Chapter 566: A Baron's Spite |
At Northguard, things were relatively quiet. For nearly a week, the winter forces had ceased their attacks. They were still present, a ring of warriors, wolves, ogres, iceblights, and rime knights. Hoss welcomed the quiet, but didn't let down his guard. He'd been directing the defenses constantly since the siege had started, and hadn't stinted the first half of the ceasefire, helping the Contract Workers to rebuild the walls of what was left of the keep. It helped that Northguard had always been half underground. The kitchens, workshops, and living areas for castle staff were below ground level, where visitors never saw the squalor in which the peasants lived. The damaged walls of the castle and its missing towers were more apparent from the larger rooms where a Baron would entertain guests, hold court, and keep his own quarters and those of his few trusted servants. Hoss hadn't worried about the architecture when they had a chance to rebuild. They built thick walls as high as they could to keep out the Frozen Dead and the wolf packs.
In another castle, the damage to the walls would have caused plaster to fall from stone, chandeliers to come crashing down, and all sorts of damage that would distress the castle's nobles. But not here. Pennypincher didn't care, and the damage had been accumulating for nearly a century before the war, as one skinflint after another took the throne and spent his days collecting butterflies. The oak floors were rough and stained with dirt, and there was hardly a speck of plaster left to smooth the rough rock walls, even before the attack by Winter. If anything, rebuilding made the place look better. Hoss had taken down rotted drapes and tapestries to burn as fuel. The same had been done with the destroyed furnishings, and anything still usable he'd moved downstairs to give some comfort to his family, the few remaining servants, and the workers.
After doing all that he could, he spent a quiet evening eating dinner with his wife and six children. He counted all of them as his, the two he and his wife had created, and the four orphans he'd adopted. To celebrate his time off, they enjoyed the rare treat of onion and potato soup with boiled salt pork. Food was getting scarce, and only Hoss's foresight to bring all of the food from the destroyed corporate farmsteads had kept their bellies full. After dinner, each child was given half a wrinkled apple, and he and his wife enjoyed a bottle of wine. That was something they had plenty of. The old wine cellars deep within the keep held thousands of bottles kept good by ancient enchantments. The Baron had no taste for wine and had told Hoss to give it away as he saw fit. Hoss had brought up a wheelbarrow load for the workers now and then, to ease their sore muscles.
And then he slept. Not the few naps he took during the day, most of his mind on alert, but the deep sleep that brought dreams. As always, they were odd ones about stuff he didn't understand: wars and battles, men with great pennants flying behind them, and blood. So much blood. The Sword had fought for centuries, serving one master after another, urging them on to glory and conquest. Hoss knew she was frustrated. Her dreams just weren't his dreams, even after being knighted and given some fancy armor and a magic sword. After she got her say in, he dreamed his own dreams, of time with his family, spending time caring for the horses, or helping in the kitchens. He missed the simple days, but knew they weren't coming back, except when he slept.
It had been a long time since he'd allowed himself to sleep so much, and when his wife woke him two and a half days later, he panicked at first. But she calmed him and led him into the kitchen, where his breakfast was ready, and the news that nothing had changed. He ate, bathed, ate again, and put his armor back on. The children had helped polish it until it shone. The Sword hummed as he climbed to where the Baron waited. She was eager for battle again, but he noticed she wasn't being as grouchy as normal. He wondered if maybe swords needed some time to sleep like other people.
The Baron was waiting for him, pale and lean, but looking good. Two new rime knights stood guard near him, their faces still showing signs of life, and not yet decayed. Hoss knelt, then stood and pointed to the knights. "They sent more of them to get to you?"
The Baron chuckled, "They did, but I had to offer myself as bait, walking the battlements at regular intervals. I even staggered and stumbled a little, like I was wounded. I swear upon all that is unholy, these people are the most unmotivated assassins I've ever heard of."
Hoss grinned, "They were sure hot to kill you at first. Might be they've learned you aren't such an easy target after a couple of hundred of them didn't come back."
Pinchpenny grinned back, "Yes, there is that."
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"I'm not sure. But I am starting to suspect that Winter may not be nearly as powerful as they appeared at first. Or maybe the Empire is better at fighting them off than they were during the last Winter War. I expected them to come roaring in, pennants flying from their sleighs, and wave upon wave of shining knights. But what little my spies have been able to tell me shows something else. Granted, seeing through the eyes of a dead man doesn't tell all of the story, but the group coming to greet me seems...shabby? They look like a bunch of vagabond travelers who don't know how to deal with the elements. I'm disappointed, and I'm wary, Hoss. This may not be the parley I envisioned, but an elaborate assassination attempt. If so, they will be disappointed."
Hoss nodded in agreement, and the Sword hummed eagerly. "Darn right, sir. You say the word, and we'll start lopping off heads." The sword hummed in agreement.
The Baron shook his head, sadly. "No, I will meet them alone."
"Sir? I don't understand."
Pinchpenny put his hand on Hoss's broad shoulder. "It's a strange thing, Hoss, but I've come to appreciate your loyalty and honesty. Maybe because it's so rare these days. I think these negotiations will go badly, and maybe it's my pride, but I don't want Winter to win if they cheat. Keeping you and the servants safe is my way of denying them a victory. I want you to do several things, Hoss."
"Of course, sir."
"Here is a list of items I need from the deepest vault. Bring them to me, one by one, taking care not to touch them with bare skin. In my study is a group of scrolls, bound in a red ribbon. Take those and keep them on you. If the worst happens, and you happily survive, make sure they get to the proper places. Finally, take all of the servants and your family to the large larder in the far basement, and seal all the doors behind you as I taught you. That place is secure, or as secure as anyone could build. Take all the food, warm clothing, and bedding. Stay there until one of two things happens. The first being that I come for you."
"And the second?"
"You'll understand when it happens, and know that I am gone. Vengeance will be mine, but you must see that your family survives."
"I don't like this kind of talk, sir. It feels wrong, me not being at your side."
Pinchpenny stared with hard eyes at the Winter Army, "Call it a Baronial whim, Hoss. But part of me wishes for my Barony to survive, and those papers will ensure that. Just in case. And, really, things may work out fine. There is probably a good explanation for this strange delay."
"Let's hope so, sir. I'll get to work on your jobs. Maybe they will show up soon."
Hoss left, and Pinchpenny smiled wryly, "Ah, such a strange boy. Anyone else would know that hope for me was dead long ago. Only spite and arrogance are left, and a desire to punish those who think to play me for a fool."
Miles and miles away, Glacia was expressing similar feelings. As she ranted, everyone kept their eyes downcast. "Does this man take me for a fool? I can feel the necromantic storms he assaults us with. This is nothing but a poor trap, meant to lure me from the front of the war."
Overhead, green lightning split the sky, and the soul-sapping rain came down again. Everything around them was rotted and decayed, with little surviving that wasn't made from enchanted materials. Half the rime knights were nearly naked, showing that their armor had been cheaply made. The others, clad still in gleaming gold and silver armor, laughed at them and made them work with the common laborers to clear their path or to carry the palanquins that kept the Winter Council's feet from touching the muddy ground. The food was rotten with weevils, and they'd eaten the horses and reindeer, what few hadn't been eaten by wolves.
The wolves themselves were nearly as much of a threat as they were valued troops. Every night, the packs fought and ate each other, their numbers dwindling. All of the Beast Masters were gone, either driven mad, eaten, or fled into the wilderness. And probably eaten if they fled. Outrunning a pack of starving wolves would have been nearly difficult but with the necromantic storms sapping mana and stamina, no man on foot could survive. Desertion was low because of the wolves, a small benefit. When dawn finally came, and they trudged over a small ridge, they could see Northguard in the distance, surrounded by their troops.
Glacia could feel her cold anger beginning to boil. "We march until we are on Pinchpenny's doorstep. Then we take what is ours and tear his castle down, stone by stone. This will be a reckoning they will tell stories of for years to come. Onward!"
Her bearers began to jog forward, difficult in the thick mud. After a few minutes of travel, the bouncing caused by the jogging snapped the rotten poles cut during the night, and the grand overlord of the winter army and high wizard of the winter council was dumped into the mud. Watching from his highest tower with a spyglass, Pinchpenny shook his head and began his preparations for their meeting.