"Have I, Your Highness? I think not. The rebellion against the King of Merceria will succeed, and then there will be a friendly monarch on the throne. Surely that outcome is worth the gamble?"
"You're a fool, Baron," spat out Alstan. "Do you have any idea what the Mercerian army is like?"
"They're a bunch of barbarians," the baron stated. "A few hundred volunteers should easily be able to defeat them."
"I've studied Merceria," Alstan continued, calming himself. "I've learned all I can about them. They have a massive army, much bigger than ours, easily twice the size. Do you know why?"
The baron, caught off guard by this tidbit of information, simply shook his head.
"The entire kingdom was founded by mercenaries. They even call it the warrior's crown. To them, fighting is everything. They've been fighting for their survival since they first formed the kingdom, been in almost a constant state of warfare. You've just given them an excuse to invade Weldwyn."
Alric was taken aback. He had always thought of Merceria as the enemy, but he had no idea what they were really like. To hear they had such numbers troubled him deeply.
"In the name of the Crown, I place you under arrest on the charge of treason," Alstan announced, the rage gone from his voice, to be replaced by resignation. "We will be escorting you back to the capital to face judgement."
"I'm sure the king will understand-"
"The penalty for treason is death," Alstan interrupted. "The king issued the warrant for your arrest." He produced the warrant, handing it to the baron, whose face grew pale as he read it.
"Guards!" called Alstan and four of the king's men entered the room. "Take this man into custody. We'll ride out as soon as the horses have been watered."
The soldiers escorted the prisoner out, while the baron blubbered. "It's all a misunderstanding!" he shouted, but Alstan ignored him.
The room fell silent as the elder prince paced.
"Is it as bad as it sounds?" Alric asked.
"Yes," Alstan replied. "War is looming, and I fear a Mercerian reprisal. They're a bloodthirsty kingdom and no friend to Weldwyn. We're in no shape to face them."
"Surely the army-" protested Alric.
"No," interrupted Alstan. "The bulk of the army is west. The Twelve Clans have been restless of late, and there have been signs we might have to repel an invasion. This comes at the worst possible time."
"The Clans have always been restless. What makes this any different?" Alric enquired.
"In the past, they were always distracted by infighting, but now they seem united in their determination to expand their borders. Word is they even elected a High King, something that has never happened before, as far as we know."
"A High King?"
"Yes, each of the twelve clans have always had their own chieftain, but never have all the clans spoken with a single voice. Now it seems they've buried their differences."
Alric fell silent. Events were rapidly building, but to what end he didn't understand.
Four
Treason!
Spring 960 MC
King Leofric of Weldwyn sat upon his throne, staring at the man in front of him. Lord Hartly Babbington, the Baron of Falford stood before him in chains, his face staring at the floor, ready to face the king's justice. The members of the Earls' Council were nearby, waiting to hear the proclamation. Everyone in the room knew there could be but one outcome; death, for the baron's actions had placed the security of the entire kingdom in peril.
The king spoke only two words, "Explain yourself."
"Your Majesty," Lord Babbington pleaded, "I have only acted in the best interests of the Crown. Long have we feared our neighbours to the east. For almost a thousand years we have lived under the threat of attack from Merceria. It was only a matter of time before they once again tried to conquer us."
The king was not a man easily moved. "And so," he said, "you thought you'd accelerate the process and convince them to invade us sooner?"
The baron's face paled, "That was never my intention, Your Majesty. I was assured the uprising had an excellent chance of succeeding. It would have placed a sympathetic king on the throne of our nemesis."
"Tell me, Lord Babbington," the king continued, unswayed by the man's arguments, "what do you know of Lord Garig?"
The baron straightened his back and raised his face to look directly at the king.
"He is a most trustworthy man," he said. "He represents powerful nobles in the realm of Merceria."
"And how, precisely, do you know this?"
Lord Babbington was suddenly at a loss for words.
The king continued, "Did he mention, by name, the nobles who support him, by any chance? Did he indicate how many troops they had raised on their own? Perhaps he gave you an outline of how their military campaign might progress?"
The baron stared dully at the king.
"I thought not," said the king. "It appears, Lord Babbington that you have failed us completely. This Lord Garig came to our court with empty promises. Since that time, I have had people look into him. There is no record of a lord by that name in Merceria, as far as we can tell. You have been lied to, and the result is that your actions have placed the entire kingdom in jeopardy."
"Surely not, Your Majesty. We have the mightiest army-"
"Our army is woefully unprepared to fight off an invasion from the east. The bulk of them have been sent west to stave off incursions by the Twelve Clans. We cannot fight on two borders; we haven't the numbers."
"Then perhaps, Your Majesty, we need a stronger leader!"
The entire room sat in silence, stunned at the words.
King Leofric rose to his feet, stepping toward the condemned man. "If you were unhappy with my leadership, you should have brought it to the attention of the Earls' Council. As it is, you have violated the law. I have no choice but to pass judgement on you." He looked around to see the nods of approval from the assembled nobles. "It is my judgement that you be stripped of your title and condemned to death. The execution will take place within the week." He cast his eyes around the room. "What say you, my lords?"
Almost as one, the nobles agreed. The king waited for the noise to die down. "Very well," he continued, "the earls have spoken. You shall be taken from this place to the dungeons. Your execution shall be carried out in public as soon as arrangements can be made. Take him away!"
The guards came forward, grabbing the prisoner by his arms. The former Baron of Falford was dragged, screaming, from the room.
"Now, my lords," continued the king, as the sounds died in the distance, "we must make plans. We have to decide how we will respond to this emergency. Let us adjourn to more comfortable quarters."
The earls followed the king from the throne room.
* * *
Alric had just returned from a ride and was walking past the throne room when the door opened. A guard held the door as his father entered the hallway. "Ah, Alric, go and fetch Alstan and meet me in the reading room."
"Father?"
"We're meeting with the Earls' Council, I want you both there."
"What about Cuthbert?"
“I’ve sent him west with the army. We'll send word to keep him informed. Now hurry along, we've no time to waste."
* * *
It didn't take long for Alric to locate his oldest brother; he was sitting outside with his wife, Lady Elswith. Alstan's marriage had been arranged years ago; his wife's father was a powerful earl. The two princes took their leave of the Lady, making their way to the reading room, their father's favourite place to hold meetings. It was a large room, full of bookshelves, boasting a long table, around which sat almost the entire Earls' Council. King Leofric preferred the more relaxed atmosphere of the room to the official council chambers, and the earls tended to agree.
"Ah, Alstan, Alric, come and have a seat," their father invited.
They dutifully took their places, while a servant brought them some wine.
"I have asked my son
s here," continued the king, "so that if something should happen to me, the plans may be continued." King Leofric raised his hands to still any objections. "Let me assure you, gentlemen, I am in perfect health, but sometimes decisions must be made by local commanders, and since my sons could command our military forces, it is imperative that they understand what is happening."
Alric scanned the faces of the earls. They seemed calmed by the statement.
"Now, let us continue," the king said. "I've asked the Earl of Faltingham to go over the salient points. If you would, Edwin?"
Lord Weldridge stood, the better to command the earls' attention. "We find ourselves in a prickly situation, gentlemen. Due to the actions of the traitor, we are faced with the prospect of an invasion."
There were nods from the earls; they had all born witness to Lord Babbington's sentence.
"How dire is it?" asked Lord Warford.
"If it had happened last year, we'd be in a relatively good place, but with the recent developments in the west, we've been forced to move the bulk of our army. Our eastern border is now woefully unprepared."
"Can't we recall the army?" asked Lord Mainbridge.
"And leave the western border to the mercy of the Clans?" someone said.
"I'm afraid," continued Lord Weldridge, "that Lord Canning is correct. We cannot move troops off the western border without exposing us to more danger."
Once again, Lord Mainbridge raised a concern, "Is it possible that Merceria has incited the Twelve Clans for this very reason, to strip away our defenses in the east?"
"We cannot eliminate the possibility," continued Lord Weldridge, "though I think it unlikely. Coordinating such a move would prove difficult."
"Yes," agreed Alstan, "we know the Clansmen to the west seldom work with each other, let alone allies that live hundreds of miles away."
"So," continued Lord Mainbridge, "we can't get more troops eastward. What do you propose, that we just offer them the Crown of Weldwyn?"
There were objections all round, and Lord Weldridge let them die down before speaking. "King Leofric has suggested we send a delegate to the court of Merceria and try to reason with them."
Once again objections arose, but the king stood, quieting the room. "I know you think of Merceria as the enemy, and in some ways, they have been. Since the founding of our kingdom, they have been an ever-present threat to our east. Despite our prejudices, they are people, much like us; I have to believe that. I believe they can be reasoned with."
"Your Majesty," objected Lord Canning, "are you suggesting we subjugate ourselves?"
"No, Aelford. I'm suggesting that diplomacy might work where arms have failed in the past. It will, at least, buy us some time. If we stabilize our western border, we can move troops east to mitigate the threat."
"And who shall we send?" asked Lord Mainbridge. "Surely not the Crown Prince?"
"No," interjected Lord Weldridge, "I have volunteered to go."
The room grew quiet as each person thought it through. It would be a dangerous mission, they all knew it. It was just as likely that the King of Merceria would execute an envoy from Weldwyn instead of welcoming him.
"I admire your courage," Lord Mainbridge spoke up, "and we send our prayers that you might be successful."
"Thank you, gentlemen," Lord Weldridge returned. "I shall pray to Malin for guidance."
As the conversation devolved into details, Alric soon lost interest. His uncle was going to Merceria! He wondered what this might portend. Such a mission had never before been attempted; surely they were on the cusp of great events!
Five
The Court of Wincaster
Spring 960 MC
It was late spring as Lord Edwin Weldridge, Earl of Faltingham, approached the gates to Wincaster. The trip to the Mercerian capital had been blessedly peaceful and without incidence. He wondered if anyone in the kingdom was even aware that Westlanders were riding their roads.
They had learned from fellow travellers that the rebellion had been put down. The king had lost his second son in the fight, but the unexpected assistance from another army had saved them. The Earl of Faltingham wanted to know more, but his priority must be to meet with King Andred IV of Merceria.
The guards at the gate were oblivious to the origin of the travellers, easily accepting the Weldwyn coins that were offered. It appeared that everywhere they went, the western currency was an accepted form of payment; the merchants far more concerned with coin weight than where it was minted. He suspected there was more trade between kingdoms than his king knew, for merchants are often quick to look for profit.
The city of Wincaster was similar to their own capital, full of people, but it seemed more constrictive here as if the narrow streets echoed the close eye that the Mercerian King was said to keep on his subjects.
They soon found lodging at a well-to-do inn and settled in. There was no advance warning of their arrival, therefore no messages awaited them. Lord Weldridge knew that they must make contacts if they were to obtain a private audience with King Andred. He was eager to learn as much about the uprising as possible; was Weldwyn implicated in it? He sent his people out looking for more information.
* * *
Some time later, there was a knock on his door, and he bid them enter. His sergeant opened the door to admit a short, thin individual with a balding head.
"This man says he has information for you, my lord," the sergeant said.
"Very well, Phipps, show him in." His eyes met the stranger's. "Please have a seat."
The thin man sat, and the Earl of Faltingham noticed the nervousness in the visitor's actions.
"How do you do?" the earl began.
"Very well, Your Grace," the man answered. His accent was Mercerian, and the earl detected some lower class mannerisms.
"Please," the earl continued, "tell me about yourself."
"I work at the Royal Court, Your Grace, as the master of the stable."
"I take it that's a very important position?" the earl asked.
"Oh yes, the king does so love his horses."
"My sergeant said you have some information for me. Would you be so kind as to share it?" The stable master hesitated, so he added, "I'd be more than willing to compensate you for your time."
The visitor visibly relaxed at these words. "That's awfully kind of you, Your Grace. I heard you were asking questions about the recent rebellion."
"Yes, please, go on."
"Well, there were three armies, you see. The Earl of Eastwood planned the whole thing. He hired men to strike in the west to pull the army away, then attacks from the northeast."
The earl nodded, "Very clever of him, but why didn't it work?"
"Well," the visitor smiled, "they didn't reckon on the princess, you see."
"The princess?"
"Aye, Princess Anna. She raised an army, defeated both the western forces, and then marched back to Wincaster to help the king defeat the usurper.”
The Earl of Faltingham was startled, "Princess Anna? I thought the king's daughter was named Margaret?"
"Oh, aye, she is. But this is his other daughter, the younger one."
"Younger? I thought Margaret was still young. Are you saying a child stopped the invasion?"
"Well, she had help, of course. Some powerful men advised her, and a woman too."
"A woman?"
"Yes, Dame Beverly, a Knight of the Sword. She led the cavalry that smashed the invaders at Kingsford, the whole city's talking about her."
"Curious," the earl reflected. "I hadn't heard that. Tell me more about the rebellion. You say she defeated the armies to the west, what about the army that descended on the capital?"
"Well, the king sent an army under Marshal-General Valmar to chase down the usurper. They met outside of the city of Eastwood. There was a big battle, and the enemy was defeated. Even beat off an attack by Orcs."
"You say the king sent an army, he didn't command it himself?"
"No, my lord, he
was still overcome by the death of Prince Alfred."
"Did they capture the usurper?" pressed the earl.
"Oh yes, had him executed in Wincaster, it was quite the spectacle."
"Very interesting. What happened then?"
"The king ordered a celebration in honour of their victory. There's to be a huge gathering at the Palace this evening. Everyone's invited."
"Everyone?"
"Well, everyone of any import. All the nobles of the land will be present."
"And how would one gain an invitation to this event?"
The master of the stable smiled, "Anyone can get an invitation if they have enough coins, Your Grace."
The Earl of Faltingham chuckled, it appeared Mercerians were not so different after all.
* * *
That evening the Palace was packed. The Earl of Faltingham's carriage rolled up to the gates, joining the long line of elegant nobles preparing to disembark. He waited patiently, it would not be seemly to complain and risk alienating these people.
King Leofric had been adamant that the mission needed to be successful and had given the earl enough funds to grease whatever palms needed it. As the carriage rolled up, a servant rushed forward to open the door. Lord Weldridge stepped down, observing the others around him. It appeared the majority of people were already in the Palace. He had purposefully arrived late, the better to make an entrance worthy of a king's emissary. Followed by his small entourage, he made his way through the Palace, guided by a servant. He heard music drifting toward him as they approached the great hall. Arriving at the entranceway, he announced himself to the finely dressed man stationed there, and then waited.
A moment later, the music stopped, and the buzz of talk died down as the delegation entered the room. King Andred was at the far end of the court, easy to recognize as he wore the Warrior's Crown; a simple, steel crown, devoid of gold or jewels, which denoted the ruler of this country of soldiers. As if on cue, the crowd parted, allowing them to move toward the king. Walking forward, he noticed the guards stationed just behind His Majesty, along with a dark-haired woman off to the side, which he assumed to be the queen.
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