After most of the resistance against Anguin’s rule collapsed, Sir Aveden was lauded with praise and loaded with treasure – not to mention the loot he’d secured from his lucrative act of patriotism. But though there were good lands aplenty for him to choose from in the south, as his just reward for admirable service, he had chosen to return to his homeland and take up its defense. Pentandra wrote him a recommendation, and since I had need of such men, I snatched him up when he rode into Vanador. On my recommendation, Sandoval hired him as a marshal and tasked him with hiring and training a thousand men to guard the county I was now responsible for.
Avden set to the task passionately. I think that part of the reason I liked him was he reminded me of Sire Cei, in his younger days, though the knight was not so taciturn as the Dragonslayer.
I rode out to see the camp with Mavone and Sandy one glorious late spring morning to inspect the initial results of Aveden’s efforts. Sandy had established a training camp – and the beginnings of a holding – in an unoccupied patch of the plateau, to the southwest of the Anvil. Aveden led me there, himself, his giant destrier nearly dwarfing the rouncey I rode.
Aveden had arrived in the Magelaw leading a train of twenty magnificent steeds he’d collected in the south, part the spoils of war. A lot of returning Wilderlords had had similar ideas. The southern baronies had some magnificent horses. If a knight could protect a string of them through the perilous route north, he could fetch a premium price for them at market. I’d purchased many, myself, to equip the force I was responsible for building.
By the day of our inspection Sir Aveden had managed to recruit about a third of his men. He could have gotten them all at once, but he was being picky about the men he was hiring and wanted to weed out any undesirables. Previous military service and training was preferred, as well as demonstrable skill, but he was more interested in ability and spirit than he was the glorious list of battles a man was in. I’d told him to ignore title and pedigree for this force, and he’d obeyed. I needed fighting men, not tournament fodder.
He’d done well, I saw, as we rode under the camp’s rough timber gateway, I could see the lines of recruits practicing shield drills under the watchful eyes of ancients and petty captains in a muddy field.
“Good lads,” the burly Wilderlord assured me as we passed by. “About half came from the militia force, the others are former mercenaries. They’ve been at it for days,” he said, proudly. “It’s been a muddy season, too. It’s making their legs strong.”
“Infantry, only?” I asked.
“Thus far. I want to make sure they can fight on foot, before I risk a horse on them. The rebels we faced in the south were decent horsemen, but the moment their feet touched the ground they fought like aging nuns.”
“In what weapons are you training them?” I didn’t see a lot of arms around. Certainly not enough for them all.
“Sword and shield, axe and shield, spear, greatsword, bow—”
“Bow?” I asked, surprised but pleased. Most knights saw archers as inconvenient wastes of rations, or even cowardly.
“I teach warriors, here,” he said, proudly. “A warrior does not disdain any weapon which may slay his foe. We face a cunning and insidious enemy. We must be able to adapt to any battlefield circumstance.”
“I approve,” I agreed, as we came to the rough shed that served as the company’s headquarters. A boy ran out and grabbed our reins while we dismounted. “But there will be some cavalry?”
“I am selecting a quarter of each company for horsemanship training,” he agreed, glancing at the new stables a crew of peasant laborers were building. “We’ll have steeds enough to mount five squadrons, come summer. Good horses,” he emphasized. “I wonder if we will have saddle and tack, though.”
“It’s coming,” I pledged. “It’s being made as quickly as it can be.”
“So these are the new defenders of Vanador?” Sandoval asked, critically, as we walked through the camp, watching the men drill and sweat. “Four hundred men?”
“Four hundred men in this class of the Guard, my lord,” Sir Avden agreed. “We shall have two more classes ere Midsummer. The army will take the best three hundred. The worst-performing of the men will be offered jobs in the City Watch, as part of Lord Gareth’s garrison.”
“Where will this lot be deployed, when they’re done?” Mavone asked.
“The pass at the entrance of the Vale, as per Magelord Terleman’s instructions,” the marshal informed us. “They will begin patrolling and fortifying the region, after arming in Vanador. When the second class is ready, they will move to an encampment in Korwyn, for a month, and thence to Astryg, in turn.”
“How are the efforts to recruit a veteran cavalry force?” Sandy asked the marshal. He was serving as our recruitment officer on that front, as well. There were enough cavalrymen in Vanador who were, like Sir Aveden, were returning from war and seeking employment. Despite Tyndal’s efforts to recruit the absolute best to Callierd, Sir Aveden had made some significant progress.
“Two companies of two dozen horse, with experienced commanders,” he boasted. “All but a few are well-mounted. I have one patrolling Tolindir, another in the south, near Tralsalan. I hope to have a third assembled before too long,” he added. “A lot of new recruits are coming up from Vorone, now that the weather’s clear.”
Our goal was to have four companies of cavalry ready to screen the town, or respond rapidly to a sudden invasion while our infantry were mobilized. That was in addition to several knightly households which would respond to our summons. I wanted permanent, professional soldiers as the spine of my defense, however, not part-time warriors. Standing armies are expensive, but then so are mass funerals.
“Is there any way to accelerate the process? Train more men at a time?” Mavone asked, urgently.
“I can double the number of men in each class,” the knight conceded. “Perhaps increase the bounty paid to new recruits,” he suggested. “With common labor paying so well here, ’tis hard to find a man who will serve for the same price as honest toil.”
“Do it,” I agreed. “And have someone post a bill in Vorone and have it read by criers,” I suggested. “We might pick up some more 3rd Commando veterans.”
We spent several hours watching the training in the muddy field, discussing future plans, and considering additional training camps in other parts of the plateau, before we quit the camp and returned to Vanador.
“That was a good start,” Mavone commented, as we were riding back to town. “But we need more.”
“I know we need more,” I grumbled. “A lot more. And we need to place the Guard strategically. The gap is a good idea, but Anstryg and Korwyn are in no need of a garrison, at the moment,” I pointed out.
“This is a war with no front lines,” Mavone replied, thoughtfully. “A war of raids and counterattacks, spies and sabotage. But if there is a definite frontier betwixt Vanador and Shadow, it is the wide river vale of the Wildwater, from the ford at Rognar to the cataract over the Escarpment,” he answered. “There are only a few places along that stretch that a significant army can cross.”
“That’s a lot of fords and lands to patrol,” Sandy pointed out, with a frown.
“Not just patrol but defend,” I agreed. “Roads on either bank of the Wildwater once spread out into fertile lands there, before the invasion,” I reminded them. “The East bank is protected, though there are plenty of our folk still living on the West.”
“Then we encourage the local lords to fortify them, and we bolster their forces with our little army, when we have one,” Sandy reasoned. “And we settle more, as we have them. The more spears down in the Wildwater valley, the fewer goblins fight their way to Vanador.”
“There are no local lords there,” I pointed out. “We’ll have to appoint some, if we can find any willing to undertake such a dangerous holding.” Before the invasion, little villages dotted the rolling land wherever the terrain was flat enough to plant crops, and town
s grew up around the fords and bridges crossing the way. Now it was all but deserted.
“It’s a reasonably fertile land,” Mavone observed. “The rocky landscape has pockets of wholesome soil, and the Wildwater vale is among the widest expanses. In its day, it was a more fertile land than this one. With sufficient magic and investment, we can do there what we are doing in Vanador,” he suggested. “That might help lure more knights and magelords to settle. If there is security offered, then the people will follow for opportunity.”
“I recall when there were thousands in that vale,” I said, shaking my head sadly.
Most of those were long gone, now, their inhabitants perished, enslaved or fled. I’d witnessed the burnt-out remains myself, on the Great March. The survivors had gathered where they could, in Vorone or elsewhere, or made what defense they were able against the sporadic raids. But the best part of the northern Wilderlands was long looted of its hard-won prosperity. Anything worth carting off was now in the Penumbra, and everything else had burned. Nothing remained but the empty fields.
That didn’t mean the land was worthless. Indeed, it was more valuable than ever. Though the halls and freeholds of the Wilderfolk settlements were destroyed, the fields they’d cultivated were still cleared. It was a lot easier to reclaim them than hack new fields out of the forests. If my efforts to build up Vanador’s defenses were going to work, then a vital part of that was re-settling the vale, building castles and fortifications to slow any serious advance against the town.
We discussed the depressing situation and the urgent need to expand settlements into the Wildwater all the way back to town, and then the discussion spilled into a convenient tavern like a street fight, and lasted several long rounds within.
We decided to build on the so-far successful Hundreds pattern Gareth had developed, as it had proven worthy. Further, I decided that the county would pledge fifty ounces of gold and accept the vassalage of every free man who could convince a hundred of his fellows to follow him into the ruined lands around the Wildwater and reclaim an estate or stronghold, noble or common. A man who could prove his tenancy for a year gained five years’ abeyance in tribute. After five years, all the land he held would be his by title.
That much gold was usually enough to purchase supplies and equipment from the markets of Vanador sufficient for a Hundred to successfully establish itself, if the leader was charismatic enough and the men brave enough. I had Lawbrother Bryte draw up the offer and then had it cried throughout both Vanador and Vorone. It had plenty of takers, too, particularly among the warmagi.
There were warmagi who had made their way to Vanador, before they even knew the name, in order to capture a witchstone. More had settled here when Anguin was handing out rewards after Timberwatch, and still more had come for the sport. Azar and Astyral had recruited several warmagi for their respective corps, and Wenek had personally invited a dozen henchmen to enjoy his new lands. A dozen had followed the Tudrymen to Vanador, trading Astyral’s leadership for my own. Further, the pele towers we’d built on the Great March each had a commanding mage of the Hesian Order. Each had numerous friends or apprentices who’d lingered in their shadow at the Towers, even entire entourages who tended to clump together by specialty.
Nor were magi the only adventurous souls who volunteered for the resettlement. There were plenty of dispossessed Wilderlords who preferred the north country to the gentler climate south of Vorone, or who had personal ties to the region and didn’t mind serving under a magelord. Some enterprising artisans and merchants also tried their hand at farming and fending off the gurvani, lured by the generous terms the new Count offered.
The endeavor also allowed me to invest in another vital element of my realms future, providing my people with valuable clerical service. There were many clerical orders which were intrigued by the chance for free land and a generous benefice. I needed people to look after my people, and I recruited heavily across the kingdom for clergy to fulfill that desire. My terms were easy: send your monks and nuns to the Magelaw, and I would ensure their support. Building a splendid urban temple was one thing; comprehensive clerical service really depended upon the rural estates tied to those temples for their support.
Briga’s temple was among the first to take me up on my offer, establishing an abbey on an abandoned estate near Yellin, with Ishi’s and Ifnia’s clergy quickly following in other domains. I made a special point to recruit the Ferumites, scions of the old Imperial blacksmith god. Briga might not have liked the competition, but we needed the skilled labor, and there was a site near Traveler’s Tower that was close enough to Vanador for the burly monks’ abbey to take advantage of Master Suhi’s proximity. With as much steel and iron as Yltedene was producing, it was a rare opportunity for Ferum’s spiritual sons to work with an abundance.
The Huin and Falassa temples were already well-represented, thanks to clerical refugees from Tudry, late of Vorone. Each temple took small estates, the Huinites in the fertile fields of Asgot and the devotees of the Mother of Herbs on the western bank of the Wildwater. Each claimed fifty gold Dragons and a deed, before recruiting a Hundred at Tolindir and embarking on their adventure.
To their company I added a rather unusual temple by direct invitation: Herus.
As far as I knew, Herus didn’t have an “official” temple. Shrines, certainly. Nearly every crossroad and important by-way had numerous shrines or even hostels to the Traveler. A few chapels had been built near the larger hostels in bigger towns, often by grateful patrons who had been helped by the order on the road. But no central temple, or even largish complex, had ever been built in honor of Herus. He just wasn’t that kind of god.
But when I offered one of Brother Hotfoot’s favorite monks the chance to build one on an abandoned estate on the eastern bank of a ford along the Wildwater, north of Yellin, he ran for the chance. Ten traveling monks appeared at Vanador by Midsummer, and after accepting my commission and my gold, they hired a hundred former slaves who were interested in considering clerical orders and took possession of the place.
By summer’s end, a long, low hostel dedicated to the Traveler sprang up on a hill above the ford in a particularly beautiful spot, and a small three-story wooden belltower was erected to overlook the river. Not only did it become a favorite place to stop and tarry, before crossing the Wildwater just above where the river broadened into Lake Mareth, but when a small temple inn to Crouthr opened an abbey across the road, the institution that came to be known as the Homey Abbeys of Cheerford was established.
Ostensibly a retirement community for footsore monks of Herus and Crouthr, the quaint ecclesiastical settlement on the road to Vanador eventually became a destination of its own. You couldn’t find greater hospitality or better ale anywhere in the northlands. I know for a fact that both divinities were present for the dedication ceremonies, that autumn. It was a hell of a party.
Cheerford became a favorite haunt of travelers of all kinds, but particularly of the Kasari rangers, packtraders and the few brave minstrels who continued to ply the roads between the far-flung settlements of the Magelaw. For them, Cheerford was the ideal place to rest for a few days, learn the news, swap stories, spin tales and soak up the local gossip. Nor was it the only place founded during that first year that thrived.
But it wouldn’t have, had there hadn’t been a strong contingent of Iron Bandsmen guarding the passes fifty miles to the west. They had a depot at Faoched, an old Wilderlord tower overlooking the upper reaches of the Faromal River. Behind that bulwark we scattered the most militant of the Hundreds, led by as many old veterans as we could recruit. Cheerford may have offered respite to the weary traveler, but the knights of the Magelaw and the men of the Iron Band ensured they could travel at all.
The resettlement project was fun, that spring, and watching the birth of a new army was certainly exciting. But the real outpouring of energy came from the large camp of the Hesian Order. The moment that the roads were dry enough to bear wagons, Carmella had alm
ost half of her crews swarming around the western gap, above the escarpment. Fortifying that strategic entrance was her highest priority.
It was, without a doubt, the most ambitious construction project in the Magelaw. The half-mile gap in the western ridges was transformed by magic, with earth elementals and hoxter wands moving titanic amounts of dirt and rock around to re-sculpt the gap.
Berms fifty feet wide spanned the top of the gap by the equinox, and after they were magically settled and compacted, the real construction began. The quarry near Tralsalan provided massive granite blocks that were set into place and then magically melded and mage-hardened. It was a sprawling complex, more an elongated castle than a mere wall. As the summer months passed, turrets and towers emerged along its length, and emplacements for siege engines were constructed. Behind the stone a labyrinth of barracks, storehouses, kitchens, and other means of support were built.
At the same time, down in the vale below, a massive earthen causeway was built that stretched far down the road. The incline was far gentler than the switchbacked road that ascended the escarpment. It would have taken years to construct by hand and horse. With hoxters and elementals, it grew faster than the crops.
When it was complete, a few days before Midsummer, the causeway transformed the way Vanador was entered. No longer was it an awkward, tiring journey up a narrow path that a wagon could barely manage. The gentler incline made getting a wain to the top of the rise far easier and quicker.
Until you reached the summit. For at the end of that long, well-constructed causeway was a gap of over eighty feet. Beyond that gap was a massive, yawning gate that had to be passed through into the center of the fortress before the road ran toward Vanador, beyond.
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