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Two Kingdoms 45 - Roadways

Started by DoctorM, March 10, 2024, 09:39:17 PM

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DoctorM

TWO KINGDOMS 45 - ROADWAYS

This is the forty-third  part of an AU construction about a Gwynedd where the duel at Kelson Haldane's coronation went very differently indeed. We are now almost three years into the Gwynedd Wars-- Charissa's new kingdom at Valoret against the Haldanes in the south and the kingdom of Torenth in the east. This episode takes place not long after "Alliances". As always, thoughts, comments, and suggestions are very much appreciated.


****
Out there in the yard Christian is pacing around the target dummy, a longsword in one hand. Right now he's short of patience and breath both. Back on the benches his cousin is stretched out and shaking his head. Donal Gordon is there, too, his face carefully composed, watching with the guards.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" Michael Gordon asks. "This is ridiculous, and you know it. You're a horse-archer. You're not a swordsman. All our lives you've been telling me that any time somebody on the other side gets closer than maybe sixty yards, something's gone very, very wrong. And here you are, about fifteen years late to learning the longsword."

Christian looks back over his shoulder. "You can shut up now, Michael. You really can. I have to do this." He drops one shoulder and swings with the sword. Bits of padding fly up from the dummy.

Michael Gordon throws up his hands. "Too low," he says. "And your weight's on the wrong foot. Why are you doing this?"

"Because Wencit is coming. Because this is going to be a real war. Not raiding, not doing reconnaissance, not skirmishes, not affrays, and not a city coup. It's going to be a real war, with real battles. Not what we're used to. And I'm the queen's husband. I have to be able to defend her. I'm not just a light-horse captain these days. I have to be able to do this."

"Look, we'll go get you a horse and we'll go shoot at targets from the saddle, That part you're decent enough at. This isn't you."

Christian steps back and does another cut at the target. "Gwernach and the Rheljans— that's not light-horse country. This is going to be different."

Michael Gordon motions to one of the guards and the man hands him a sheathed sword. "You want to play with a sword, here. One of your damned Moorish cavalry sabres— a flyssa. See, I even know the word in Darija. You want a blade, here you are, You can go ride serpentine in a horse ring and slash at things. You've done close contact with a flyssa before; I've seen it. You were good enough at that. You don't even hold a longsword right. Go ahead, but just think— you get yourself killed trying to be a swordsman, I'm the one who inherits. You'll be dead and I'll hold Caer Curyll. Lord Gordon of Caer Curyll. So will you please just get on an effing horse? That's where you belong."

****

"This is new to me, my lord," Bishop Brechlin is saying. He's with Kheldour this morning, the two of them closeted in what used to be Edmund Loris' vast private office. It's a bright morning in Valoret, and there's early summer sunlight falling through Loris' arched glass windows across a desk filled with maps and folders.

"It's all new," Brechlin says. He's smiling, but his face is carefully arranged. "Working at a Deryni court, I mean. I'm used to couriers and messenger birds. I know how long it should take for a message between Valoret and Tolan-by-Sea, but at a Deryni court, well...people go from Tolan to Valoret and back again in a heartbeat. It throws off my sense of time. I'm not sure what to think of it. I've no idea how many Deryni are filtering through invisible passages just out of sight."

The Shadow Queen's husband grins at that. "The Portals— yes. There's a whole set of Deryni roads behind everything in the new kingdom.. I'm the queen's Remembrancer. I'm supposed to just show up out of nowhere. It's what I do. We can't wait on birds or couriers to get some things done. Wencit's coming, my lord."

The bishop is considering the man across the desk. The queen's husband is still something of a mystery to him. The man is obviously well-educated and invariably well-mannered, but he's not something that fits easily into a well-run royal court.

Brechlin decides to keep smiling. "I'm something more than twice your age, young Kheldour. It's an awkward thing to learn this late in life— that the world is honeycombed with invisible roads for Deryni. It's awkward, too, to know that there's some unseen Deryni high council out in these lands, and that it's sending assassins for the queen's friends. As you say, though: Wencit is coming. An ordinary thing, but dangerous enough. The King of Torenth and his armies— let's talk about that."

Brechlin looks down at the desk. It's a huge piece of work in heavy oak, big enough to be impressive even in a room this size— something to match the late archbishop's sense of himself. There's a map unrolled there, something old enough to date back a generation or two before King Malcolm's day, something big enough to fill the desktop, something annotated and inked in more than one colour and more than one antique script.  He brushes a hand over the map. "Beldour to Valoret," he says. "A direct march would be about thirty-five days, I think. But this won't be a direct attack, of course."

Christian makes a face. "Those maps, all the maps in the royal library— they're not something you should trust. My lord bishop, making maps is something I know how to do. All of these, they show roads and rivers and towns that aren't where they should be or aren't there at all. They're all far too small in scale, too. Gwynedd and Torenth are both bigger than they're drawn on the maps. An army on the march from Beldour to Valoret? Add another ten days. Those roads are never good. Never. More if it rains, or if they have supply problems and have to stop and forage."

"But as I said: that's not how they're coming."

"No. It's Gwernach they want first. Wencit will come south through Tigre and go into Gwernach. Then he'll move south and east. He'll do a harrying in Kulnan and he'll try to take and hold in Rheljan. My guess is that he'll try to come down to Cardosa and turn west. My people are watching his purveyances. What he's buying or requisitioning will get him through Gwernach and Rheljan. But he'll need to re-supply and re-group. He'll just harry and burn in Kulnan, but he'll garrison Gwernach and try to do the same in Rheljan. He'll need to stop at Cardosa to let his supplies catch up."

Brechlin is watching him, and Christian can see the bishop's mind working. Brechlin taps at Cardosa on the map. "You're sure of his numbers?"

"Four and a half thousand," Christian says. "No more. That's what he's been buying provisions for. He has Archduke Lionel and a rebellion to fight at home. He's not pressing his lords for levies right now; he can't afford to alienate any of them. So it's not a huge army. But if he takes Gwernach and makes examples in Kulnan and the Rheljan lands, he'll bring over more lords in Torenth over to his side."

"Tell me, my lord Kheldour, what's so important in Gwernach?"

Christian shrugs. "Pride," he says. "Lots of roads south run through there, but it's mostly pride. He wants to take back land that belonged to the queen's father. He wants into Gwynedd, but he wants to punish the queen, too. He can't get into Tolan or Marluk country, so he'll take Gwernach."

Brechlin traces a finger along the western edge of Truvorsk. "We made that mistake in Meara back in King Malcolm's day, and more than once, We took our eyes off the real prize and wasted men and time on punitive actions. Whatever Wencit may be, he's no fool. Summer's here, and he'll be short of time before the season turns. And there's the rebellion in Torenth. He'll have to decide what he wants— open roads to Valoret or Makróri and FitzEwan heads on spikes."

Christian leans forward in his chair. "My lord bishop, I grew up mostly in Tolan and Torenth. Wencit was always someone people talked about, even before he made himself king. He's no fool, and he's fought and won campaigns out east against the steppe tribes. He's impulsive, though, and he's quick to anger. He wants Gwernach because it belonged to the queen's father and it means something to the queen. Charissa's taken Tolan and the Marluk country from him. He wants to take something from the queen. He wants to harry Kulnan to show what happens to anyone who supports Charissa. He wants Gwynedd, or at least he wants the north of Gwynedd. But he wants to punish the queen— for being in his way, for not bending the knee to him over Tolan and Marluk, for showing the Torenthi lords that maybe they can stand up to him." He reaches across the map to touch the little cathedral inked at the site of Valoret. "He wants to punish her for being a woman on a throne. This is about pride as much as anything."

Bishop Brechlin nods. "I've never been to Gwernach, but I know Tigre, and I grew up near to St. Jarlath's. So I know about the mountains and the roads south. And I've been a bishop for a long time— pride's a sin I know something about. So he's coming, but he'll be wasting time and men. That does remind me of the Meara wars— back when the world was young." 

Christian takes a breath. "My lord bishop— you're the queen's justiciar and you're her first minister in all but name. Everything I know from my scouts and my intelligencers, everything I know from riding to meet Baron Rheljan and the count of Kulnan— all that tells me that Wencit is coming. The Torenthi will be distracted; Wencit's pride will get in the way. But they are coming. I'm here from the queen to talk about—"

Brechlin cuts him off. "More men, more money, at least some fortifications on the Cardosa roads. My lord Kheldour, I've been doing this as long as you and the queen have been alive. I know how these things are done. When you go back to Tolan-by-Sea, tell the queen that it'll be in progress. We'll squeeze out a few more contributions, buy a few more men-at-arms and crossbowmen, and run up some fortifications on the roads from Cardosa. We can get some help into Gwernach, too. Have you spoken to His Grace of Marley about this? Truvorsk, Cardosa, he has his eye on all that."

"He'll have heard it all from his father-in-law," Christian says. "And I'm sure he has his own intelligencers all over eastern Torenth."

"Of course he does. Bran Coris is not a man who enjoys being surprised." The bishop fixes Christian with eyes as blue as the Shadow Queen's. "I'm hoping that you won't be going up your secret Deryni roads anytime soon, though. I think our Inquisitor of State should appear here out of nowhere, too. The three of us need to confer. I want to know about these Deryni who want the queen dead. I have things to discuss with you— as the queen's Remembrancer —about what's happening in the south, too. I know what's coming south; you need to tell the queen what's coming north."

****
Donal Gordon is pulling arrows from targets all around the field. He thumps his fist against a padded cloth scarecrow. He looks down the field at two horsemen coming back, bows across their saddles. He gestures to Michael Gordon and then over to Christian. He has a clutch of arrows in his hand.

He looks back at his older brother. "Can you just tell him? He got most of them center-on in the targets." He turns to Christian. "You're no Seven Tribes master-bowman, but then you're not steppe-born, either. For someone who wasn't shooting from the saddle before he was weaned, you're good enough. You  always have been. Any effing Torenthi gets inside maybe a hundred yards, you could probably put him down first shot. Can you just accept that?"

Christian draws his horse up in front of one of the targets. He shakes his head. "A real war's coming. This is good, sure— I'm not afraid of running into Torenthi skirmishers. It's not that. But it's not enough."

Michael Gordon leans in. "I know what this is, you know. I know how your mind works. This is about your woman. You're not the queen's general. You're not afraid of Wencit or Rhydon or Duke Nigel. You're not even really afraid of Alaric Morgan. But you're afraid of disappointing the queen. That's what this is all about, isn't it?"

Christian stares at his cousin. There's nothing to be done by going off in a rage, but he's clenching the bow 'til his hands ache. He takes a deep breath. "I'm the Shadow Queen's husband. I'm supposed to be able to defend her. That matters. And I'm nobody's idea of a general."

He looks back and forth between the Gordon brothers. "We're light-horse and we've been at fights on the steppe and in the Forcinn and the Moorish frontiers. This is a real war that's coming. We've never been in a full-scale battle. And that's coming— real generals, real armies, real battles. And everything's going to come at once— Wencit and Alaric Morgan, Rhydon and Stefan Coram and the Hand of Camber people. This summer is where everything starts."

Michael Gordon shrugs. "So you're not a general and you're not a swordsman. So bloody what? You're good at what you are— you can shoot a horseman's bow, you're good at reconnaissance. You're smarter than most people— at least when you're not overthinking everything. I mean, get more arrows and keep practicing. You'll get to put Torenthi down soon enough, and maybe Morgan's people too. But, look— these days, you need to focus on what you're good at. Maps, intelligencers' reports, knowing what's over the next hill and what's coming down the road. The queen has blades— good ones, too. I'd never want to cross steel with Colforth or al-Fayturi. What she needs is you telling her what's out there on the horizon. Can you just do that? Wencit's coming, and I'm goddamned if I'll get killed because you can't accept what you're good at and what you're not. I say we go drinking, and then I say that we get ready for a war. Play to your strengths. That's evergreen advice. Do what you're good at and don't get me killed. Don't get yourself killed, either."

Jerusha

Good chapter, and very good that Christian is not good at everything.  It makes him believable and slightly flawed.  My kind of guy.

I'm becoming very fond of Michael Gordon too.  Not a man to avoid an obvious truth, even it it's not what someone wants to hear.  Just the type of man you need by your side in battle.
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

 -- Old English Litany

DoctorM

You're right about Michael Gordon. He's smarter than many people think, solid and capable. More grounded than Christian, I think, and a good man to have guarding your back.

Quote from: Jerusha on March 11, 2024, 01:55:54 PMGood chapter, and very good that Christian is not good at everything.  It makes him believable and slightly flawed.  My kind of guy.

I'm becoming very fond of Michael Gordon too.  Not a man to avoid an obvious truth, even it it's not what someone wants to hear.  Just the type of man you need by your side in battle.


DerynifanK

I agree with Michael Gordon. Christian needs to accept what he is good at and what he is not. He needs to focus on his strengths and not on developing a new skill out of pride. The best swordsmen learned from childhood and have continued to hone their skills. Michael might mention to Christian that he can't defend the Queen if he gets himself killed trying to be what he is not.
"Thanks be to God there are still, as there always have been and always will be, more good men than evil in this world, and their cause will prevail." Brother Cadfael's Penance

DoctorM

Quote from: DerynifanK on March 14, 2024, 10:30:36 AMI agree with Michael Gordon. Christian needs to accept what he is good at and what he is not. He needs to focus on his strengths and not on developing a new skill out of pride. The best swordsmen learned from childhood and have continued to hone their skills. Michael might mention to Christian that he can't defend the Queen if he gets himself killed trying to be what he is not.


I agree 100%, especially the last sentence.