The Conquest of Kiynan

Count Edmund Freeland strode through the corridor of his manse. His hands were clasped behind his back, crumpling a piece of parchment. His head was hung, and his eyes contemplated the floor absently as he walked. He was troubled. The parchment had come to him from Regent Goran Longstride of Brockton, a long time friend and ally.

Vidliank, capital of Gaurvia, has been captured. Every able man of Brockton was sent to defend our glorious capital, and now that its strength has failed us, Brockton lays defenceless in the path of the warriors of Varice. I would ask help from the Ornish, but I fear Gaurvia is beyond help now. Any troops dispatched by the Fled would arrive only in time to bury our dead, and watch the Iceborn banners fly from our ramparts. The combined might of the Qume and the Iceborn was too great.

I write only to warn you that, by the time you read these hurried words, a foul and menacing enemy will stand just beyond your borders. Prepare yourselves, lest the Ornish suffer the same fate as the children of Gaurvia.

Freeland walked into his study, and looked out the broad window overlooking Freshwater’s harbour. This was news of the worst possible sort. Freeland had sent his troops, the defenders of Freshwater, to Haven. The Duchess had sailed with virtually all the military might of the Ornish, including Freeland’s troops, to the Old Continent. Only his tiny personal guard, and the handful of standing militia he was able to pull together out of the city’s population, remained to defend Freeland’s county. Not only was he no longer able to call upon Haven or Tradewood for help, but now a ruthless warlord had destroyed his Gaurvian allies, halting the trade upon which Freshwater’s prosperity depended, and was perhaps even threatening to complete his conquest of Kiynan. Freeland’s thoughts turned suddenly to his daughter. At least Kayla was far from this bloodthirsty madman. The Duchess and the army of the Fled would protect her, whatever happened here.

The count smiled as he pictured her tiny face. It seemed such a short time ago that he held her in his arms, wrapped tightly in a warm blanket, her little face bright red as she howled at the injustice of being pulled from her mother’s womb. He watched her grow in his mind, the memories bringing comfort to his heart and troubled spirit. He sighed as he looked up again, peering out over the vast sea beyond the crowded harbour. As he gazed absently, he noticed a shape. He strained his eyes and realized that it was a ship, a large one. He was just barely able to make out a blue banner with a silver swordfish flying from its main mast.

“A ship from Brockton, it would seem,” Edmund muttered to himself. “Perhaps carrying refugees… or maybe a wily merchant, having waited until the last moment to sail away from the doomed city…”

He stepped away from the window, walking across his study to pick up his spyglass sitting on his worktable. Crossing the room again, he raised the spyglass to his eye to have a better look at the ship. He gave a start as he saw that it was not alone. Two, no three, other ships were visible, all heavy trade ships of Gaurvian design. The Count watched the ships approach with a mixture of curiosity and bemusement. He moved his spyglass around and saw two sloops just behind the larger forerunners, then three more. Freeland reflected that, excluding the pair of Gaurvian ships already anchored just beyond the port of Freshwater, the entire Gaurvian merchant fleet seemed to be rushing toward him. Perhaps Regent Longstride had had a significant amount of warning as to the approach of the Iceborn horde, and had evacuated as much of the city as possible. Freshwater drew a deep breath; this was a good omen. A great number of Gaurvians would be aboard those ships, perhaps even a number of soldiers. With their aid, Freeland was confident he could prepare a defence of Freshwater sufficient to hold any assault by the Iceborn, at least until the Duchess returned from Ornland. Freeland now saw aboard the lead ship. The deck seemed full of soldiers, light gleaming off their weapons and armour. The Count smiled, it seemed that at least some Gaurvians were prepared to fight on. Moving his spyglass around again, Edmund noticed yet another ship, just to the west of the other ships. He frowned, puzzled, as he examined it. It was very large, with three mighty masts, each taller than the one in front of it. He could not recall ever seeing the ship before, and yet the Gaurvian banner was plainly visible hanging from its tallest mast. Perhaps it was a new ship, on its maiden voyage across the Silent Sea. It seemed an odd design for a trade ship, its great bulk would slow it enormously, and Freeland had never met a merchant who wasn’t constantly in a hurry. Instead, the ship resembled more closely the Undaunted, the Duchess’ flagship, a brutish dreadnought, designed for resilience rather than speed. But when had the Gaurvians begun constructing warships? Moving his spyglass further, he noticed a second, identical ship, and then another.

Five in all, Freeland no longer had any doubts that they were warships. The deck of every one of them was full of armour-clad soldiers, thousands of them in all. The Count’s feet leadened as he glanced desperately from one ship to another. A veritable armada, brimming with savage warriors, was bearing down on Freshwater’s undefended port. No Gaurvians were coming to help. It was a simple ruse, one which had fooled Freeland. The Iceborn were almost upon him. The Count dropped his spyglass, oblivious to the lenses shattering as it crashed to the ground. Freeland ran to his bell, ringing it frantically, screaming for his servants. Outside, Freeland could hear the general alarm being raised. It seemed the Gaurvian banners had also fooled the watch. The ruse had only gained the invaders a few minutes, but in battle a few minutes often meant the difference between life and death. Two valets appeared almost immediately, concern plain on their faces.

“Bring me my Captain of the guard, I’ll be in the rookery.”

Freeland raced down the corridor and bounded up the stairs to the rookery tower connected to his manse. Shoving his scribe aside as he burst into the room, the Count snatched a quill and a piece of parchment his scribe had been just about to use, and sat down to write.

Gaurvians defeated by the Iceborn. Entire kingdom fallen. Iceborn fleet attacking Freshwater. No choice but to evacuate city. Return quickly, Haven at risk. Ornish people in grave, immediate danger.

The Count signed it quickly, then immediately produced another copy. He was attaching the messages to a pair of hearty rooks, trained to fly to Haven, when his Captain of the guards leapt into the room.

“Captain, I need you to organize your men and the militia to slow the invaders as long as possible in order to help our citizens escape.”

The soldier’s mouth tightened as he received the terse command, realizing he was being ordered to die, in the hope that it would save the lives of a few civilians. He drew himself up to full attention and saluted, then leapt into action. Freeland exchanged a glance with his scribe, whose expression mirrored the Count’s suppressed emotions. Edmund released his rooks, and ran back down the stairs. He summoned his servants again, ordering them to help him organize the evacuation of his doomed county.

As he headed into the street, he thought again of Kayla. She would live on, and he knew she would do well with her life. He had taught her everything he could, and had blanketed her with every affection. Although it was no surprise that she had flourished under such circumstances, she had consistently managed to surpass everyone’s increasingly high expectations. Moreover, she had done so seemingly without any real effort. She was naturally gifted in every way. Edmund was fiercely proud of her, and every other parent jealous. If only her mother had survived her birth to see what an amazing person she had become. In the midst of despair all around him, the Count smiled, soon he would see his beautiful wife again, and together they would watch their child grow from afar.