Arcane Mercenaries: Insurrection, page 24
Setting his book aside, Grant replied, uncertain if his words reached her. "Gornick found a way to infuse weapons and armor to neutralize our abilities. It nearly cut the fight short."
"Dominick walked into the trap, didn't he?" Catrin's voice, though weak, carried an undeniable note of certainty. Each word seemed to draw heavily on her reserves, but she pressed on through a grimace of pain.
"The church knights played on his honor, goading him into a fight in front of his newly assembled nobles," Grant admitted.
A dry chuckle escaped her, devolving into a fit of coughing that wracked her frail body. Clutching her belly until the spasms subsided, she regained some semblance of composure.
"Can I get you anything?" Grant asked.
Her head shook in response. "Not unless you can restore my strength."
"What should I tell the prince?" Grant asked, observing Catrin's exhaustion.
With an effort that seemed to drain her last reserves, she spoke. "Tell him to preserve his honor. The nobles are watching and will pounce if he breaks his word. And he must be cautious of the queen's next steps. I don’t like this alliance with the church.”
"The storm is brewing. She can no longer pretend he’s not a threat. She might try to obliterate him," Grant voiced his apprehensions.
Catrin remained silent, her energy spent. She slipped into a peaceful slumber, leaving Grant alone with his thoughts. His gaze drifted back to his abandoned book, but the desire for fresh air prevailed over the written words. Nodding at a servant to secure the room while Catrin rested, he made his way to the courtyard.
The sun's warmth greeted him as he stepped outside. It bathed his face, infusing his spirit with a comforting glow. Early spring days were a rare delight, devoid of overcast skies and drizzling rain.
The rhythmic pounding of horse hooves made him reach for his new sword. Messengers wearing Dominick's colors approached with an urgent stride. They dismounted and handed off the reins, their presence a stark reminder of the reality beyond the courtyard's tranquility.
“News?” Grant asked, approaching the pair of riders.
“The queen’s envoys will reach us tomorrow,” one messenger said, recognizing Grant.
With the news of Dominick's recent triumph reaching the queen, she would undoubtedly formulate a response. Grant knew that diplomacy was a tactic worth exploring, but he had a nagging suspicion. The queen's emissary would arrive bearing an ultimatum.
44
VANGUARD
The sun was just past its zenith when the queen's envoy made her entrance, a ripple of shadows trailing her as they advanced. She and her armed entourage clomped over the lowered drawbridge and through the main gatehouse. Dominick wouldn’t have them arrive through the side entrance to his captured castle.
Astride her steed as if born to it, the emissary moved in harmony with the powerful beast beneath her. Each prance, each snort of her mount, mirrored her restrained energy. The gravel crunched and skittered under the iron-shod hooves as the horse halted. With a practiced grace that spoke of countless hours in the saddle, she dismounted, her riding boots hitting the ground with effortless poise.
She reached into her bag and stretched out her hand to offer the parchment of her appointment to the steward. His solemn and accepting nod bore the weight of the emissary's official standing. Her escorts disinterestedly watched the interaction, focusing on the castle’s defenses. Their gaze flicked over the stony parapets, taking in the silent figures of the ready archers. They were a silent reminder of Dominick’s might, securing the Kingmaker’s palace while delivering an unspoken warning hidden in the glinting arrowheads.
Grant trailed the small procession led by the steward. Ez and a contingent of soldiers clad in the colors of every major noble waited in military formation in the grandeur of the great hall. They had the proper effect on the emissary as they came to attention with the snap of boot heels and the rattle of armor.
He wasn’t worried about hidden blades or rogue knights from the Order of the Star. His concern was more subtle and more dangerous to his growing rebellion. Without Catrin's shrewd mind at Dominick’s side, the negotiation might be a battle Dominick was ill-equipped to face.
“Lady Isabella Fitzroy, emissary of the queen,” the herald announced as her party strode down the carpeted floor.
Dominick remained seated, his only reaction a single arched brow as Lady Isabella refrained from offering the appropriate courtesies. Her omission was no oversight but a deliberate disregard, a political jab wrapped in her silk gloves. Dominick was not some common-born revolutionary vying for the throne; he was a prince, a victor, and the ruler of Ardwick Castle.
Unmoved by her lack of protocol, Dominick offered no response. He let the silence thicken around them, leaving Lady Isabella and her retinue awkwardly at the carpet's edge. Dominick was ready for the political maneuvering and made no move to end the contest of wills.
Isabella relented first. Her curtsy was more a suggestion than a genuine act of deference, a slight dip of her head followed quickly by her regaining full height. The defiant glint in her eyes dared the young prince to object.
Lady Isabella had ample experience in the queen’s court, her late thirties standing in stark contrast to Prince Dominick's youthful years. Her expertly crafted riding leathers whispered of wealth and status. A satchel draped over her shoulder hinted at the presence of more official documents, but it didn’t bulge with a concealed pistol.
Dominick wasn’t impressed and maintained his stoic position.
“Lord Dominick,” Lady Isabella began.
“Lady Fitzroy, the appropriate title is ‘Your Highness,’” Dominick said. “Half of your queen’s lands now swear fealty to me, and you are standing within the conquered castle of his grace, the Duke of Ardwick.”
“Your Highness,” Lady Isabella choked on the words, “I bring a message from the queen.”
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" His posture on the throne eased, and he motioned for them to proceed. His air was a masterful blend of apathy and disdain, a delicate balance perfected by generations of rulers. The young prince was in his element that day.
"Lord Dominick, you must be aware of the blockade on your port cities," Lady Isabella began. "The queen has dispatched two squadrons to encircle Rosestrand, cutting off your support and denying any possibility of retreat."
"Which leaves only one path forward," Dominick countered without missing a beat, "directly through the capital. Rest assured, I have no intention of engaging the Ismorian navy in combat."
"Furthermore, Her Highness is amassing a formidable army."
"Ardwick attempted the same," Dominick retorted, undaunted. "And now, the majority of his soldiers have switched allegiances. The pay seems quite generous, and my leaders can deliver victory. I daresay they'll relish the downfall of the House of Treningham. You will find that loyalty is a fickle thing, Lady Isabella, even in the shadow of the capital."
A grimace flickered across Grant's face as Dominick reveled in his perceived advantage. Lady Fitzroy held steadfast to her belief in her mistress's triumph in the civil war and kept her poise despite Dominick’s bravado. Dominick needed to hear her proposal.
"I see you are quite sure of yourself," Lady Isabella observed, her voice measured. "Our intelligence suggested your confidence bordered on arrogance."
Dominick clamped his jaw shut before he said something he would regret. Her words left their mark. Grant glanced toward the entrance, hoping Catrin would make a miraculous appearance.
Sensing the prince’s churning emotions, Lady Isabella pressed on. "Her Highness is prepared to offer generous terms. You will be granted a pardon, as well as extensive estates on the mainland—"
"Exile, then," Dominick interjected.
Undeterred by the interruption, Lady Isabella continued, "You will be permitted a household staff, access to your funds, and a modest retinue of bodyguards. These mercenaries, should you so choose."
"And what of my nobles and senior commanders?" Dominick asked.
"My instructions pertain solely to you, Lord Dominick," Lady Isabella replied, her tone unyielding.
"So those who pledged their loyalty early will face the gallows, and the rest will pay penance in coin or land," Dominick surmised, his tone steady.
"I am not in a position to speak for the queen," Lady Isabella deflected.
"But as her emissary, you carry her voice, the authority to bind the capital to these accords," Dominick countered. "I won’t consider my future until we've addressed the fate of those who served under me."
Grant itched to cross the room and shake some sense into Dominick. They were not here to negotiate surrender or haggle over the ransom of his nobles. The prince was not only in the midst of a civil war but was slowly gaining the upper hand. Let the emissary squirm.
"You're open to discussing terms?" Lady Isabella quickly seized the opportunity before Grant or any other advisors could interject. "I can assure you the flag of parley will be honored, and I will personally escort you to the capital to negotiate with the queen directly."
"As a peer?" Ez's voice cut through the palpable tension, shattering the room's collective trance.
Dominick blinked as if waking from a dream, the sudden silence restoring his senses.
"As an honored guest," Lady Isabella clarified, her gaze shifting to Ez.
"Then I must decline the offer," Dominick announced, an air of finality in his voice. "Please convey my deepest regrets to your mistress. My forces are here to stay. We will negotiate her surrender on equal footing, or not at all."
"Lord Dominick, I urge you to reconsider.” Lady Isabella had prepared well for this meeting and expected this outcome. She had anticipated his bravado and his defiance. "Her Majesty will not extend this offer again."
“Your Highness, might we not discuss this in private?" Duke Ardwick's steward interjected, his skin slick with nervous sweat. The repercussions for being perceived as a collaborator could be dire for a man in his position.
"You would do well to heed his advice, Prince Dominick.” Lady Isabella was back on the offensive with a warning tone. "He's familiar with the rumors."
"What rumors?" Grant's asked.
Lady Isabella Fitzroy swiveled to face Grant, a predatory grin curling her lips. The scene was eerily reminiscent of the knights baiting Dominick with appeals to his honor, drawing him into their trap. Standing in the heart of the captured Ardwick Castle, this woman exhibited not an ounce of fear.
"The local clergy have a new message to share with their flocks,” Lady Isabella began. "I believe your mercenary captain here is well acquainted with the teachings regarding the StarTouched. I heard it was quite traumatic for the people of Alenann. It seems the cardinal has openly denounced your Arcane Mercenaries. How did that fare for Princess Sina?"
A smile crept onto Grant's face. "She managed to slip through Empress Antonia's grasp. Others stir trouble in the name of the heiress. It seems there may be a rebellion brewing in Alenann. Not unlike the one Prince Dominick currently holds the upper hand in Ismore.”
"I must reiterate, Prince Dominick," Lady Isabella persisted. "You consort with those who weave dangerous falsehoods and prop up your pride. You must consider this generous offer."
"I have, Lady Fitzroy," Dominick replied, resolute. "You are welcome to rest here tonight before journeying back to relay to your mistress that the war has only just begun, and I will entertain no terms short of her abdication of the Ismore throne."
With a respectful bow from the waist, Lady Isabella said, "Then I must depart at once to convey your resolution."
Without waiting for her dismissal, she pivoted, leading her retinue back towards the courtyard.
"Was that wise?" the steward questioned, his gaze trailing the receding figures.
"It was necessary," Prince Dominick responded, his voice steady.
The steward canceled the remainder of the day's engagements. The inner council convened, pouring over battle strategies against the capital and considering alternate avenues to strike at the queen's support. They couldn’t waste more time sitting behind castle walls while the queen marshaled the full force of Ismore against the uprising.
As the day drew to a close, more couriers made their appearance. Grant wondered what other misfortunes waited as the steward ushered in the winded messengers.
"Sire, I come bearing grave tidings," the messenger gasped after regaining his breath. “The queen ambushed Lord Howard’s forces.”
"Losses?" Dominick inquired, his advisors flocking to his side.
"The entire army," the messenger disclosed, growing visibly uneasy under their collective scrutiny.
"They had five thousand soldiers," one of Dominick's closest advisors murmured, others around him inhaling sharply.
The messenger nodded in confirmation. "Gone."
"How?" Grant demanded.
"Ambushed," the messenger repeated. "They were crossing a river, and the locals betrayed their position to the queen's forces. The cavalry butchered them to the last man. Lord Howard's head is en route to Llynmond, destined for a pike."
"While Lady Fitzroy was engaging us in diplomacy, the Icy Queen was cutting down a quarter of your forces," Ez said.
"It was Duke Ardwick," the messenger corrected her. "He personally led the charge."
"I think it's time we had a discussion with the Duke," Dominick declared, his voice hard. "We need to mobilize our resources and strike the queen where it will hurt the most."
45
BATTLE OF WAETLING CROSSING
Prince Dominick commanded the heavy doors of Ardwick Castle to be barred and the drawbridge raised, leaving behind an ambitious young knight and twenty handpicked soldiers. His directive was as unwavering as his faith in them: safeguard the duke's stronghold at all costs. He couldn’t fight an insurgency from behind castle walls and couldn’t surrender the palace.
Ardwick Castle was a sign of Dominick’s military prowess but also a rallying cry for the loyalists to the queen. The prince had to do something with the church preaching against the StarTouched and pressure mounting for Dominick to abandon his campaign. So he looked toward a safe place to conserve his resources, rally his forces, and assess the loyalty of his new entourage.
Grant urged Dominick to press on toward Llynmond or continue the encirclement of the capital. However, Duke Ardwick's resounding victory had rattled the young prince's faith in his strategies. Although his army had swelled to its largest size since the civil war's onset, it was plagued by shifting loyalties, mercenary elements, and a web of spies. Dominick yearned for the sanctuary of the forest, reminiscent of his insurgency's early days.
He set his sights on Coworth Forest, where deep ravines, rolling hills, and marshy terrain offered ample cover. The forest's emerald canopy, twisting dirt paths, and well-trodden animal runs were the backdrop for countless fairy tales filled with magic and mythical creatures. It was an ideal haven for an insurgent force seeking respite and recovery.
But as Dominick led his weary troops toward the refuge of Coworth Forest, Grant couldn't shake his nagging thoughts. The order made sense for Dominick’s forces, but it looked like a retreat from Llymond.
Dominick couldn’t dampen the rumors of Lord Howard’s loss and execution. Their abrupt departure and march from Ardwick Castle felt like a defeated army retreating from battle. Whispers of ancient tales and mythical forest creatures filled the air. Wary of the forest's treacherous landscape, the locals urged caution against the unforgiving terrain that awaited them.
Dominick issued orders to abandon their wagons and carts, burdening the soldiers with only their weapons, water, and rations. Grant silently acknowledged their fortune in avoiding artillery. The last thing they needed was to leave behind a trove of valuable armaments for their adversaries to use against them on future battlegrounds.
Dominick made one exception to his decree of traveling light: a two-horse, two-wheeled cart to transport Catrin away from Ardwick Castle. He assigned fifty skilled archers to accompany his recovering adviser, guiding it along the safest, most accessible paths to Coworth.
The prince took his place at the head of his column, tasking Grant and Ez with scouting Duke Ardwick's latest known position. In distancing himself from the StarTouched, Dominick demonstrated his autonomy and avoided another controversy with the church. Despite the circumstances, Grant couldn't find it in himself to fault the young ruler.
Ez detected traces of scouts and riders shadowing their retreat. Concealing the movement of an army nearing fifteen thousand strong was an exercise in futility. No amount of stealth could mask their passage along the most navigable roads, and the locals could provide invaluable insights to their adversaries. Dominick understood the threat but was powerless to prevent it.
Dominick weighed his options and lamented they couldn’t pinpoint the duke’s army. The young prince strategically divided his forces into four separate contingents, each assigned a distinct path toward the forest. He set ambitious timelines for them to reach the villages marked on local maps. The smaller detachments would progress more swiftly into the protective arms of Coworth Forest.
Grant wished General Michaux from Nanteene rode with them. His StarTouched gift allowed him to gauge distances and draft impeccable movement and assembly plans. He could organize a march better than any leader in any nation, but they had to do without his expertise.
Riders could navigate between the various contingents, but coordinating a defense against a mounting threat would cost them precious hours. Grant hoped they didn’t encounter significant resistance as they retreated.
Barring any unforeseen weather, they were two days from the fringes of Coworth Forest. Once within the sanctuary of the dense woods and the labyrinthine paths winding through hills and tree trunks, they could slow their march. They would regroup at strategically chosen locales, hidden from prying eyes, where Dominick's skilled hunters could regulate the comings and goings in and out of the forest's concealment.
