Arcane Mercenaries: Insurrection, page 27
Dominick was working in the tent alongside his military leaders. They poured over charts and drafted orders. The prince walked between the working members and checked their work, but Grant couldn’t read the man’s face.
Guilt nearly wiped out Grant’s energy. The report in his pocket burned his leg. He had to tell Dominick about the new army before they wasted time working on new plans.
“Prince Dominick, things look busy,” Grant said with a broad smile.
“Ah, Grant, it’s good to see you. I was wondering if you disappeared into the forest or went for a ride,” Dominick said. The prince was distracted by his thoughts and wasn’t paying attention.
“I recently received a report—” Grant tried to get through the emotions about concealing the information.
“As did we,” Dominick said, walking with his hands cupped behind his back. “Duke Ardwick sent a messenger offering terms.”
“What terms?” Grant asked, his report forgotten.
“He’s willing to discuss terms of our surrender. I’ve ordered the staff to prepare talking points.” Dominick dared Grant to challenge him.
Grant watched the staff work and let Dominick slip by. He let the report drop to the earth floor and walked away.
49
CAPITULATE
Dominick's silhouette darkened against the lantern light as he thrust the tent flap aside, striding out into the night without a backward glance. The shocked murmurs of his coconspirators and steadfast soldiers followed him, rippling through the command tent. Their gazes, filled with desperation and pleading, turned to Grant.
Catrin wanted him to help the young prince. Maybe her meaning was layered, hinting at a warning.
A knot formed in Grant's stomach, twisting tighter as he considered his survival. Ardwick shrugged off his defeats at the castle and summoned a new army. He delivered a pair of resounding defeats to Dominick’s scattered forces, and the queen’s victory seemed inevitable without a leader to reignite the flames of rebellion.
His Arcane Mercenaries were on the move and out of contact with Grant and Ez. Gornick found a way to increase the production of his horrifying weapons—weapons designed to mutilate and murder the StarTouched. Grant couldn’t warn them of the crumbling rebellion or the terrifying new threat.
The church turned on Dominick, and the Order of the Star would hunt the StarTouched to the ends of the earth. Dominick was too close to Catrin, Grant, and the others, and he might become a target.
Grant wanted to save Dominick and salvage his insurgency. The task was too big for one man. The burden bent his back and crushed his soul.
Vivid memories of Ez and his earliest days in the Alenann army flashed through his mind. She commanded an unconventional platoon of misfits, prisoners, and malcontents. Jafran dragged Grant out of the stockade to join the ranks, compelling him to fight again. He was lost until he found kindred spirits in StarTouched willing to live, to fight. It was from those sparks Grant found hope.
The Arcane Mercenaries became a beacon to the StarTouched in every nation across the mainland. People with varying levels of talent took enormous risks to leave their homes and travel to the war zones of the Mage Wars to join Grant’s fledgling forces.
Each triumph swelled their ranks, attracting more StarTouched to Grant’s leadership and those untouched by StarFall's curse. The Arcane Mercenaries stood as living proof that they could defy the odds, survive the unthinkable, and ensure the safe return of their comrades.
Victory was never inevitable, and the taste of defeat was a bitter, unpalatable pill. They laid countless friends to rest on unnamed battlefields. No formal military honors remembered their fallen, yet their conviction in their cause never faltered. With her remarkable knack for finances, it certainly didn't hurt that Ez ensured their wages were always paid in full, on time, and in hard cash.
Dominick's story shared similar threads. He incited a revolution, guided by a StarTouched adviser - a woman deeply rooted in history, capable of bending weather to her whims. Grant harbored a suspicion that she possessed the uncanny ability to glimpse into the threads of the future, a theory that gained credibility as Dominick navigated his initial efforts without a single misstep.
Young aristocrats, not bound to the lineage of Queen Fraunces' House of Treningham, flocked to Dominick's promise. His victories mounted with minimal bloodshed and cities won without a single shot fired. His youthful energy breathed life into their hopes. Regardless of whether Prince Dominick held any true royal lineage, his actions spoke for themselves.
Dominick faced the most formidable challenge of his political life, and the future looked dark.
The young prince hadn’t faced the inferno of the church’s impassioned sermons that sparked resentment and hatred. He had to confront treachery and betrayal from within his ranks. The duke had uncanny knowledge about their plans and actions and blocked their every move. Dominick rightly suspected the queen’s spies everywhere in his burgeoning army.
They could lose this war. It didn't necessarily require a battlefield adorned with banners, echoing with trumpets, and resonating with the thunderous blasts of cannons to topple Dominick's pursuit of the throne. The hushed whispers, cloaked spies, and fiery sermons posed the gravest threat.
If two people in the world knew the dangers of their situation, it was Grant and Ez. They also knew how to lead.
Ez returned to the command tent precisely when Grant needed her. She was still covered in dirt and chips of tree bark, but she wore her grim smile of determination to stand by Grant’s side. He needed her to salvage this war before Dominick surrendered.
She had a pink, puckered scar from the crossbow bolt that almost ended her life. It was a remnant of Gornick’s threat to all StarTouched. She wanted a free Ismore as much as Grant did.
Taking a deep breath, Grant exhaled through his nose. He rubbed his scruffy beard and worked the stiffness out of his neck with a satisfying crack. The remaining members of their gathering watched his every movement, their anticipation growing as he approached the expansive field table.
"Ismore maps," Grant muttered, rifling through the pile of parchment.
Ez swatted his hands away and set about organizing the heap. A large map, big enough to blanket the entire table, was soon unrolled. She placed stones on the curling edges to tame the expanse while Grant scrutinized the maze of lines and colors.
Dominick had managed to secure the loyalty of five major islands. One was a fickle ally, and the staff depicted it in the queen’s colors. The Icy Queen had a firm grasp on the remaining six. Her command of the seas granted her a distinct advantage across the island chain. Dominick was forced to rely on smugglers and blockade runners to maintain open lines of communication. At the same time, Queen Fraunces boasted a formidable navy with dedicated warships and armed merchant vessels she could press into service as privateers.
Dominick's five islands represented the rural soul of Ismore. Their hardy farmers wrested a living from the rocky, hilly landscape while their livestock grazed lazily on lush green pastures. The islands weren’t reliant on trade, but continuing Dominick’s quest for the throne with shovels and sheep was impossible.
No one questioned the valor or skill of Dominick's troops. His archers stood peerless, their deadly precision with their bows feared even by the Tul. His infantry fought with a tenacity that rivaled that of the most well-armored nobility, their courage as formidable as the finest steel money could afford.
Without unwavering faith in their leaders, these archers and foot soldiers would return to their homesteads. The adhesive that kept their ranks intact was their belief in Dominick. It wasn't about an abstract cause or divine entity. They held a simple expectation—the young prince would bring about a better tomorrow than they had today. For this hope, they would fight.
“What are you thinking?” Ez voiced the question everyone else was afraid to ask.
"The battle lies here," Grant declared, his finger pressing onto the map at the location of the capital, Llynmond. His gaze swept across the other islands and their cities, each offering no strategic advantage compared to the primary island of Ismore.
Dominick's leaders congregated around the map, their eyes fixated on Brimland. It was the largest of the twelve islands, home to the capital, the naval shipyards, and the main trading hubs. It was the lynchpin of their success and the objective of their military and political struggle. Nothing else mattered now.
"Lord Gwydian," a young knight began, "the duke's army matches our numbers and boasts heavy infantry and cavalry. They could maneuver their forces between us and the capital."
Lord Gwydian? The title hung in the air, jarring Grant out of his thoughts. He was a mercenary captain, striving to salvage a revolution for a disheartened young man showing little interest. A chill snaked up his spine at the formal address, but no one attempted to correct the young knight.
Ez, standing just on the periphery of his vision, wore a smug smirk. She challenged him, in silent defiance, to contest the title. He couldn't, and she was well aware of it.
“They don’t have us on maneuverability,” Grant said. “Their armor is heavy but cumbersome.” He tapped on the map for emphasis. "They need to anticipate our movements to intercept us. And their infantry can do little about it once they fall behind.”
"But he commands thousands of knights," a nobleman pointed out.
"Duke Ardwick won't risk his knights without the backing of his infantry. We can turn on them with our archers and muskets. Would any of you risk a charge against our archers?"
Their silence answered his question.
"Perhaps the prince should negotiate with the duke," a timid voice suggested from among the crowd.
"The duke has nothing to offer. We should seek to negotiate with the queen herself," another countered.
More heads bobbed in agreement, their eyes focused on the map, fully aware of their precarious tactical position. Many of these lords could retreat to their sprawling estates, vast vineyards, and burgeoning industries. They could slip back into the comfort of luxury, resuming their lives within the tranquil, structured bubble of the gentry.
Had they forgotten they were waging war against the Icy Queen?
Grant bowed his head, staying silent amidst the low murmur of exchanged words. He was aware that he couldn't navigate this without Dominick. No one would dare mention negotiations if Catrin were standing by the table. But he was not Dominick, nor was he Catrin.
He questioned his involvement in this civil war as he stood in the center of uncertainty. He had avoided Megenland since StarFall, accepting his fate on the battlefield with the grim resolve of a war-weary veteran. He possessed wealth and lands in another country; he could easily vanish like these nobles and leave Dominick's rebellion to its own devices.
But he knew he would never find peace.
Grant could flee from one country to another, from one kingdom to the next, but the church would pursue him across the deepest valleys or the loftiest peaks. A military victory was futile without a political resolution. Alenann had once been their best hope, Alexander's dream of a nation led by the StarTouched.
They all knew how that had ended.
Dominick now offered the next viable solution. Catrin had placed her faith in the young man willing to spearhead a rebellion against the Icy Queen. They had steered clear of the politics of the Mage Wars because the answer lay here, in Ismore.
He had to find a way to rekindle their faith and rally them behind a prince who no longer desired to be king.
50
OFFER
"Do any of you believe that the Icy Queen will allow you to return to your castles and lands after you have taken up arms against her?" Grant's voice was a low rumble.
Some hadn't heard him, and those around them hushed as Grant pressed his knuckles into the field table. He lifted his head, fixing his gaze on those closest to the wavering wooden surface. He subtly channeled a touch of his power to prevent the table from crumbling under the weight of his frustration and the force he exerted.
Many averted their eyes; a few shook their heads.
"I'll ask the question again,” Grant continued, his voice penetrating the quiet audience. "Do any of you truly believe you can abandon this revolution and evade the repercussions of your choice to support Prince Dominick's claim to the throne?"
His words carried weight, making people shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Some held their heads high, understanding his implication. These were Dominick's most steadfast allies who had already risked everything to follow him through this civil war.
Others, however, still needed some persuasion.
"Some of you may entertain the thought of negotiating with the duke or the queen for your individual safety.” Grant stood up straight, folding his arms across his chest. "But you've forgotten about the church."
Now he had their full attention. The assembly of nobles and officers turned their ears to the man who had stared down the horrors of the Mage Wars and the initial days following StarFall.
"The church will send messengers and dispatches to your local parishes. The cardinal himself consecrated the queen through coronation, and she will remain on the throne as long as the church deems fit. They will brand it as divine will and your actions as defiance against the laws of heaven and earth."
Grant allowed a pause for his words to permeate the tent, giving the nobles time to consider their fate.
"The queen will be neither generous nor lenient," Grant resumed, his voice hardening. "She will shatter your families, strip your titles, and banish you to the mainland. You've chosen to side with the prince, and the stakes have never been higher."
"You're StarTouched," a voice heavy with resentment called out from the back. Grant made a mental note to identify the speaker later; he and Ez would need to discuss this apparent strain of religious zealotry infiltrating Dominick's ranks. "You'll outlive the prince, the duke, and the queen. You've nothing to lose."
"Perhaps I've already lost everything," Grant countered without missing a beat. The tent fell eerily silent, and he was certain even the guards outside were eavesdropping. "Some of you know I hail from Megenland. I was a landowner, had a modest plot of land, and an extraordinary family."
Grant halted, wrestling back the surge of emotions threatening to strangle his voice, willing away the tears welling up in his eyes.
"My father was a commissioned officer in the Ismorian navy, and my brother grew up to do the same. I wanted nothing to do with military service or war. No sovereign could conscript this humble landowner into battle. StarFall changed everything.”
Grant found himself unable to glance at Ez. She was a comforting presence at his side, a source of warmth and strength he drew upon. He had never revealed his past to anyone before. Now, he had to bare his soul to the world to save it.
"The church hunted us. They obliterated our lives. When the nobility, individuals like yourselves, realized that many of us would endure far beyond their lifespan, the Mage Wars began in earnest. The question became who would subdue or exterminate the StarTouched first. StarFall stripped me of everything, and there was no room for negotiations for a man like Grant Gwydian with any duke, prince, or queen."
No one dared to confront Grant. They couldn’t leave or turn away, but no one questioned the StarTouched commander. Some might have even ordered the execution of StarTouched individuals within their territories.
Good, Grant mused. Let them reflect on the repercussions of their choices.
"Prince Dominick is the best hope for Ismore. You pledged your allegiance when you rallied behind him in Coworth. We'll lose soldiers, as we do every night when individuals reconsider their devotion to this cause. But you are not ordinary foot soldiers or mercenaries. You risked everything in the hope of reaping benefits, and now it's time to settle the dues.
“There’s no recourse for us now other than moving forward,” Prince Dominick said.
The tent was filled with a peculiar silence as everyone stared at the young man who had just entered. Prince Dominick's hand was firmly gripped around his sword's hilt, his posture steady and commanding. He held his head high, surveying the room, until his gaze finally fell on Grant.
His expression gave nothing away, but Grant couldn't help but imagine the whirlwind of thoughts churning in Dominick's mind. The fate of his revolution hung in the balance, its success or failure hinging on the loyalty of the individuals gathered in this tent.
"The Icy Queen will exact her revenge, and she will make an example of us for anyone who dares challenge her in the future. The church will support her claim and oppose us. We have no choice but to continue our campaign...or die trying." With these words, he moved forward, standing at the center of the group.
The first nobleman fell to his knees, followed by the military officers. A chorus of armor clinking echoed as more individuals reaffirmed their loyalty to the young prince and his pursuit of the throne. The nobility bowed their heads, fists clenched over their hearts.
A surge of pride welled up in Grant's chest as he finally understood what Catrin had seen in the young man. He had no obligation to join them, but he, too, found himself kneeling, offering his salute.
Dominick's voice, full of warmth and emotion, broke the silence. "Please rise, my friends. We will not do this again until we claim the crown."
A cheer swelled from within the tent, the vibrant sound infiltrating the quiet of the encampment, sparking curiosity amongst the distant soldiers. Something significant happened to offset the shadow overhanging their camp.
Dominick's voice rang out, steady and resolute, “We face the greatest challenges of our civil war, and we must do so together. The queen will try to tear us apart from within because she has never beaten us on the battlefield. She now has the church on her side and will undermine our support in our lands. But we can prevail.”
