Arcane Mercenaries: Insurrection, page 12
“It’s the same report that Dominick gets daily. His scouts watch the army and give their best guesses for overall strength. Jakar would tell you it’s not an exact science, but I trust those hunters. They’re good.”
“What if they can’t see everything?”
“What are you getting at?”
“What if this movement is exactly what the scouts expected to see, and that’s what they’re reporting.”
“It’s a real army, Grant, and Dominick has a tough fight on his hands.”
“What if it isn’t the only army?”
Ez tore through her paperwork and ran the calculations. She shook her head as she placed the stack back on her desk.
“There’s no way to tell. We don’t know how many soldiers Carwyn can muster, and we don’t know who answered his call.” Ez bit her lip as she considered her next words. “You might be right. Where would they attack?”
“The harbor. Dominick has no navy, and he’s covering the ground approaching the city.”
“The viscount doesn’t have a navy, either.”
“But he has other harbors, fishing ships, and access to a navy. He could land a raid in force to cripple us and then follow on with more forces by sea. Dominick couldn’t stop it, and the main army could push them against the new anvil at Dominick’s back.”
“Let’s play this out. Carwyn attacks by sea, using fishing boats to land teams ashore in Rosestrand. What can we do about it?” Ez asked. This was an intellectual duel of ideas, a long-practiced tradition amongst Grant’s officers. They challenged each other’s concepts with professional and intellectual vigor, and their plans were always better.
“Put Dominick’s loyal battalions in key areas across the harbor. Customs houses, harbor towers, and defenses. We assign liaisons with the town watch and keep them focused on the gates. They’re good at that anyway. Keep the mayor in the dark. I don’t trust him.”
Ez nodded and grabbed a stack of blank papers.
Grant hoped it was just his imagination running wild, but he couldn’t shake the feeling the viscount was baiting them. If the Ismorian navy stormed the city from the sea, Grant had few options to stop them at the docks. He hated urban fighting.
“How long do you think we have?” Ez asked. She was already done with the orders and would have messengers on the streets in minutes if that’s what Grant needed.
“Not enough time. We never do, but, realistically, the viscount found out about the city yesterday. It could be as early as tomorrow.”
“I’ll pick the liaisons to sit with the watch. We’ll put them in the right places and keep our fingers crossed they stay loyal,” Ez said.
“Let me talk to the battalion commander and give the orders. What’s left of the harbor forces?”
“They’re hanging on the island redoubt. We let them stay there because we can’t pry them out of there. The good news is they can’t leave either,” Ez said.
Those harbor forces were in position to relay information to ships at sea. They wouldn’t leave their post without being forced out. He had to reach the battalion commander.
Without wasting a word, the battalion commander and Grant headed toward the docks. Grant pointed out the key features and significant terrain to defend in the urban entanglement of houses, alleys, streets, businesses, and warehouses. Someone might have a good map of this area, but Grant only had his time walking the terrain.
“Whose fishing boats are those?” The battalion commander pointed out a pair of vessels with single masts heading past the island fortress.
Grant whipped out his spyglass and stared at the ships. He slammed it shut and tucked it away.
“Send a runner to get Ez, and bring everything you have. There are twenty soldiers on each of those, and another six vessels are coming into view. One of them is big enough to carry a company.”
Urgency fueled Grant’s steps as he sprinted along the docks, the wooden planks resounding under his swift stride. He sped past the weathered barricade and shoved open the door to the round tower now housing Grant’s detachment stationed at the docks.
“I need five people who know what they are doing with swords. The rest up to the towers and stop those boats!”
Grant’s voice reverberated through the stone walls, immediately setting the soldiers into motion. Five warriors, clutching swords, axes, clubs, and spears, whatever lay within reach, trailed him as he charged back through the doorway. The rattle of arrows in quivers and the creak of taut bowstrings heralded the response of the remaining infantry as Grant and the battalion commander raced toward the pier.
Witnessing the mounting resistance on the docks, sailors hastily furled the sails and heaved on oars. Grant gripped his sword with both hands, longing for Ez and Jafran at his side, knowing they could send these soldiers hurtling into the watery depths.
From a hundred yards away, Dominick’s archers unleashed a tempest of arrows upon the leading ship. Soldiers scrambled for any semblance of cover as the deadly rain descended. Amidst the chaos, sailors and marines alike fell, their screams rending the air.
The boats pressed forward.
“You have some magic to stop them, right?” the battalion commander asked, shifting his grip on his weapon.
In moments, the odds would be about forty to six.
Why did everyone assume he solved problems with his cursed abilities? StarFall, the bane of his existence, was a harbinger of death. He would confront these marines with the cold, honed edge of traditional steel.
As the boat juddered against the wooden pillars, marines rose, crossbows aimed at the defenders. It could have been a devastating volley against the outnumbered group, but Grant refused to allow a single shot to reach his squad.
The battalion commander may be right; he had a few StarTouched abilities ready to save their detachment.
Undeterred by their ineffective volley, the marines leaped onto the wooden docks. Hindered by the wounded and the dying, their advance slowed. Grant bellowed his war cry, plunging into the fray. He knew the city would be lost if the enemy secured a foothold here.
Dominick’s archers refocused their assault on the boat nearing the opposite side of the pier. Steel whistled through the air, embedding itself into bodies, shields, and wooden decks with relentless ferocity.
Grant, a whirlwind of motion, wielded his StarTouched powers with decades of experience against hopeless odds. Minor wounds mended instantly, and he fought desperately against the odds. His swift and agile sword enabled him to slash, slice, and thrust tirelessly.
The first boat, now a vessel of carnage, drifted aimlessly along the dock. Grant didn’t leave a survivor in his wake as he pivoted toward the second boat disgorging its determined marines.
Four of the initial five soldiers had fallen, leaving Grant with scant support as he stormed the pier’s end. Assessing his new foes, his gaze was drawn to the next pair of ships surging toward the docks.
His muscles ached with each swing or parry. He left behind the battalion commander to catch his breath while he charged the oncoming marines struggling to get a foothold on the pier.
Grant was alone, fighting at the edge of the pier. Marines splashed back in the water as he struggled to clear the dock.
He heard the bang of a musket from the tower’s upper reaches, and a nearby Ismorian soldier fell backward into the murky bay.
Grant grinned. Ez was up in the tower.
Using his fist, dagger, pommel, hilt, and blade, Grant unleashed a storm of steel upon the faltering enemy. From his distant vantage point, Ez targeted the incoming boats with lethal precision, felling sailors and leaving the rudderless ships vulnerable to the StarTouched sharpshooter’s deadly aim.
The marines found themselves cornered as they witnessed the odds turn against them. Grant, an unstoppable force within the narrow confines of the pier, stood unshakable, his decades of experience an insurmountable challenge for the small band attempting to quell the rebellion.
Left with no choice, they surrendered. Grant surveyed the waters, noticing that Ez’s firing had ceased. One incoming ship drifted aimlessly, its crew silenced forever by Ez’s deadly accuracy. Another hoisted a white flag upon its solitary mast while the larger vessel retreated from the bay, the failure of its invasion force undeniable.
Grant couldn’t help but imagine the viscount’s expression upon learning that Rosestrand remained firmly in Prince Dominick’s grasp. The civil war’s tide had shifted, and Grant allowed himself a victorious grin.
22
CATRIN
Word of the queen’s failure to retake the city by sea dampened the energy within the viscount’s army. He waged a half-hearted battle against Dominick’s host and surrendered by mid-afternoon on the day after Grant’s victory on the docks. Nobles eagerly shifted sides, and Dominick’s forces expanded with recruits.
Dominick treated Rosestrand as a liberator and rewarded Lady Eleri Gywn, one of his longest supporters, as the new viscountess. The change of administration happened in a private ceremony conducted by Prince Dominick in the mayor’s office, in full sight of the city’s formal leadership.
The viscountess inherited a city eager to do business after the failed attempt to regain control by sea. Lady Gwyn didn’t ride off to her new estate but took up residence and met each city leader. Dominick needed the port, and the new viscountess would deliver.
With the weight of governance lifted from his shoulders, Grant mounted Hope and set out for Dominick’s encampment with a lighter stride and his mind at ease. He took a moment to reflect on his achievements, a quiet satisfaction warming his heart. Years of brutal civil wars had ravaged Ismore, and Dominick established himself as the one capable of restoring order. Grant had played his part, placing not only Megenland but also the strategically important city of Rosestrand under Dominick’s control.
Not bad work for an exiled son of Ismore.
“You’re glowing,” Ez said.
Grant chuckled and slowed Hope’s pace to let Ez catch up.
“And laughing,” Ez said as she rode alongside him.
They arrived in a realm of contrasts, the evergreens shivering in the breeze while beams of light pierced through the leaves. He bent under low-hanging branches and relished the aroma. The pine needles brushed against his skin as if to welcome him as an old friend. Squirrels chattered from up above, and the birds fluttered between the boughs.
“I can’t wait to hear what Bishop Wallner preaches about the Arcane Mercenaries overthrowing the rightful Queen of Ismore,” Grant joked as they rode down the forest path.
“And there you go. You couldn’t help yourself and went and ruined the moment,” Ez said. A hint of amusement played on her lips, and a sparkle in her eye said she wasn’t really mad. When she spoke with that particular tone, he knew that she was merely pointing out something he already knew.
“His shadow looms over everything we do,” Grant said.
“Do you hear that?” Ez asked as she pulled her horse to a stop.
Grant heard the faintest sounds of hollering and laughter. He couldn’t distinguish anything specific between the swishing pines in the afternoon breeze. It was the sounds of celebration, Dominick’s victorious camp enjoying their moment.
They still had a long war ahead against the Icy Queen.
“It’s the celebration,” Grant said as Ez waited for his response.
“What are they celebrating?” she prodded.
“The victory over Viscount Carwyn,” Grant said with an exaggerated sigh.
“There will be more war tomorrow when the sun rises. Queen Fraunces will get word about Dominick’s decisive victory and the ransom of her distant relative. Enjoy the moment, Grant.”
Grant nudged Hope back into a walk. Ez was right. The victories at Megenland and Rosestrand were decisive victories for the young prince. This was nothing like the grinding attrition of the Tul campaign or the brutal battles fueled by the religious zealotry of the Mage Wars. He could envision a time when Dominick took the throne.
In Ismore, he mattered.
He tried to put a good smile on his face while enjoying the ride. Strains of music carried in the night air, and celebratory shouts joined the refrain. Grant withdrew deeper into his thoughts. Catrin would be in the camp.
Grant noted the concealed sentries standing watch over the revelers. Dominick wouldn’t let his guard down, even on a night of celebration. Grant hoped these watchful eyes would get a chance to share the celebration.
Soldiers huddled around bonfires, singing and stomping their feet in time with the music while others poured refreshments from wooden barrels into mugs and flagons. The sweet aroma of ale, mead, and wine mingled with smoke and spit-roasted meat.
Grant shook hands with those who had fought bravely and offered words of comfort to those tending wounds or nursing injuries too severe to join in the festivities. Later he’d visit the hospital tent where those unable to find joy in this night were sure to be found.
As they approached, Grant spotted Dominick’s tent nestled in a forest glen. It was easily the largest and quietest structure during the celebration. Soldiers were posted around it with crossbows ready, and two stablehands guided their horses to a nearby post.
The entrance to the tent stood open, and laughter echoed from within. Grant peeked through and saw Dominick standing in the center with several advisers gathered around him holding wine bottles. Nobles and senior officers laughed and joked, their faces aglow with elation while celebrating their string of victories.
Catrin stood off in the corner of the tent with her hands clasped tightly behind her back and an icy expression directed at the revelers. Grant felt his stomach turn as he noticed Catrin’s scowl darken when she saw him enter the room.
“Grant Gwydian, hero of Rosestrand,” Prince Dominick shouted and raised a glass. The others at the table called his name and drank a toast in his honor.
“I met the new viscountess,” Grant said as he approached Dominick’s table. “She’s a good choice for the job.”
“Lady Eleri Gwyn was from minor nobility, the third daughter of a landed knight. Married well and secured her station in life, but she threw herself behind the civil war years ago. Her husband didn’t like the risk, but I imagine he’ll enjoy the benefits of her loyalty and dedication,” Dominick slurred the words. His advisers cheered and poured more wine.
Was everything a political calculation? Grant thought. He wasn’t a prince, but even the tipsy future monarch still dreamed of lineage, succession, and titles.
“The victory was complete,” Grant said. “Congratulations, sire.”
“Thanks to my StarTouched allies,” Dominick said and returned to his companions. “Take the scowl off and enjoy the evening, Grant.”
Grant bowed and separated himself from the celebration around the table. Officers shook his hand, but Grant couldn’t understand most of them through their drunken haze. He said a few kind things and slipped away.
“Thank you for the work in Rosestrand,” Catrin said as she appeared at his side. The pair retreated toward the edge of the tent as Ez joined them.
Grant couldn’t believe she thanked him for his mercenary work. She usually had a scowl for him and some reminder about something else he should be doing. That would come later.
“It was a close thing. The ships arrived a day earlier than I expected, and I was close enough to the docks to throw them back into the sea. Ez let them know it was suicide to get within three hundred yards of the docks.”
“Carwyn moved faster than we expected as well. One of Dominick’s scouts caught the movement and reported immediately. I had enough time to confuse their deployment in the fog and let Dominick smash into unorganized forces.”
“Spies?” Ez asked.
Catrin shook her head. “Someone still loyal to the queen and within the inner circle. Maybe someone willing to play both sides until a clear victor emerged. There are countless nobles in that camp.”
“He’s talking too much about the StarTouched,” Grant said quietly. Everyone focused on the day's excitement, but the talk of a spy or potential traitor heightened Grant’s senses.
Catrin nodded.
“He’s the best I’ve found in quite some time, though,” Catrin said as she stared at the young prince who just might become king.
“To do what?” Ez asked.
“Create a place for the likes of us. Dominick is an idealist. He believes that other good people will join his ranks if he's good enough. That makes him vulnerable but attractive to countless reformers who see what Ismore could be.”
“What do you think it could be?” Grant asked.
“What I’m fighting for,” Catrin said. “One place in the world where people can live and thrive.”
“It will still be a monarchy,” Ez said. “Hereditary, I’m sure.”
“Why here?” Grant asked. “The Icy Queen is a formidable opponent.”
“Do you remember the fairy tales when you were a child?” Catrin asked Grant. He nodded, and she continued, “This is the land of fairy tale magic, stories of wild creatures and great heroes. It’s not an accident that our fables have elements of truth from times better forgotten. Plus, it’s easier to work this on islands than on the mainland. You’ve seen what happens when an emperor embraces the Apocalypse.”
“The Apocalypse is related to what we’re doing?” Grant asked.
Catrin nodded and looked back at the rejoicing gathering. “There’s so much for you to do, Grant. Dominick will ask for more, but I can’t see the outcome. Is it better for you to help him or find the source of StarFall?”
Grant waited for her to finish the thought, but Catrin, Mage of the Mists, stood silently. Only he could answer the question.
He just wished he understood why.
23
FREYHAM
In the following two days of festivities, Grant caught no glimpse of Catrin. After the exhaustive use of her abilities to help Dominick’s battle, Grant suspected she needed the rest. A part of him couldn’t help but wonder if she had disappeared from the encampment, wishing to avoid the distractions he might bring.
