The Burning Age (Fight For The Crown Book 1)

by L. J Nicholson

  “Do so,” Abraham said, “and send word to any fighting men who are still loyal to you. We will need every soldier we can muster.” Algernon nodded and swept out of the room with more energy than he’d entered, seemingly incensed by being included in such an impossible task.

  “I had a feeling you might be more difficult to sway,” Abraham said to Cleaver once they were alone. “And I think I know what you want in return. Assist me in routing and executing Fiona Fowler, and I will throw my support behind your daughter Koreen as the next Queen of Clementia. I will help you hold the capital until her coronation, and after if necessary. I only ask that when all is done, you allow me to return to the West in peace.”

  Cleaver took a long moment to digest the proposal. He broke a biscuit in half and bit into it, considering the flavours with his wise grey eyes.

  “You have thought long on this,” he said at last. “You offer everything I would ask for, before I can think to ask for it.” He took another bite of the biscuit, chewed, and swallowed, and then drank from a flask he produced from his hip pocket. “Very well,” he said at last. “If you declare your support for Koreen, I will assist you in seeking your revenge.”

  “It is not revenge that I seek,” Abraham said, “only justice. The realm will never know peace while Fiona Fowler is alive and plotting.”

  “So you say,” Cleaver mused, “but I see the spark of vengeance in your eye. It matters not to me what your motivations are. I only wish to see my daughter wear the gilded crown.”

  “And so you will,” Abraham said, nodding slowly. “There is little left for me in this world other than to avenge my son, and to see the kingdom he loved so much fall into noble hands. I believe your daughter Koreen would be the best choice for the realm.

  “I would drink to that,” Cleaver said, picking up one of the empty teacups, “if only we had something a little stronger than tea.”

  “There’s a bottle of strong whisky in the cupboard by the mantle,” Abraham said, “I would fetch it myself, but this chair has a grip on me.”

  “Rest your wounds,” Cleaver said. He stood and crossed to the cupboard, returning with the half empty bottle Abraham kept on hand. Cleaver poured them each a generous tot of the amber liquid and passed one of the teacups to Abraham, taking the other himself and swirling it about. “I don’t trust drink from many men,” the poison master said, “I know all too well how easy it is to slip a little something in. But you, I think, would want to keep me alive.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Abraham said, and tossed back the fiery liquid. It warmed his belly and numbed the pain of his various wounds, to a certain extent at least. Cleaver nodded, and then drank his own in a single gulp and sighed.

  “A fine brew,” he remarked. “I will go and write to my family at once. They will send the bulk of our forces to join in the attack. And you really should-”

  “Yes, thank you,” Abraham groaned as he stood up painfully. “I will get to my bed and rest. But when my wounds have healed… which will not take long… we will be on the warpath.”

  Chapter 16

  Archibald Cleaver left the meeting feeling quite content, and it wasn’t just the strong whisky sitting comfortably in his belly. Like a constricting serpent he had bided his time, and now the gilded crown was within his coils. All he had to do was finish arranging for the downfall of Fiona Fowler. He’d always respected the woman… distantly. She was perhaps the most dangerous person in all of the kingdom, and over the years Cleaver had grown fond of living. But now Bradbury required that he strike straight into the eagle’s talons; it was a great risk, but the reward promised made it more than worthwhile. Having Abraham’s support would guarantee Koreen’s claim to the gilded crown. The strength of the Bradbury house provided the realm with a solid backbone, the support of which was practically necessary to make a claim.

  The castle’s halls felt warm and merry, lit by the flickering glow of many lanterns. Cleaver strode along them, lost in thought as servants stepped out of his way, some going so far as to bow and curtsy. It seemed that word of Abraham’s near death experience and moment of weakness had spread. Suddenly, the Cleaver name commanded more respect than it had in years, and that felt just fine to Archibald.

  The Lord of the South made his way up several flights of stairs, into the wing occupied by guest quarters. He knocked gently at the door to his daughter’s rooms, and hearing her call from within, pushed the heavy portal open.

  Koreen sat on a plush leather chair next to the small hearth. In her arms she cradled an ornate lute given by her parents, gently tuning the instrument by ear.

  “What is it, father?” She asked as her well trained fingers plucked the strings and adjusted the knobs. “You seem to have an extra bounce in your step this evening.”

  “I have news,” Archibald said with a clever smile, sitting in the chair opposite hers. “I have just come from a meeting with Abraham Bradbury and Algernon Clemington.”

  “Three houses meeting together?” Koreen looked up, her hands ceasing their ministrations to the instrument. “This must be some news indeed. Especially in light of recent events…”

  “Do not let me interrupt your practice,” Archibald said, waving at the lute, “besides, news such as this deserves a little background music.” Koreen scowled at his withholding ways, but obediently began plucking the musical strings again. She played a light and cheerful tune that seemed to match the gleam in her father’s eye. He rubbed his palms together and then finally spoke.

  “The good news first, I think. Abraham Bradbury has promised to declare his support for you to ascend the throne. Two of the great houses hold the capital, and both wish to see you as our next queen.”

  Koreen’s fingers froze upon the lute, her grey eyes peering inquisitively from behind a veil of blonde hair.

  “It must have taken much convincing on your part to get him to offer such support in his time of sorrow.”

  “It required none, in fact. He offered openly… but that leads me to, shall we say, the less than good news. He wishes us to lend our assistance in routing and executing Fiona Fowler from her stronghold in the East.”

  Koreen’s eyebrows arched, and then she plucked a few tentative notes on the lute, following a rising chromatic scale.

  “You always told me that battles are not won by men in the field, but by cleverness in their planning.” She pursed her lips as the scale rose a full two octaves before descending.

  “Three of the great houses are allied against one. Does that not seem clever enough for you?”

  “Algernon Clemington hardly represents the bulk of his house. He will have few enough fighters to lend to the battle. Although it may become more of a siege… are you prepared to endure such an extended attack?”

  “Algernon is researching the eastern stronghold,” Archibald said with a twinkle in his eye, “he believes he may find a way for us to win a quick and decisive victory, with our superior forces. Fiona Fowler will not expect us to have such a knowledge of her land.” He steepled his fingers. “And she will not anticipate our other secret weapon, either.”

  “Another secret weapon?” Koreen said in mock surprise. She strummed a dark, foreboding chord on the lute. “Do tell me of this hidden power, father.”

  “I could tell you little enough,” he said, his smile growing “for you know more of her than I or anyone else in this realm. Having Brabury’s support is well and good… but the warriors of Clementia will stand behind you always after they witness you killing Fiona Fowler in battle.”

  This time Koreen stopped playing completely.

  “You mean… I may accompany you on the march?”

  “Not only may you… you must. And you must accompany me into battle… for how else will our warriors witness you besting the Lady of the East?”

  “You know I have trained long and hard under the best arms masters in the South,” Koreen said prudently, “but I hardly think that makes me a match for the most dangerous woman in the wo
rld.”

  “Perhaps not… but you have more than just a short life of training at your disposal. You have all the knowledge of the Cleaver family… all of our shrewd planning abilities. And with that, my darling daughter, I hardly think you can fail.”

  “You have a plan?” She asked, setting aside her lute and folding her hands in her lap patiently. “Tell me. I would hear everything.”

  “I will, in short order,” Archibald said, standing suddenly and pacing to the desk. He chose a quill and opened an inkwell, smoothing a small bit of parchment on the wooden surface. “But first I must send word to your mother and sisters. They will have to send all the troops they can spare, if we are to breach that stronghold’s gates.”

  Chapter 17

  In the time of twilight just before dawn, the woods to the North of Clementia’s capital city suddenly came to life. Men marched down the road and through the sparse shrubs on either side. Horse-drawn carts trundled down the dirt road in their wake. An army moved out of the woods and pitched camp along the treeline as the first rays of dawn reached over the horizon.

  Jasper Clemington smiled at his cousin Emily and then went back to watching the walls through his collapsible looking glass. Guardsmen raced to and fro across the battlements, their helmets flashing in the rising sun. No doubt they would be preparing for an imminent assault. Their efforts would be wasted. Jasper’s smile broadened as his troops set up tents and spiked pallisade walls, digging into the fertile earth at the edge of the forest and making camp. He had come with a true army this time - not just his own thrown together forces. The North had marched South with him, and the assault on the capital city would not be so single minded this time.

  They had discussed strategy at length during the long march South. Between Jasper and Emily and their respective advisors, they’d decided that a slow-boiling siege would be the best tactic. As the sun climbed the sky and the main camp was completed, groups of northerners spread out around the walled city, forming blockades on each and every road. They would cut off the city’s supplies, and see how long they lasted. If they did not surrender to that alone, a surgical attack would be executed once they’d grown weak with starvation and sickness.

  Jasper undid the clasp holding his cloak closed and passed the heavy northern garment to one of his guardsmen. The breeze that ruffled the treetops went through his clothing, reminding him of the sweat of the march.

  “Keep a sharp eye on the walls,” he commanded, looking about at his lieutenants. “If anyone tries to go in or out of the city, you stop them and bring them to me.” He took a deep breath to bask in the goodness of the moment, and then collapsed his telescope and ducked into his large tent. Emily joined him, sealing the flap behind them.

  The tent contained several chairs and a large stout table covered by a map of the city and surrounding area. Markers had been placed over all the roads where they’d placed blockades, and a dragon-headed bookend represented their main force on the north treeline. Emily moved to one of the flickering lanterns that lit the heavy canvas interior, warming her hands above the metal framework.

  “Everything is going according to plan,” she said, putting her back to the lantern and looking intently at Jasper. “It is a good plan. It will work, and you will wear the gilded crown.”

  “A part of me still wishes to attack outright,” he mused, pouring them each a goblet of wine from the pitcher set on the table.

  “Of course it does,” Emily said, “I would expect nothing less of my cousin. You are a northman born and bred. You wish to settle everything with a single show of force. But wars are not won in such ways, and you know well that this is a war.”

  “Of course,” Jasper said, and took a deep drink of the rich wine. He smacked his lips and sat heavily in one of the foldable chairs. “I will channel my wrath into the ceremony tonight, for now.” Emily joined him at the table and sipped her own wine.

  “It will leave them quaking in their castle,” his cousin predicted, her eyes glowing with malice. “Our show of force will be a perfect beginning to the siege that puts a Clemington back on the throne.” They finished their wine and Emily retired to her own tent to take a nap. Jasper knew that sleep was an ally he could scarcely afford to turn his nose up at, however he felt too elated by the beginning of the siege to lay down on his pallet. Instead he paced the length of the tent, always coming back to the broad table to examine the map, always thinking, always scheming.

  The hours passed, and soldiers reported to Jasper with regularity. They had established blockades on all the roads as ordered, and had scouting parties patrolling the woods on all sides of the city. Nothing was going to get in or out of the capital without Jasper’s direct approval. As darkness crept over the encampment, Jasper donned his cloak and strode out among his men. Preparations were already underway for the ceremony. Soldiers had joined up in a long line, stretching lengths of green fabric between them. The armsman at the head of the line carried a great carved dragon head, painted wood made to looks as fearsome as possible. As night gathered and the moon’s silver radiance peeked out of the sky, Jasper and Emily joined the men at the head of the line. Beneath the twilight they marched out onto the open field, snaking their way toward the capital city. The man carrying the head shook and wavered, and those bearing the fabric rustled it back and forth to simulate the movements of the great dragon. They moved and danced to and fro until at last they came to a stop in the middle of the clearing, just outside of arrow range. Even in the low light, Jasper could see archers crouched on the battlements, ready to launch a salvo as soon as they stepped close enough. They would wait in vain. The soldier carrying the dragon’s head pointed its snout upward to the sky.

  Emily and Jasper stepped forward and raised their hands together. Flames spewed forth, a mighty gout that split the night sky in two.

  “This will send the message to everyone in the city,” Emily called over the roar of approval from their men, “that the North has come to them, and they must fear us.”

  Jasper could only nod and smile. The gauntlet had been thrown down, and he knew there would be no retreat, nor any quarter given. They would take the capital city of Clementia, or they would die trying.

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