by Duncan Lay
“All we require is that the men who have been converted to Zorva are brought forwards, for their own good as much as for anyone else. Here, they will be given the chance to save their souls. At the very least, they will be unable to do more harm. And once we can all be sure all is safe, then we can continue as before.”
“Captain Fallon is known to hate the Guilds. How do we know he will not destroy us, no matter what we do here?” the head of the Silversmiths asked cautiously.
“Everything will continue as before,” Dina said immediately. “There are no plans to take away any license for trade. We know that Berry and indeed Gaelland runs on the Guilds. King Aidan attempted to use you for his own ends but he has been amply punished for his deeds. We want Gaelland to be stronger than ever and that prosperity will be built on the Guilds. Look at how we have worked with the Guild of Magic. Let that be an example to you all.”
“It is true, we have both benefited,” the head of that Guild agreed, making them all nod.
“And the nobles?” another asked.
“As I said, the only change is that a mad King who had turned to evil has been removed. In the spring, we shall choose a new King and I don’t doubt he will have his own way of doing things. I cannot speak for him. But, until then, we continue as before.”
Fallon could see the relief on their faces and wished he had the power to go into every Guild and use his shillelagh to get some answers out of them.
But while he gripped and re-gripped his shillelagh, aching for the chance to use it, he merely sat and listened as Dina took them through the new tax arrangements and elicited their pledges of coin. Bags and bags of coin, which could be used to keep the city running while the nobles were slowly brought back under control.
They bowed deeply to Dina as they left, promising that the first payments would arrive the next day.
Some of them even looked like they would try to shake Fallon’s hand, but he glared at them and they quickly moved on. The only one he reckoned could be trusted was Lorrissa, the new head of the Guild of Engravers. But there were many more that looked suspicious.
“Fear and greed will keep them in line,” Dina said contemptuously as the last of them disappeared out the door. “Fear that we will make them pay for the evil they have done and greed that they can continue as before.”
“For how long do we have to put up with them?” Fallon asked. “They may not have known everything Aidan was doing but they were happy to go along with it nonetheless.”
“Only until we have the country secure,” she said soothingly. “One summer, no more. Then there can be a proper reckoning.”
Fallon knew he had to see the bigger picture. She had told him that often enough. But Aroaril it was hard.
“So that is the Guilds in hand. Tomorrow we need to start on the nearest nobles, make sure the ones who have promised to stand with us live up to their word and those who ignored us will be brought over to our side by fear or force,” she said. “You see, we make the perfect team. I provide the carrot and you provide the stick.”
Fallon patted his shillelagh. “You’re right about that!”
*
“Finally, we are getting somewhere,” Swane said with satisfaction.
“Highness, I would still caution against moving too soon. We do not have enough men or weapons,” Ryan said carefully.
“Nonsense. I am the rightful King. Once they see me, all will rally to my banner. Finbar’s messages to my nobles in the west of the country have worked. They have all agreed to help destroy the traitor Fallon. Besides, we need to move now, or we shall never get through the passes across the Spine.”
Ryan bowed his head. “Indeed you are right, highness. As it is, our men shall need to rest and recover on the other side. We will be vulnerable if Fallon decides to attack—”
“He is peasant scum and I am the rightful King! We shall do what I say!”
“Yes, highness.”
*
The incessant training had toughened the young recruits up but Fallon still took most of them on the march through the countryside. Part of it was to get them stronger and more confident, part of it was protection in case some noble decided to raise his fyrd, but most of it was intimidation. Fail to live up to your promises and we will be back.
The sight of so many armed men marching through the countryside was enough to send the people into a panic but when they marched around and past villages and towns without touching anything or, even better, used good silver to buy food and drink, people began to bring out their goods for sale, or just stood and watched and cheered as they marched past.
“We should tell them we are here to free them from the nobles and give them a chance at a better life,” Fallon said.
“Too dangerous,” Dina said immediately. “Not until we are through this winter. We have to let the nobles think they are in no danger, right up until the moment we drag them before a crowd and behead them for their crimes. They have to trust us and believe us.”
Fallon did not like the idea but he did not have nearly enough men to hold Berry and take over this many counties as well. Stretching his forces too thin would just be an invitation for the nobles to unite and strike back. Besides, he was beginning to trust her. She had been invaluable so far.
Their first stop was the town of Kenkilly, the home of the local Baron. As the closest noble, he had promised help to Dina in a letter but, aside from a few wagons of potatoes, nothing had arrived from his county. The rich, fertile dark soil of Kenkilly was perfect for potatoes and they had marched for two days through endless fields, with men and women working furiously to bring in the crop. Enough to keep Berry bellies full for winter, if they could but get their hands on them.
Baron Kenkilly had no castle, merely a stately manor that would never hold out against the force they brought, while his small company of guards vanished like mist in the sun at the sight of Fallon’s force. Just in case the noble thought to run, Fallon had sent Bran and a hundred men on horses to watch the eastern road out of Kenkilly. But they were not needed.
The Baron was a plump man, resembling one of the vegetables his county was famous for. He looked friendly enough but Fallon had seen him stabbing a helpless servant with a fork at the King’s feast and listened to him wheel and deal at the council.
“My dear Duchess, to what do we owe the pleasure?” he asked, perspiring even though the day was overcast and chill.
“Potatoes, my dear Baron,” Dina said. “I have a longing for potatoes. You may remember you promised to send us some in Berry but they seem to have been misplaced.”
The Baron glanced over at Fallon, who glared back at him, then the nobleman looked at the mass of soldiers behind them and pasted a smile onto his face. “We have been hard at work harvesting them for you. Let us discuss how we can get them there,” he suggested.
*
Fallon led his men out of Kenkilly that day, all but a company under Casey, who would escort more than a hundred wagons piled high with potatoes back to Berry. The Baron had listened to Dina’s flattery and promises both about the upcoming council to decide a new King and payment for extra supplies. By the time they had all sat down to dinner with the Baron, he was complaining about how Aidan had behaved and exclaiming in horror at the thought of Zorva worship going on in the capital.
“You are used to sending half to the King anyway. If you sent more, for which we will pay, and then purchased supplies from other counties for your people, then everyone wins. Those who are frightened of being seen to support us in Berry can hold their hand on their heart and pledge that they merely sold food to a fellow noble,” she explained.
Baron Kenkilly nodded wisely but also grasped the unspoken threat of the army waiting outside his home and agreed to send everything he had, in exchange for Guild silver that he could use to buy food from elsewhere in Gaelland.
“There’ll be cheers when that lot arrives in the markets of the city,” Dina said.
“It’s a good
start,” Fallon agreed. “Now the real fun begins.”
*
The Count of Rork had not replied to Dina’s messages but his fields were full of fat lambs, just ready to be killed and salted for winter, so they marched there next. Rork did not border Kenkilly but Fallon did not want to give them any warning. He had marched his men slowly through Kenkilly but now he led them on a fast march, pushing them swiftly and pounding along the roads, moving at night and then hiding them in the day, using woodlands to disguise them. He guessed that the Count of Rork would have heard about their slow march through Kenkilly and be watching for something similar through his own county. He did not intend to give him the time to prepare. If Rork tried to raise its fyrd, they would discover it was too late. The recruits were left gasping and staggering by the end of each night but they were still cheerful enough. They all trusted Fallon – and he had made sure none of the ones he brought along were from these counties. That way they would not have to feel any guilt about what they were going to do.
Like Kenkilly, Rork did not have a defendable castle. The Count’s home had towers at each corner but they were for decoration rather than practical use. Fallon had no idea what Rork looked like, of course, because he had never been there. But he solved that by sending Bran and a handful of other men to ride ahead and scout the town. Dressed in ordinary clothes, they shopped in the market and looked at how the Count defended his town.
It allowed him to rest the recruits in a large wood about ten miles out of Rork during one last day, then lead them on a brisk march through the night to surprise the town.
*
Rossmore, the Fourteenth Count of Rork, usually woke late. After all, being up before the dawn was only for those who needed to work for their living. Since he had fled the uprising in the capital and therefore all the city’s luxuries, he had tried to sleep as much as possible, because the entertainment in his ancestral home was sadly lacking compared to what Berry offered. But now he was unsure when he would be able to return. Like just about everyone he had feared King Aidan and mourned his death not at all, but that was not to say he liked the idea of some commoner wielding power. Bowing to a peasant? Even the presence of Duchess Dina was not enough to make that appealing. So when messages from Prince Swane arrived, brought to him by magic, he had agreed to act as a base for Swane’s gathering army. His flocks, which would normally have gone to Berry, would be used to feed the men Swane and Meinster were bringing down. From Rork, it was possible to march hard and fast for Berry, especially with plenty of fat lamb inside. He had been promised extra lands in exchange for such help and was looking forwards to picking those out. It meant he had to keep out of Duchess Dina’s way but that should be easy enough. The men from Berry were marching slowly across the countryside and he would have plenty of warning of their approach, with men out watching every road. Without that to worry about, he could relax and enjoy the few diversions that Rork presented.
But this morning was different. Instead of waking some time around noon for a leisurely breakfast, he was disturbed by shouting. No matter how many times he rang the bell beside his bed, nobody came to his bedroom, and he was finally forced to wrap a robe around his shoulders and go and see what was happening, swearing that someone was going to be flogged to within an inch of their lives for this.
To his shock, he found not his usual servants downstairs but instead a pack of dirty soldiers, led by a grim-faced captain and accompanied by Duchess Dina of Lunster.
“What is the meaning of this?” he squawked, clutching his robe to his chest.
“It means, my dear Rossmore, that you have decided to do what is right and send what you owe to the capital,” the Duchess said cheerfully.
Rossmore looked over at where half a dozen of his guards sat on the floor, their hands on their heads, surrounded by young men pointing loaded crossbows at their faces. He had thought his men were tough but they seemed small and helpless now.
“But I want no part of what is happening—” he began, only for the grim-faced captain to stride forward and lay a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“I am Captain Fallon. You may have heard of me. I was the man who gutted King Aidan in front of a cheering crowd,” the captain said.
Rossmore felt faint and held onto his bladder only with the greatest of difficulty. “I have heard of you,” he whispered.
“Either you help us or people will stop whispering about how I killed that foul King and start talking about what I did to an unfortunate Count.”
Rossmore looked into the implacable eyes and had to clear a dry throat before he could speak. “What do you need?” he whimpered.
Fallon dragged him along towards his study. “To find out what you have been up to.”
*
Unlike in the King’s rooms, Fallon had quickly found what he was looking for in the Count’s study. He shoved a handful of parchments into the Count’s face. “When is Swane coming? What foul plans have you made with him? Have you sold your soul to Zorva? Talk, or so help me I will tear your guts out with my own hands.”
The terrified noble seemed unable to speak, his teeth were chattering so much.
“Obviously Rossmore was forced to do this, out of fear of his own life – isn’t that right?” Dina said soothingly.
The Count nodded so hard his head looked like it was about to come off. “I will happily to swear to Aroaril!” he gabbled.
“And you will write to Swane, tell him you no longer have any supplies, or men, and Rork has a huge garrison of Captain Fallon’s men just waiting for the chance to hang him up from the nearest tree,” Dina continued.
“I will?” Rossmore said weakly.
“Or we can just send him your head. Your choice,” Fallon snarled.
“Give me the quill. You can rely on me. Swane will not want to come anywhere near Rork by the time I have finished,” the Count promised, sweat pouring off his face.
*
“You didn’t have to be that harsh on poor Rossmore,” Dina said, the smile on her face robbing her words of any sting.
“The bastard was plotting with Swane! If we hadn’t paid him a visit, he would have joined that evil bogger in marching on Berry,” Fallon growled. “Fear and force is the only thing these nobles understand.”
“We are going to need him, and others like him,” Dina said in mild reproach. “Have you not heard the expression you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?”
“I prefer to squash my flies,” Fallon stated. “But at least we can stop Swane’s plots before they start. A few more messages like that and he will stay in Meinster until we can go and put an end to his evil.”
“True enough,” she said. “This trip is proving to be very useful.” She pointed to where another company of recruits was herding a seemingly never-ending flock of sheep down the road towards Berry. “Between confiscating food, every weapon and piece of armor we could find and even the Count’s wizard, we have removed any danger to us from Rork. Swane will soon discover the west of the country is ours and that he is pinned behind the mountains in Meinster. Thanks to the Guild of Magic, they will not be able to see what we are doing. So, you see, the Guilds are proving useful.”
Fallon snorted at that. “So, who is next?”
Dina looked across the countryside.
“I think south to Eastmeath and then across to Rexford. That will bring us grain and cattle,” she said.
“And the chance to terrify more fat nobles and sow a little fear in Swane’s dreams,” Fallon added.
“I like the way you think, Captain,” she said with a laugh.
*
“What is your excuse for delaying now?” Swane demanded.
“Highness, we were ready to leave but marching now would be pointless,” Meinster said fiercely.
Swane closed his eyes and counted to ten before opening them again. He needed this man but, Zorva knew, it was getting close to the point where he was going to have to make an example of someone.
“
And what is that?” he asked, his voice dangerously calm.
But Meinster did not seem worried. “Highness, look here,” he said, gesturing towards a map.
Swane clenched his fist but a touch on his shoulder from Ryan steadied him.
“Highness, you need to see this,” he said gently.
With ill-disguised bad grace, Swane allowed himself to be seated at a table to see a large map of Gaelland.
“We had messages from many of the nobles, pledging support and men to your cause. We were planning to march through the land, gathering men to us as we went, before arriving at Berry to demand the people fulfill their oaths, rise and deliver the traitor Fallon and his accomplices to us,” Ryan said.
“But, in the past few days, we have received messages from Kenkilly, Rork, Eastmeath, Rexford and others, warning us that Fallon is already there. He has stripped those counties of men, weapons and food, sending them to Berry, then left strong garrisons behind in a swathe of county towns. If we march, we would march to our doom. Our men would arrive tired and hungry and, instead of collecting food and reinforcements, they would instantly be attacked by a bigger force.”
“How is this possible?” Swane growled. “He does not have so many men!”
“It seems that Fallon has been busy,” Ryan said. “Some of this may be lies, designed to trick us. But we cannot know for sure. The Guild of magic is blocking all of Finbar’s attempts to discover the true picture of what is happening on the other side of the mountains and sadly, we have not been able to make contact with your father’s network of informants in Berry. After Regan’s death, it seems they have gone into hiding.”
Swane thumped the table, biting back curses. “So what do we do?” he demanded.
“We must wait for better weather and redouble our efforts to find out what is really happening in the west of the country. If we march blindly into a trap, then Fallon will have us all dragged before a jeering crowd to our deaths.”
Swane hit the table again. But he could think of no way out of this. It ate at his insides but he was helpless. That could not continue. “How much of what we did with Brother Nahuatl do you remember?” he asked Ryan.
