Kingdom of Iron: Tyrant's Fall

Matt was halfway through his latest mantra when Gorfeld entered his office.

The steward caught sight of him and paused. Matt, for his part, resolutely ignored the Imp as he wove his way through the complex ritual.

It wasn't entirely unexpected for the steward to make an appearance. They had been waiting for the last of the noble banners to arrive, the unit of Bloodsworn personally led by Lord Rordine. Once they were here, he could begin his march south and hopefully put an end to more of the threats to his Kingdom. Waiting until the Irregular banners had assembled was also an option, but he had no intention of missing his chance to catch the Alliance off guard.

Of course, he'd like to have a new Source first as well, but it wouldn't happen if he allowed himself to keep getting interrupted, so Matt bore down and tried to concentrate.

A few minutes later, with his Foundation for Summer finally slid into place, Matt gestured for Gorfeld to sit. The Imp nodded and presented him with a sealed bit of parchment. He frowned at it as he took his own seat. "Some news from Lord Rordine?"

"No, sire. It arrived via a messenger from Bridgeton." Gorfeld tilted his head as Matt blinked. "Apparently it came from the other side of the Blackstone, with a message that it was intended only for your eyes. Margrave Grufen and Captain Creps sent it on without opening it."

Matt glanced down at the parchment in his hands. His mind went back to the conversation with Speaker Dysyani. "Is it a possible trap?"

Gorfeld paused. He shook his head a moment later. "I've… examined the page using my own magic. It should be safe enough." Then the Imp grinned. "Not that it couldn't be a trap in some other ways, sire."

He snorted. "True." Matt sat down at his desk and turned the parchment over in his hands. It hadn't been written on the kind of page that the Order of Echoes used, or anything that the Noble Races had worked with during their ceasefire negotiations. If anything, it looked much cruder and sturdier; the page was browner, with an obviously humbler origin. "Did they mention who left the message at Bridgeton? Was it a noble or a peasant?"

The Imp blinked. "They did not. Why?"

"I think this might have come from the revolutionaries. Looks like the kind of thing a peasant leader might send, right?" Matt examined it a few more moments. The wax seal pressed into the page had a sword and lion motif, but aside from that, there was no other identifying mark. He shrugged. "Might as well see what they want to say to us. Maybe they'll offer to surrender right off the bat without a fight."

He broke the seal. The lifeguards tensed for a moment, as if expecting some outflow of magic, but true to Gorfeld's prediction, nothing happened. Matt unfolded the page carefully, hoping not to rip it.

To the Tyrant of Iron, Destroyer of Greyhenge, and Butcher of Heroes,

Matt paused and massaged the bridge of his nose. His titles and reputation outside the Kingdom obviously hadn't gotten any better recently. He continued.

Your reign of evil is well known throughout the Pridelands. Your avarice and ambition have led to the deaths of thousands, both in your own lands and those of your neighbors. All have heard of your power and your thirst for blood.

Know now that the despots which once ruled the Pridelands have now fallen. Their crowns lie crushed in the dirt, and their highborn blood has been mixed with the ash. The people of the Pridelands are now free. We know no king, no ruler oppresses us, and any who try to enslave us will find their ruin in our lands.

The feud you began with those dead dictators has ended with their deaths. If you seek to continue it with us, then we will spill your blood as well, and add your crown to those we have broken under our feet. Your power is nothing against the determination of a united people who seeks freedom, equality, and fraternity. If it is war you wish, then we will burn your legacy of evil from your lands as well as our own.

If, however, you are wise enough to avoid a confrontation with us, then we welcome the chance to embrace peace. Bring those hostages you have taken to the fields north of Gronville, and we will discuss their release. If you do not arrive by the beginning of the fifth week of Summer, or if you continue your campaign of terror throughout the Pridelands, then we will know that it will be war, and we will continue it until the extinction of your Kingdom, and the freedom of those who would live beside us in peace.

Sincerely,

The Southern Lioness, the Maid of New Orleans, the First Liberator, and the Saint of Swords

Matt stared down at the letter, reading and rereading it. He dimly realized that he was holding it in both hands now. At some point, he had stood up out of his chair, a fact he only recognized when Gorfeld spoke his name.

He looked up at the steward and found Gorfeld staring at him. The Imp's concern was obvious. "Sire, are you all right?"

Matt stared at Gorfeld for a moment. Then he broke out laughing. "Yeah. Can- can you send for the other Humans. I mean, not Tanya, but the rest of them. Morteth too, I think." He set down the letter carefully, hoping it wouldn't burst into flame the way that some of the letters had. It remained safely corporeal, which was nice. "We have something we need to discuss."

A remarkably short time later, the others had been gathered in his office. They looked curious, but Matt just gestured for them to wait. When Morteth arrived alongside Gorfeld a few moments later, he gestured for them all to take a seat.

"All right, we have a couple of things to take care of. First off, I think we might need to rethink the Pridelands campaign."

Morteth blinked. "Sire, are you sure? These… revolutionaries may not have been friends of the Order of Lion's Roar, but it doesn't mean they are our allies. More than that, we need to strike at the rest of the Alliance, anyway."

Matt gave his Margrave a crooked grin. "We'll see. First, I have a few questions for my fellow Humans here." He looked at Riley and the others. "You mentioned that a few of the others who got kidnapped eventually disappeared, right?"

Jessica nodded. "Yeah. We lost a few."

"One of them was named Lucy, right? She was the one you thought escaped?" Riley nodded fiercely, though the others looked doubtful. Matt's grin widened. "She didn't happen to be from Louisiana, did she?"

There was a brief silence. Jordan spoke up in a hesitant voice. "Maybe? She did have a Southern accent…"

Alicia gave Jordan a raised eyebrow. "She wasn't the only one, you know."

Riley broke in before they could argue. "I think she might have. She did say something about living in the Deep South. And she was, well…"

She looked awkward, but Jessica rolled her eyes. "And she was African American. It isn't a slur, Riley."

"Was she also a fan of French history?" The last thing Matt wanted was to get into that particular quagmire. "Especially, say, Joan of Arc? And the French Revolution?"

Miguel folded his arms and looked at Matt. They'd just removed his bandages that morning. "Why are you asking this, Matt? Did you find her?"

They all suddenly snapped their attention back to him, and Matt shrugged. "Maybe. More accurately, she might have found us."

Jessica frowned. "What do you mean?"

He gestured to the letter on his desk. "It turns out that the revolution down in the Pridelands? Where they killed all the nobles that were abusing you guys? It's being led by someone who is calling herself the Maid of New Orleans."

The shock on their faces was beautiful to behold. A moment of silence passed as they absorbed the information. He grinned at them until Jessica spoke softly. "Holy shit."

"Holy shit indeed." Matt snorted. "She just sent me a letter demanding I make peace with the Knights there, along with giving back the prisoners we took during the war."

Riley spoke up, her face glowing with excitement. "She's alive! Lucy's alive?" She turned and smirked at the others. "I told you she got away."

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"Sire?" Gorfeld looked nonplussed, as did Morteth. "I don't understand."

Matt tapped the letter. "The leader of the revolutionaries was using terms and titles that wouldn't make sense unless she was from Earth. She even made a pun based on a hero from our history, actually."

Morteth grimaced. "I see. At least some of the chaos there makes sense now." He glanced at the Humans, who were slapping each other on the back and congratulating each other. "I assume you will want to negotiate with her rather than fighting."

"Better to spill ink than blood, I think." Matt let his grin fade. "I still think we bring at least the army along, just in case. Just because she wants to talk doesn't mean some of her troops wouldn't get any bright ideas about… shortening the negotiations."

Morteth tilted his head. "Normally, there is a magical agreement to prevent such ideas. Otherwise monarchs could never negotiate a peace."

Matt grunted. "Still. Maybe just one banner. The Royal First would do well enough, I think."

The Margrave nodded, but Jordan broke in. "What are you talking about? Lucy's not an enemy. You don't need to negotiate with her."

Matt gave him an incredulous look. "Just because she's Human doesn't mean she isn't the leader of another nation. I can't just expect her to agree to whatever I say just because we're both from Earth."

Riley spoke up next, her expression suddenly concerned. "You wouldn't hurt her, though, right? She's a really good person."

"She also seems to really like killing Kings, and, well…" He gestured at the room where they were, and Miguel snorted. Matt gave him a wry look, and the big man grinned.

"You should be careful, Matt. She's probably going to be better at it than we were."

Alicia nodded. "She was already really good with a sword before she got away. I'm betting that she's learned more than a few tricks by now."

Matt noticed Riley was starting to look upset. He gave her a reassuring look as he spoke up again. "I'm hopefully not going to be fighting her, anyway. If anything, I want to offer her a way out, if she wants it. At the very least, I'm hoping that she makes peace with us so that we can focus on the rest of the Alliance."

Jessica didn't seem convinced. "Maybe I should come along, just to make sure the conversation stays civil."

He gave her a skeptical look—his conversations with Jessica had rarely been considered 'friendly'—but before he could react, Alicia nodded. "I'm coming too. I wanted to get a look at that epidemic anyway, and I figure you might need another friendly face when you meet her."

Jordan looked a little reluctant compared to them, but he nodded. "I suppose the financial situation here should be stable enough without me. Maybe I could—"

"Of course you're going. We all are." Riley looked as if there wasn't an argument in the world that could have dissuaded her. Then she looked at Miguel and paused. "Though maybe you would want to stay with Tanya, I guess? We wouldn't want her to be alone."

Miguel frowned. He seemed to be thinking it over, at least until there was a thump on the door outside.

They all turned to look as the door swung open. A very worried pair of lifeguards were helping a pale-faced and sweating Tanya. Matt shot out of his seat, only for her to fix a burning stare on him until he stayed still. She glared around at all of them, as if daring them to make a comment. The lifeguards handed her off to Miguel, who helped her over to a nearby couch, where she slumped onto it with a triumphant snarl.

Once there, she scrubbed at her face for a second. Then she gave herself a self-satisfied nod and looked around. "Well, I'm here. The discussion can now begin."

Matt sighed and hung his head. It was going to be a very long day.

Matt stood outside the Arsenal, watching as the troops marched in.

It was the last banner of Bloodsworn, the fabled Eighth Banner. They were the last noble banner of the reinforcements that the Council had promised him, and they were at least two days behind schedule.

At the very least, Matt had not been idle as he waited. The past few days had been more than hectic. A good portion of it had been arguing with a still-recovering Tanya about whether she would come along on the expedition. She argued for a delay, and he pointed out that if he missed the deadline, they would have an actual war on their hands. Her attempt to convince everyone that she would be fine riding to the Pridelands fell completely flat; even the gentlest icestag wouldn't be a soft enough ride for her still-healing wound.

Of course, that hadn't stopped her. Last Matt had heard, some craftsmen had been convinced to build some kind of a carriage for her to ride in, along with the rest of the Humans. He'd been ready to argue against it, only for Tanya to point out that most of the others really didn't have much riding experience. Riley had volunteered to take up Warg riding, but Matt had managed to convince her to focus on her magic studies and stay with the others in the carriage. In the end, Matt had settled on asking Gorfeld to accompany and keep an eye on them.

His own magic work and training had been going well. Melren had been impressed by how quickly he'd formed the Foundation of Summer, which was promising. The sling had come off the day before, and he'd started to swing around his mace again. It had felt good to practice with some of the Crown Guard; having something physical to do helped balance out all the mantras and paperwork.

At the very least, he wasn't alone while he practiced. Miguel, Alicia, and Jessica had continued their training, sweating and suffering along with him. Even Jordan had joined in, though he'd taken a different course. The Master of Coin had taken up a crossbow and started to build his own Air Source. His idea was apparently to combine the two in order to shoot down his targets; Matt would have to see how it turned out for him.

While he appreciated the extra time to get ready, Matt was increasingly aware of the time limit that the letter had given him. Even if he had wanted to leave, however, he needed to make sure some things were clear before he left.

As the Bloodsworn came to a halt in the middle of the New Arsenal's courtyard, their leader came striding across the stone to stop in front of him. Lord Rordine seemed to be surveying the courtyard of the New Arsenal as if he was looking for a spot to put his throne. The Orc bowed as he reached him. "King Matthew. Captain Rordine reporting."

Matt inclined his head slightly. "Welcome to Redspire, Captain Rordine. We've been expecting you."

Rordine's eye glinted for a moment. "You must pardon us, sire. There were difficulties on the road. We will not delay you further."

"Good. I'm leaving today, after all."

The Orc blinked. He glanced back at his tired troops and hesitated. "My men would likely appreciate a rest, sire, but they will keep up. I promise you we will be ready to fight, no matter how far we march." Rordine looked back. "Isn't that right, men?"

The Bloodsworn behind him roared out in agreement, and Matt nodded. "I am glad to hear it, but you don't need to worry yourselves. Apparently, our enemies have offered to negotiate instead of fight." As Rordine blinked at him, he continued in an even voice. "You'll remain here under the command of Margrave Morteth while I go meet with them."

Rordine stared at him, the arrogant eagerness draining away from him. An expression of bitter resentment crept across his features instead. "You can't seriously expect that rabble to speak honestly with you, can you? They have nothing to really offer us anyway, unless they've chosen to submit entirely. Why not demonstrate the power of our Kingdom to them and cow them into obedience?"

Matt raised an eyebrow. "It may come to that, Captain, but for now, you are to remain here. If the negotiations do not work, I'll send for you."

The Orc opened his mouth to protest, and Matt raised an eyebrow. Rordine closed his mouth and stalked away, muttering curses under his breath. Matt watched him go for another few moments as he started bellowing at his men. The Bloodsworn began to unpack their supplies, setting down their baggage in a disorganized mess. He would have sighed, but at least he wouldn't have to wait for Rordine to get organized. One way or the other, he and Snolt's troops were going to be on their way soon.

Morteth stepped up beside him, the High Imp's eyes fixed on the Bloodsworn captain. Matt glanced down at him for a moment. "Do you have any advice, Margrave?"

The High Imp kept his voice quiet. "Captain Rordine was known as a hard fighter, sire. He has a reputation for harsh discipline, and a stubborn disposition." Morteth paused. "He also occasionally showed quite a lot of ambition, at least within the Clan. Braden was careful to watch him closely when they were on campaign. Lady Einreth may have ignored him too much."

Matt blinked. Einreth was still with Karve in the Copper Hills, a fact that he'd mostly ignored since it seemed like they would keep each other out of trouble. At the very least, she wasn't back in the Red Plains, plotting against him with the rest of her Clan. He hadn't realized that just because she wasn't scheming, it didn't mean that none of the Red Moons would. "Do you think he would challenge her for the right to lead the Clan?"

"After what happened to the last challengers? It would be a foolish risk." Morteth paused. "At least, until he gains a few more bits of glory on the battlefield. He is not popular among the more… settled nobility, but if he gains enough of a following among the Red Guard and the Bloodsworn, he may be able to force the issue easily enough."

He felt his eyes narrow as he watched the man. "Can you handle him? Or do I need to take him with me?"

Morteth shrugged. "I am not unused to ambitious underlings, sire." The Imp grinned. "I will keep an eye on the Council as well, just to keep them from attempting to countermand your orders. Especially concerning the Irregulars." The High Imp looked across the courtyard to where the more informal troops were still lounging. "Though I will admit to being concerned about their effectiveness myself, sire."

Matt turned to look at him more directly this time. "The freeholders have fought hard for the Kingdom. I think they deserve a chance to gain even more strength."

"Discipline and good order are not only about strength, sire. It can be about commitment and wisdom. Even more so when we are speaking of magecraft." Morteth held up a scaly hand and gave Matt a wry smile. "I do not mean to start up the old argument again, sire. I only wish to point out that the concerns of the nobles may not be entirely unfounded. You tread new ground with your… sharing of such techniques. Especially when we are hearing news of the butchery in the Pridelands, and wondering what might happen closer to home."

Mollified, Matt looked back at the Bloodsworn and nodded. "If we work hard enough, we won't have to worry about the same thing happening here. Our Kingdom needs a new kind of warrior to protect it in the future, just as much as it needs to rebuild its buildings."

Morteth grumbled something under his breath. "I suppose I am beginning to understand the resentment of the freeholders here who are watching their homes tumble down. Change is fascinating to watch happen to other people. I don't know that I was ready to have it happen to my banners as well."

Matt chuckled. He turned and offered Morteth his hand. "Do not worry, Morteth. What happens after will be a legacy that you will be proud to be a part of. Trust me."

"I do, sire. Always." The Margrave saluted, making the gesture somehow far more heartfelt. "May you find success in your struggles and open roads in your journey."

Then his eyes cut back to where Rordine was standing, and they narrowed. "And sire… watch your back. Your work with all of us is not done yet."

Matt returned the salute and then shook the Margrave's hand. Then he turned and walked across the courtyard to where Withar had the warbuck waiting for him. The stablehand was looking much happier these days, and Nelson was practically scraping the stone with his hooves, wanting to taste the open road once again.

Fortunately, that was exactly what was waiting for them now. The open road, and the Pridelands beyond.