The Forgotten War (153 page)

From behind the barons came the sound of over a dozen slickly oiled swords being pulled from their scabbards. Trask surveyed the noblemen’s pale, stunned faces.

‘No doubt you are all as glad not to be hearing that whiny little voice as I am. So ends the reign of King Fenchard I. Long may the chroniclers struggle to remember it. Now that little
matter is sorted perhaps we can get down to business.’

Merrin slammed his fist on to the table. ‘How dare you! You little shit, you will hang for this! I only have to snap my fingers and fifty men will be here to do my bidding!’

‘Go ahead!’ Trask said coolly. ‘Snap away!’

Merrin stood and stepped away from his chair, making for the doorway. ‘Captain Clavel!’ he called. ‘To me! To me!’

Trask nodded to Cannefar, who came towards Merrin and, without breaking stride, ran him through with his sword. As Merrin fell to his knees, coughing out blood, Cannefar swung a more violent
blow, striking the man’s head clean from his body. The arterial spray soaked into the finest Tarindian silk rug on which the body lay.

‘He was wasting his breath,’ Trask continued. ‘Clavel is with us and has been for a long time. As are nearly all your men, as it so happens. Those that are not are being dealt
with as we speak. And so, gentlemen, now that I have your attention, allow me to explain your options to you. I have the army; you have your names and reputations. I will allow you to keep them;
you can even choose a new king from among your number if you so desire. I would recommend Mervon, if you were to ask me. The plan and the war, however, is now exclusively my province. I march for
Felmere very soon and Cannefar takes charge here. Your jobs are to keep your people fed and happy and to raise the levies I tell you. You and your new king will answer to me and me alone. Have I
made myself clear?’

Baron Clem swallowed hard. ‘And if we refuse?’

‘You will come to Felmere with me. When the first volley of the catapults strikes the walls of that city it will include you, for I shall use you in lieu of shot. If you do not fit the
catapults properly, I shall cut off the extraneous pieces of your body until you do. Understand?’

The barons nodded, though their demeanour was in direct contrast to that they had been displaying not ten minutes before.

‘Good,’ said Trask. ‘Then perhaps we can establish a new country in a proper and fitting manner. Once the Grand Duke is dealt with, the title of Baron will cease to exist. I
have dealt with too many useless ones over the years. As for other changes, I will keep you abreast of those at the right time. All those with me say aye!’

‘Aye!’ said the barons, their voices nervous and quiet.

‘Pathetic. Say it louder.’

‘Aye!’

‘Louder!’

‘Aye!’

Finally Trask had them saying it with so much gusto that their voices floated out of the high tower, over the dark waters of the river, and into the surrounding trees, where briefly, the crows
thought they had a new rival. For what seemed to be the one hundredth day in a row Grand Duke Leontius was woken in his tent by the sound of chopping wood. His tent, a colossal pavilion flying a
dozen proud pennants of blue and white, may have dominated those that clustered around it but was no warmer than the smallest of them. In this winter the braziers generated no heat unless one was
standing almost upon them and, despite his bed being covered in thick furs, Leontius could not remember the last time he had felt his toes. What a miserable part of his country this was.

Dressed in his polished armour inlaid with his colours of blue and white in mother-of-pearl, and with his thick blue winter cloak fastened over his shoulders, he strode from his private quarters
into the main part of the tent. There, at a long central table, sat his two barons, Duneck and Richney, as well as a couple of his generals. A servant pulled back a chair for him, while. as soon as
had made himself comfortable, another brought him some food and wine.

Leontius’s spirits were low. Little had gone right since his arrival here. The hill of Athkaril was barely half a mile to the north and the open sore of the refugee village nestled just to
the north of that, and it was this that seemed to be occupying his thoughts most of the time.

‘How many today?’ He asked the question as though he did not wish to hear the answer.

‘Nine so far, my Lord, including four children. We are guessing most of the others were too drunk to notice they had frozen to death.’ Cooper, a veteran general with a large, tangled
beard now almost completely grey, had become a man Leontius had started to listen to more and more.

‘That must take it over fifty since we got here.’

‘Fifty-three, my Lord. They have little food, outside that which we can provide for them, and though most of those that have returned have rebuilt their hovels, they offer little
protection against the weather, not when it has got as cold as it has these last few nights.’

The Grand Duke stared at his feet. Problems without solutions; it was time to be positive. ‘I am not hanging about here. I will go and see how Athkaril’s reconstruction is going and
look at the lie of the land from the top of the hill. Ready my horse,’ Leontius said to a nearby servant. ‘You can all update me on the way there.’

As they rode, he looked at the hill up ahead. Most of the stone that could be reused had been; the city walls stood strong again, if a little lower than before. He knew that the major buildings
– the manor house, the grain stores, the house of Artorus and a barracks for the troops – had almost been completed. Homes for the general populace had not even been considered. His
train of thought was broken as Richney came up alongside him.

‘You have news of the revolt?’ he asked.

‘Yes, my Lord. I have heard this very morning that Fillebrand has defeated Schurmann’s rebels in an open battle,’

‘Excellent!’ Leontius exclaimed. ‘Perhaps things are improving at last!’

Richney appeared guarded; he was certainly less enthusiastic than the Grand Duke. ‘Maybe, maybe not. There were few prisoners taken and not too many of the rebels killed. Many fled. Rumour
has it to the Morrathnay Forest and that is not all. There have been other small uprisings, some against the barons, others led
by
the barons. Schurmann’s death has inflamed many
people; he was a popular man, especially with his peasants who used to enjoy better pay for less work under his tenure.’

‘They would side with him over me then.’ Despondency had returned to Leontius’s voice.

‘I am afraid, my Lord, that they see you as distant and not a little autocratic. Many are blaming you for Schurmann’s death, however unfair that may be.’

‘Indeed.’ Leontius was silent as they all steered their horses along the road skirting the hill. As they did so, they passed woodcutters, stonemasons, carpenters and soldiers, all of
whom were employed in shaping both wood and stone before these materials could be driven up the hill and used. Despite the bone-hard ground strewn with patches of hoarfrost, many of these men were
bathed in sweat from exertion already and were perfectly happy to stop their labours for a second to salute him as he passed.

Athkaril’s hill was less high and steep than that of Grest and therefore easier to ascend; the road even wound a little as they approached the city walls, passing patches of bare earth and
bruised grass as well as the still-blackened foundations of people’s former homes.

Just before passing the gates, Leontius looked to his left. There lay ‘New Athkaril’, the city of refugees. He was told that there were fewer people here than before; many had given
up on the place after the riots and left to try their luck elsewhere – either in the sparsely populated lands to the immediate west or further south, making the long journey to Tanaren City,
where use might be found for whatever skills they possessed. Both options held risk in abundance; starvation and cold could be punishing on bodies already weakened by privation, with the young and
the old being particularly vulnerable. Those that lacked either the courage or physical ability to leave stayed here in the long sprawl of tiny wooden shacks. Fenchard had burned the place, but it
had been rebuilt soon enough. And, though many had left, others had joined it.

‘That place,’ Leontius said airily, to no one in particular, ‘it cannot stay as it is. We are supplying barley handouts that are eating into our own supplies, and disease, if
it comes there, will affect us just as much as them.’

‘But what do you suggest, my Lord?’ Duneck enquired. ‘They are thousands of people with nowhere to go.’

‘Fenchard has been clever. He left them there knowing the problems they would cause. Allow five hundred to stay – they can repopulate the city; we can allow them to build their homes
within the walls. The rest must leave. The ones to stay should be the fittest and healthiest if Athkaril is to grow strong again. ‘

‘But, my Lord, to evict all those people would surely be to cause rioting again. We could...’

‘Do you think this is easy for me!’ Leontius thundered at the other man, his mask of cool detachment now evaporating before the onlookers’ very eyes. ‘These are
my
people! I have sworn an oath to the Gods to defend them, not cast them loose in the middle of winter! Cooper, can we provide five days of barley rations for those that leave?’

‘It will be difficult, my Lord, but we can spare it if that is what you will.’

‘It is. Also a flask of water and transport. Get the waggoners to build some carts for them; nothing special, just something serviceable. Scour the land for any old ass or donkey or mare
on its last legs to pull them; at least they can be eaten if they die... And Cooper...’

‘My Lord?’

‘Send out riders with a proclamation before them. These people are not to be denied food or the right to settle wherever else they so wish. Those that disobey will have to face me.
Understood?’

‘Perfectly, my Lord.’

‘Good.’ Leontius calmed down a little. ‘Many will die but at least they have a chance. And Duneck...’

‘My Lord?’ Duneck had been silently shaking his head at this. He had thought he was out of the Grand Duke’s line of sight but Leontius had caught him when he turned his head
unexpectedly.

‘You are right about the riots. Take fifteen hundred men with you when you announce things to them. And be as sympathetic as you can. Tell them cold and disease will kill them if they
remain.’

Duneck’s face fell like a stone. ‘As you wish, my Lord.’

‘Wait for Cooper to organise the food and wagons. Tell them the morning after; it will be easier if they have only just emerged from sleep.’

They entered the city, which was dominated by the new manor house, two storeys high, constructed in wood and stone, with a view that overlooked the river and the fields and copses beyond –
the territory of the enemy. This is what he wanted to see.

They dismounted and walked through the newly hung great doors, past an army of artisans working like ants and just as numerous. Although much of the internal building was still a shell, the
stairs were there and the apertures for the windows around which the glaziers were fussing, measuring and planning. As soon as he had seen the state of the place, Leontius had sent for many of
these craftsmen straight from Tanaren City – at a considerable expense to his already-shallow coffers. At this moment, however, money was about two hundred and forty-third on his list of
priorities.

He stared out of the empty window. It was a tranquil scene, the Kada running serenely southwards through a landscape of bare frost-rimed fields dotted with copses devoid of leaves. To the north,
it was greener – hills clothed in pines rising ever upwards to the great aloof buttresses of the Derannens, their peaks sheathed in cloud and snow. Just beneath him the new bridge had been
completed, a more solid construction than before with high stone towers at each corner permanently garrisoned.

‘Look there.’ Richney pointed directly eastward.

Leontius followed his finger. There, in the near distance, were twenty or thirty men on horse, silently watching, making no aggressive move, just watching. He saw the banner, no doubt held aloft
deliberately – it was the blue-and-yellow banner of Fenchard’s new country, an ersatz country, one inside his own, a deliberate provocation to his authority.

‘They are there again, taunting me, laughing at me.’ Leontius ground his jaw in his frustration.

‘They have been turning up every day for a couple of weeks now,’ Cooper told him. ‘It is nothing new.’

‘They have not only usurped me here; they are getting cocky with it. Richney, you fancy yourself a general, don’t you?’

‘Well, I would not be quite so presumptuous, my Lord...’

‘Nonsense, this is just the time for it. Take two thousand men over the river and take the battle to them. No open engagements, just skirmishes, take some Silver Lances, too. It is time to
start making them think about us, rather than the other way round. And Richney, for Artorus’s sake, listen to your generals this time; I want no humiliations when you return.’

‘I will depart as soon as I can, my Lord.’

‘Now, all of you,’ – he turned from the window to face the others – ‘I have had a letter from the Protector of Felmere. His name is Morgan and he says he has a
force of some thousands waiting for my word to attack Tetha Vinoyen. I have sent a letter back to say that, because of the current problems, he will have to sit there till spring. But’
– he spoke slowly, enunciating every word – ‘we should still do what we can to help him, whether he be a peasant or no. So, Richney, get as close to Tetha Vinoyen as you can,
scout out the land, see what the defences are like. When you return, report to Cooper, who will take another party out some days later. Keep our enemies on their toes; I want as much information as
I can for our attack in spring.’

Richney looked at Leontius slyly. ‘This protectorship, you can override Lukas Felmere’s appointments, can’t you?’

‘I can, if I am so inclined.’

‘Do you not think it should be a noble ruling over these lands, perhaps one who distinguishes himself in battle?’