Kingdom of Iron: Tyrant's Fall

The sight of the walls of Redspire, rising in the light of a summer morning, was welcome enough that Matt broke into a broad grin the moment they rose into view. Even with the memory of Lucy making his heart ache, he couldn't help but feel excitement at the chance to finally lay down his arms and rest for a while, even if it was just a brief time before he once again marched to war.

His troops felt the same way, apparently. They almost immediately began to belt out a marching song, the pounding rhythm beating in time to their footsteps. The jubilation in hundreds of throats filled the morning sky with sounds of homecoming and anticipation, and Matt had to resist singing along with them as they approached the gates.

Nothing they could have done would have matched the noise that waited for them, however. Their song was not even close.

The past few times that Matt had returned to Redspire, he'd found a city more grim than celebratory. Though many had cheered his arrival and shouted for the troops marching with him, they hadn't quite matched the wild exuberance of those first few welcomes. The continual war, the constant losses, and the ever-continuing changes to both the nation and the city itself had ground down on the people's will, bending their morale closer and closer to breaking.

This time, however, they seemed to have forgotten all of it. A wave of sound rolled over him like a tsunami, drowning out his soldiers' attempts to sing their way home. It redoubled, and then doubled again as the first banners led the way back into the city at the heart of the Iron Kingdom.

Freeholders lined the streets, their packed masses waving and shouting and singing an unfamiliar song. Matt tried to catch hold of the words, but he didn't manage it; there were too many voices singing it in too many tunes for him to keep track of it all. Despite it all, he couldn't help but smile in victory as they marched down the central road of the city, heading towards the plaza where his own statue stood.

Of course, it wasn't just his own soldiers that marched. Matt had included a few members of the Alliance in his column, though they didn't come close to the number that had been captured during the war. There were at least two soldiers from each Alliance banner, both carrying the tattered and abused flags of their troops, their wrists bound in chains. Nobles from each House of the Dwarves had been requested to come as well; they clustered together, their shoulders hunched against the jeers of the victorious crowds.

The emissaries of both the Order of Ravens and the Onyx Holdings were there as well, representing their people's request for peace. He hoped that their negotiations with the Council would be swift and complete; the sooner they rendered the appropriate tribute and allowed his nation to move beyond their petty conflict, the better life would be for everyone. Everyone who had survived, at least.

Matt's eyes moved ahead, searching the group of figures waiting for him at the plaza where that abominable statue still stood. He tried not to focus on how much he hated the thing, but it was hard to ignore the triumphant pose and the upraised mace. Maybe he could convince them to melt it down now that he had a different weapon. He doubted it, though.

He looked through the figures ahead, finding faces he recognized. Tanya was there, along with Miguel, Riley, Jessica, and Jordan. Lord Torth was present as well, along with an assortment of other nobles. Voices Girtun and Cholia were present as well, standing apart from the nobility with a calm air. Melren and Snolt were both absent; possibly they were waiting at the New Arsenal.

His heart fell a moment later as he realized that Gorfeld truly wasn't there after all. He'd hoped that the steward had recovered enough, but perhaps that had been too much to wish for. Matt tried not to feel a pang of fear and grief for the Imp. Alicia hadn't heard anything about whether the Imp had recovered any further, and she hadn't given him any real hope to find him well, but still…

Matt was still brooding over the moment as he rode into the plaza and dismounted from Nelson. The warbuck snorted and shook his antlers, and Matt soothed him a moment before he walked over to approach the waiting crowd.

To his surprise, it was Riley who held the traditional cup. She stood beside Dysyani, who gestured for her to step forward and dip it into the fountain. The Maiden of Books seemed to gather her courage and step forward with it. "King Matthew, to celebrate another victorious campaign and welcome you back to our home, we bring you this drink. May it refresh you from your journey."

He couldn't remember if it was the same words that Gorfeld had always used, but the sentiment was still enough. Matt reached out and took the cup, trying to quell a hint of suspicion as he lifted it to his lips. In the future, he'd need to have the lifeguards secure the cup when it wasn't in use. Gorfeld had probably done it without asking before, but he obviously couldn't do it now.

Matt drank, and fortunately, didn't taste any hint of death in the water. He lowered it with a satisfied sigh. "Thank you." Raising his voice, he turned and raised it to the crowd. "And may all the Kingdom rejoice! The war is coming to an end, and we are victorious!"

A roar of triumph echoed from the crowd, and Matt passed the cup back to Riley, who accepted it with a smile. He shook her other hand and then greeted each of the others. When he reached Tanya, he looked her in the eyes. "Gorfeld?"

"Still unconscious." There was a hint of the same worries he felt in her expression, and Miguel rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Still alive."

He plastered a smile on his face and nodded before moving on to the others. It took a bit of time—he asked Dysyani to speak with him later about his mantras, checked with Jordan to make sure the treasury hadn't disappeared, and asked Lord Torth to convene the Council that afternoon.

Then, as the crowds continued to cheer, he swung himself back into Nelson's saddle and led the march towards the palace. It was time to get back to the business of his Kingdom.

The Council was a babble of voices as Matt walked into the room, something that continued for quite a while as he made his way to the throne they had reserved for him. Many of the conversations were louder and more energetic than he was used to. Perhaps their debates had grown more… lively, in the time when he had been away at war.

Soon enough, however, the nobles noticed his presence and started to arrange themselves in their seats. The assortment of old furniture had been updated once more, with more of the old chairs being replaced by finer, more comfortable examples. He noted with satisfaction that several of the nobles were from the Leaffall Clan. It was good to see that they would be present this time as well.

As he sat, the last of the conversations faded away, and the nobles found their seats. He let the quiet last for another few moments as he set his mace aside. Then he looked up and around at the gathering of the Kingdom's leaders. "Today, I am happy to announce that our campaigns in the south have been successful. Thanks to the bravery and sacrifice of our troops, we have been able to substantially break the power of the Alliance in the west."

Lord Torth stood amidst a cacophony of stomps, claps, and shouts. As they died down, he spoke loud enough to be heard over the echoes. "My liege, may I offer you, on behalf of all of us, my most sincere congratulations on your victory."

Matt inclined his head, and the High Imp sat. A Red Moon Orc shot to his feet a moment later. "Does this mean that the Order of Ravens and the Onyx Holdings are a part of our Kingdom?"

Murmurs rose, but Matt held up a hand. "No. They have surrendered, but we have not demanded their submission to us now."

The Orc stared down at him in bafflement. "Why not? They are defeated. We should claim them."

Another nobleman, a High Imp by the looks of it, spoke up without standing. "Like we should have claimed the rabble in the Pridelands!" Lord Torth's head snapped around as the man glared at his fellow Imp, but other mutters rose in agreement.

Matt spoke calmly before the murmuring could grow. "Our treaty with the Pridelands made our victories against the Alliance possible. Without declaring peace with the forces of the Revolution, I guarantee you that our armies would still be fighting and bleeding on the plains, without any hint of the victory that we have just won."

As the Orc sat, a Blackleaf Goblin rose, his voice doubtful. "Were they really so formidable, sire?"

He looked at the nobleman and nodded. "They were well-motivated, competently led, and just as determined to defend their homeland as we are to defend ours. Any victory over them would be gained only with an incredible amount of suffering on both sides."

"Yet we've allowed their revolution to fester on our border!" A Frost Elf rose, her eyes sharp and accusing. "Their people have been flooding across the Blackstone. Some of them are even settling as far north as Winterfast!"

Matt nodded. "Where they may work and replace some of the people we've lost. In time, they will serve just as all of us do, as freeholders of the Kingdom."

Another Red Moon Orc snorted, her expression contemptuous. "As freeholders. When they should be serfs."

He felt his temper rise, but before he could address her, a Hard Scythe Orc rose. She seemed less agitated than the first ones who'd spoken. "We heard of battles against the Alterians. Are we at war with them now?"

Matt shook his head. "Our treaty with them holds. They briefly made the error of siding with the Alliance, and marched to their defense—" He heard angry mutters begin, and nodded along with them. "But now they have seen the error of their ways. They will no longer be members of the Alliance, and last I heard, they will be at peace with the Pridelands too. Their poor decisions should no longer affect our Kingdom, or impede the progress of our war."

The Orc nodded and returned to her seat. A Leaffall Orc rose, glancing uncertainly at the others. "My liege, may I ask what the terms for the truce with the Alliance will be?"

He looked at the Orc and gestured to the entrance of the chamber. "While I did negotiate our terms with the Pridelands, the truce with the Alliance still needs to be negotiated. Both the Order of Ravens and Onyx Holdings have sent emissaries who are bound to speak terms with you now. I will ask you to speak with them in good faith."

A look of surprise crossed the nobleman's face, and as he sat, a High Imp started to whisper to him. Matt turned his attention to the rest of the room. "Now, I have been gone for far too long, and I am sure you have all been busy guiding the Kingdom in my absence. Please begin your deliberations and let me hear about how it has all gone while I was fighting for our people."

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Five hours later, Matt stumbled towards his office with a weight of exhaustion that seemed halfway ready to crush him.

The Council had been a morass of complaints, proposals, and arguments that had stretched on endlessly. There were definite power blocs already forming among the gathered nobility, pulling the Kingdom's resources in very different directions. The Red Moons had gathered the allegiance of some of the High Imps and Blackleafs, to be sure, but the Hard Scythes and Summerhall Gnomes had the support of the remainder, especially with Lord Torth apparently backing them. The Leaffalls and the Frost Elves had wavered between the two groups, sometimes speaking for one side or the other, as their own interests determined.

As the day had worn on, however, there had been several things that stuck out to him. The Red Moon bloc had been desperately concerned with the flow of escaped serfs south and had spent a considerable amount of time arguing that the rest of the Kingdom owed them support in getting the fugitives back from the Pridelands. The Frost Elves and Leaffalls were both fretting about the influx of migrant Knights, especially with news of occasional probing attacks against the south of the Copper Hills. The Hard Scythes were championing the Angru Declaration every chance they got, along with continued pushes to reduce the Red Moon's influence.

The conflict had seemed to churn and froth across the course of the entire meeting. At times the arguments had escalated so sharply that Matt had expected a duel to erupt, but his calm intervention, or the objection of one of the Voices, had settled things back down. Cholia, by contrast, had been a voice of sweet reason for most of the session. Her self-satisfied expression had been so deeply suspicious that Matt had made a note to look into her later.

About the only thing the entire Council had united behind was the desire to twist the knife in the Alliance's wounds. The emissaries from both members of the Alliance had been raked over the coals for their requests, and the terms that the Council was driving them towards were going to be punitive in the extreme. The Dwarves were going to be the worst hit; they would have to pay ransom not only for every soldier and noble in the Kingdom's control, but also a hefty ransom for the cities that Matt had captured as well. Beside those costs, the Order of Ravens must have felt grateful to only pay for the return of their people.

Aside from the Council's willingness to wring every mark out of their former enemies, Matt had seen very little progress there. He consoled himself with the fact that if they couldn't agree on what name to call the Revolution in the Pridelands, then they probably weren't going to be able to coordinate a way to overthrow him. Unless they did it on accident, of course.

The lifeguards opened the door to his office, and Matt staggered through them with the intent of going straight through to his bedchambers and enjoying a decent nap for the first time in weeks. He took three steps, and the door swung closed behind him before he realized he wasn't alone. "Oh."

Melren and Morteth both rose from their seats at his arrival. Jordan and Parufeth were both there as well, though they remained seated. Tanya was sprawled across her traditional couch, humming to herself as she read a book.

For a heartbeat, he considered just ordering them all out. Then he sighed and headed for his desk. "All right. What do you have for me?"

They all exchanged a look. Then Morteth nodded. "We've received word that the Alliance attempted an attack against the Copper Hills again. Margrave Karve drove them off without much effort."

Matt fell into his seat. "I had wondered if they would try that. How many attacks have there been?"

"Three so far. All with barely more than a banner or two." Morteth shook his head. "Karve is confident that he can continue to hold the line there indefinitely."

He nodded. "Good. We should probably give him some reinforcements soon, anyway." Matt smirked to himself. "Maybe Captain Rordine would want to go. Then both Einreth and Karve can sit on him."

Morteth coughed into his hand quietly. "Captain Rordine has resigned, actually. We had a… difference of opinion."

Matt sat up in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "You did."

"Several of them, in fact." The High Imp gave him a thin smile. "I have sent to Einreth to see if she will replace him as the leader of the remaining Bloodsworn."

It should have been good news, but something warned Matt that he shouldn't bank on it. He shook his head. "Well, fortunately or unfortunately, I should be able to leave my current banners here with you to recover. Maybe by then the Red Moons will have found someone sane to lead their troops." Matt shook his head. "What other troops do we have available here?"

Morteth paused and looked at Melren. The former nobleman nodded to the Margrave and stepped forward. "I believe that I might be able to answer that question, sire."

Matt looked at his advisor in weary expectation. "Oh? Did your training program produce results?"

Melren smiled. "You could say that, yes." He glanced at Morteth, who gestured for him to continue. "In cooperation with Margrave Morteth, I have embarked on a… reorganization of our available troops. I implemented certain training changes based on what we learned from training the initial Mage-Errants, additional ideas that you shared, and what was observed in the Pridelands."

Curious, Matt tilted his head. "I know that you had started working with the Irregulars. Captain Snolt should also have reported to you."

Several of the others suddenly cracked smiles. Melren seemed to struggle for a moment. "Yes. Captain Snolt has been rather… vocal about his dislike for the assignment, sire." Then his expression grew sober. "At the same time, you were correct. He is making an amazing amount of progress, as are his troops."

Matt blinked. He'd really only intended on having Snolt undergo the retraining process. Apparently, Melren had extended it quite a bit beyond his initial plans. "All right. Did we move to pikes and longbows now?"

Melren shook his head. "No, sire." A half-smile appeared on the man's lips. "With all due respect to our allies to the south, and to those in your world, this world is one where magic exists. While those tools may enjoy some success now, I believe that once others adapt, they will face more difficulty in the future."

The former nobleman laid a sheet of parchment on the desk. "Instead, I've laid out a new series of training methods and recruitment. Our troops may rely on similar tools, but their available magic will be considerably more powerful."

Matt picked up the page and ran his eyes over it. There was an impressive number of Sources, spells, and dates. "This seems… significant."

Melren nodded. "It is. There were complaints from the Council, but they were resolved by Margrave Morteth and the Voices."

He ran his eyes over it, feeling a growing sense of surprise. "You broke up the Irregulars?"

"In a way, sire." Melren glanced at Morteth. "We've made the Irregulars currently serving an actual permanent group under our command and started to retrain them. Combined with the soldiers funded under the Angru Declaration, we've been able to greatly increase their numbers as well."

Matt looked up from the page. "How much?"

Morteth answered. "In addition to the four banners from the Sortenmoors, we gained another seven, along with a significant amount of equipment."

He blinked. "Seriously? We have seventeen banners of Irregulars here?"

"Yes, sire. We've organized them into four cohorts, each with—"

Matt held up a hand as a wave of exhaustion swept over him. "I can hear the details later, once I am in a better state to understand them. In fact, I'll come down to visit them in the New Arsenal." Melren slumped, and Matt gave him a sympathetic look. "Just tell me this much, then. How much time before they are combat capable?"

Melren glanced at Morteth before he responded. "Another week for at least basic maneuvers. Give me another month, and I'd pit them against any equal number of Crown Guard. Three months, and they'll fight any army you face in the field."

The confidence in Melren's voice was reassuring, but Matt had visions of the Irregulars being slaughtered at Folly's End. He had to trust the man, though; after all, the Imp had seen the new troops, and Matt had not. "All right. Let's hope you get at least the month, then." He looked at Parufeth. "I noticed that there was quite a bit more work than I expected going on. Some demolition too."

Parufeth winced. He seemed distinctly uncomfortable; somebody had attacked the poor fool with a bar of soap and ill intent. The Gnome, cleaner than Matt had ever seen him, idly scratched at the back of his neck as he spoke. "We are well ahead of schedule, sire. The first two blocks of housing are done, and the next four are already underway. I expect that we should be done with them before the season changes."

Before Matt could react properly, the Gnome rushed on with his report. "We've also begun demolition in preparation for construction of the Great Library. We should be able to have that well underway before the year is over."

Matt blinked. "You are… extremely ahead of schedule. How did you make so much progress?"

Parufeth scratched at his neck again. "The Minister of Building was a large help in organizing things. We also took on a number of more craftsmen who were interested in earning more by working with us."

The next question was obvious. "Between the new Irregulars and the extra work, how are we affording all of this?"

Jordan raised his hand. "I can answer that one." He took a deep breath as Matt's gaze landed on him. "Soon after the news of your success arrived, the Council proposed another round of victory bonds. Those who had family outside the capital wanted to get in on the profit, honestly, and so did a lot of freeholders. There's been a lot of interest in them, actually."

Matt stared at him in faint horror. "Which means…"

"You're now one hundred and twenty thousand marks richer." Jordan shrugged. "You'll also owe one hundred and twenty-six thousand in two years' time, but by then, I imagine the tribute is going to be coming in from the rest of the Alliance, and you'll have people paying rent from the housing. Between that and the taxes coming up soon, you should be fine."

He tried to unclench his hands. "Should be?"

Jordan nodded, glancing down at his notes. "Yeah. The trade starting to come through from the Dwarves in the Rusted Clans should help too. The Council managed to pass a few decent tariffs that are paying off well."

Rubbing at his forehead, Matt sat back in his chair. Even with the Council bickering, he apparently was sitting on a fortune with a custom-trained army to back it up. True, Jordan might have created the Kingdom's first national debt crisis, but at the very least, things were covered for the short term. His enemies were on the ropes, and things were far more stable than he'd ever expected. Was it possible that he'd been really worrying over nothing?

A pulse of a headache ran through his skull at that moment, and he winced. Obviously, he wasn't quite ready to relax yet.

Jordan and Parufeth were both looking at him with some concern. Matt nodded to them, trying to sound reassuring. "You've done well. Thank you for your work."

Tanya snorted. "I'd just like to point out that none of the extra workers are going towards my museum. Even though we've had plenty of visitors since we opened."

Matt couldn't help but roll his eyes. "I'm sorry to hear that, Tanya." He glanced at the others, who seemed to be struggling to hide their own amusement. "Aside from letting you spend our entire treasury again, is there something I can help you with?"

"Massively overspend on one thing and they never let you forget it…" Tanya shook her head and levered herself up into a sitting position. "You didn't bring back Lucy with you?"

He blinked. It wasn't exactly the question he'd been expecting. "She might visit another time."

Tanya sighed. "Jessica was saying that people would want to meet their Maiden of Victory at some point. Lots of them are… anxious about it." She glanced at the others before she continued. "As for the museum, you still haven't visited the western gallery yet. Do you think you might get around to that without getting stabbed this time?"

Matt studied her for a moment. There was more to the invitation than simple vanity, but he couldn't say what. He glanced at Jordan, who inclined his head in a subtle nod. It was an effort to keep his eyes from narrowing, but he gave Tanya a small smile. "I will try, Tanya."

"Good. Too many people worked really hard on that to just ignore the whole thing just because you almost got assassinated one time." She covered a yawn with the back of her hand, and Matt's jaw creaked with the effort of not mimicking her. "In any case, all of this very important news is really exhausting to talk about. I think I'm going to take a break. A good rest is healthy every now and then, according to Alicia."

She stood up and walked over to him. Matt stood, and she gave him an unexpected hug. "It's good to see you back. Don't wait too long to bring her back." She gave him a brief kiss on the cheek and then walked around the desk to head for the door. By sheer coincidence, her path happened to encourage Melren and Morteth to shuffle towards the exit as well. A sharp look from the Maiden of Art convinced Jordan to gather his parchments and stand as well; Parufeth was already headed for the door with an expression of profound relief.

As she shepherded the others out, Tanya glanced back just once, with a small smile on her face. Then the door closed, and Matt was left on his own.

He looked at the door for a long moment and then back down at the parchment. A part of him wanted to start digging into the details that both Parufeth and Melren had given him, but a much larger part was arguing that if he didn't sleep right now his head, was going to fall off. Matt shoved himself up with a resigned sigh and made his way back to his bedchambers. Mysteries, complications, and opportunities could wait for at least a few hours. Maybe he'd even manage to figure out what the source of his headaches was with a new perspective.

He could always hope.