KHULE

{Excerpt}

Shortly after the Great War in the year 1512 S.T., legendary alchemist, Lucien Damevar stumbled upon the explosive properties of black powder(a combination of saltpetre, sulphur and charcoal) while seeking the cure to an unknown ailment plaguing his only child. The Ivonnian alchemist wrote in his diary an account of the substance, saying, "after heating together the saltpetre and carbon of charcoal with sulphur; smoke and flames result, so much so that the crucible broke and with such a loud noise that the scholarly men of the Sanctuary all fled in fear."

Initially, firepowder, as it was known, was used for fireworks within the walls of the kingdom of Verum, but under the influence of other great scholars and craftsmen of the Sanctuary of scrolls, the substance soon found its way into warfare and weaponry, quickly becoming widespread throughout the kingdoms of Udoris. Pottery grenades were among the earliest weapons to incorporate gunpowder, followed by cannons, which consisted of wrought iron strips placed over a cylindrical wooden core. And hammered over these were heated metal hoops. The cannon was then heated to burn out the core and fuse the wrought iron together. Packed with black powder and iron projectiles, these devices had great range, hence were quick to replace traditional siege weapons.

The discovery of Blackpowder proved pivotal in the reformation of Udorian politics, strategic thinking and warfare, changing life in Udoris as we know it.

...

Excerpt from Jintao Downey's book on Alchemy - The Greatest Elixirs.

{END}

23.13.1623

What many seem to overlook is that for as many futures you put up in flames there are countless others waiting to be discovered; an eternity of possibilities. These were Sean’s thoughts as he slowed his horse into a pleasant trot, he and his men riding down the main road through Khule’s shanty town. He listened to the horse’s breathing slowly quiet, the animal slowly regaining its composure from the long, hard ride. It was a great horse, to be sure—with great stamina and composure in battle. While it wasn’t Duke Aden’s Black Betty which he had always coveted, it was still a great steed.

As Sean and his retinue of knights rode down the road, the commonfolk observed them curiously. He knew news of their arrival had probably already spread to reach those in the upper echelons of the county but that was to be expected. They were a rather large and distinct group after all.

The town’s walls and bastions were visible from a distance. The structure itself was quite imposing, many times the width of the equally ancient Faywyn Keep. Its earthen walls that extended to surround the town’s main body were covered in ivy. Beneath its ramparts were large arrowslits—the kinds one would expect to be armed with deadly ballistae that can spear unarmored men through the torso five hundred yards away. The foreboding defences extended along the shoreline bordering Gema’s gulf, protecting the town from any seaborne assault; cannon placements spaced equidistantly surveyed the horizons on alert for hostile naval incursions.

Khule was a residence fit for a warlord or knightly prince, Sean thought. Or in this case, a particularly wealthy count much unlike his honourable father. To be fair though, the Lormats did have a heritage almost as old as the kingdom of Quilton itself; also very much unlike his honourable father.

Sean and his procession came to a stop at the foot of an Outwork, the thick iron bars of the portcullis barring entry into the town. At the top of the bastion was a line of guards warily watching them from above and armed to the teeth.

Dismounting Sean carefully approached the earthen wall with his hands raised in a clear sign of submission.

“What do you seek, stranger?!” one man, the most well-adorned knight amongst others, shouted from the top of the wall.

“You may call me Sean of Algrian house von Grifenburg!” Sean replied, “I seek an audience with the noble Lord Tristan of House Lormat, the third Lion of Khule!”

Atop the wall was a brief flurry of activity. Sean could feel the nervous energy wafting from the men gathered behind him, but he ignored them as he waited patiently for what came next.

“You will come with us!” the knight said a few moments later. “Alone!”

“Agreed!” Sean complied easily, turning to return to his horse. Slowly, the iron gate was raised and even before it was halfway up armed men had already gathered at the other side.

“All of you will wait here till I return. Drake, you are in charge of the men, make sure they keep to themselves and do not cause any trouble.” Sean said before riding through the Outwork and over a drawbridge across a massive moat. The setting sun glinted off the emerald waters of the trench. Inside, the town itself appeared to be a bustling centre of commerce and culture, filled with elegant buildings and more than a few finely dressed citizens. The streets were lined with ornate buildings, their facades adorned with intricate carvings and delicate stonework. The shops lining the streets were filled with fine goods, and the smells of exotic spices and perfumes hung heavy in the air.

As Sean rode by, merchants and artisans nosily plied their trades. The sounds of horses' hooves and the clatter of carts rolling on the stone and pebble roads echoed through the streets, intermingled with the chatter of townsfolk going about their business. At the centre of town stood a grand Keep, the towering spires of its citadel visible from every corner of the town, a testament to the power and wealth of its rulers.

As Sean rode down the pathway into the Keep, he could not help but experience a sliver of dread at the thought of his fate should things go south. Soon he was ushered into a large chamber and made to wait, standing, under the supervision of four armed knights decked in steel armour.

About twenty minutes later, Lord Tristan appeared. The Count was a large man, possessing one of the burliest builds Sean had had the privilege of seeing. Draped around the lord’s massive build was a luxurious woollen coat, its silken surface littered with delicate embroidery.

The duke calmly walked over to his seat without so much as a cursory glance at Sean until he was seated.

“So you are that rumoured street urchin Duke Aden picked up a few years back, uhn,” the duke said, his tone languid. “I always wondered why he would choose a gutter rat over his own true-born son, regardless of how useless he may be. I guess I see it now. I must laud you. You have guts boy, to even for a moment consider coming here today.”

Sean smiled, a faint cringe creasing the corner of his face. “You honour me with your words, Lord Tristan,” he replied, appearing sincere.

“I know I do,” the count replied, unimpressed. “Now get on with it before I have my men throw you out.”

Once again, Sean smiled, suppressing his emotions near-perfectly. “As possibly the last living Grifenburg,” he began, “on both my household’s and vassals’ behalf, I wish to forfeit our fealty to the Algrian crown and instead pledge our allegiance to you, Lord Tristan, and join your ranks as your vassals.”

Slowly, the duke sat straighter, leaning forward to peer down at Sean from his elevated seat. “And control of your lands?” he asked, with a raised brow.

“All yours, Lord Tristan,” Sean replied, “as well as the yearly tribute that formerly belonged to the Crown.”

The duke sat still, staring unflinchingly at Sean. “What do you want, boy?”

“A vassal of my father, the Heras, rebelled, forcing me and a handful of our men to flee Algrim. My beloved brother is probably already dead at their hands. I want Duke Hera’s and his entire household’s heads as recompense. Also, I seek your protection for the rest of my men and my father’s remaining vassals. That we may shelter under the enduring shield that is your banner.”

The chamber was dead silent as Lord Tristan digested Sean’s words. Several moments went by before the duke suddenly rose to his feet and drew his sword.

“Kneel,” he said. Sean obeyed. The count drew the blade by his waist, placing it on Sean’s right shoulder.

“By the power vested in me,” the count began, “Lord Tristan of house Lormat, the third lion of Khule, I name you Baron Sean von Grifenburg, Lord of Faywyn and Lord Vassal of House Lormat. You may rise.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Sean said as he rose to his feet.

“My people will settle you and your men in. After the winter ends, we would begin preparation to retrieve Heras's heads for you as well as formalise the handover of Faywyn. You may leave.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Sean replied with a smile as he was escorted out of the chamber, leaving the count and his stoic men behind.

***

Faywyn.

The atmosphere in the chamber was stifling as all sat around the table, sombre. The earl, seemingly ignorant, or rather, impervious to the tension in the air, sat serenely at the head of the table where he read from a codex, mumbling inaudibly under his breath. The young lord’s index finger tapped rhythmically on the book’s leather-bound spine, his expression, musing.

Lancelot looked around, meeting the pensive gazes of Sers Carter, Drevos, Mannon and Turiel. Directly across from him, Sir Carter looked up towards the ceiling with a faint sigh, his lips pursed and hands clasped dourly on the table before him.

To the young lord’s left sat Steward Robert, the family butler. It was easy to forget the steward was there, at least until the moment you needed him during which he is, again, suddenly the second or third most important person in the room.

There was a soft knocking on the door. "Come in," the earl said, placing in a bookmark as he shut the codex before putting it aside.

"You summoned me, My Lord?" Sir Justin asked as he walked into the chamber. The ever-resourceful knight must have been ushered directly here upon arrival from his latest assignment. Lancelot could have sworn that even Lord Aden himself did not attempt to work the knight to the bone even near the pace at which the earl was going. Thankfully, Lancelot could fully guarantee Ser Justin’s loyalty. The duke was who made him who he was today after all. If Lord Aden hadn’t come along, he might have as well been rotting in some gutter in the slums of Bycrest…. Although, the same could have been said about Sean.

Well, isn’t that worrying?

Lancelot made a mental note to speak to the young lord about his treatment of the knights, Ser Justin in particular, immediately after this meeting.

"Yes," Levi said, snapping Lancelot out of his thoughts. The young lord gestured to an empty seat beside Ser Drevos, “Ser Justin, please, have a seat," he added with an authority that still somehow managed to project calm politeness.

"We don’t have much time on our hands, so I'd rather not waste it," The earl said as Justin made himself comfortable. He leaned forward into his seat, resting his left cheek resting on his palm which was in turn supported by the armrest underneath his arm.

“Bycrest is under Hertalean occupation. His Majesty, the king, has most probably been taken hostage, and my father whose location is currently unknown might also be in custody; or, worse, dead.”

Lancelot frowned.

“I will not coddle anyone present here,” the earl said. “He is my father, and yet I have already steeled my heart in preparation for the worst. Doing otherwise would be unproductive. A pointless waste of time and effort.” Of that the earl spoke nothing more, ending the topic on a dismissive note. Instead, with a small smile, he asked. “I hear there have been quite a few disgruntled voices in the midst of the knightage about my most recent decisions?”

“It’s nothing serious my liege,” Carter replied hurriedly.

“Relax, Ser Carter,” the earl said, “I am not so unreasonable as to restrict the thoughts and opinions of my valued men. In fact, I called you all here today first to clear any doubts you might have. This way you may assuage the rest of my men on my behalf. It’s the least I could possibly do in return for their faithful service.”

“...My Lord,” Mannon began, his gaze flickering to meet the others, “I see the need for more skilled men, but isn't it risky to have knights from Mallowston train the militia? Several men, myself included, have doubts as to why you would permit even a few of them access to any weapons, regardless of how crude, at all.”

“Well, first let me correct that,” Levi replied, “of the knights of Mallowston that decided to cooperate in exchange for better treatment and a chance to buy their future back, a large majority have been tasked simply with training the militiamen how to read and write, a task that is quickly starting to prove daunting for most. The few that have been chosen to train the militiamen with weapons have already been properly screened by Sers Lancelot and Carter. Those men are only tasked to duel the trainees and always under the strict supervision of at least two of our own who in turn are fully armed.”

“I heard about that, My Lord,” Justin spoke up. “The lessons on literacy and arithmetics you arranged for the militiamen, though? Many find it baffling that you would expend resources to have common peasant rabble educated. Also, there is the monthly salary you intend to pay to these men as well as that ‘pension’ thing you mentioned. They already get free food three times a day. I personally don’t see the benefit in giving money to men who would eventually die on the battlefield or desert the moment events turn unfavourable.”

Lancelot nodded, looking towards Levi for his response. Oddly enough, as the young lord’s gaze travelled across the men gathered he looked… disappointed. For some reason, it felt like the earl had some expectations they had as a whole collectively failed to meet.

“I want you to ask yourselves this question,” Levi began, “what would make a better knight? An uneducated man who would be useless outside of charging at an enemy in front of him or a learned one who would be able to effectively lead his lessers into that battle?”

The table fell silent. Then the earl spoke again.

“You still don't see it?” he asked. “I expected more but I guess it can't be helped,” he added in a soft murmur.

“...You want us to train militiamen who would be able to lead others into battle?” Sir Mannon replied with some hesitation.

“No,” the Earl replied, sounding mildly exasperated. “I want you to train militiamen who would be able to train others to lead their lessers into battle. We’ve discussed this before. Forming a knightage of loyal men takes years. Years we do not possess. The militiamen would be our only source of power for a long while unless we resort to hiring expensive, unreliably, and utterly unruly mercenaries. I truly don’t care how inferior you think the militiamen are in comparison to proper knights; in a batch of four hundred and fifty men, I want to believe at least forty would prove competent enough to somewhat fill in a knight’s role in battle.

“Think about it, why else would I insist on granting them monetary favours for their loyalty? Monthly salaries would mean working for me would guarantee a better life for themselves and encourage them to strive harder to become better soldiers. Pensions would guarantee a stable life for them even after they are dismissed should they suffer crippling injuries; it would also ensure their families do not starve should they die in battle.”

The chamber fell silent. Even Robert who was the most resistant person to the idea of giving out money sat silently beside the young lord with a pensive look on his face.

"Are there any other questions," Levi asked with a small sigh. One could easily glean the disappointment that lingered in the young lord’s tone. At this, Lancelot felt a sliver of self-doubt bubble in his heart. How had he failed to see what a boy half his age had in one glance?

“If there are none,” the young lord continued, “let’s move on to the main agenda for today. Count Josh’s forces at the Norcastle would also be returning next spring. With me here,” the earl tapped a small slip of paper resting on the table before him, ”is a letter I had Gilbert write which would be sent by Messenger Bird to his father shortly before the first snow. It contains details of Gilbert’s supposed conquest of Faywyn, the heavy losses he suffered during his siege of our walls, as well as fears of a revolt amongst the common folk who remain loyal to the von Grifenburgs.

“All completely fictional of course,” Levi said with a smile as he slid the paper towards Ser Justin who began reading through the letter, a curious expression forming on his face, “but Count Josh would be unaware of this, and upon receiving this letter would begin preparations to return to Mallowston the moment the Strega thaws to defend his family and newly acquired territory. This would give us the element of surprise, and reduce the possibility of news of Mallowston’s fall reaching the Count, leading to him doing something rather unpredictable.”

The room fell silent again. “...What happens when the count does finally arrive, My Lord?” Mannon asked. “We would have to relinquish control of Mallowston fort if we are to properly defend Faywyn during a siege.”

“What siege?” the earl asked rhetorically, “I do not envision suffering a siege, but rather a decisive battle during which this blood feud is settled once and for all.”

“My Liege, you would have the militiamen face Hera's elite bannermen in battle?” Ser Carter asked incredulously. “Even if we outnumber them two-to-one I highly doubt our rabble army can best Josh’s army in open combat.”

Levi shook his head. “Not open battle,” the earl replied, “at least not during the first half of our engagement. The Hera bannermen are to return by ship, are they not? Well, we can move ten of the cannons from Mallowston Keep to the Martello towers at the harbour bringing the total number of cannons there to twelve. If we relocate our two remaining Brigantines, fully armed, to Mallowston the number of guns we would control in the region jumps to thirty-two with each additional broadside. When the Heras arrive and attempt to dock at the harbour we can ambush them with artillery and either force them to disembark on the other side of the river or engage in an artillery contest which they would be destined to lose.

“If Lord Josh wisely decides to disembark on the other side of the river while under fire, chances are they would still do so in a very disorganised manner, meaning a lot of men and materiel would be lost in the process and most importantly they would be forced to abandon their vessels and deprive themselves of their artillery, supplies and a convenient transport back to Norcastle to request aid from their allies there. Essentially in one move, we would achieve gunnery superiority, force them to fight without food or medicine, eliminate a significant portion of the enemy, as well as force a defensive barrier in form of the Strega between ourselves and the Heras, allowing us to engage them via our vessels, on our own terms.”

“...What is stopping Count Josh from just simply retreating down the Strega at the first sign of trouble?” Lancelot asked, pointing out a major flaw in the young lord’s otherwise terrifyingly brilliant plan.

“Don’t worry about that,” the earl said, “Our friend Gilbert would once again volunteer his services towards aiding our cause. I have taken steps to certain of this. Josh Hera might be a cautious man, but even I doubt even he would be callous enough to retreat with the threat of his family’s demise dependent on his continuous presence on the battlefield… Any other questions?”

No one spoke.

“Good,” Levi said with a lilt. “Now onto the next agenda. What to do about Towleigh?”

“...Towleigh, My Lord?” Ser Carter asked, a frown forming on his face. “...What do you suggest is the problem, young lord?”

“The problem is trust, Ser Carter. Trust. Can we trust them not to attempt to repeat what the Heras attempted? Can we trust them not to enter alliances with external powers to scheme against us just as the Old Houses did at Bycrest? Across the border we guard is Quilton, a kingdom with glaring ambitions to expand given their extensive influence in the mountain tribes' politics. And within the borders of this province, rebellion festers.

“Ricos and Towleigh are the two closest territories from which any sizable enemy force can be garrisoned. Given its status as a Quiltonian burg, Ricos would remain off-limits until we are forced to consider otherwise, but Towleigh must be brought to heel, either by dialogue or by the blade.”

“Outright attacking a vassal would irreparably damage the von Grifenburg name, My Liege,” Lancelot warned. “I would advise against that.”

“Why would I attack a loyal vassal of mine when I can just charge a disloyal one for treasonous behaviour,” Levi replied dismissively. “Gilbert would testify against them for aiding in his attempted insurrection during his public trials this coming week; The Timels would be found guilty with the entirety of Faywyn as witnesses. Once the issue with Count Josh is resolved, we would march our then-blooded army to their gates to force a negotiation regarding the matter. Hopefully, news that we subjugated the Heras over the winter would make them more pliant to persuasion. If not we would proceed from there to seize the town. Any questions?”

Silence.

“...If there’s none, I guess this meeting is adjourned then,” the earl said bouncing to his feet, “You are all dismissed. Robert, please follow me. I believe we still have some issues regarding the militia’s accounts to discuss.”