Kingdom of Iron: Tyrant's Fall

The messenger arrived at Bridgeton the next day.

It was a Knight by the name of Torfelt. Something about him reminded Matt of Gorfeld, though he didn't physically resemble the Imp at all. He had grey eyes, white hair, and a narrow beard. There was something about him that seemed to carry the air of a pile of parchment stashed somewhere about his person. He bowed low as Matt strode into the room. "Greetings, Tyrant of Iron."

Matt nodded slightly to the Knight. "Welcome to Bridgeton. You're a messenger from the Liberator?"

The Knight tilted his head to the side, studying Matt closely. He nodded. "I am, my lord. In fact, I was chosen to act as her messenger and guarantor."

"Her guarantor?" Matt frowned as the Knight nodded again.

He looked at Gorfeld, who coughed into his hand. "When a ruler visits another, they often agree to certain terms and conditions. To limit the kind of… problems that might arise." Matt nodded, remembering what had happened to the leader of the Ponthuul Elves. Evidently, some part of the process had been skipped there.

Torfelt spoke again. "As the messenger, I carry the terms of her proposal for your visit. They will be magically enforced the moment you sign the page."

"Like a ceasefire or treaty agreement." Matt thought back to his meeting with Dysyani. Was it some kind of Soul magic as well, or something else? "If I don't agree to them?"

The Knight paused. "Then I carry your objections back to my lady, and she will either reject your terms or modify the agreement. Your visit will not be expected until you fully agree to the terms."

Matt nodded. Simple enough. "So once I sign, you go back and let her know?"

"No, my lord. I stay here." Torfelt smiled hesitantly. "Sometimes incidents can arise during a visit despite the terms agreed to. Thus, I will stay as a… personal commitment to our agreements."

"Ah." If the visit ended badly, Torfelt would end the same way. Not the best job in the world, obviously. "Did you make the Liberator unhappy, Torfelt?"

Torfelt's eyebrows rose. He seemed almost offended. "My lord, this position is an opportunity of great honor. I asked my lady to send me specifically, to make sure that our words would be heard. She would not have sent me otherwise."

Matt exchanged a quick look with Gorfeld, who seemed just as skeptical as he did. It seemed like assigning a rival or enemy as a guarantor might be a good way to dispose of them. Then again, it would put an enemy in touch with a rival power, so perhaps sending a trusted person made more sense instead.

Either way, it seemed as if the Liberator was keeping her word. Matt held out a hand, and Torfelt handed over a small container with a scroll inside. Gorfeld looked the container over and then gave Matt a nod, apparently not sensing any dangerous magic inside.

Matt opened the case and drew out a single sheet of parchment. Like before, the paper was brown and worn, completely unlike the missives he'd received elsewhere. The text was in plain ink, though it did seem to shimmer with power as he read it.

Proposed Terms of Visitation

For the next two weeks days, any armies, vassals, or agents under the authority of the Tyrant of Iron may not challenge, harm, or assault any person within the borders of the Pridelands, until either a treaty is concluded, the time expires, or the Tyrant returns to his country.

Similarly, for the next two weeks, any armies, vassals, or agents under the authority of the House of the People or the First Liberator may not challenge, harm, or assault any troops belonging to the Tyrant of Iron within the borders of the Pridelands. They also may not make any assault upon any of his possessions, or trespass upon any of his borders. These restrictions last until a treaty is concluded, the time expires, or the Tyrant returns to his country.

Any dishonorable attempt to slay the Tyrant of Iron or the First Liberator by any party shall be answered in kind. No mercenary, assassin, or allied party may perform any such missions against the Tyrant, his forces, or the Liberator and her forces without immediate reprisal.

Safe conduct will be offered to the Tyrant of Iron and his forces to and from the area north of Gronville Town. No passage may be obstructed by any army, vassal, or agent of the First Liberator, or any allies or hirelings under her authority.

Breaking this pact will result in the offending party surrendering themselves to the other for immediate judgement, up to and including execution or imprisonment. Such terms will be enforced by magical contract.

An unintelligible scrawl had taken up the first line marked at the bottom of the parchment; he assumed that was Lucille Adams' attempt at a signature. Another was waiting there for him to add his own.

Matt read and reread the contract, looking for loopholes. There were probably many; the Queen of the Ponthuul had obviously run afoul of at least one. At the same time, he couldn't see anything obvious. Their armies wouldn't be able to fight each other for weeks; that would give him plenty of time to negotiate an agreement, and send it back to Redspire for approval, before his time of protection came to a close. The window that the Alterians had used was not open; nobody would be hiring mercenaries to do their dirty work, and no assassinations would take place even if they were on her territory. She'd even included a part to forbid the trick of trying to keep him in the territory past the deadline. That fact probably boded well for her honesty, at least.

He offered the page to Gorfeld to read, to see if the steward would catch anything that he'd missed. As the Imp read, he looked at the Knight curiously. "What can you tell me about her, Torfelt?"

The Knight blinked in surprise. He studied Matt for a moment. "She is eager to meet you, my lord. You will likely find the conversation… interesting."

Matt smirked. "I'm sure." He looked at Gorfeld, who nodded at him and handed the page back. The parchment crinkled under his fingers as he thought over his options. Going ahead with the meeting was a risk, but it was definitely one that had an incredible return. If his opposite number really was Lucille Adams, then he had more than just the opportunity to make peace with the Pridelands. He might actually have the chance at something approaching an ally.

Then again, if he had missed a major loophole, he might end up dead before the end of the week. It was becoming distressing how often his options were being reduced to that point.

He walked over to the table in the room and signed the contract. It glowed for a moment. Matt felt a brief, suddenly painful pressure on his soul; the touch of the contract seemed to brush past his damaged Sources in a way that he definitely wasn't going to forget.

Then both the pressure and the page were gone, carrying his acceptance back to the First Liberator. He looked back at Gorfeld. "Get the lifeguards ready and tell Captain Snolt that it's time to leave. The Royal First will continue to accompany us."

The steward nodded, and he vanished through the doorway. Matt turned back to Torfelt, who was still watching him with a curious expression. "Well, Torfelt, let's hope this goes well." He lowered his voice as he turned to leave. "For both our sakes."

There was plenty to do and not much time to do it in. Only two weeks to change the face of the war.

Matt left behind Grufen and his forces at Bridgeton. Though it was tempting to march south with everyone, it was an unnecessary risk. The Alliance could still threaten the town, after all, and Grufen was still gathering reinforcements for the Hard Scythe troops and Crown Guard under his command. If something went wrong, he could always still push forward with the original plan; the scouts were still reporting that Mornal Castle only held three banners of troops, and Grufen had more than enough soldiers to deal with them now.

There were far more banners near Gronville, however. The most recent scout had appeared just as Matt and the others were preparing to leave. Apparently, the First Liberator had gathered well over a dozen banners near the town, without giving any indication that they would be there. Either her troops were unusually stealthy, or she moved quickly. Either way, Matt hoped that his Warg Riders and lifeguards would be able to evade them well enough if the situation demanded it.

The people of Bridgeton, as well as Matt's troops, gathered on the walls to cheer him on his way while they rode across the River Blackstone on their way to the parley. Behind him, the carriage that held the other Humans clattered along, surrounded by a mass of battlescarred Wargs.

The journey across the Pridelands took most of the morning, even without having to wait for aurochs dragging wagons full of supplies along the roads. Of course, the carriage that was Tanya and the others' main method of transport came with plenty of other problems. He doubted the thing would last long attempting to flee without a road to follow, but if worst came to worst, they'd abandon the thing and stick the Humans on the larger Wargs. It wouldn't be comfortable, but it would be better than being captured.

They rode south along the road for almost two hours. In the distance, the looming shape of Mornal Castle rose over the countryside, looking over the land from its position on the solitary hill. He could see banners flying there in the distance, but he didn't bother searching for any particular heraldry. The Oath-sworn monarchs in this place were dead. Their own people had seen to that. There wouldn't be any more rulers of the Order of Lion's Roar to hunt him here.

Near the castle, they veered west and followed another road that headed towards Gronville. The Riders moved quickly, covering the ground far faster than Matt had expected. Even with all the battle and casualties the Royal First had seen, it was apparently still full enough of veteran riders to move well. His mind drifted to the times when he had raided against the Noble Races. Even with all the complications back then, it had seemed so much simpler to deal with the enemy. Being in charge of negotiations somehow seemed far, far more difficult than a mere raid behind enemy lines.

As the sun rose higher overhead and the heat of the day bore down on them, Matt felt himself grow more and more tense. If it were him waiting for an ambassador from an unfriendly nation, he might have considered preparing something a bit less than honorable for their arrival. His memory dredged up the fate of the Queen of the Elves again, and he wondered if he had put himself in a situation just as foolish. At least he'd managed to bring along some insurance of his own.

He nudged Nelson to step over alongside the carriage and knocked on the door. A moment later, the door opened a crack, and Matt smiled at the face inside. "Everything going all right in there?"

Gorfeld scowled at him. The Imp had not enjoyed the ride along with Tanya and the others. He could hear a bit of chatter from the Humans. Some voices sounded excited. Others were a bit sharper. His steward winced. "We are still alive, sire."

Matt fought to keep a grin off his face. He failed. "I'm glad that is still the case." With a glance around, he lowered his voice. "Remember, if things go sour…"

"I bring us out to Captain Snolt." The Captain of the Royal First hadn't understood why Gorfeld had been hanging around him the preceding week, but he'd accepted it with the good grace of a man who might see bloodshed soon. For Snolt, the Royal First had already been cooped up for far too long.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Voices started to rise inside the carriage; it sounded like Alicia and Tanya were disagreeing about something. They hadn't exactly been seeing Tanya's recovery the same way, especially lately. Matt winced and gave Gorfeld a sympathetic look. The steward glared at him and then shut the door.

Nudging Nelson to gain some distance from the carriage, Matt hoped they would find the Knights' camp soon. Otherwise, he might have a miniature war of his own on his hands.

A little over an hour later, they crested a small hill and found the Knights waiting for them.

They weren't deployed in an ambush, thankfully. The other side's banners were spread out in a camp, with their tents in fairly neat rows across the valley that spoke of good discipline. Men and women moved through the camp on various duties, while others were settled into the traditional boredom of guard duty. Some of those were already shouting back to the rest of the camp as Matt's troops crested the hill and descended into the valley as well.

Matt assessed the camp as he rode. They had prepared themselves well in case of an attack. Somebody had dug a broad, deep ditch between the camp and the side of the valley where he was going to be located. Stakes had been driven into it as well; if he had to guess, a cavalry charge was not going to go well there.

Not that it would have been a real possibility, anyway. All throughout the camp, he could see pikes leaned against each other, forming little tents of their own. Many of these were being disassembled as Knights pulled them apart and formed up in broad ranks. Despite the fact that they had to be mostly untrained peasants, none of them appeared panicked. In fact, some of them seemed almost enthusiastic.

The army showed all the signs of a confident, disciplined, and capable commander. It would have been a joy to see among his own forces. Among troops that were not exactly friendly, however…

Matt shook his misgivings aside and focused on the space just in front of the camp. A broad tent had been erected, one large enough to hold an entire feast inside. It was a fair distance from the edge of the rest of the camp, outside the stakes. Obviously, the Southern Lioness had prepared a spot specifically for their discussion.

He glanced to the side, where Snolt had once again bullied his way through the lifeguards. The Royal First's Captain was studying the camp ahead of them as if he wanted to charge already. "Captain Snolt, get everyone ordered and ready to camp. I want us about as far from that big tent as the other army is."

Snolt glanced at him and then looked at the tent. He nodded. "Are you sure you don't want us a little closer? We'd be just out of charge range."

"We hopefully won't need to charge today, Captain." Matt heard him grumble something bitter under his breath, but his attention was caught by a rider coming from the camp. They were mounted on a greatelk, not a warbuck, so it seemed like a messenger instead of an attack.

He watched as the rider drew close, coming to a stop well ahead of the front lines. The rider lifted their voice, calling out over the sound of marching boots. "You are on the lands of the free now. Your presence is tolerated only by our good grace. Do not betray our patience."

Then the rider paused, his eyes searching the column. "I see no hostages. Have you already broken your word, soldiers of the Tyrant?"

Before Matt could respond, a familiar voice answered. Matt winced as Captain Snolt, of all people, tried his hand at diplomacy.

"We left them at home, since they would've had to march hard to get here. No need to worry, though. The King wants you to have 'em back just as soon as you won't try to force them to fight again." Snolt paused and then laughed. "Not that they did that well the first time!"

The rider's mount danced in place, perhaps responding to the Knight's sudden anger. His next shout was colored by rage. "If you are not careful, wretch, you'll find out how well we'll fight today."

"Kind of you to offer, but we came to talk. Disappointing, I know, but maybe someone will do something stupid." Snolt leered at the man. "Are you volunteering?"

For a moment, it almost looked like the rider would take Snolt up on the offer. Then he checked himself and spun around in a circle. His frustration came clearly through his next words. "If your Tyrant wishes to speak, he can meet with us in the tent in the valley below. Do not draw close to our lines, and we will not draw close to yours. Only ten may accompany each leader to the meeting."

Without waiting for a response, the rider wheeled around and charged back to the camp, as if expecting a pack of Wargs to chase him. Matt watched him go, quietly spurring Nelson to draw up alongside where Snolt was watching and grinning. He cleared his throat. "You know, you really shouldn't be taunting them like that, Captain."

"Oh, it's only a little fun." Snolt glanced at him, and his expression soured for a moment. "You're sure I need to stay back near the rear? My Wargs can be right alongside you if they need to be."

Matt shook his head. "No, Captain. Just.. watch over Nelson for me, all right."

The Goblin stared at him. "You're going on foot?"

He shook his head. "No. Riding with the carriage and the rest." Around him the lifeguards dismounted. Four of them—Balred, Tiridine, Mulwan, and an Imp named Durothell—would be walking along the carriage as the greatelks pulled it forward. Matt let himself down from Nelson and stepped up to take the driver's place. Gorfeld would technically be breaking the number limit, but it was hard to feel bad about that, given the risks he was already taking.

Matt heard a small door slide open behind him, and he glanced back to see Jordan grinning at him. The Master of Coin held out a mark, as if to tip him. "Drive gently, good sir. I wouldn't want to have a rough ride."

He snorted and flicked the coin back into the interior of the carriage. "Just settle down in there. I don't see the group from the Knight's side coming yet, so we might be waiting inside that tent a while. Especially if she decides to make us wait."

Riley piped up from inside. "She'd never do that! Lucy is a very punctual person."

Matt rolled his eyes and snorted before sliding the opening shut again. Then he turned to look back at their destination. He didn't see any greatelks or other mounts hanging around outside, so whatever Riley thought, the Southern Lioness was late to the party so far.

As soon as everyone had arranged themselves, Matt urged the greatelks forward, and the carriage rumbled towards the tent. Behind him, his army was spreading out and arranging themselves to watch the scene, with the Warg Riders silently weighing the numbers they faced below. Across the valley, the Knights had formed their own ranks. Pikes stretched high into the air, while archers stood behind and tested their strings.

Neither side looked anxious to start anything, however, which Matt took as a good sign. He wasn't exactly looking forward to being on the business end of that weaponry, after all.

The carriage rumbled closer, with the occasional curse or grumble from inside. As they drew near the tent, Matt pulled on the reins until the beasts came to a stop. As the lifeguards stepped up to open the doors, he let himself down and glanced back. There were more disagreements taking place inside the carriage; this time it seemed like Miguel and Tanya were fighting. He sighed. At least he could go and take a look at the tent before anyone else showed up.

Idly hefting his mace, Matt strolled through the door of the tent. It had been closed with a flap that he had to hold aside. A second flap greeted him, along with some kind of royal red carpet beneath his feet. He shook his head and discreetly wiped his boots before he continued into the tent itself.

As expected, it was a massive tent made of pure white cloth that seemed to glow in the midmorning sun. Fourteen carved wooden chairs had been set up, facing each other in two semi-circles. There was no table between them; instead, the space was clear and revealed the green grass of the Pridelands plains beneath. A banner that showed a familiar fleur-de-lis symbol hung from the far side, where another entrance was located.

It was at that point that he dimly realized that the delegation from the Knights hadn't been as late as he'd expected. They were already there, with eight of them arrayed in a double line on the far side of the tent. Those eight wore deep blue uniforms that reminded him of something out of a Musketeers film, with blades strapped to their hips and eyes that suggested they'd seen plenty of combat.

A ninth Knight stood off to the side, carrying a clipboard of some kind. His overlarge brown eyes were moving around the tent, as if taking note of the position of each chair, folded cloth, and blade of grass. They settled on him just moments after he pushed through into the space, and his lips began to part.

To be honest, however, Matt's attention was only partially captured by any of them. The woman standing in front of all of them was more than enough to outshine all the rest.

She stood far shorter than he was, though the high boots she wore along with her blue, military-cut uniform might have hidden that fact from the less observant. Her coarse hair was drawn back in a rough ponytail, and her dark eyes were studying each of the other Knights with a steady, professional examination. As she paced, the sword tied to her belt swayed slightly with each step, and her left hand rested comfortably on the hilt. There was a small dagger on her other hip, where she could draw it with her off hand.

"Remember, do not interfere, no matter what happens. It's important that we don't give them any reason at all to suspect—"

The Knight who'd noticed him coughed, and she stopped. She turned and her eyes widened slightly as she saw him.

Matt smiled, trying not to pay attention to the near panic clawing at the back of his throat. "Uh, hello, I—"

"Oh, damn. The Tyrant must have kidnapped another one. When did they get you?" She shook her head, a sympathetic expression on her face. "Well, don't you worry. I'm going to settle this once and for all."

He blinked, feeling more than a little wrong-footed. "I don't think—"

"Just let me handle it, all right? It's going to be fine." She glanced back at the Knights. "As soon as he gets here, I'll challenge him to a duel. He apparently likes that kind of thing. It's probably a big part of his culture and reputation. That means he can't afford to ignore me." He thought he could detect a hint of fear under her words, enough to let him know she wasn't a fool. At the same time, there was a light in her eyes that burned like fire, something that told him she was not a woman who made idle boasts. The way her Knights looked at her, with complete and utter faith, only confirmed it for him.

Still, it was starting to get a little ridiculous now. "Uh…"

She frowned at him for just a moment. "Don't worry, I'll get you home, just as soon as I deal with the Tyrant. Once he's down, his generals will probably start feuding with one another. I'll be sure to get you out safely. Once it's all done, we'll find a way home for you, okay?"

Matt glanced at the other Knights, who were all looking at him with some level of sympathy and curiosity. None of them appeared to have recognized him, which was odd. Hadn't the Knights he paroled described him at all to the others? Maybe they hadn't joined the revolution the way he'd been told.

All the same, if things were going to be awkward, at least he could turn it to his advantage a little. He suppressed a wry smile and shrugged. "So is the whole reason you invited him here to kill him?"

The question brought her up short. She looked back at him with a bit of irritation this time. When she answered, her voice was hard. "You don't approve?"

He heard the warning in her voice and noted the way her hand tightened on the hilt of her sword. Matt shrugged again, gesturing dismissively with his left hand. "I just think it might be a bit hasty, is all. Why not make peace with him instead?"

"Peace? With a power-hungry despot?" Her eyes narrowed. "What makes you think he's even interested in peace?"

Matt raised an eyebrow. "He's here, isn't he? And it isn't like he hasn't made peace with others. He signed a treaty with the Western Coalition, and agreed to a ceasefire with the nations to the east. Why wouldn't he want one with you?"

One of the Knights spoke up, his voice tight with anger. "He destroyed Greyhenge. He has butchered thousands!"

"And your revolution has not?" Matt looked at the Knight, who snarled at him without response. "How many homes have burned? How many families, torn apart?"

Another Knight answered, her voice cold. "Sacrifices must be made for the people to be free!"

He smiled. "So when you do it, it is a sacrifice, but when he does, it's murder? That seems convenient."

"Enough." When he looked back at the woman leading them, her eyes were still fixed on him. She'd turned to face him square on, now. "Whatever you might say, he tolerates slavery and aristocracy in his land. We cannot compromise with such a man."

Matt studied her a moment. She looked far too prepared to draw her sword for his comfort. The wound in his back still ached a little. "Advocating for dramatic, immediate change is fine enough when that is your only option—but that comes with its own costs. Are you sure that he is wrong for trying to reform things rather than flipping the table?"

She glanced at the exit behind him, as if gauging the distance between him and the outside. "It is easy to claim that change takes time when you aren't the one suffering. What could he possibly gain by delaying what is right?"

He met her eyes without flinching. "Well, for one, fewer children die. Both before and after the changes happen."

The words brought a brief silence. She watched him, as if trying to stare a hole through his head with her eyes. "Fewer, not none."

A flash of memory went through him. He saw again the twisted sky over Greyhenge, the burned villages of the Sortenmoors. He nodded. "Not none. Never none, no matter how hard we try."

A murmur went through the Knights, which stilled when she glanced back. Then her eyes returned to him. "My name is Lucille Adams, First Liberator, Lioness of the South, and High Representative for the House of the People. Who are you?"

Matt gave her a wry smile. "My name is Matthew Irons. I'm the ruler of the Kingdom of Iron."

Her eyes dropped for a moment to look at the mace in his hands. They snapped back up to his face a heartbeat later, and he could see anger burning there. "You killed my friends. Murdered them in the Army of Heroes."

This time, Matt frowned. He shook his head. "No, I didn't. Most of them are right outside, and the rest died at the hands of the Alliance."

She had opened her mouth to respond and froze. Her eyes went wide with shock, and he saw them dart towards the exit of the tent a second time. When she looked back at him, her expression showed clear disbelief. "That's impossible. They're dead. I know they are."

Matt smiled. He glanced back at the exit. "Gorfeld, if you're there…"

His steward pushed through the tent flap a moment later. The Imp looked mildly disgruntled. "Yes, sire?"

He kept his mace ready, just in case he saw her move out of the corner of his eye. "Could you go tell the lifeguards and the others that they can come in now? They're probably anxious to join us."

The steward nodded and vanished back through the opening. Matt turned back to face Lucy, who was watching him with a hard expression. He shrugged and stepped out of the way of the door. "I'd brace myself if I was you. Riley has been… a little excited."

Lucy tilted her head to the side, but before she could open her mouth to ask anything, the tent flap was shoved aside, and the Maiden of Books practically launched herself across the tent at her friend.

"Lucyyy!"

Matt grinned as Lucy staggered backwards under the force of the tackle-hug. "Told you."