The Cerberus Rebellion (A Griffins & Gunpowder Novel) Read online

  He thought that the younger baron would not go against his word, but there was something about Burke that unsettled Raedan, and he didn’t want to leave the man unattended for too long in such close proximity to forbidden loot.

  Inside the stone walls, the royal garrison had been assembled and were sitting in the middle of the bailey surrounded by guards. Talvin was directing soldiers as they finished gathering the last of the guards and started to move crates of weapons out of the armory cellars. If the reports were accurate they would find nearly ten thousand rifled muskets, no less than a dozen cannons and thousands of pounds of powder and shot.

  “Talvin.” Raedan waved his commander over to him. “Send a rider to Hampton. Tell them that we have taken the fortress and the armories with no loss of life. We will load the weapons as quickly as possible and make our way to the nearest rail station to transfer the weapons to the next train bound for the river.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And I want guards posted in the keep at the entrance to every chamber. I don’t want any looting. Lord Burke seems disappointed by that decision.”

  “Of course, my lord. Nothing will be taken from the keep without your leave,” Talvin said before he jogged toward a group of still mounted soldiers.

  The rush of adrenaline and excitement of the capture was already starting to fade and Raedan allowed himself a moment to look around the castle as the first glimpses of sunlight peaked over the horizon. He saw the telegraph wire that would lead to the lord’s chambers. His scouts had cut the wire almost a full day before and all of the lines crossing the Hart River had been severed as well.

  He had thought that they would want to keep communications with the east open and that severing the lines before the river would have proved equally effective at cutting off the eastern deployments of Royal Soldiers while maintaining their own ability to communicate. The risk of leaving the lines intact had been deemed to be too great, however, and cutting them had been the first act of defiance.

  The keep was otherwise rather plain. No ornate gargoyles looked out from the ramparts, no intricately carved statues ornamented the small gardens or entryways, and even the keep itself seemed rudimentary. Raedan wondered if it had always been that way or if the ornamentation had been removed when the keep was converted into a fortress and later an armory.

  He turned a corner and found himself in the cannon yard. The cannons were assembled in five rows of three and covered by massive canopies. Cloth walls had been tacked onto the wooden frames; some of the canvas was starting to show its age.

  The cannons, each of them a ten-pound field artillery gun, were clean and ready to travel. Their ammunition boxes were lined up against the stone wall under a similar canopy. Had they ever been fired for any reason other than testing?

  These cannons were the most common type of field artillery available. Powder and shot were plentiful for the mid-sized weapon and they were portable enough that they could be hauled by a four-horse team. Although they packed less of a punch than the fifteen-pound guns that served as siege artillery, they were far more mobile.

  He found the door exactly where Auberon had said it would be: plain oak, set in an unremarkable arch. Raedan dismounted and pressed his right hand to the door. He could feel the magics that held the door closed. Had he tried to force the door, he would have found himself unconscious.

  The particular spell that had been bound to the archway was different from one magic-user to another, but there were only a handful of spells that could be used on something as plain as the door that stood between Raedan and the library beyond.

  He touched the onyx at his throat with his left hand and began whispering the first spell. It was the most common of binding spells, and Raedan very much doubted that it would work. He was right. The magic in the door pulsed, but did not dissipate. Raedan found the spell on his fifth attempt. It was an obscure spell that Damon had only mentioned once in passing; Raedan had studied it more in his own time.

  There was a small, dark room on the other side of the entrance. Raedan left the door open, so the faint glow from the moon would give him some light. Dust covered every surface in the small room. The bookshelves were largely empty, but one contained several thick tomes. Raedan pulled them off of the shelf.

  He traced the inlaid title on one of the books and smiled. He returned to his horse, tucked the books into his saddle bags and climbed back into the saddle.

  Raedan turned back toward the gatehouse. The wagons would be arriving soon.

  Chapter 10 - Eadric

  Eadric stifled a yawn with the back of his hand and tried to look like the attentive sovereign that he was supposed to be. But after a full afternoon of listening to petitioners beg his favor or request his help, boredom was getting the best of him. Seventy-nine had been on the list when Eadric opened his throne room to this band of beggars and peddlers.

  The man that stood before him pretended to not see the stifled yawn and continued with his request without interruption. He was a representative of the Twelfth Legion of Tohr. The representative had learned of the plans to send armies across the Vast Sea and into conflict with Chesia and had come to plead the case of his brothers. The legion was one of the most infamous armies to crawl out of the ruins of the Rhonish Republic. Their actions left them to beg contracts from foreign governments rather than the Rhonish city-states.

  Their offer was reasonable, if not fully developed. The representative had not planned for the food and supplies that it would take to maintain their army whilst fighting under Ansgar’s flag. Nor had his promise of loyalty in the face of greater bribes endeared him to Eadric.

  “I have been authorized to offer to you a contract with half of the gold advanced and the rest to be paid on completion of contract,” the representative said. His accent was thick and he struggled to express himself in the common tongue of Ansgar.

  “I thank you for your offer,” Eadric said. He remained slouched on his throne and didn’t even look at the representative. “But my forces are more than capable of handling this task without help from outside armies. Thank you.”

  “Your Highness—”

  “Your petition is denied,” Altavius Dohr rasped.

  The mercenary’s eyes narrowed and he mumbled something before he turned to leave the hall.

  “Next petitioner!”

  A smallish man in thick brown robes, cinched with a white sash, shuffled forward, head bowed. He was bald, except for a thin black beard, and had ancient symbols tattooed into his scalp. He carried a small scroll in one hand and leaned on a thick black staff with the other. A brilliant ruby was clutched in a simple setting atop the staff.

  “Your Majesty.” The man bowed and for the first time Eadric noted his slightly longer ears. “A word in private?”

  “Who are you, and who sent you?” Eadric demanded. Altavius turned as best he could in his chair and glanced at his king: a stern look with urgency in his pale blue eyes.

  “Perhaps a short recess is in order,” Altavius suggested.

  Eadric nodded and stood. The gathered petitioners bowed low as Eadric retreated through the King’s Door led by Kendall Shield and followed by Altavius, the Tyroan priest and another two Shields.

  The small room that served as Eadric’s private respite was lit by half a dozen candles. The tables were, for once, clear and the books organized on their shelves. Eadric took the largest seat in the room, a black leather armchair with golden studs. Altavius and the priest sat across from him in smaller chairs. Kendall closed the door and stood in the archway.

  “Out with it,” Eadric ordered.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” The priest nodded and slid the letter to Altavius. “A message from your son Takon.”

  One of Eadric’s eyebrows rose involuntarily and he cocked his head to one side. It was rare for Altavius to communicate with any of his many sons.

  Altavius took the letter and examined the seal: black wax without sigil or highlight. Eadric watched him care
fully as he turned the scroll over in his hands and finally slid his thumb under the wax. The letter unrolled and he flattened it on the table with one hand. His other hand reached into his green robes.

  “What is that?” Eadric asked.

  “A letter from one of my many ears in this nation,” Altavius answered.

  Eadric’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t press the point. Altavius sprinkled a black powder over the letter and whispered in elven. The powder sparkled and words appeared across the face of the scroll. Altavius studied the words carefully. His eyes scanned back and forth several times across the scroll.

  “Dire news, Your Highness,” Altavius said at last. “Your western nobles have come together to plot rebellion.”

  “What?” Eadric bolted upright. His knuckles went white as he clutched the chair’s arms.

  It was impossible. The western nobles had been a part of Ansgar since its founding. They owed their lands and titles to his ancestors and their prosperity to him.

  “How does this source know?” he finally asked. “What does he know of the details?”

  “How is a topic I would prefer to avoid,” Altavius said. Eadric gave his advisor a sharp look, but the elf ignored him. “The western dukes have mustered their full levies and have gathered them in the Tirrell Barony. The levies that you ordered the other nobles to call together are also gathered there and more soldiers are being called to arms.”

  “How many?” Eadric glanced over his shoulder at the book shelves and reached for a map. He unrolled it and placed ivory weights on the corners. “And what are their dispositions?”

  “Three hundred thousand soldiers, at last estimate. And more being called up by the day. He does not know their dispositions. But he does know that all methods of communication to the West have been cut off at the Hart River.”

  “I will not stand for this,” Eadric growled. He fondled the smooth stone in his pocket and stared at a map for a moment, then stood. “I will ruin those ungrateful bastards.”

  “Your Highness, I think a more subtle plan—”

  “A more subtle plan is unacceptable.” Eadric pushed past Kendall and through the door.

  The petitioners had fallen into conversation while they waited for the King’s return. Their attention was brought back to the throne when Eadric slammed the door open and grabbed his scepter off of his throne.

  “It has come to my attention that my nobles in the West have plotted rebellion against me. They have taken up arms and gathered without order or cause.” He paced slowly in front of the throne. “This breach of the law will not go unpunished. A letter will be drafted to every noble in Ansgar, demanding that they answer immediately as to their loyalty. Any noble or lord who does not swear his loyalty to me and lay down their arms will be stripped of their lands and imprisoned.”

  At first the crowd was stunned into silence; then came uproar. The gathered lords and nobles bickered amongst themselves over the significance of the uprising. Merchants fretted about how trade would be disturbed if the western nobles refused to lay down their arms.

  Eadric saw Earl Mallory of Forest Glen walking toward the thick doors, his Kerberosi brethren in tow. His eyes locked with the earl’s and the eastern noble froze.

  “Seize them!” Eadric shouted. “And find the representatives of the western nobles. I want them to answer for this treason!”’

  Guards circled around the Kerberosi nobles, muskets at the ready, bayonets fixed. The nobles and representatives raised their hands in surrender and were led out of the throne room. Other Shields marched from the hall to find the representatives of the western nobles.

  “This audience is at an end!” Eadric proclaimed and swept back through the doors.

  ***

  "They’re gone,” Kendall said. He stood inside the door to Eadric’s tower study, hands clasped behind his back, spine ramrod straight, eyes straight forward.

  “They’re gone?”

  “Yes, my lord. They left earlier this week aboard a Lainish ship chartered for White Ridge.”

  “I want their quarters searched and any associates still in the city detained,” Eadric ordered. “And I want my guard doubled. If they were able to slip away without anyone noticing, there’s no telling who they may have slipped in.”

  “Milord , we had no reason to watch their movements. Their escape—”

  “Their escape is your responsibility.” Eadric rose from his chair. “I want the Kerberosi nobles questioned as well. We can’t know how far this conspiracy has spread.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “You are dismissed,” Eadric said, his voice cold. Kendall stepped out of the study and Eadric turned to Altavius. “This is a problem.”

  “It is,” Altavius agreed. “But we need to approach this carefully. I think that your declaration today was ill-advised.”

  Anger flashed in Eadric’s eyes. His jaw clenched and his teeth ground together. A part of him knew that Altavius was right, that he could have handled the news of the rebellion with a more reasonable approach. His declaration against the western nobles was more likely to push them further away from him than it was to bring them back into his folds.

  Eadric had never considered that the rumors of discontent among the western nobles would blossom into full rebellion. He had always believed that the western nobles would grumble about trade policies and treaties, but when the time came to show their loyalty, they would stand behind the throne that had ruled their lands for more than a thousand years.

  His plans to help Welos and Istivan were crushed now. There would be no way that he would be able to afford to send soldiers across the Vast Sea when he had a rebellion on his hands. The Welosi and Istivani ambassadors would not be pleased when he informed him that his forces would not be joining theirs in the battle against Chesia. The loss of their goodwill was nearly as troubling as the lack of loyalty amongst his own nobility.

  “We must meet this with force,” Eadric said at last.

  “Most of our levies are already gathered,” Altavius pointed out. “But if the western dukes have assembled their full levies we will need to do the same. If every noble west of the Hart River joins with their dukes, they will be able to call up an army of nearly one million. Even if they leave half of that number in their territories as defense, we will be facing more than half of a million soldiers.”

  “They are peasants,” Eadric said. “They are untrained and only the noble levies will be armed with anything better than hunting rifles.”

  “They will seize our armories, if they haven’t already,” Altavius said.

  “The armories are well defended by soldiers loyal to me. They will not fall easily.”

  “The armories will not know that there has been a rebellion. If the telegraph lines have indeed been cut at the Hart River, then our armories in the west will have rumors at best. And you sent sealed letters telling the nobles to arm their levies and march to Aetheston. If they don’t know better, the armories may let the rebels march right in and take the weapons without a fight.”

  “Damn it.” His advisor was right. He needed to put down this rebellion before the western nobles could get those weapons into the hands of their soldiers.

  “And I would not discount their training. The lesser nobles will not have been informed of this plan until very recently; their soldiers will be untrained. But the dukes have coordinated this effort. Their levies will be trained and right now those levies form the core of the western forces.”

  “Then we shouldn’t waste anymore time talking about it. Take a pen,” Eadric said. Altavius did so. “Forty thousand troops are gathered at the Cutler Earldom and another fifty-two thousand are camped outside of our walls. Who would Medwyn place in charge of his forces?”

  “Likely his eldest son and heir, Wynton. A bold man.”

  The Duke of West Valley was well past his prime and would not be leading his forces into battle again. Several of his cousins held positions high in his guard and all three of
his sons were trained as soldiers and commanders. Hostile mountain clans provided more than ample training for the West Valley guard and their commanders. The elderly Medwyn Chalmers was known to send a different commander against each uprising of mountain-men.

  “Send a message to him at Cutler. I want his gathered forces to go to the Hart River and hold all of the crossings,” Eadric said as he began to pace. The quill scratched as Altavius took notes. “Instruct him to establish defensive positions and to maintain patrols, but no contact is to be made with any western forces.”

  “I think it would be wise to send Lord Richards to command,” Altavius said. “He has more sense than Lord Wynton, and his territory is near enough to the river that we could make the case to his father that Baron Saxon has a personal interest in ensuring that the river is not crossed.”

  “I would rather William remains here,” Eadric answered quickly. Eadric trusted William to command his armies. He had studied military strategy and tactics, been trained in the arts of war and the subtleties of diplomacy. But if Eadric led the attack on the rebels, no one would dare challenge his authority again. “He will accompany me to the front.”

  “Your Highness, do you think that is wise?”

  “These nobles have broken their personal pledges to me. I will be the one to whom they answer.” Eadric stopped pacing for a moment. “I will have the entirety of the available King’s Shields accompany me and I will be surrounded by loyal nobles and their personal guards.”

  “You thought the western nobles were loyal,” Altavius pointed out.

  Another flash of anger reached Eadric’s eyes but he held his tongue.

  Again, his advisor was correct. If only in his distrust of the rest of the Ansgari nobles. But Eadric would not be swayed. His family had forged their nation with their swords and blood. His great-grandfather had led the Ansgari armies against Kerberos. He would not cower behind his castle walls.