Arcane Mercenaries: Insurrection, page 32
Grant wanted to bark at her and deride her decision to back Antonia, but Ez shook her head slightly enough for only Grant to see it. She was on Tegan’s side?
“What are you offering?” Grant asked.
“A place in the army for my mercenaries. No payment until the prince gets the crown.”
Grant couldn’t believe his ears. Did she just offer to fight without payment? The empress’ declaration about the StarTouched must have jolted the mercenary captain.
“And what we all want, I think.” There she goes, Grant thought. “Amnesty to live where we want without fear of being StarTouched.”
Grant held out his hand immediately. For the first time he could remember, they agreed with each other.
58
PREACHING
Integrating a conglomeration of mercenaries, privateers, international forces, private armies, bold-hearted rebels, and reluctant nobles was more difficult than leading the international coalition at Krosno. Grant wasted hours in “consultation” with countless leaders who wanted him to “understand” their personal agendas, political aspirations, and ridiculous demands. At least he could rely on the heads of state to keep their vassals’ egos in check during the Tul campaign.
The vanity and self-centered leadership wore away his calm demeanor and unearthed his scowls and short temper. Ez and her skilled team of Dominick’s professionals got too little of his time as they crafted the plans for their final attacks against the queen. The most important responsibility in his life got the least amount of his attention.
Grant snuck in an hour each morning to review the latest reports and digest the maps. Ez used every moment of his attention to grill him on his intentions and brief him on the updated plans. He offered a few words that he pretended were brilliant issuances of his commander’s intent. The staff took notes and worked with Ez to turn the vision into plans.
Pangs of worry disrupted his eating habits and drove him back to pots of coffee as their scheme of maneuver repeated his last two plans. Advancing his forces along several lanes of advance became their only option as Dominick’s force’s growing strength. Movement along a single road would string their advance for dozens of miles and travel too slowly to seize the advantage. Grant could rely on Jakar and his dedicated scouts to warn him of the queen’s movement. He depended on local information on the best roads and trails for a mismatched army to move as quickly as possible.
New units arrived and sought Grant’s guidance as they swore allegiance to Dominick’s winning cause. Yesterday morning, two knights showed up with a dozen mounted soldiers with lances and chain armor. They demanded to be quartered with Dominick’s inner circle. Hours later, a town militia reported in with little but their sturdy boots, sacks filled with their travel goods, and a willingness to fight. They needed everything else to become soldiers, including training.
Dominick entrusted Grant with these issues and rarely met with the newcomers. The young prince dealt with Ardwick, senior nobles, and his steadfast advisers. Sina also occupied a great deal of the future regent’s time.
The rest fell to General Gwydian.
His deepening scowls and grunted words intimidated the newest arrivals. He lost his patience for the petty details of ceremony or protocol demands. Grant delegated to others like Sir Sydney and other junior officers. Jafran understood Grant’s frustrations and kept him sane when others were frightened of the mercenary and his demands for strong coffee.
“When do you think the queen will launch an attack?” Jafran asked, dragging Grant away from his command section to find a mess tent for an evening meal.
Jafran led them away from the colored tents and sought the beige, standard tents used by the soldiers. Aristocrats used Grant’s meal time as an excuse to bring up more issues instead of scheduling a meeting. Grant was ready to hike farther from the bonfire marking Dominick’s operations center.
His first sergeant knew what he needed, and time with the soldiers brought their plans back into perspective.
“She has to make a decision soon,” Grant said. He needed to get out of the camp and give Hope a long-needed ride through the fields. Ez would scold him for disappearing, but he could live with her scorn. “Jakar is amazing, but she’s still getting reports of our growing numbers, and she may even know about Nanteene’s support. She has to face us in the field, but Jakar hasn’t seen her forces move toward us. If she waits, she’ll have to defeat us when we besiege Llynmond. Cobbled alliances and disgruntled nobles aren’t suited for long sieges.”
“But we’re not going to do that,” Jafran said.
“I hope she doesn’t know that yet,” Grant said. Information leaked out of the camp like a flowing river to the sea. He doubted the ink was dry on any orders or maps before the queen’s spies were riding through the gates of Llynmond. The duplicated efforts to create plans for the queen’s awareness and those for Dominick’s approval weighed on him.
A clamor of voices from a cluster of nearby tents drew Grant's attention. Even among disciplined soldiers, nerves could unravel in the tense, idle days preceding a battle. Dominick didn’t have many disciplined soldiers.
“Cast off your evil ways and consider your eternal soul.”
The priest's potent and resonant voice cut through the grumbling tones. His call for repentance boomed across the fields, pulling soldiers from their posts and routines to witness the spectacle.
“Be careful, general,” Jafran said, chasing after Grant as he changed their destination.
The last thing he needed tonight was a confrontation with a priest. Grant nodded, quickening his steps. His boots thudded rhythmically on the trodden earth, each stride a silent declaration of intent. They wouldn’t walk past this challenge.
A bold and dissenting voice rose above the crowd. "What has the queen done for us?"
Undeterred by the open challenge, the priest retorted, "Do you believe the prince, the friend of the StarTouched, will serve your interests better?"
The crowd fell silent, the confidence in their position fading. No one dared to voice an answer.
“He doesn’t even hide his love for the fallen,” the priest continued, his voice gaining momentum. “Dominick welcomes the cursed at his council and fills his court with them. Beware, he’ll soon claim they are part of his realm. Yes, these darkened lives sold their souls for their infernal powers. They will replace you, your children, and their children. Can’t you see the danger?”
Grant watched the undercurrent of tension from the crowd’s edge. These were soldiers pledged to Dominick, not the pious flock of a Sunday sermon.
The priest's incendiary words sent a ripple of uncertainty through the assembled ranks. Doubt crept into their expressions. Were they battling for the StarTouched's cause, or for a fresh start under a regent who bivouacked within shouting distance, a man whose roots traced back to Ismore, but not its palace?
Grant had to act before this priest sapped their fighting spirit away.
"Many of you will seek penance for your sins, as is our tradition before battle.” The priest had them and pressed. "But I cannot grant it."
Murmurs of disbelief swept through the ranks, sparking a flurry of hushed conversations. Grant had to stop this. He and Jafran began threading their way through the crowd.
"You must renounce the StarTouched to find salvation. Shun the impending darkness before it swallows your soul."
“Look to your left and right,” Grant's voice surged above the priest’s tones, snapping the man’s spell over the crowd. Heads turned and looked for the source of the new call. "Look upon your friends, your kin, your fellow countrymen. Feel night’s wet embrace as we enjoy another spring shower.”
A ripple of laughter coursed through the crowd, their cloaks tugged tighter against the pervading drizzle. They were a sea of ordinary folk, pulled from their springtime toil in fields and pastures, rallied to the banner of a young prince who promised a new dawn. Grant let his accent from Megenland flow.
"Our battle is not for the queen or the prince. There will be countless flags when the battle is joined. When it comes to blows, we know why we fight. We do it for each other." Silence fell over the crowd as Grant removed his hat, the rain tracing lines down his weathered face.
"Your eternal fate hangs in the balance. Your struggle is for your soul," the priest countered, unswayed by Grant's impassioned address.
"History will bear witness to your choice," Rienne's voice rang out, resolute and clear, effortlessly bridging the expanse of the crowd. Grant allowed himself a fleeting moment of relief at her timely intervention. "This is your opportunity to lead a life of purpose. You'll tell your children and grandchildren tales of your time in Prince Dominick's army. Some of you will talk about this moment when the church tried to take away everything you've already sacrificed."
A familiar thrum of StarTouched power pulsed nearby, and Grant's gaze found Hild among a group of her soldiers. With the finesse of a seasoned maestro, she quelled the emotional turmoil churned by the priest's words.
"Behold, they come to exert their unholy influence over you," the priest bellowed. "They'll cast you into everlasting flames."
With a few more strides, Grant stood beside the priest.
"Follow this man," Grant's voice soared, "and you'll return to your old lives. You'll till your fields, hone your crafts, tend to your herds. You'll find joy in the warm embrace of your kin. I remember those times. That was my life before StarFall, just like yours.”
Hild's power surged, a resonating wave washing over the crowd. Rienne engaged with the front row of spectators. Jafran loomed behind Grant. Together, they were an imposing collection of international outcasts dedicated to Dominick’s cause.
"The church started the bloodshed in the aftermath of StarFall. The nobles, like the Icy Queen, ignited the Mage Wars," Grant continued. "You stand at the crossroads of history, where we can reject the legacy of hatred and seize the opportunity to end this war. No other place in the world can stop the violence with one final push, one last battle. Fight with us, and secure that future today."
Cheers erupted from the soldiers, an explosive wave of fervor that needed no augmentation from Hild's power. Arms were raised, shields clashed, and weapons gleamed under the somber afternoon sky. From neighboring villages to distant lands, soldiers found unity in their shared resolve, their shouts echoing into the fading day.
The priest glared at Grant, his voice drowned by the tumult. Leaning in, Grant barked into the priest's ear, "If I ever find you in my camp again, I'll have you seized as a spy. Dominick won't spare you for your cloth. By dawn, you'll be swinging from a tree."
Unflinching, the priest seethed, "Your judgment day is nigh, demon's spawn."
"I look forward to it," Grant retorted. "But cross my path again, and you'll meet your devil before I do."
As the priest stormed off, more soldiers joined the celebration. News of the confrontation would race through the camp and reach the local clergy. Grant had to inform Dominick of this new threat, but he was confident Sina would share her experiences when the church turned against her.
She was his confidant, his advisor. Together, she and Grant had a prince to crown.
59
COUNTRY RIDE
The House of Ardwick and the House of Treningham were allies spanning generations. They interwove their bloodlines through marriage, shared lands, and weathered the tumultuous upheavals of history side by side. The Ardwicks, dubbed the 'Kingmakers' from the earliest days of their alliance, were a force to reckon with. When whispers of Duke Henry Ardwick's allegiance to Prince Dominick passed across the realm, it was as if the world had stopped spinning.
Queen Fraunces lost her staunchest supporter, and the winds of change blew favorably for the audacious youth challenging her reign. Nobility from all corners flocked to offer their fealty to the prince, and these were not the smaller houses.
The reach of Henry Ardwick's influence was vast, extending even into the heart of Llynmond. Grant began to receive intelligence reports from the duke's extensive spy network, which outmatched anything Jakar could compile. The duke's staff lent a hand to Ez, assisting in deciphering the influx of information from the countryside.
Grant doubted Ardwick's sudden shift in loyalty, abandoning an antiquated system of sworn loyalty that had served his family well. Ardwick was a pragmatist who saw an opportunity to preserve his influence if Dominick prevailed.
The imminent clash of wills was evident in the intelligence reports. Queen Fraunces had initiated mass conscription and unlocked her arsenals. The might of Dominick's forces posed a tangible threat to her crown, compelling her to summon a hundred thousand soldiers to her banner.
Grant had to deliver victory before the end of the summer. The days of the insurgency were over. Any loss of momentum or hint of success for the queen could precipitate a swift shift in allegiances, demoralizing the soldiers if their leaders defected.
Dominick's forces were at their peak, and Grant set them in motion. He rebuffed renewed pleas to storm the capital. His forces weren’t prepared for a siege that could last years against the port city. The quickest route to victory wasn’t bashing down city walls and leaving the capital in ruins.
The army had doubled in recent weeks, and Grant adhered to his initial strategy to besiege the queen's territory. By severing her access to crucial ports, cutting off communication with loyal nobles, and isolating the capital, her ambitious plan to raise the largest army in the island's history would falter. Dominick could choke her efforts and advance on the capital before summer with a court of newly converted loyalists at his back.
Despite the tactical soundness of Grant's plan, Duke Ardwick voiced his reservations. The strategy of encirclement entailed many troops idling in key villages and crucial junctions. Nobles would squabble for a place in the vanguard, insistent on accompanying the prince. Capturing strategic locations and controlling chokepoints wouldn't meet their demands for honorable combat.
Grant fumed when Ardwick went behind his back and spoke directly to the prince. The summer campaign was a tightly coordinated event between the political and military leaders of Dominick’s rebellion. The last thing he needed was the Kingmaker, a defeated duke once loyal to the Icy Queen, undermining his work.
A meeting of the inner council and battle staff appeared on Grant’s schedule.
People gathered in the command tent as excitement flared in the group. Grant’s focus on security meant that most of these individuals knew little about his plans to confront the queen’s forces. He despised this stuff.
By the time Grant entered the tent, Dominick and Sina were already engaged with Henry Ardwick in a lively discussion. Ardwick was in true form with unending vigor, endless optimism, and an infectious grin. Other nobles looked at the intimate group with envy.
An aide approached Duke Ardwick’s side and whispered something in the Kingmaker’s ear. He begged forgiveness for leaving Dominick and Sina, but duty called.
Henry Ardwick coughed and cleared his voice to draw attention, waiting for the gathering to silence. “Esteemed leaders, most of you are aware of my continued ties with the royal court. The queen demands loyalty, but questions mount about her ability to lead.”
Grant shook his head. Ardwick stood before this group discussing loyalty after his defeat and surrender. Every politician was cut from the same cloth. Their singular objective was power; they would stop at nothing to acquire and retain it.
“She’s given the orders to sally forth from Llynmond and engage us in the field.”
A ripple of murmurs passed through the nobles, and Ardwick paused, seemingly expecting applause or cheers. None came, furrowing his brow in bewilderment. Grant wondered if the man read the recent intelligence reports on the queen’s strength. Her forces not only outnumbered the rebels but fielded superior weaponry. Fighting the queen in a pitched battle was the last thing Dominick needed to do.
“It’s a chance to win a decisive military victory,” Ardwick said, trying to raise applause.
Grant could have used this information before Ardwick blasted it to a wide audience. They could have crafted a strategy and briefed the gathering with a defined plan. Ez had already drafted sketches and could have prepared orders for this very scenario. Grant was tempted to throttle the pompous fool.
Dominick glanced toward Grant with a grin. With the full strength of the Arcane Mercenaries and Tegan's company at his disposal, the prince was likely expecting another miracle in a head-to-head battle for the crown. Grant and Tegan’s companies could be at only one place at a time, and the queen's army could launch an attack over a several-mile front.
Dominick couldn’t be considering engaging the queen in battle, Grant thought.
“We’ll take it,” Dominick said. “It’s time to show the queen our mettle.”
The tent erupted in the first cheers. Dominick's troops were itching for a good fight. The sooner they concluded this conflict, the less the nobles needed to fund the field forces. The mercenaries could return home, and the aristocrats could resume their power games.
“Do you know where she plans to engage our forces?” Grant called over the jubilant noise.
The question earned him a scowl from Duke Ardwick, who turned to his aide for a whispered consultation. His features darkened further.
“No,” he admitted. “But the next report should provide more insight.”
Grant inwardly scowled. Ardwick should not have convened this meeting. The queen could direct her forces towards Rosestrand, capturing the port before they could intervene. Alternatively, she might aim for the industrious Freyham. It would be a tight race between their armies to reach the city. Or, she might march directly toward Dominick, challenging him to contest their strength on terrain of their choosing.
