Kingdom of Iron: Tyrant's Fall

Matt looked over as a Red Moon Orc came trotting out from behind a nearby manor, dressed in the thick armor of a Bloodsworn. He watched as the soldier ran to where Captain Tollardine was waiting.

The Captain had been a quiet yet clearly competent commander thus far. He had accepted Matt's orders to accompany him with a sober nod and then had directed his troops to move forward. There had been some delay as he had organized them, which meant that both Lucy's Eagle Company and Rordine's Bloodsworn had charged ahead into the depths of the inner city.

Matt had almost wanted to charge after them, but Tollardine had been too methodical for that trap. He had been careful to send squads ahead of the main body of his banner to clear local buildings, often finding small batches of Elven Huntsmen or Dwarven Crossguards hiding in the manors and shops along the roads. His soldiers had been professional and well-disciplined, though none of them had been particularly enthusiastic about having Matt accompany them. It might have been the prospect of being responsible for guarding the monarch rather than pushing forward the way Rordine was, but if that was the source of their resentment, none of them made the mistake of saying so out loud.

Captain Tollardine listened to the soldier for a moment, then he turned and approached Matt and his lifeguards. His voice was carefully neutral. "Sire, the Lady Adams has been wounded and is requesting you."

A bolt of urgency ran through Matt. "Where is she?"

Tollardine gestured to the soldier beside him. "The runner will lead you to her. I will go with you and bring a squad with you to help."

Matt nodded. "Thank you, Captain. Continue your good work."

The Captain nodded. Then, as the Orc gestured to the nearest bannermen, Matt gritted his teeth. What had happened? She'd had an entire banner of elite soldiers with her. Surely she hadn't tried to take the palace by herself? Had some Elf or Dwarf just gotten lucky with a shot?

Before he arrived at a possibility, the Bloodsworn gathered around him and they set off through the streets of the inner city.

The sounds of war continued around, echoing off the walls of the fissure. Around them, the manor houses of the well-to-do of Thronepeak were silent and empty. From what he'd heard, most of the nobility had retreated back into the palace itself, hoping to find shelter there. Aside from the soldiers of the Alliance, ready to launch yet more spoiling attacks, there shouldn't be anyone there.

Matt couldn't stop thinking as they walked, moving carefully through the silent cityscape. If Lucy had been wounded, why wouldn't she have sent a Knight as a messenger? Had an ambush killed all the soldiers with her? If they hadn't wanted to leave her side, why weren't they trying to evacuate her? Why would they keep her in one place and bring him to her?

The more he thought, the more his eyes narrowed. There was something else going on here. A pulse of an ache in his head seemed to echo the feeling. His fingers tightened on his mace as they walked, but he kept quiet as the Bloodsworn led him to yet another manor house.

It had seen combat recently. He could see the marks of flames on the walls from where Bloodsworn had unleashed their heavy weapons. The bodies of Dwarven Crossguards and militia were scattered around the building, the last remnants of their temporary defiance. Alarm bells started going off in Matt's head as he saw those marks and noted the complete lack of any Knights. He looked around at his remaining five lifeguards.

Balred was also studying the place with ill-disguised suspicion. Rethferd had only grimaced and turned to examine some of the surrounding buildings. Mulwan was just as alert, one hand drifting to the spot where she'd been shot during the attack before. A Gnome named Zarenforth was seemingly unaware of any danger, as long as the way his hands were tightened around his war pick slipped Matt's notice, and an Ashpeak Imp named Tilfar was muttering to himself in a sour, low voice.

Matt cleared his throat, and each of the lifeguards stiffened slightly. Balred gave him a questioning look, and Matt ignored him. "Captain, she's inside?"

Captain Tollardine nodded, his expression still blank. "Yes, sire. Right, Gardine?"

The Bloodsworn soldier nodded. "Yes, Captain."

Tollardine gestured for Matt to precede him, and Matt moved forward. His lifeguards fell into formation around him, their eyes suddenly more careful. Behind them, the Bloodsworn came up after him, instead of forming a perimeter around the place.

His hands ready on his mace, Matt walked forward into the manor's front room.

It had been a respectable enough place, at least before the war had come to Thronepeak. The shadowy features of two statues, both Dwarven warriors of some kind or other, stood vigil on either side of a grand staircase that had been carved into the rock of the mountain. Those steps led up further into the manor, but Matt ignored them. A pair of corpses, both Knights, lay on the pale stone, and firelight flickered from a parlor to his right. He walked towards it, ready for a fight.

He found the remnants of one. A fireplace still glowed on his left, where the chimney would have burrowed up further into the mountain stone. The wreckage of a fine table lay scattered across the parlor floor, along with the shattered pieces of a handful of cushioned chairs. Char and soot covered most of the room, evidence of the flaming weapons that Bloodsworn were fond of using. Three dead Orcs and two more Knights were strewn among the debris. Matt thought he recognized the Knights as Lucy's bodyguards, though it was hard to tell for sure.

Lucy herself was trapped against the back wall of the parlor, the desperation on her face contrasting with the anger in her expression. Four Orcs had her surrounded, all armed and armored as Bloodsworn. They had their visors up, however, and their stances suggested that although they were ready to fight, they didn't expect her to attack them anytime soon.

Another two Orcs were facing him, both with blades drawn. They grinned as his lifeguards made noises of alarm, and one of them stepped forward. "Now, now. We wouldn't want to be hasty."

She made a slight motion, and the four by Lucy shifted to get a bit closer to her. Matt held his own hand up in a calming gesture. Mentally, he started preparing three different spells, building them in time with the power of his pulsing Source. "Captain Tollardine?"

The Bloodsworn who had escorted him to the place filed in behind him and his guards, their weapons already drawn. Tollardine himself walked around the knot of Matt's soldiers and approached the bannerwoman in charge of the ones already there. "Sergeant Orleth. What is this?"

For a gleaming moment, there was the possibility that he was asking about the threat to Lucy, but Orleth just grimaced. "The Knights fought harder than we expected."

Tollardine shook his head. "I'd have expected better." Then he glanced back and forth between Lucy and Matt. "Still, as long as the job is done, I suppose it won't matter."

Matt looked at the Captain. "So. You're going to try to be the next King, are you?"

The Captain looked briefly surprised. "Me? No. I plan on surrendering the Right to someone much, much more suited for the role. Someone the others will have no choice but to follow." He looked at Lucy. "The opportunity to add the Pridelands and the Onyx Holdings at the same time should cushion the news of your tragic death."

"Tragic." Matt let the word carry all of the flat condemnation he felt, and Tollardine shrugged. A flash of resignation flickered through his expression.

"This would not have been necessary if you were not so intent on destroying all that we hold dear. All that makes us who we are." Tollardine spread his arms. "We are the Orcs of the Red Moon. Our strength has protected the lands you call a Kingdom for generations. It has been our might that has secured the control of so many peoples. You have spent countless amounts of our noble blood for your conquests."

Then Tollardine lowered his arms. "And yet, what do you reward us with? Do you give us the servants and power we deserve? Do you reward our loyalty with privilege and glory? No. You betray our best leaders. You demand that we give up our noble rights to govern and rule, and elevate a pack of chattel to live alongside us. You strike at the foundations of what we are and expect us to grin in your face for the chance! Worst of all, you cavort with this… ruiner and show her favor. No, this is what you should have expected from us. It should only surprise you that it took this long."

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Matt shifted his grip on his mace. "You aren't the first Red Moon to try this, Tollardine. The last ones did not end well."

The Captain gave him a thin smile, one that had no mirth in it. "Yes, our kinsmen you murdered. We know your magic can no longer help you this time, King Matthew. You crippled yourself. Perhaps we might have respected your power before, but now? You are an old Warg, waiting for the tanners to come skin you."

His lifeguards shifted, and Tollardine looked at them. "Do nothing, or your King's Maiden will be the first to die."

Balred's voice was hoarse with rage. "You disloyal swine. How could you do this? Even your own Clan leader supports him!"

Tollardine laughed. "Of course, the bastard prince wonders! Were you hoping that as more and more nobility fell, you might rise to be worth something? So sorry to disappoint you."

Rethferd placed a cautious hand on Balred's shoulder. "Hold, brother. There is no use speaking with these ones."

Orleth looked at the Hard Scythe Orc with a sneer. "And you're little better, Hard Scythe. Your Clan was never much good beyond fodder for better warriors. Perhaps you aren't worth still being a High Clan once all is done. Leaffall is already there anyway."

Matt spoke up before the argument could continue. His eyes had moved among the Bloodsworn, marking their positions. There were seventeen of them. A little worse than a two-to-one fight, then. "So what are you waiting for, Tollardine? Or are you questioning your cause, after all?"

Tollardine shrugged. "I plan on keeping you alive for the others to get here. Then he can take the Divine Rights for himself and add that of the Dwarves later today. Unless he's already accomplished that, of course."

The words more or less secured in Matt's mind who was responsible for the situation. "This won't work, Captain. You're feeding yourself to a man who will discard you without hesitation."

A flicker of doubt entered Tollardine's eyes, but he shook his head. "And yet, even if I die under his hand, my family will remain noble. Can I say the same for what will happen under you?"

Matt watched him. Then he let his shoulders slump slightly. The magic was just about ready. "So we just sit here and wait?"

"Not all of us, no." Tollardine made an idle gesture. "If you and your guards do not drop your weapons, then I will kill all of you, starting with the woman. If you disarm, I will spare their lives and give them imprisonment or exile instead. It is your choice."

Mulwan spoke first. "Sire—"

Matt didn't even look at her. "Not the time, Mulwan. You've already been shot once for me." He stayed focused on Tollardine, but he tracked Lucy's movement out of the corner of his eye. She was still moving just a little too quickly. Her Steps of Wind had to be active still. "So be it, Tollardine. You win."

He took a step forward and tossed his mace at the fireplace, sending the mace tumbling end over end into the burning logs. As it hit, there was an explosion of sparks and smoke—something he hoped would cover the fact that Ash Pocket made the thing vanish immediately. The closest Bloodsworn took a step away in alarm, but relaxed as the fire failed to spread out of the hearth.

Tollardine's lips twisted in a snarl. "Churlish to the last. I would have expected better from nobility." He gestured for two of the Bloodsworn to step forward. "But you never were truly noble, were you?"

Matt grinned, a response on his lips. Then he tripped. His hands shot out for a half-burned chair, as if hoping to brace himself. The Orcs in front of him jerked forward, reaching out with their off hands to grab or steady him.

They seemed surprised when Matt's hand plunged into the ash-covered cloth and emerged with his mace.

He didn't give them the chance to realize what had happened. Matt swept the weapon up and across in a quick motion. It wouldn't have done much of anything normally. The Little Tinderbox, however, activated just before it made contact with the forearm of the Bloodsworn on his right. Matt's mace shone like a falling star, and the Orc screamed as his hand fell away.

Matt turned and swung at the Orc on the left. She brought her battle axe up, trying to block out of reflex, but it was no use. The mace seared straight through the Orc's axe haft; when the head hit the Bloodsworn's helmet, there was a blast of heated shrapnel, flash-boiled steam, and worse.

The now-headless corpse fell to the floor, and Matt swung back at the wounded Bloodsworn on the right. He aimed lower, and the hit smashed the Orc aside with a second violent explosion. There were shouts and screams behind him, but he ignored them. His lifeguards could handle themselves, and he trusted them to know what his game was this time.

Instead, he narrowed a portion of his focus, as Gran's Gift pulsed energy along his connection to Lucy.

She had started forward, clearly intending to join him in a brave, but futile, last stand. Her sword and knife were clutched in either hand; she moved in a desperate lunge towards her closest adversary, who was lifting his flaming sword with utter confidence.

Then his power reached her, and she seemed to vanish with a crack of air.

Her first opponent blinked in shock. He reached up with seeming disbelief as blood suddenly began to fountain from a slit throat. His fingers still hadn't reached the crimson flow before the next closest Orc's head snapped back, her face a sudden ruin as Lucy's sword thrust home. The other two recoiled in alarm, but she freed her sword and leapt on them in a blur that mocked their panicked swings.

Matt gritted his teeth and kept the spell going as he moved forward towards Tollardine. The Captain's eyes were wide as he drew his own weapon, a massive war hammer. Orlath stepped between Matt and her commander, a flaming greatspear in her hands. She stabbed at him, and Matt was forced to sidestep and strike at the weapon.

Orlath pulled it back in time to avoid the glowing metal, however. Flames trailed behind her weapon as she stabbed at him again, and again the spear was gone when he swung at it. Matt saw her lips part in a wild grin, clearly thinking that she'd found the solution to him.

Then he hurled the mace directly at her face. The shining weapon tumbled end over end towards her. Sergeant Orlath had just enough time to suck in a breath to scream before the burning metal slammed home. Her scream became an agonized wheeze as she fell.

Matt had just enough time to grin before Tollardine rushed at him, his war hammer sending out waves of flame with each swing. He backed up frantically, trying to avoid the curls of fire that came after him. The Captain was screaming at him in a voice hoarse from desperation and hatred.

"Invader! Usurper! It is our right! It is our right!"

The Orc swung, and Matt managed to duck beneath the massive weapon. He felt the heat of the flames on the back of his next; the scent of singed metal and burnt cloth filled his nostrils. Before Tollardine could recover, Matt launched himself forward in a tackle, knocking the Orc from his feet. They rolled through the wreckage, as wood splintered and cloth burned. Tollardine stopped the roll with him on top and tried to use the haft of his hammer to crush Matt's throat; Matt fought back, trying to press the weapon away from him.

Tollardine leaned forward, putting his own strength and weight behind the push. "You will die here, invader. My people will reclaim our rights. We will ascend above all others. We are destined!"

The haft started an inexorable descent towards Matt's throat. He caught sight of flame starting to gather along the hammer's head; could Tollardine channel it along the haft? How long would his gauntlets hold up against the abuse? They were made of metal, but the part covering his hands was just a flexible leather glove. When he pictured them wreathed in flame, it didn't help.

Then he paused. He'd worn those gauntlets countless times. Those gloves had seen him through several battles. He liked them.

Matt smiled. Tollardine blinked, but before he could react, Matt used the Little Tinderbox and pulsed power down a new connection. His gauntlets became sudden shining lights that nearly blinded him. The haft of Tollardine's hammer suddenly melted in his grip; molten metal sizzled into his armor as the weapon broke.

Tollardine's eyes went wide as he pitched forward, but he had no time to react before Matt slammed a glowing hand straight into the Orc's breastplate. Matt stared up into Tollardine's eyes for a moment that seemed to last an eternity.

Then he shoved the man to the side and pulled his hand out of the wreckage. He had no time to dwell on the last moments of a traitor.

All around him, the battle had turned sharply. With Tollardine and Orlath down, and the remaining Bloodsworn suddenly facing much more even odds, they had started to fall back. Three more of them lay dead, and even as he watched, Lucy claimed another two in a blur of motion. The remaining five turned to flee, and the lifeguards fell on them before Matt could even react. None of them reached the exit.

With the last of the traitors down, Matt let the magic fade from his mind. The pulsing of his one intact Source faded into the back of his awareness, no longer dominating his thoughts. He shook his head wearily, brushing at the ingots of cooling metal that had congealed on his armor. "Lucy?"

She was standing near the doorway, her weapons coated in blood. Her chest was heaving as if she'd run a marathon, and her coarse hair was spread in a wild bloom around her head. As she looked at him, he saw her eyes were wild and wide with a mix of exhilaration and alarm.

For a moment, she didn't respond, and he felt a burst of concern. Had the spell done something to her? "Lucy?"

She shook herself, as if she was becoming awake again. "Matt? Was… that you?"

He glanced at the lifeguards, who were still looking around as if expecting more traitors to appear from the walls. "We can talk about that later. Are you wounded? Do you feel all right?"

Lucy's breath started to slow a little. She shook her head. "Not wounded. Heart's racing. Think I'm fine." The weapons in her hands drooped towards the floor, and she wavered for a moment. "That was… intense."

Matt nodded. He looked back down at Tollardine's corpse. Clearly, Rordine had made plans with the other Red Moons for the attack tonight. How many of them would try to finish what Tollardine started? "How far away is Eagle Company?"

Her eyes seemed to grow more focused. "Not far. They said you needed help." She glanced down at the Orcs. "Same for you?"

He grimaced. "One thing at a time. We need to get back to Eagle Company and wait for more reinforcements. We'll deal with the rest of this later."

Lucy seemed ready to protest, but she caught herself and nodded. Then she cleaned her blades off and nodded, anger starting to peek through her stunned expression. "Good. Semath… they deserved better."

Matt glanced down at where Lucy's bodyguards lay. Then he stepped over Tollardine's body to go and recover his mace. There was still a war to win. Once that was done, Rordine would face consequences.

He would make sure of it.