speeding ahead to lay the groundwork for his arrival and what was to come. Alaric’s eyes lingered on the departing figures, determination and concern swirling in his heart. In a town where there was little hope, Alaric intended to give some.
Grayson’s voice cut through the silence. “I don’t like it.”
Alaric’s gaze drifted back down the length of the column, looking in the direction from which they had just come, where the train of civilians was just now rounding a bend in the road and approaching. Behind them, and out of sight, was the supply train and rearguard. Out in the forest around the column worked a team of scouts searching for any potential threats.
“I don’t like it either,” Alaric admitted. “Dekar is not in good shape. This is not the homecoming I envisioned.”
“We have our work cut out for us,” Grayson added, his voice a blend of realism and resolve, “and I am thinking it will not be easy righting the cart.”
“No, it will not.” Alaric’s thoughts turned to the Duke of Laval. Was he an instigator or merely an opportunist in the unfolding crisis? As one of the two dukes of the kingdom, the man was powerful and rich beyond compare. He could easily be behind the troubles afflicting Alaric’s lands. Or—he could simply be taking advantage of the situation, the instability. Either way, it wasn’t good that the man’s name was being bandied about.
Unlike the other earldoms in Kevahn, Dekar owed her allegiance directly to the king and not to one of the dukes. Alaric needed to demonstrate strength, and quickly, to solidify his hold upon Dekar. Otherwise, he would be viewed as weak by the other lords of the realm, and that could not be allowed to happen, for they would seek to take advantage of his perceived vulnerability. The imperative was clear: to restore order, to reassert control over the chaos that had taken root, and to rule with a firm hand, one that could not be mistaken by anyone. That would require examples to be made.
Alaric sucked in a breath and let it out slowly through his nose.
“First, we secure the town, then we tackle the keep, this Masterson, and find my mother. After that, we worry about the rest and Laval’s involvement. Understand?”
“Yes, my lord,” Grayson said.
Reins in hand, Alaric moved back to the side of his horse. Mounting in a single graceful motion, he settled into the saddle. He took a moment, shifting his seat, to get himself comfortable. Casting a final glance down at Grayson, he commanded, “Let’s get moving.”