Kingdom of Iron: Tyrant's Fall

Matt reached the New Arsenal just ahead of Jessica. He nodded to her as he walked into the barracks, and she fell into step beside him. "What do you know?"

"Not much more than you do." Her voice was grim. "The uprising started two days ago, apparently. It spread quickly. From the sounds of it, half the Red Plains are on fire."

He grimaced. The Red Plains was where half the food in the Kingdom was grown, and a significant amount of the bricks they were using to build came from there as well. Even if the uprising stopped the same day, he doubted that the fall harvest was going to look as rosy as it could have before. "We don't know who the leaders are? Or what started it? Or even how many are involved?"

Jessica shook her head. "No. Only that it seemed like they were ready for it and the Red Moons weren't. A few banners of Red Guard and Bloodsworn tried to respond, but they lost control of their capital yesterday, at the latest."

Matt fought down a curse. Half the Red Moon soldiers were either here with him, or in the Copper Hills with Einreth. Speaking of which… "We haven't heard from Lady Einreth, have we?"

Her answer was just another shake of the head. Jessica stayed silent as they entered the courtyard of the Arsenal.

It was a scene of absolute bedlam. Sergeants and Captains were shouting orders, and troops were dashing in all directions to get ready for departure. Matt noticed Morteth at the center of the storm, giving orders to the various officers that approached him. He made a beeline straight for his Margrave, even as his own troops had to veer around him on their assigned tasks.

Morteth looked calm despite the situation. He gestured for the officers to disperse as Matt reached him. "My liege. Our forces are preparing themselves now."

"Good. We need to march as soon as we can." Matt looked around the courtyard. "You're having everyone get ready?"

The Imp nodded. "Yes, sire. I believe that even if we leave some of our soldiers here, we'll want them available to guard Redspire."

Matt grimaced. Morteth appeared too polite to mention it, but there was little risk that the serfs would march on the capital of the Kingdom. His real concern had to be a similar uprising in Redspire itself. He looked at Jessica. "Are there any signs of trouble here?"

Jessica shook her head. "The Council called for an immediate meeting. Voice Girtun is in attendance. Voice Cholia is calling for a similar meeting of the Redspire Assembly. None of them have said they want any violence here."

He nodded and looked back to Morteth. "I'm going to ask you to stay here again, Margrave. You can support the Council or the Assembly if either one overreacts. We need to keep things calm here while I stop this from getting any worse."

Morteth grimaced. "I understand, sire. Perhaps our next emergency will call for my talents."

Matt resisted the urge to laugh at the glum response. The fact that Morteth was so sure that they would have another emergency soon was not encouraging. "I can take the same forces that I used in the Pridelands. They've taken a few casualties, but—"

Both Morteth and Jessica started to speak. They stopped and exchanged a look. Morteth gestured for Jessica to speak first, and she gave him a grateful nod. "Matt, the Council will want the noble banners here."

Matt blinked. "They don't want to send them to contain the situation?"

"I think they'd rather have them containing the situation in Redpsire, sire." Morteth's tone was far too neutral. He glanced around. "They may view the Steel Legion as… unreliable in this circumstance."

He frowned. "But they'll trust the Legion to fight the uprising?"

Jessica was the one who answered. "The Legion is made up of freeholders, not serfs. They have no reason to rebel." She lowered her voice. "It'll give them a chance to prove themselves. They need that."

Part of Matt wanted to argue that they needed time to train and prepare almost as much, but he knew they were right. He didn't know how many enemies he was going to be facing and he couldn't risk bringing only a handful of troops still exhausted from fighting the Dwarves. Matt nodded. "Get them ready. I want to march out of Redspire within the next four hours."

Morteth saluted and strode off to continue organizing the departure. Jessica stayed a moment longer, studying him. "I know I don't have to say it, but…"

He nodded. "I'll come back. And I'll do my best to keep this from becoming a bloodbath."

She gave him a return nod and then headed for the exit. Matt turned towards the stables, where he knew Nelson would be waiting. It looked like his brief time of rest was already over.

The march to Heartlight was easier this time. It was a simpler, shorter journey without snow to choke the roads and turn the roads to mud. Even though he marched with a larger army, with half its number raw recruits, they moved quickly through the hot summer days. Weeks of physical conditioning and practice had tempered the Steel Legion well. Veterans among the ranks had already started to teach the marching songs that had traditionally rung out along the trails of his previous campaign; some had even started trying to piece together the words of Jessica's anthem as well.

Despite that music, the mood as they marched west was sober. The news of the uprising had already filtered through the ranks. Those who came from the Red Plains were grim, angry, or worried over the safety of their families; those who weren't seemed to feel conflicted about marching on those who could have been their brothers or sisters in arms. If it had been another noble rebellion, it was one thing; fighting serfs who wanted the same freedom they enjoyed was something else entirely.

As they made their way west, however, that mood shifted. They saw signs of burned farmhouses and dead families. Matt had the Scout banner riding out on their Wargs in shifts to cover the ground; the newly promoted Gwelfed had been teaching them well. More often than not, they returned with news of a countryside nearly as consumed by chaos as the Sortenmoors. Survivors spoke of mobs with torches hunting nobles, or bands of soldiers looking for rebels. It was as if the entire place had gone mad.

The further they got, the more refugees they met along the road. Families covered in soot or wearing the shocked expressions of the recently dispossessed, they stood to one side of the road and watched the Legion march by with stunned eyes. When Matt spoke with some of them, they stared and stammered, speaking of battles throughout the Red Moon capital. No one seemed to know the state of the city, aside from fires and slaughter. Most seemed to believe that the nobles had been driven into hiding, or were under siege within the Crimson Keep at the center of Heartlight. None of them had wanted to stay to witness the aftermath, no matter who won.

Nearly as disturbing were the other rumors, the ones that spoke of the Counselor. The supposed predictions were hard to pin down. They often spoke of doom, of drastic catastrophes looming in the near future. Some spoke of Matt as a savior, others as a sign of the Kingdom's destruction. It was almost as if someone was spreading the things to try to create as much confusion as possible rather than drive any particular objective forward. Combined with the piercing headaches that plagued him again, Matt did not look forward to finding their source.

The night before they reached Heartlight, Matt gathered his captains for one last briefing. They were almost as grim as their soldiers; all of them knew that tomorrow they'd likely see some kind of fighting. Those who had fought before were already serious and relaxed; those who had not were nervous, but trying not to show it. Matt nodded to all of them and waited for Gwelfed to join them. She had been riding out on one last scouting mission, and he knew that even with her experience, she was just as worried about getting her first command correctly done.

When the Grimfen Goblin joined the group, Matt nodded to her and turned to the others. "Tomorrow we're going to reach the city. From what we've heard, it won't be an easy situation, but the uprising must be put down."

Some of the captains muttered among themselves, and Matt gave them a stern look. "It's not something we want to do, but it has to be done. No one, noble, freeholder, or serf, is allowed to rebel against the Kingdom without consequence." He shook his head. "We'll attempt to convince them to stand down and give the truly responsible the trials they deserve, but if the rebels fight, then we have to put them down. Either that, or we let the Kingdom burn."

Silence followed his words, and he turned to Gwelfed. "Captain Gwelfed, what is your final report?"

Gwelfed stepped forward, her nervousness clear. "It looks like there is still fighting going on in the city."

One of the Captains, a Frost Elf named Sitriana, frowned. "After six days?"

The Goblin nodded. "It looks like none of the factions have had enough strength to take the whole place, just portions of it."

"Factions?" Captain Rugard, formerly of the Irregulars, scowled. "There's more than just the serfs and the nobles?"

Gwelfed grimaced. "It looks that way, yes." She drew a sword and started to sketch a small diagram in the dirt. "The eastern part of the city looks like they are in one group of rebel hands. From the banners still flying, the Crimson Keep is still holding out, though, and there's a small army of nobles south of the city. They don't look like they are communicating or cooperating, though."

Snolt snorted to himself. "Idiots."

Nobody disagreed with him as Gwelfed continued. "The west and south are being held by another group of serfs, but it looks like they have been fighting with the eastern ones almost as much as the nobles. On the north, we've got another group, but it's hard to tell if they are serfs, or just a lot of unaligned nobles. They've mostly sealed off their section of the city and are refusing entry to anyone."

Matt nodded to her. "Are any of them aware of us?"

She shook her head. "None of them look like they have scouts out, and we weren't seen." Gwelfed grinned. "Some of those new spells we've learned are pretty useful, sire. Definitely want to keep using those."

The Blackleafs probably weren't quite as happy about some of their illusion magic being used outside the Clan, but Matt couldn't exactly spare a thought for their feelings at the moment. He looked down at the hastily sketched map. "Do we know who is leading the nobles in the south?"

Gwelfed hesitated for just long enough to tell Matt he wouldn't like the answer. "Lord Rordine, sire."

A lance of anger speared through him. He worked hard to repress a snarl. "You said they had three, maybe four banners?" Gwelfed nodded. "We'll meet with them first and tell them to stand clear."

Captain Curalesh blinked. "Stand clear, sire? You don't want them to help?"

"If they were helping, we wouldn't see half the city occupied." Matt knew the bluntness wasn't going to help his cause, but his head was hurting again. "They've obviously failed to handle this, so we'll do it for them."

Snolt grunted. "An issue of trust, my liege?"

Matt looked at the Goblin. "I trust in this Legion, not the nobles who might well be responsible for this mess." The gathered captains shifted on their feet as they absorbed the words, and he continued, studying the map again. "Once we've received a report from them, we'll advance on the south of the city. If the rebels surrender, we'll gather them into custody for trials. Otherwise, we're going to clear it building by building until the city is retaken."

He looked up at them. "Fight well, work together, and this will be over soon. Fortune go with you."

The captains bowed their heads and saluted before dispersing back to their soldiers. Matt watched them go and turned to find Snolt still waiting beside him. He smiled. "At least you're not on garrison duty now, Captain."

Snolt grimaced. "First Captain, sire." The Goblin shook his head. "Fighting inside Heartlight… it will be ugly, sire. There's a reason it's taken them all six days to get this far."

Matt felt his grin fade. "I know, Snolt. We have no choice."

"It seems like the more power you get, the less of that you have, my liege." Snolt looked pensive for a moment, then he shook his head. "Still. It'll be good for a bunch of stuck-up nobles to see freeholders coming to clean up their mess. Might make them a bit more humble next time."

He smirked. "We'll see, First Captain. We'll see."

The city of Heartlight had seen better days.

Smoke was still rising from the city, though it seemed like most of the fires were done burning. Though many of the brick buildings remained, several of them looked like they had been burnt out from the inside; others had been transformed into the fortresses that they had always seemed to promise themselves they were, with wooden barricades or blockages made from debris. He could see bodies still lying in some of the streets, and at least one fire was still ongoing.

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Despite that, it appeared some of the rebels had decided to greet him. A massive horde of serfs had gathered on the east side of the city. They were armed with farming tools and makeshift weapons; the luckier among them appeared to have scavenged weapons and armor from somewhere else, occasionally with bloodstains still on them. Tattered flags made from bedsheets and tentpoles fluttered in the wind, scrawled with all kinds of words that Matt didn't bother trying to decipher.

His eyes narrowed as he watched that line of serfs. A glance to the south told him that the nobles there had not moved at all to confront the horde; they remained huddled behind a palisade that they had constructed to make a fortified camp. Apparently, he wouldn't have the chance to confront Rordine first after all.

He looked at the signaler who had taken up a position with his lifeguards. "Signal the Legion to form up. It looks like we'll have to deal with some of the rebels first."

The Imp nodded, and a moment later his horn sang out for the Legion to form ranks. They spread out across the fields east of Heartlight, the Field cohorts facing the milling horde of serfs with a measure of discipline that Matt felt was impressive. Snolt had kept the Cavalry cohort back behind the lines, with the Siege cohort nearby.

So far, things had gone smoothly. He could see the serfs were already starting to question their situation. Maybe it would just take another push to finish them.

As he started forward, Mulwan caught his reins. She looked worried as she studied him. "Are you sure it needs to be you, sire?"

He glanced around at his lifeguards. They seemed grim about what they were facing; Tiridine, in particular, was gripping her sword as if she was facing death itself. When he looked back at Mulwan, he saw a little resignation in her eyes.

Then he grinned. "I'm afraid so, but I think we can manage to calm things down a bit. Raise a flag of parley, and maybe this can end without bloodshed. What's the biggest, scariest thing you can think of?"

Riding forward with his lifeguards to confront the horde was not an encouraging thing, but Matt still felt confident in his chances for survival. Even if the serfs apparently wanted him to ride practically up to their lines instead of meeting between them.

A small delegation walked out towards him, led by what looked like a Red Moon Orc wearing a butcher's leather smock. The Orc grinned at Matt, leering at Tiridine. "King Matthew. Have you come to help us finish purging this place of the nobles?"

Matt studied the man for a moment. "No. I'm here to put a stop to this rebellion."

The Orc's face turned ugly. "You're siding with them? After what they've done?"

"After what everyone has done." Matt pointed to the still smoking wreckage behind the Orc. "How many people have you killed? How many are going to starve because you've burned your own harvests?"

An Elf, scrawny and sneering, leaned forward and spat. "It doesn't matter. The Counselor told us. If we get rid of the nobles, we'll have peace. We'll have prosperity! We'll have all we've ever dreamed of!"

His shrill shout raised a chorus of cheers from the horde behind them. Matt studied them with a grim expression. "Your Counselor is wrong. He can't magic food out of the air for you. He won't fight for you against invaders."

A Knight in an obviously stolen gambeson spread her arms. "But you can! You'll defend us! He promised that you would sweep them all away!"

Matt shook his head. "I don't know what caused this to happen, and I will do my best to set things right, but that cannot happen while you are looting, burning, and murdering in the streets. Lay down your arms, surrender, and we'll get to the bottom of this. Otherwise, you'll face the consequences of your actions, the same as Itrelia or Teblas did."

The Knight recoiled. "We-we aren't nobles!"

"Yet you're acting like them, aren't you?" Matt looked over the city. "I'm giving you the same chance they had. You would be wise to take it."

The Orc shook his head like an angry bull. "You've been corrupted. The nobles have corrupted the King!"

Shouts of dismay and horror swept through the ranks, swiftly followed by cries of anger. The Orc drew a cleaver from his belt, and the Elf reached for an arrow in his quiver. Matt watched them for a moment and motioned to Mulwan. She started the spell for her illusion, and he started his own. "We are under parley. You should honor it."

The Orc grinned. "We aren't fancy nobles, sire. I guess you'll find out the hard way." Snarls of agreement ran through the lines behind him, and Matt saw the closest of the serfs start to lean forward, preparing to charge forward in a rush.

Then Mulwan's spell completed, and he poured all the power of Gran's Gift into it at the same time.

Darkness suddenly swept across the field, a smothering cloud of black flame that seemed to roll in from everywhere and nowhere. The serfs cried out in horror and shock as the fire rolled in, with some of them throwing down their weapons and trying to run for the city. Those who had come out to meet him stumbled back, their eyes locked on the doom approaching them. He saw the Knight fall to her knees and cry out. "Mercy, sire, mercy!"

Matt made a gesture, and Mulwan sagged slightly as the illusion faded away. He stared at them, waiting for their eyes to return to him. "You have until I reach my lines. Those who are still armed and waiting for us will be considered traitors to the Kingdom at that point. Those who surrender will have a fair trial, and their grievances will be heard." He leaned forward. "Do not make me wait."

Then he turned and led the lifeguards back towards his lines. He kept their pace a sedate trot; he wanted to give the serfs enough time to have the shock set in. As he rode, Mulwan kept shaking her head and looking at her hands, her eyes wide. "Mulwan?"

She looked at him, still obviously stunned. "I—I'm fine, sire."

"Good. Well done." He risked a quick glance back, hoping it didn't seem nervous. Behind him, he saw more serfs starting to throw down their weapons and walk away. Others were getting into arguments, to the point that some were wrestling with others or drawing weapons on each other. The stream of deserters heading back into the city was already winnowing away at the enemy lines.

They weren't all going, though. Hundreds were still clutching their weapons and standing their ground, though they seemed less than sure of themselves. Maybe they were desperate, or maybe these were the ones who had already done too much murder and plunder to risk going to trial. Or perhaps they were the ones who had bought into the 'prophecies' that had apparently primed the pump for the whole disaster.

Either way, better to fight them in the field than in the city. He looked at Tiridine. "Let the captains know we're still accepting surrenders. Prisoners are still prisoners. Even here."

She struggled for a moment. Then she nodded. "Yes, sire."

Matt let out a satisfied sigh and looked across the field to where his army waited, and hoped that everything went about as well for the rest of the day.

The Battle of Heart's Field, as the fight would eventually be called, was not the grand struggle Matt was sure that artists and poets would later make it out to be.

By the time he'd reached the lines, the massive horde had dwindled by at least half. Those who remained still numbered in the thousands, but they no longer had the same weight behind them. Their morale was already shaken. They moved more like a herd of cattle than an army, occasionally trampling their own as they swarmed across the field.

When the battle started, it only got worse. The Legion moved forward as one, like a well-oiled machine of war. Heavy infantry formed wedges along the front, marching towards the horde in a wall of polearms. Their lighter armored brethren moved along beside them, supporting the heavies with archer and sling fire. Snolt's cavalry wheeled around the lines of battle in a massive wedge aimed at the enemy's rear, aiming to split the horde and break its cohesion. As the distances closed, the Siege cohort cast spells to blast holes in the mob, while others used their freshly built siege machinery to hurl stones into the tightly packed horde.

It all worked with lethal precision. The mob swarmed forward, only to take horrifying casualties from the projectiles fired at them. Explosions sent rebels flying, and stones carved bloody furrows in the face of the horde. Those who remained crashed against his lines like human wave, but they fell back as the weapons and skill of his troops cut them down. It was a slaughter that seemed both inevitable and pointless.

Their morale lasted until the cavalry crashed into them from behind, and then whatever courage the rebels had left deserted them. His troops pushed forward as the serfs collapsed, and the cavalry began to ride down those who had not surrendered. In only minutes, the entire horde had been reduced to a few pitiful remnants that were scattering to the wind. Some didn't even bother running to the city; perhaps they thought the fields would be a safer hiding place.

Matt surveyed the bloody field and felt no pride in it. His troops had done well—very well, in fact—but it had been a fight that he wished hadn't been necessary. If the fake Counselor had survived all of the bloodshed, he was going to make sure they paid for what they had caused.

He looked at Rordine's camp. The nobles still hadn't moved, though it did look like they were sending a messenger towards the city. Maybe he would claim that he had summoned Matt in order to carve out some part of the victory for himself.

Matt shook his head and looked at Gwelfed, whose Scouts had been kept in reserve. "Captain, tell everyone to start rounding up prisoners. I want to know exactly what happened here, where I can find this supposed 'Counselor', and who I need to kill to make sure this doesn't happen again."

Gwelfed nodded, and she started detailing off her riders to visit the various captains. Matt watched as his orders went out and nodded grimly. The city might not be entirely his again yet, but when it was, he was going to know exactly why he'd just had to kill his own people to make sure of it.

One way or another.

Matt waited in the Crimson Keep, poring over the map the nobles inside had given him to read.

It showed the city. Wooden markers covered it in a faint imitation of the situation outside. Red marks represented places where rebels or panicked nobles were still resisting the Steel Legion's efforts to bring Heartlight back under his control. Blue ones showed his forces' positions as they marched across the city, street by street and building by building. Green markers showed nobles who had responded to his calls to support him, while black ones showed surrendered rebels.

More worrying were the grey markers that showed portions of the city that were empty except for corpses. There were far too many of those now, even if a majority of the red markers had turned black over the past few hours.

Fortunately, more of them had been a result of negotiation rather than force. After the bulk of the resistance had died outside the city, those still inside it often just had to be threatened a bit before they laid down arms. Most of them had been more than happy to accept his authority, if it guaranteed safety for their families and put an end to all the chaos. Those few holdouts tended to find out the hard way that the Siege cohort was more than capable of bringing down their fragile fortifications without much trouble at all.

The doors to the room opened, and a small knot of nobles was escorted in. Matt looked up and felt a grim sense of satisfaction as he recognized Rordine. The Red Moon warrior was angry and arrogant, but Matt thought he could recognize a hint of fear under that shell of confidence. He looked back at the table and reached over to flip a collection of red chips outside the city from red to black. "Lord Rordine. So good of you to join us."

"As if I had a choice." Rordine glared at the soldiers that had escorted him and his captains in. He spared a snarl for the small gathering of nobles who had sheltered in the Keep as well. "You marched a small army out to demand my presence here."

Matt raised an eyebrow. "My apologies. We sent messengers, but they were turned away for some reason." He stepped away from the table, leaving his mace behind and casually checking his gauntlets. Internally, he started the spell for the Little Tinderbox, though he kept any sign of it from his face. "You'll be relieved that we cleared away the rebels from your manor house, Lord Rordine."

Rordine's eye flickered with uncertainty for a moment. A cruel smile covered it a moment later. "You have my thanks for ridding me of the rabble."

"The so-called rabble had a lot to say about you, Lord Rordine." Matt tilted his head. "Apparently, some of them claim that they were freeholders, taken from the Sortenmoors and forced back into serfdom. Some of them weren't even from the moors, but migrated as part of our pact with the Pridelands."

The Orc's single eye narrowed in scorn. "You would believe the word of a serf over their master?"

Matt tilted his head to the side, studying the Orc. "Freeholders have no master, Lord Rordine." He walked over to confront the man. Rordine drew himself up as he approached, glaring down at Matt from a height. "Fortunately, there was someone willing to make sure that things were straightened out. You met him, in fact. Voice Tanniven."

Another flicker of contempt and doubt went through Rordine's eye. "The Elf? Yes, he appeared at my door, mewling about some problem he wanted me to fix. As if I had no better tasks to do. Pathetic."

Rordine spat the word, but Matt just continued as if he had not heard. "Voice Tanniven came to you. He brought proof that you had been… mistaken. That your serfs were free men and women, kidnapped from their families, homes, and journeys."

"He was wrong." Arrogance and anger clouded Rordine's words, but his eye flicked towards the other Orcs in the room. If he expected them to support him, he was disappointed. Matt had been very thorough about his explanations earlier. "He had no right!"

Matt shrugged. "To speak, Lord Rordine? It is what a Voice does." Then he paused. "So what did you do then?"

Rordine leaned forward, his face twisted with hate. "I did what any Red Moon Orc would do. What any man would do! I challenged him for his lies, for his baseless accusations, for his mockery! And when he refused me, his life was forfeit."

"You murdered him." Matt's voice was far calmer and cooler than he felt.

The Orc snorted. "It is not murder to put down a sick beast."

Matt looked at him. It had been that murder, and the apparent indifference of the local nobles, that had started the rebellion. That, and the persuasive whispers of the supposed 'Counselor'. "Thank you, Lord Rordine."

There was a flicker of confusion and surprise in Rordine's eye.

Then Matt's spell completed, and Matt swung a single blazing punch. Rordine had worn his dueling armor to the summons. Perhaps he expected something honorable, something pure.

Instead, there was a sizzling burst of light, heat, and death. The thump of Rordine's body hitting the floor was the only sound for several heartbeats. Those Orcs that had walked in with the dead man recoiled, their eyes wide. Hands twitched towards their weapons, until Matt gave their owners a look.

Silence followed as Matt studied the Orcs that had accompanied the traitor. When he was satisfied that they weren't going to make a lethal mistake, he spoke in a cold voice. "You'll be questioned as to how involved you were. Honesty will help your cause. Am I understood?" They nodded silently as the members of his lifeguard closed in around them. Matt made a gesture, and they departed.

Then he returned to the map. One of the Orcs from the Keep cleared her voice. "King Matthew, the Council—"

"If the Council needs me to read its own laws back to it, I will do so." Matt let a hint of the cold rage in his voice leak through. He looked around at the people in the room, and none of them dared meet his eyes for long. "A Voice cannot be imprisoned or harmed. To do so betrays the Kingdom. Betrayal means death. Is there anything more to question here?"

A murmured series of denials followed, and Matt shut them out of his attention. The traitor was dead. Now he just needed the 'Counselor', and perhaps this disaster could finally be over.

They searched for three full days and found nothing.

By the time Einreth arrived in Heartlight, her face pale and stricken at the damage and the dead, Matt felt something beyond fury. Whoever the Counselor was, they had somehow made their escape before his forces could reach them.

His troops had not been idle in the meantime, however. The few remaining pockets of resistance in Heartlight itself had been crushed. Snolt and his fellow cavalrymen had ridden out to put down any other groups of bandits, rebels, and other malcontents who had taken advantage of the chaos to further their own ends. When the fighting died down, Matt put his men to work burying the dead and helping to rebuild the shattered city.

It wasn't nearly enough. For every six nobles in the Red Plains, one was dead or missing. Heartlight itself was far, far emptier now that so many lay dead in the fields outside it. Dozens, if not hundreds, of farms had been burned, leaving Matt to wonder how much food that the harvest would bring for those who remained.

Yet even as he turned over the wounded city to Einreth, trusting her to secure it with the handful of banners she brought with her, Matt knew it wasn't over yet. Until he found the Counselor—or whoever was behind the deception—he was going to have a new enemy waiting to strike at him from the shadows. He didn't even know if the threat was from some faction in the Kingdom, a foreign nation, or some opportunistic charlatan.

All he knew, as his head pounded, was that his fight was far from over yet—and when he found the people responsible, they were going to wish that they had never taken arms against him. If he hadn't sworn it already, he'd have promised it now. There would be a reckoning for the dead, and Matthew Irons, the Destroyer, would see it done.