Arcane Mercenaries: Insurrection, page 28
Dominick's speech ignited a flame of resolve. Grant, eyeing the circle of faces around the prince, couldn't help but speculate on potential traitors. He couldn’t believe people would betray this cause, but the queen and the duke would get word.
Grant's gaze swept over the youthful military commanders. Formerly junior officers in the Ismorian army, many belonged to a knightly order, and others hailed from sprawling noble families. Yet, all shared common ground - they were forgotten offspring with little to gain from the current rule. They also lacked the experience to command an army.
Dominick's voice sliced through Grant's thoughts, "Our campaign against the queen persists. Our objective? To break free from this forest as a unified force. The question remains - where is our next strike?"
Dominick leaned over the map of Brimland, his eyes scanning the markings of cities, armies, and political boundaries.
One voice from the edge of the group called, "The capital, sire. The queen will be compelled to respond to our march."
"But that leaves us vulnerable, stuck between the duke and the queen," a military leader pointed out.
"We need a strategic target, something that cripples the queen's power," a nobleman suggested.
"Perhaps, an assault on the duke?" A commander ventured.
Grant agreed. The duke could be their perfect target. If Dominick's forces strategically dispersed along forest roads, they could bait the duke into attacking the smaller units. With their superior mobility, they could quickly rally the scattered troops, strike back at the duke, and land a significant political and military victory. The idea had potential.
"Captain Gwydian," Dominick's voice broke Grant's thought process. "You seem to be mulling over the suggestion to attack the duke."
Caught off guard, Grant sought Ez's assistance, but she appeared equally puzzled by the prince's probing.
"Indeed, sire," Grant conceded. "With meticulous planning, competent leadership, and a dash of fortune, we stand a chance at defeating them."
"And having a battle-hardened leader who has already humbled the duke in combat could tip the scales in our favor," Dominick added.
A sigh echoed in Grant's mind. His analytical mind had ensnared him. His careful assessment of their chances had pushed him into a cunning trap.
"You once held the rank of field marshal for the Alenann emperor, did you not?" Dominick's tone hinted more at a statement than a question.
Without uttering a word, Grant nodded in affirmation.
"Ismore is not an empire, and our ranks do not need a field marshal," Dominick continued, a collective grin spreading across the faces in the room. The persona of Grant Gwydian extended beyond the captain of the Arcane Mercenaries, and Ez certainly wasn't helping dispel that. “I’d be pleased if you accept the responsibility as our general and commander of the Island Campaign."
Before Grant could respond, Ez initiated a round of applause. He couldn't refuse. He had to accept the position.
Now he had to figure out a way to give the prince his victory.
51
SINA
Grant skimmed the roster report the following morning, occasionally glancing at Ez. She sat engrossed, her fingers stained with ink, her quill dancing over the parchment. Units reported no desertions for two days, and several recruited locals from nearby villages. First reports were always wrong, but the trend line was in the correct direction.
Prince Dominick had plunged back into the fray, traversing every inch of Coworth Forest that accommodated more than a pair of tents. He broke bread with his soldiers, hosted banquets for his nobility, and rode to the forest perimeter alongside his officers.
His vitality was contagious, and Grant uncovered the prince’s transformation. Catrin pulled herself off her cot and risked her recovery to join Dominick as he considered the duke’s terms of surrender. Her dedication tipped the balance, and Grant’s impassioned speech removed the last traces of doubt. He had to win the war.
An unexpected consequence of Grant’s motivational efforts to influence the nobles was increased respect for the StarTouched mercenary. Soldiers perceived him as a seasoned commander, competent enough to outmaneuver any general fielded by the queen or the duke. Nobles understood that he held sway over Dominick and wasn't one to take no for an answer.
He watched for signs of resentment from officers in the inner circle and newly gathered nobles. No one wanted his job. On the contrary, they expressed gratitude for his acceptance of the command. Now they were committed; they wanted to win.
Exhaustion gnawed at Grant as he drew back from the table. Intelligence on the duke and his army's whereabouts remained frustratingly vague. The queen held the capability to amass a vast host and employ an army of mercenaries, yet his scouts couldn’t find them.
His gaze roved over the terrain maps, seeking a vantage point for Dominick. Logic dictated a strategic retreat toward Freyham to secure their industrial stronghold. If they could train a competent artillery force, the importance of the foundries could not be understated. Possessing a few batteries of artillery could change the tide of war.
The obvious wasn't an option. The duke could encircle them in the city or intercept them before they reached the safety of the city streets. Stalemate or siege, neither scenario was affordable for Dominick. A march toward Freyham would be a welcome gift to the duke and the queen.
The most straightforward path was an advance on Llynmond. Spirits would undoubtedly rise as they neared the decisive battle, yet the looming threat of the duke tailing them haunted Grant. The prospect of urban warfare with their current forces twisted Grant's stomach with unease.
The queen was no fool; she wouldn't risk an open confrontation while holding the upper hand over the rebels. If Grant were her strategist, he'd whittle down Dominick's forces, biding time until Duke Ardwick could maneuver his troops to crush the remnants of Dominick's rebellion.
Where to move? What did the queen value enough to force her to react to Dominick’s movements? Grant rubbed his beard again. He’d been away too long and didn’t know the politics of the land well enough to make a definitive plan.
A familiar voice rang out, its words stirring a surge of emotions. “I told you we would find him in the command tent, your highness.” Jafran's voice.
Grant’s emotions nearly ran away with him. His command sergeant had to stoop to avoid scraping his shaved head against the canvas ceiling of Grant's new command center.
"He's managed a promotion here in Ismore?" Sina, the former Alenann empire's heiress, asked, a teasing smile on her lips as she noticed Grant's new insignia. "He was in such a rush to shed his general rank back in Alenann. I wonder what that says about me?"
Grant couldn't suppress his grin as he walked across the room, straining to keep his pace measured instead of dashing to embrace his old friend. If these two were here, the rest of the mercenaries couldn't be far behind.
Ez, not constrained by the decorum expected of General Gwydian, sprinted over to envelop Jafran in a hug, then did the same to Sina. Ez radiated an energy he hadn't seen in her for a long time.
“You’ve healed well,” Jafran said, eying the bounce in Ez’s steps.
“Nothing a bit of Ismore's fresh air can't cure," Grant quipped.
"Or the prospect of another battle," Ez chimed in.
"A battle, you say?" Jafran responded, slinging a heavy canvas seabag off his shoulder. The bag thumped as he placed it on the floor; its weight hinted at something promising. A devilish grin spread across his face.
"No way," Ez said, not trusting herself to reach for the bag.
Without another word, Jafran retrieved four packages swathed in oilskin from the bag’s depths. Each bundle was secured with sturdy leather cords and meticulously tied knots. As he set about untying one of the larger packages, Ez whipped out her dagger to cut open another.
Ez unveiled her custom, rifled flintlock from within the oilskin. The stock, polished to a gleam as though freshly oiled, contrasted starkly with the black steel barrel, unmarred by even the tiniest speck of rust. Jafran had meticulously cared for these precious commodities, and the pair of pistols were equally pristine.
“How did you know I’d need them?” Ez asked, hefting the weapon and testing its sights.
“You were with him,” Jafran said, jerking a thumb at Grant. “It was just a matter of time.”
Grant released a hearty chuckle. "Where did you dock?"
"Our initial aim was Rosestrand, but we ended up in Llynmond," Sina explained.
“You went through the capital?” Grant asked. Ez was too busy checking over her beloved weapons to listen to their travel details.
"We encountered a full squadron of ships intercepting every vessel headed for Rosestrand. Given our cargo, we couldn't risk capture by the Ismorian navy," Sina stated, an air of pride in her voice. Evidently, she had orchestrated this mission.
“So you landed in the capital?” Grant couldn’t believe her audacity.
“I’m still an Alenann noble, and Jafran casually mentioned we were importing mercenaries to Ismore. The customs official didn't bat an eye.”
“We’re fighting for Prince Dominick,” Grant said, unable to hide his disbelief.
“Did you sign a contract with the prince?” Jafran asked.
Ez responded with a chuckle as she stowed away her weapons. “No contract, yet.”
"We merely stated we were pursuing a contract," Sina said. "I conveniently omitted to mention it was on behalf of the Arcane Mercenaries, and there was no need to disclose my fall from the empress' favor."
“Will the others try the same trick?” Ez asked.
“There are mercenaries everywhere in Llynmond,” Jafran said. “You can’t find a barstool in any part of the town without someone banging themselves in the leg with a sword. A few thousand more will not be noticed.”
“That bad?” Grant said. This was the first piece of substantial intelligence he had obtained since assuming command.
Jafran shook his head. “I wouldn’t hire any of them to join the prince. Lots of talk, little experience. Most will run at the first sign of blood.”
“This is the best news you could have given us, and I can’t believe you both are here,” Grant said.
“Is Dominick around?” Sina said, looking around the tent, trying to be nonchalant about her interest.
“He spends his days in the forest with the soldiers. He dines here every evening with the nobles,” Grant said. “He’s keeping things together while I figure out what we’re doing.”
"Isn't that supposed to be the other way around?" Sina teased.
“In most cases, yes. But he’s smart enough to leave me alone while I plan some new miracle for his army. So he stays busy with the troops while I suffer along with Ez and the staff.”
“Hey, I’m still in a good mood with my weapons. Don’t ruin it because you’re being grouchy,” Ez said. She looked aside at Sina. “He walked right into another command and didn’t see it coming.”
“Military genius is always surprised. That’s not a good trait,” Sina said.
"If you both have finished dissecting my operations, I could do with some fresh air to declutter my mind. I'm still short of a plan," Grant confessed. He picked up his hat, adjusted his sword on his belt, and it felt comforting to have Jafran alongside as they ventured back into the forest.
Sina and Ez joined them for the walk back to their secluded campsite.
“Sina?” Prince Dominick exclaimed, vaulting out of his saddle before his mount came to a stop. “Heiress Sina, I mean.”
“Just Sina. The empress might realize she can strip me of my remaining titles too.”
"My scouts raced to inform me that Alenann has arrived to lend a hand." The prince positively radiated under the princess' gaze, and Sina couldn't avert her eyes from the young man.
It was good that Catrin wasn’t here to judge the young pair. She wouldn’t be pleased, and Grant harbored a gnawing suspicion that the church's adherents wouldn't appreciate an excommunicated Alenann noble in their camp and too close to their prince.
He could let those problems wait. Grant watched the couple want to embrace but stayed two steps away from each other. Sunlight filtering through the branches set Sina's golden hair aglow and enhanced her fair complexion.
Grant didn’t have power over the weather, but he couldn’t imagine better timing as the rest of the world faded away for the couple.
“Jealous?” Ez asked from his side. The scent of gun oil, wood, and leather was her signature perfume. Jafran's amused chuckle resonated beside him.
He looked at the pair and smiled.
“Content,” he said. “But I’d be really excited if I could figure out how to beat Ardwick.”
52
INNER COUNCIL
Dominick and Sina conversed in the corner of the tent as if Dominick’s insurrection didn’t hang in the balance. High-ranking members filed in and assembled for the afternoon debrief. Grant observed the spirited countenances of soldiers and nobles newly recommitted to Dominick's cause transform into stoic, impassive masks. The initial shock transformed into disinterested military propriety as they scrutinized the pair's closeness.
Grant watched Dominick's longstanding confidants, wondering who recalled Sina's arrival in Wresport. Her initial attempts to charm the young prince had been unfruitful as the political viability of their relationship fell flat. After the heroic stand at Krosno, Grant now witnessed the sparks of their previous connection rekindling between them.
Numerous lords disapproved. The latest arrivals to Dominick’s court tried to conceal their irritation with Dominick's newfound attachment. Choosing a queen would be one of the new sovereign's primary concerns, and the House of Treningham wielded matrimony and titles as instruments to solidify alliances and exclude competitors. Ages of tradition teetered on the edge as each considered their daughters or sisters legitimate contenders for the queenship.
It was all speculative scheming. Grant and Ez had to help the man reach the throne. Their heads would be destined for the chopping block if the rebellion failed, but Dominick took them aback by making a political move without their approval or counsel.
The military leaders were indifferent to who accompanied Dominick. The prince selected Grant to spearhead the operation, and the military staff struggled to devise a feasible strategy. The prince's choice of company was beyond their concern, and Grant valued their professional attitude.
Teams of soldiers established a dual perimeter around the command segment this evening. The external perimeter restricted entry to the clearing hosting the prince's closest advisors and Grant's budding operations team. Unless a potential visitor was on a list sanctioned by Dominick and Grant, they were directed elsewhere and kept at a distance from the assembly.
The internal perimeter encircled the command tent. Grant made concerted efforts to weed out spies, but the real danger lay in a noble straddling both sides of the war. That fell under Dominick's purview, but Grant endeavored to make it as challenging as possible for messages and notes to vanish along with the plan.
Grant was set to unveil the initial stage of his island campaign at tonight's gathering. He wouldn't permit notes, staff members, or aides at this meeting. Grant intended to present his plan and solicit feedback. The senior leaders could initiate relocation preparations, but Grant wouldn't dispatch official orders until the last moment.
Leaders grumbled about the constraints, but all requests for exceptions had to go through Grant. None dared to incur his ire and adhered to his new regulations.
“Nervous?” Ez asked, distracting him from his thoughts.
“I’m worried about Sina being here,” Grant said.
“Being here or being close to Dominick?”
“Look at the nobles. They aren’t pleased with the prince’s new interest. It could come back to haunt us.”
“How many know she’s excommunicated?” Jafran asked.
Grant shrugged. “It’ll get out soon enough, and many will get word that she’s more like us.”
He didn’t say the word StarTouched with the listening ears around him. Grant wouldn’t confirm the rumors or play into the camp’s gossip.
“Who’s that walking up to Dominick?” Ez asked, pointing at the man pushing through the crowd to reach the prince’s side.
“Baron Reginald Beaumont,” Grant said. The man had been an insufferable critique of Grant’s plans and pushed to put his unit in the “place of honor.” With over fifteen years of fighting in the Mage Wars, Grant didn’t know where someone found a place of honor on a battlefield. Combat was a brutal, nasty affair, and people did what was necessary to survive. “This will be a problem.”
“Sire,” Reginald bowed deeply with years of practice at the court. He was in his late forties and wore a clean tabard, polished mail, and no weapons. Baron Beaumont was meticulous about his appearance and graced every gathering with impeccable grooming and a waxed mustache few would dare to sport. "I don't believe I'm acquainted with your new companion."
"Baron Reginald Beaumont, I present to you Princess Sina of Alenann."
"From Alenann?" he queried, his tone carrying the perfect balance of contempt without crossing into disrespect.
A blush crept onto Sina’s cheeks, a response to the veiled jab at her lineage. Baron Beaumont was aware of Sina's fall from grace with the church and seemed primed to cause a stir.
Grant was about to interject, but Ez firmly grasped his forearm. “She doesn't require your assistance.”
"Indeed, Lord Beaumont," Sina retorted, regaining her composure. She didn't lower herself to bow or curtsy to the lower-ranking noble. "It's a great honor to return to Ismore, to witness Prince Dominick's leadership, and to contribute to his endeavors."
Her Ismorian accent was impeccable, leading Grant to suspect she had been taking language lessons. She had been groomed to rule a nation since childhood, but Alenann was now beyond her grasp. Sina might have plans for Ismore.
