Kingdom of Iron: Tyrant's Fall

Two days later, Matt stood in the Chamber of War of the New Arsenal with Morteth, going over his plans.

The room had been one of the places Matt had looked forward to seeing when the New Arsenal had been built. He'd pictured it as a place where the Margraves could gather and go over their strategic plans for the Kingdom. It wasn't a gigantic place, though it did seem spacious compared to some of the rooms where he'd planned battles before. A table long enough to accommodate a dozen or so people stretched along one side, meant to be where the Magraves could meet and discuss things. All of the chairs were located on the side facing the wall; anyone seated there could have a perfect view of the room's true main feature.

Carved into the floor, dominating most of the room, was a map of the Kingdom and its surrounding neighbors. Melren had assured him that the carving could be adjusted by mages as needed to reflect changes in borders or other features. Cabinets full of smaller maps, markers, and other planning tools lined the walls. The doors were thick and guarded by the lifeguards at all hours of the day.

At the moment, Matt stood with Morteth, peering down at a section of the map covered in markers. "So, we can march south from Bridgeton and take Mornal Castle. We use that fortification to guard our flanks from the Onyx Clans and the Order of Ravens while we swing east and take Guronville and Dornston. After that, Leiongard should be within striking distance."

Morteth snorted. The Imp had his arms folded. "You make it sound so easy, sire. Maybe you and I should just go and handle it."

He gave his Margrave a sharp look. "I know it isn't going to be easy, but the Order of Lion's Roar can't have that many more forces left, either. Even if they've spent the past few weeks trying to restore their armies, they had barely any veterans left, and their population still has to be reeling from what happened to the Army of Heroes."

Matt straightened up and stretched a little, feeling a kink work its way out of his spine with a click. Giving everyone a map they could see easily had been worthwhile, but it had some consequences. "Grufen's been sending out scouts this whole time, so we aren't nearly as blind as we were in the Copper Hills. We know that there's only a banner of Men-At-Arms holed up at Mornal, and neither of the towns has anything more than a banner or two of militia. Grufen could almost take all three by himself, if he didn't have to worry about reinforcements from the other nations of the Alliance."

The Margrave snorted again, though he seemed a little less discontent this time. He looked back down at the map. "You must forgive me, my liege. I've been devoted to the defense of the Kingdom for most of my life. Offensive campaigns tend to sit ill with me, and the prospect of pushing into the enemy's home ground seems… overconfident."

With a snort of his own, Matt grinned at Morteth. "You mean you're worried that they are going to pull the same kind of tricks on us that we hit them with here, right?"

Morteth raised an eyebrow. "That could be the case, sire. After all, I have no desire to end up stranded and starving, as the Noble Races did. I would not want to be ambushed in the woods or broken in some swamp, either."

"We'll have to keep our wits about us, then." Matt shrugged. "As long as we manage…"

He trailed off as Gorfeld burst into the room; obviously, whatever orders he'd given the guards hadn't applied to the steward. The Low Imp had been running flat out; his leathery skin was covered with sweat. Matt felt an instant burst of alarm as the steward tried to pause long enough to catch his breath. "Gorfeld. What is it? Are we under attack?"

Gorfeld took a few more moments to recover. Then he shook his head. "No, sire. It's… it's the Order of Lion's Roar." He looked at Matt with a stunned, half-unbelieving expression. "They're gone."

Matt stared at him, not really understanding. "What are you talking about?"

The steward glanced at the lifeguards and Morteth, but apparently decided that keeping it a secret wasn't an option. "A messenger just arrived from Grufen. His last scouts reported that the entire Order has been wiped out. Their banners are already running for the Greymarches or the Order of Ravens."

Disbelief turned to confusion. The Order had been the strongest member of the Alliance. For them to fall that quickly was impossible. Matt shook his head, looking back at the map that represented the Order's territory. "How? Did the Firebloods attack again?"

Morteth spoke up first. "It can't be them. The last time they entered the Pridelands, the Order destroyed their army and pushed them back. Another attack wouldn't have had that much success."

"It wasn't the Empire." Gorfeld's certainty took Matt aback for a moment. "It was a revolt. The King apparently sent out a demand for another draft of the peasants. He must have been planning on reforming the Army of Heroes. The peasants… refused. The ones who had been released on parole gathered around an officer in the south of the Pridelands."

Matt stared at the steward as the Imp paused. "The King sent some of his banners to enforce order. None of them came back. He sent more, and they either joined the rebellion or were slaughtered. Before anyone could react, the rebels were at the walls of Leiongard. It took them four hours to break through and take the city."

Gorfeld looked at Matt, his eyes suddenly sharp. "None of the royal family managed to escape. They're all dead, and most of the nobility in the Order went with them."

A pin could have dropped in the silence that followed. Morteth had an expression of awe and horror on his features. The Margrave looked from Gorfeld to Matt, but he seemed stunned speechless. Gorfeld, for his part, remained focused on Matt. "You predicted something like this, did you not? I could not have expected it. For the Low Folk to turn against the High…"

Matt found his voice a moment later. "Did the rebels take the Divine Right, then?"

"They must have, sire. There haven't been any reports of nobles trying to claim the throne." Gorfeld looked down at the map and gestured at the space that represented the Pridelands. "From what we've heard, the nobility are mostly just trying to survive—and they're failing. The peasants are dragging them out of their houses and slaughtering them. Whoever took Leiongard has promised a bounty on all of the ones who are left. Those who remain will be lucky to escape across the border with their heads."

Morteth reached over and pulled a chair to him. The High Imp fell into it. "Madness. This is impossible. Civil war is one thing. An entire rebellion, from Low Folk…"

Gorfeld gave the Margrave an understanding look. "It seems impossible, but it has happened, my lord. The Order, as we knew it, no longer exists."

Matt looked back and forth between the two Imps, struggling with his own feelings. Once again, the enemies that he could have struck at were falling apart before he could even reach them. Could he even consider himself at war with these rebels? Should he try to hunt down the refugees, or were they already broken enough to ignore? Would the rebels still fight him, or would they be open to diplomacy? There were too many unknowns again, and no immediate way to find out the answers.

Trying to keep that frustration out of his voice, he spoke calmly. "The people have revolted before, haven't they? I've heard it mentioned by others of the nobility."

Morteth gave him a numb look. "A revolt, yes. Local rebellions, small riots, that kind of thing. To turn completely against the Divine Right, to break faith and bring a High Clan to ruin… it beggars belief, sire. Such a thing is not done."

The certainty in Morteth's voice gave Matt pause. He frowned. "You're serious. Something like this has never happened before?"

"Not in any history I've ever read, no." Morteth shook his head. "I thought the possibility a fanciful dream, sire. I never thought… Maybe a few riots to weaken the enemy for our victory, or a few rebellious nobles to take our side as we advanced. This is something else entirely."

Gorfeld nodded. "I have never heard of something like this either." He looked at Matt. "You seemed so certain, sire. Does this happen in your world?"

Both Imps were suddenly studying him far too closely. Matt nodded slowly. "It does. Not often, but there were quite a few times." He shrugged. "My own nation came into being from a similar revolution. There were others, though. Once things broke… it doesn't end well for the rulers involved."

His steward leaned forward slightly. "And the Low Folk?"

Matt winced. "It depends on who takes charge afterward. Sometimes they managed to organize themselves well, but it was rare. More commonly, they turned on themselves." Stories of the French and Russian Revolutions played themselves out behind his eyes, and Matt shuddered slightly. He looked at Morteth. "We might need those additional banners and planning after all, Margrave."

Morteth nodded firmly. "Of course, sire. I'll go to check on how the Council is progressing." The Margrave levered himself out of the chair and staggered for the exit.

When he'd left, Matt turned to Gorfeld. "It's really never happened here?"

"Never." The finality in Gorfeld's voice was unmistakable. His steward shook his head. "I… am uncertain about this, sire. We cannot allow it to spread to the Kingdom. If it did…"

"It won't, Gorfeld." Matt made his voice firmer. "Our people are freeholders, not serfs. More and more of them are free each day. We don't need to worry about them turning on us."

Gorfeld grimaced. He looked back at the map, his expression grim. "I hope you are right, sire. Otherwise, our best hope will be to run before they take us."

Matt nodded slowly. He looked back at the map as well, seeing the early ruin of yet another campaign. Then he shook himself and started for the door. If the news reached the Council, he'd need to steady their nerves. He couldn't have them undoing his reforms out of blind panic. There was no way he was going to allow the Alliance to do more harm in its self-destruction than it had in life. Not while he could stop it.

After a long, drawn-out session with the Council, Matt was ready to rest.

It had been a generally exhausting experience, trying to calm down the infuriated, frightened nobles. Half of them were demanding Matt launch a war of extermination against the revolutionaries; another good portion spent half the meeting making remarks about the Angru Declaration and how it might encourage a similar revolt in the Kingdom itself. There were even a handful that proposed to revert the status of the freeholders back to 'their appropriate station', as if Mat would ever allow such a thing to happen.

Fortunately, there had been far more level heads in the Council. Lord Torth had fought down the panic, reminding the nobility that the freeholders had already fought for the Kingdom, and that they already enjoyed many of the rights that the Knights had apparently demanded from their own rulers. Several of the Hard Scythe nobles had backed the High Imp's statements, showing loyalty both to their Clan leader's decisions and Matt's wisdom. His choices were compared, several times, to someone who lit a firebreak to starve a wildfire of fuel.

In the end, the Council had decided to double the number of banners they had requested, though Matt had immediately felt a moment of panic over the funds they were planning on spending for the additional forces. He was not looking forward to explaining the sudden outflow of currency to Jordan, at the very least. Hopefully, whatever idea the man was cooking up, it would manage to bridge the gap before Matt and all his soldiers were eating stones for dinner.

After the trial of that experience, Matt had wanted nothing more than to fall into the nearest bed and sleep for half the next day. Unfortunately, crisis or not, he had somewhere else he needed to be instead.

Matt paused at the entrance of the Maiden's House. The structure was an imposing one at first glance. It rose five stories tall, with a broad dome above that. Altogether, it was nearly high enough for some daring fool to jump from the roof to reach the battlements of the New Arsenal. Of course, they would have to make quite a leap to cross the distance, but Matt had once been able to do so with his magic. Perhaps once his Sources finally recovered…

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

He shook the thoughts away and strode up the steps. There was a veritable horde of noblemen, freeholders, and soldiers standing around the building, all apparently waiting for him to arrive. Tanya herself stood at the doorway beside Miguel, looking about as nervous as he'd ever seen her. The other Humans were nearby, looking around the crowds with wide eyes.

Matt's lifeguards were liberally distributed throughout the crowd as well, watching things with jaded eyes. None of them had particularly enjoyed the opportunity to watch for threats from such a large crowd, but avoiding the event was not an option. Not with so many eyes on him, and not with the citizens still struggling to adapt to the news from the south.

Gorfeld appeared at Matt's side, having apparently recovered a little from his shock. His steward hopped up the steps alongside him, taking a sidelong look at his monarch. "Do you still think this is wise, my liege?"

"I think we might be a little past that point, Gorfeld." Matt kept a smile fixed on his face as they climbed the steps.

His steward nodded amiably, his eyes also scanning the crowd. "I only ask because in such a crowd, it is possible that there might be some… undesirables who intend on causing trouble."

Matt grunted. "I think we can probably expect a few. That's why we have some of the Crown Guard to act as security. They'll keep anyone who looks too drunk or too angry from getting in, and if something starts inside, they'll be ready to put a stop to it."

Gorfeld gave him a serious look. "You could still postpone the event, sire. Especially given the news."

"I think Tanya would murder me herself if I did, Gorfeld." Matt gave him a lopsided grin that felt far more genuine. "Better we get this part over with, so we can get back to the important stuff tomorrow."

The steward paused. Then he nodded. They walked up together to where Tanya was waiting for them, her hands clenched in front of her like she was trying to keep them from trembling. She smiled and bowed.

"Welcome, my liege, to the Maiden's House. I hope you find the display of the art of your people enjoyable."

Matt nodded. "I am looking forward to experiencing it with everyone else."

Tanya smiled, showing only a hint of strain. Then, with a nervous step backwards, she pushed open the door and bowed him in.

He stepped past her onto the museum's floor… and stopped. For a moment, he just stared around at the main room, forgetting about the people pressed together behind him, waiting for the chance to see the same sight.

The main entrance to the museum was dominated by a simple doorway, with another pair of soldiers on either side. An inscription above the entrance read 'A place for the treasures of all in the Kingdom', carefully inscribed into the grey stone. Matt nodded slowly and then walked past the guards and into the room beyond.

It was the largest room he'd seen in Redspire, made all that much more spacious by the dome that stretched overhead. Pillars rose around the edges of the dome itself, and some kind of enchanted lights illuminated the entire room. Patterns had been etched into the stone, drawing the eye in a complicated maze, and each step he took echoed through the space as if he'd stomped on it.

In the center of the room, beneath the dome, he saw a statue. It captured Tanya with her arms spread open as if to welcome the visitor to her domain. The artist had somehow managed to portray her as hospitable, somehow, because she seemed almost peaceful and kind. He quickly concluded there had been some kind of magic involved.

As Matt looked around, he felt a moment of incredulity, a feeling which was quickly overshadowed by resentment for the amount of grief this place had cost him. Had he really sacrificed weeks of security for just a pretty room?

There were four other doors that led out of the room, one on each side and a pair of them opposite the entrance. Matt chose the one on the left and stalked over to it, trying not to wish he could take his mace to the statue in revenge. He'd been forced to leave it at home this time; it would have been a bit too tempting to smash something, and probably would have looked a little off for him to enter the museum armed.

Behind him, he heard some of the other guests begin to enter. Their whispers of appreciation grated on him, and he tried to walk a little faster. The acoustics of the room seemed to make the sounds chase him no matter how far he moved.

His irritation lasted until he walked past the next set of guards and into the room of the next exhibit. He half expected the place to be full of more sculptures of Tanya.

Instead, he found something… beautiful.

The room was simple enough, mostly just an alcove. Half a dozen paintings lined the walls, their bright colors contrasting against the plain grey stone beneath. A small sign beneath each listed the name of the artist, the name of the family who had donated the piece, and the name of the piece.

Every single one was a landscape of some kind. He found himself staring at a rendition of the Sortenmoors' stark beauty. It had been captured as accurately as if the artist had pulled the image from his memory. He could almost feel the wind brushing past the terrain, blowing down from the distant Onyx Mountains in the distance.

The next showed a farm outside the Small Heights. Matt peered at it in interest, picking out the defensive shelter that most Gnomes apparently burrowed into a nearby hill. At the moment, however, the painting showed no need for it. He could see Gnomes laboring under a bright summer sun, apparently working without a care among the hills of their home.

Another painting showed a snow-covered pine forest surrounding a calm lake. Mountains rose in the distance, forbidding and majestic in equal measure. A look at the sign told him it had been made in Winterfast, by a Frost Elf.

He walked slowly along the line, entranced by the quiet joy and awe encompassed in each work. Balred, walking along beside him, came to a sudden stop in front of a painting of Coppercrest, as it had looked before the Alliance had occupied it. Mulwan paused beside one of a painting of the Darkwoods, where the trees had grown so thick that they blocked all but a single shaft of sunlight. Wonoll and Girluk had stopped beside another that showed a scene from the Spirelands, trying to decide which bend of the River Crimson was represented in the image.

Matt spent time looking at each painting, long enough that some of the other visitors started to wander in after him. The hushed conversations were occasionally punctuated by exclamations of astonishment or quiet laughter. He could hear edges of appreciation and pride in the nobility's words.

The Low Folk who followed them were different. They simply stared at the artwork as if in wonder. He heard some bitter comments about riches, but most of them were shushed by their companions, with occasional glances in his direction.

He continued on into the next room and made a note to himself to have Tanya try to display more work by Low Folk in the future. With a revolution nearby, the last thing he needed was for hungry Low Folk to see the riches of the High Clans on offer.

The next room contained a collection of statues, mostly busts of various historic figures. He saw blunt stone carved in Orcish features, bronze cast in the likeness of an Imp, and even a wooden figure that showed the sharp eyes and cheekbones of a Frost Elf. None of the names were familiar, but the workmanship was incredible, even to his untutored eyes.

He kept moving, taking enough time to appreciate each room, but doing his best to stay ahead of the crowds. His lifeguards trailed after him, occasionally distracted from their work by the art on display. Matt wandered through rooms covered by tapestries, past alcoves which displayed beautiful jewelry or ancient weapons now too broken or fragile to use. One room had pottery filled with glowing lines of magic. Another had been filled with ancient suits of armor, stood up along the sides like sentries.

Each exhibit seemed to be drawn from all the different parts of the Kingdom, presenting them as a unified whole rather than distinct places. Statues of Frost Elf matrons stood by those of Red Moon warriors. Paintings by Blackleaf Goblins hung next to portraits of Leaffall Orcs. There were even works depicting the Low Folk, many of which seemed to have been given a deliberate place next to those of their betters.

It took him the better part of an hour to work his way back to the main room; about halfway through, he started to meet visitors that were coming from the other direction, many of whom were staring at him in awe. The museum's course apparently was laid out in a pair of loops, both of which ended in the doorways that were opposite the main entrance.

As he reentered the main room, he saw Tanya and Miguel waiting for him. The big man looked as if he was struggling to be patient, while Tanya was nearly vibrating from excitement and anxiety. She was looking around at the numbers of people coming into the museum, and her eyes locked onto him like a drowning man seeing a lifeline. Before he could retreat, she had already come scurrying over and latched onto him.

"How is it? Did you like the composition? I thought about grouping things more by patron, but then I thought—"

Matt let out a small sigh and let the stream of words flow by him. At some point, she'd wear down and he'd have a chance to respond, but it clearly wasn't going to be soon. Miguel ambled over to them, smiling at the situation. The lifeguards spread out around them, each one taking up a position to monitor the crowds flowing around them.

He took a moment to look around the place, marveling at the number of Redspire's citizens who had actually come to see the results of Tanya's work. There were High Clan nobles dressed in their finest clothing alongside rough Low Folk in dutifully scrubbed working clothes. Off-duty soldiers meandered through the museum while parents chided their children to be careful. It was as if an entire cross-section of the population of the Kingdom was present, all mixing and mingling together as they wandered through the place.

It was a scene of peace and prosperity, something that he'd hoped would come to the Kingdom in time. A part of him began to admit, slowly and resentfully, that Tanya might actually have been right about the need for something more than war and survival.

Another part was increasingly insisting that something was very, very wrong.

Matt scanned the room again, looking for whatever it was that was bothering him. The crowds were nothing he hadn't expected. They were the same as the ones that had been outside. None of them looked particularly hostile, except for a couple of workers that had started shoving at each other on the far side of the room. He could see soldiers already walking over to eject the troublemakers, though, and they were nowhere near…

The argument began to escalate, and another pair of soldiers headed over to help the first couple. He looked around and realized that those four were the only guards in the room outside of his own lifeguards. All of them were as far as they could get from him and his people.

His concerns grew a little worse. As he looked, something about the crowd seemed strange. A Goblin nearby stumbled over something, but there was nothing at his feet except for smooth stone. To his growing alarm, a brilliantly dressed Orcish noble walked by him… for the second time. When he looked closer, the air looked distorted in several places.

Matt turned to Tanya and Miguel. The Maiden of Art had paused in her questions, and her eyes looked suddenly alert. "Matt?"

He looked at Miguel. "Assassins. Get her out."

Matt turned to tell the lifeguards, but they had already been listening. Balred drew his sword, and Mulwan already had her own blade out. Girluk was reaching for his axe, and Wonoll had lowered his spear. All were looking for the threats around them, their eyes sharp and their bodies already moving to defend him.

Around them, the crowd suddenly parted as the assassins abruptly burst into view.

It happened so fast that Matt could barely parse it afterwards. One of them hit Balred; another struck Girluk. A thrown dagger took Wonoll in his side, and Mulwan barely avoided another. He heard Tanya begin to scream. Miguel's shout couldn't quite cover up her shriek.

Then a dagger punched into Matt's back, close to his shoulder. A clawed hand wrapped around the side of his head and yanked. He caught a flicker of another blade, held up and ready to plunge down into his neck. The assassins must have expected armor; they were aiming for bare flesh.

He couldn't react fast enough.

A heartbeat later, the weight was gone from his back. Another screech filled the air; not Tanya this time. Matt staggered to one knee, even as the screech cut off with a wet spattering sound.

Balred had his sword out, but the Orc was bleeding heavily from a pair of wounds. He faced an assassin, while Mulwan faced another pair. Wonoll was down, and another assassin was leaning over Girluk's still body.

Matt forced himself to his feet and risked a glance backward. His heart leapt in his throat. Tanya was in a crumpled heap at the foot of her own statue. Miguel stood between her and another assassin; he was already bleeding from a cut on one arm.

He wasn't alone. Gorfeld was there, a bloody knife in his hand. A Goblin assassin was dead on the floor in front of him, another knife in their eye. The steward paid no attention to the corpse, instead moving to intercept the assassin facing Miguel.

Matt jerked around to try looking at the soldiers, but they were still trying to force their way through the panicking crowd. Screams and shouts filled the museum's dome, rising to a roar that flooded his ears. He looked back at the trio of assassins in front of him—and paused as he recognized them.

They were the ones he'd met in Shadowfen, the ones he'd sent to the Copper Hills. One of them, the one who'd been their leader, grinned at him as she stepped over Girluk. Balred and Mulwan stepped back, placing themselves between him and the threat, but it was clear they wouldn't last long. Even if they did, all he really had was Gorfeld behind him. What was a steward going to do against an assassin?

Despite himself, Matt reached for his Sources. Even if he could just manage a single spell…

Agony ripped through him as he touched them, and he staggered back again. The magic lashed at his soul, and the attempt failed before it had even begun. A gust of wind and a shudder in the stone beneath; that was all he accomplished as death closed in around him. Part of him wanted to close his eyes and rush forward. Maybe they would leave the others alive if he was dead.

"For the King!"

A Gnome wearing the dirt-stained clothing of a construction worker threw himself at one of the Goblins, a knife held in his hand. She jerked in surprise before she reacted, her eyes wide as if she hadn't expected it. The assassin lashed out anyway, knocking the Gnome aside, but not before he had diverted her attention. Balred lunged forward, driving her backwards, before retreating as the others closed in.

Then another man, an Orc with a merchant's tunic, came at another of the assassins from behind. He was yelling the same thing as the assassin slashed at him, driving him back. Another, a Goblin in a humble dress, struck at the leader, and as she fended him off, a bricklayer came at her other side.

Matt's eyes grew wide as more and more figures emerged from the crowd, all wearing the clothes of freeholders and carrying the knives that so many of them wore as a badge of their freedom. The assassins stopped advancing on him and put themselves back-to-back, their eyes wide and incredulous. He stumbled away as his lifeguards pushed him back, retreating from the scene. One of the Goblin assassins started to step towards him, as if trying to close the distance, and had to retreat as freeholders ran to put themselves between him and the threat.

He glanced backwards, expecting to see something similar happening there. Instead, he found the other assassin down, and Gorfeld stepping up next to him. Miguel was struggling to drag Tanya away, carrying her in bleeding arms. "Sire. We need to leave."

Matt looked back at the assassins. They were fully surrounded by snarling freeholders, now. All of them had blades bare, and more were crowding in around them. Shouts of anger and rage tore the air.

"For the King! For the Maiden! For the King!"

The shouts were rising to a fever pitch now, even as the soldiers finally arrived. They immediately went to Matt, but he shrugged them aside. "See to the Maiden and the Minister. Get them to a healer now!"

He looked back just in time to see the freeholders charge. The assassins had been trained for years. They had a lifetime of lethal experience and a dedication born of loyalty to their dead chieftain. Their mission had been executed with a precision that had failed by mere seconds.

The freeholders tore them apart, like wolves on a wounded deer.