The empty throne, p.20
The Empty Throne, page 20
part #2 of The Blackwater Chronicles Series
He had taken her hands in his. ‘And when I return, I’ll personally escort you to your family in the Greenhavens.’
She had seemed mollified at this offer. ‘You promise?’
‘I promise,’ he had said with a reassuring smile.
Leto knew she would be well looked after.
‘You have my thanks,’ Leto said to his uncle and turned to his giant escort.
He had explained to them his plans to travel to the Shadowlands and the forthcoming war. They hadn’t tried to dissuade him from his path but seemed slighted by Leto’s words.
‘I am forever in your debt, but I cannot ask you to follow me.’
‘You would refuse our help?’ Viggo said.
‘No, no, but this isn’t your fight.’
Leto had seen what one of these giants could do and had been hopeful they would accompany him, but he still had reservations.
‘You and Big Gil are warriors, but what about the others? It will be perilous, even for someone your size,’ he said, glancing at Leila.
Big Gil must have noticed because he stepped forward and put a hand on his smaller brethren’s shoulder.
‘We all know how to fight,’ he said. ‘And young Leila may be small, but she would give a good account of herself against any of us.’
‘But she’s the chieftain’s –’ Leto started but stopped as Leila stepped towards him, irritation showing on her face.
‘My uncle would be ashamed if I didn’t fight,’ Leila said.
‘I did not mean to offend,’ Leto said, ‘but this is different.’
‘Don’t worry about us,’ Big Gil said.
The other giants nodded and murmured their agreement. Viggo stepped forward and went down on one knee.
‘We are yours to command,’ he said.
The others followed suit, kneeling before him and bowing their heads.
‘You honour me,’ he finally managed to say.
Leto stood there, amazed at the turnaround in his fortunes. Three days ago, he had nearly died, but three from now, he would be doing something no-one in the history of Avaleen had done. He would be riding to war – with giants.
16
REGAN
R
egan Greythorpe shivered and cursed his impatience.
The cold air bit at his exposed skin. Winter should have broken, he thought as he pulled his cloak tighter and stood near the fire burning in the small hearth. He could have waited a few more weeks to bring his army south, but his spies had indicated that the preparations for war of Lord Owen and his allies had fallen woefully behind. As a result, Regan had assembled his army sooner, reckoning he could get the jump on his enemy, finish the war quickly, and return to the capitol before the next full moon.
However, his spies had not been entirely accurate, and the Redstone army had indeed been ready, easily rebuffing their initial attacks. Granted, he had not committed his entire army to battle, but they had still greatly outnumbered the enemy. His army had lost over two hundred soldiers, and if the reports could be believed, Redstone had suffered barely a score of casualties.
Regan had punished the leader of that failed attack. Sir Rafe Singer, his nephew by his older sister Murne, had been removed from command. He would not accept mediocrity from anyone, and had replaced Rafe with his younger brother Saul. Despite the losses of the first engagement, it had produced some valuable information; Redstone had a well-organised and well-disciplined army at his command.
He turned away from the hearth. Sparsely furnished, his tent contained only the necessities. Divided into two rooms, with the sleeping area at the rear, which had been curtained off with heavy drapes from the living area at the front, it could accommodate a small hearth and the large table that he now approached. It also doubled as the command tent, so the chairs had been all pushed to the side. He always stood for the meetings with his commanders.
He examined the map that covered over half the table. It showed the simplicity of this war, taking place in a single location with only two armies and only a few moving pieces.
It had now been a week since that first failed attack, and every night since, Regan’s camp had been attacked, always from different directions. Despite the light casualties, the men were on edge. The attackers used flaming arrows, meaning that many soldiers had taken to sleeping out in the open, preferring to brave the cold rather than risk burning to death in their tents. Extra patrols had been ordered up to a mile from the camp's perimeter, but still the attacks came. The overcast skies made spotting these attackers nearly impossible.
Regan had also ordered night raids on the enemy camp, but nearly half his troops did not return. His Spymaster had assured him they had informers in the Redstone camp, but nothing useful had yet come from them. Regan had stopped short of threatening the man, but made it extremely clear he wanted results very soon.
Familiarity with the terrain had proved a distinct advantage to the enemy. Redstone may be winning that small part of the war, but it wouldn’t save him. If what he suspected turned out to be accurate, in two days, Regan would be victorious, and he’d have Owen Redstone and his brothers executed. House Greythorpe had been very patient. Their revenge on the Blackwater kings and their allies would soon be complete.
‘My lord,’ a voice came from outside the tent.
‘Yes?’ Regan recognised it as one of his guards, who pulled the tent flap back and stepped in.
‘They’re here,’ he said.
Regan nodded, and the soldier stepped back out and opened the tent flap wide. In came Whitman White, Walden Hardwinter, Godwin Greythorpe, Llewellyn Greythorpe and Saul Singer. On seeing these men, he realised again how much he missed the strategic skills of his brother. Aside from Regan, Steffan would have been the most experienced and skilled strategist, had he lived.
The loss of his brother significantly reduced the level of command experience. He now had to rely more on younger men such as Godwin and Llewellyn Greythorpe, and Saul Singer. He didn’t get along especially well with his half-brothers. However, Godwin, the youngest of them, had shown some promise and proved to be the least insufferable.
It wasn’t as crowded around the table as it had been. First of all, Rafe Singer had been banished, and most recently, Cedric had gone missing.
They’d been at the camp only three days before his son had requested to lead a scouting party. He had relented, but instructed the Scoutmaster to send his son’s party away from the enemy camp. When Cedric found out, he quickly complained to Regan.
‘You’ll do what you’re told. Count yourself lucky I’m letting you go at all.’
Regan didn’t expect the war to last very long and had said as much to his son. Cedric had backed off, realising he might not get another chance to spend time outside the command tent. But three days ago, Cedric’s scouting party had not returned from patrol. No bodies or signs of fighting could be found.
Cedric had been acquitting himself well as Regan’s right hand. So well, he had begun thinking there may be no need to bypass his eldest son as his heir. Regan looked after himself and didn’t plan on dying any time soon, but as with everything else, he liked to plan ahead. He didn’t need this type of distraction, so he pushed the thoughts of his son out of his mind and looked at the men around the table.
‘Are the war machines ready?’ Regan asked.
‘After that storm a few days ago, the road turned to mud, and it’s taking a lot longer for them to get here than expected,’ Whitman White said. ‘They should arrive tomorrow; we’ll require another two days to assemble them all.’
‘You have two in total,’ Regan glared at his most experienced commander.
Whitman didn’t argue.
‘My lord,’ Waldin Hardwinter said, ‘I don’t see why we need these machines. On an open battlefield, they are as dangerous to our men as they are to the enemy and quite ineffective compared to two thousand cavalry.’
Regan’s eyes shifted to his brother-by-law. Those under his command seemed to like him, but the man was stuck in the past. Being ten years older than Regan, he couldn’t help but cling to some of the old ways.
‘Really?’ Regan said. ‘Please refresh my memory, but I don’t recall the last attack on the enemy camp being very effective. Neither was the one on the previous day or the day before that?’
‘That’s different,’ Sir Waldin spluttered. ‘We didn’t have sufficient preparation and didn’t commit enough soldiers.’
‘That is your opinion?’ Regan continued to glare at his brother-by-law.
‘Err … yes,’ Waldin eventually said.
‘And you would be right,’ Regan said, and eyed each man around the table. ‘Therefore, from now on, we will ensure we have real plans, backup strategies, and all the resources available to carry them out. We will not go in waving our swords, as we’ve done so far, hoping the enemy will turn tail and run.’
The men in the room nodded and murmured their agreement.
‘Redstone isn’t scared of us,’ Sir Llewellyn said.
‘No, he’s not,’ Regan agreed. ‘All the more reason not to attack on a whim, like we did when we arrived. That was stupid.’
The commanders remained silent at Regan’s stinging words, no doubt noting the continued absence of Sir Rafe Singer and not wanting to be the next one to be banished.
‘Shouldn’t we attack with all of our army?’ Godwin broke the silence. ‘Attacking with half our force hasn’t been working.’
‘No,’ Regan said. ‘Not yet. We’ll test them one last time with your and Sir Whitman’s detachments. Lord Owen has chosen the field of battle well. It’s not quite big enough for us to effectively utilise the entire force, unless we’re organised. That will take more preparation.’
Godwin and Whitman’s forces attacked the following morning just before dawn. They hurt Redstone and his allies – possibly the most successful attack in terms of casualties and damage inflicted – but didn’t break them. The win had also come at the cost of another hundred and fifty deaths. Regan had surveyed the battlefield from afar and had eventually surmised their high losses weren’t due to the ineptitude of his commanders, at least not this time.
It irked Regan to admit it, but the superiority of their enemy eclipsed them in every way except numbers. If Redstone had even close to an equal number of soldiers, Regan’s army would be in serious trouble. He now had no choice but to send forth the bulk of his army, horses, men and machines, the whole lot, and overrun them.
‘The day after tomorrow, we’ll hit them with everything,’ Regan told the commanders the following evening.
He had no doubt they’d be victorious. He would sustain a large number of casualties, but it couldn’t be helped. Losing more men reflected badly on its commanders, so if his allies lost too many more, they may question the wisdom of this war and go home. They would forgive a high body count if the war ended quickly.
‘Aside from Llewellyn’s men, who will hold back to fill any potential failures in the line, we’ll commit all forces to the battlefield at once,’ Regan continued.
They discussed the specifics of the battle ahead, well into the night. By the end, everyone at the table appeared confident.
‘We will crush Redstone once and for all,’ Regan said.
‘Good,’ Godwin said. ‘Let’s get this over with. It’s too damn cold here.’
Regan could not agree more, though he considered his own reasons somewhat less frivolous.
‘My lord,’ Sir Waldin said, his tone subdued. ‘I’m in full agreement with Sir Godwin, and I’m sure I speak for us all when I say we’re grateful for this impending victory.’
The old man paused.
‘What?’ Regan said.
‘I hate to bring this up now, but I can’t foresee a better time,’ Waldin said. ‘Some of the lords are asking whether you’ll honour the agreement for a share in the spoils.’
Even in their short time in the Shadowlands, rumblings of dissatisfaction had reached Regan’s ears. He knew that not everyone in his army served out of loyalty. Some fought through fear, some for political advancement, and, as with most large armies, some waged war for financial gain. Nothing treasonous had been said yet, but without a significant victory soon, he may have an outright revolt on his hands.
‘Everyone will receive their fair share,’ Regan said.
‘I’ll pass on your reassurances,’ Waldin said.
The Shadowlands contained riches, and there would be plenty to go around. Despite that, Regan would ensure the houses that questioned his honour would earn their share by being in the vanguard.
‘Please do,’ Regan said.
His commanders turned to leave.
‘Godwin, stay,’ Regan said.
‘Certainly, my lord,’ he said.
After the others had left, Regan looked at his cousin.
‘Has there been any word on Cedric?’
‘No, my lord.’
‘I want him found.’
‘Of course, but the searches have failed to turn up anything, not even a stray horse. It’s like the whole scouting party has disappeared into thin air.’
‘Search further out,’ Regan scowled. ‘I want to know what happened to my son.’
‘Yes, my Lord.’
‘That is all.’
Godwin bowed his head, turned and left.
The next morning, Regan rose well before dawn. He stepped out of the tent and ordered the nearest guard to fetch his morning meal and have the fire in his tent stoked. The guard rushed off as Regan made his way to the nearby latrine. By the time Regan returned to his tent, the fire had been set, and he stood close to it, trying to banish the cold from his body.
As usual, the coming battle was constantly on his mind. The whereabouts of his son entered his thoughts again, but this morning, his mind also wandered to the fate of his wife. As expected, she’d sent him a message by raven that the Lord of Ships had acquiesced to his demand of neutrality. Knowing Malachy Kirkwood to be a greedy coward, Regan knew he wouldn’t risk losing control of Anchorage, or the riches and power that came with it.
Regan had gone from Twin Falls before Lennane and Harrow returned to the capitol but had left strict instructions for Harrow to join him immediately upon his return. However, the latest communication from Sir Baltair noted that neither Lennane nor Harrow had been seen in the city.
Thinking of his wife reminded him that her former handmaiden had finally been caught. He’d yet to decide what to do with the pregnant little harlot. He could have her executed along with other bastards and wipe out the Blackwater line forever. That would be the simplest solution.
‘My lord!’ a shout interrupted Regan’s contemplation.
He wasn’t really in the mood to receive visitors, but he heard an urgency in his cousin’s voice.
‘Come,’ Regan said.
A guard pulled the flap aside, and Godwin entered. He carried a large timber box in his arms and wore a grim expression on his face.
‘What’s this?’ Regan looked at the box.
‘It was found by one of our scouting parties about a mile south of the camp.’
‘Found?’
‘We were meant to find it, my Lord,’ Godwin said.
Regan glanced at his cousin, his brow knitted.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘It was left out in the open, next to a banner.’
Regan took a closer look at the box in his cousin’s arms. At about three feet long, it could hold several things. The fine-quality timber had images of horses and their riders carved into the sides and the lid. He gestured towards the table, and Godwin carefully placed the box on the edge nearest Regan.
‘The banner, what was on it?’
Godwin reached into his tunic and pulled out a length of red material. Hesitating briefly, he spread the banner on top of the timber box and stepped back. Regan scowled at the black prancing horses spread across the cloth. Had the coward sent a peace offering? Amusing, if true, but Regan wanted the Redstones wiped from history once and for all.
‘Did you open it?’ Regan glanced at Godwin, who nodded.
‘I wanted to make sure there were no dangerous surprises.’
Regan pulled the banner from the box and dropped it on the floor. He inspected the box, inserted his fingers into the grooves at either end of the lid, and lifted. It opened with barely a creak. Inside, two pieces of a broken sword rested on a cushion of red silk. Regan’s face hardened as he recognised the weapon. It belonged to Cedric. He stared at the broken blade for a few moments, and pointed to a small leather bag loosely tied to the pommel.
‘Did you check this as well?’
‘Yes, my Lord.’
Regan removed the bag and loosened the thin leather ties. He peered into it and tipped it upside down, emptying the contents onto the blade. Out fell a fistful of red hair and a small scroll. He grabbed the lock of hair and stared at it. Regan had hoped that maybe Cedric had misplaced the sword, and this was Redstone’s attempt to bluff him, but this hair could only be from his son’s head. His mother had beautiful, rich red hair, which Cedric had inherited. Regan tossed the hair back onto the box and picked up the scroll. He unrolled it, read the message, and threw the scroll back into the open box in disgust.
‘My lord?’ Godwin said.
Regan ignored him. How could Cedric have been so stupid? He had been scouting in the area furthest from the enemy, but he still managed to get himself captured. He sighed and closed the box.
‘Who else knows about this?’ Regan said.
‘Me, the Scoutmaster, and the scouting party,’ Godwin said. ‘But only I and the Scoutmaster know what’s inside it … err … and now you, my lord.’
Everyone knew the scouting party had not been found, but he wanted to keep his son’s capture a secret for as long as possible.
‘Let’s keep it that way,’ he said.
Redstone may have his son, but he refused to change his plans.
That afternoon, his commanders again stood around the table in Regan’s tent, analysing and discussing the plans for tomorrow morning’s assault on the enemy camp.
