One slightly mortifying conversation later, in which he reminded Tanya that the Kingdom did not have free funds for whatever they wanted to do in the middle of a massive war, and that he’d specifically asked the Voices to stop her next bright idea, Matt had gone back to resting. Lord Angru had invited him to participate in the celebratory feast that night, and he wanted to be able to at least walk without dust-puppeting himself along.

  He'd asked the lifeguards to turn away the messengers for a while, which made it surprising when someone walked right through the door. Matt looked up to see Tanniven bowing to him and tried to restrain a groan. “Voice Tanniven.”

  The Elf straightened up and smiled. “I’m sorry to bother you, sire. I just wanted to speak with you once before I departed.”

  Matt blinked. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes, sire.” Tanniven’s smile deepened slightly. “With the defeat of the Alliance here, I believe the people of the Sortenmoors may actually have the chance to start to rebuild. I want to be there for that—especially as certain nobles move back in to ‘claim’ their property.” He sniffed. “Some people are far too eager to reclaim something they never bothered to defend, and took no risks to gain. The freeholders will need me there.”

  He nodded slowly. “You’ll need to be careful. The nobility are still getting used to the concept of a Voice’s authority. If one of them decides to take the risk of killing you…”

  Tanniven’s smile became almost wicked. “I hope they do, sire. I survived the fight against Teblas and the Alliance. What is some petty noble going to do against me?” He paused. “Though I wouldn’t say no if you or the Council decided to assign a lifeguard or two to me. Given how often they’ve kept you alive, they seem… useful.”

  Matt laughed, feeling a flicker of pain through his ribs. The medicine had to be wearing off. “I’ll see what I can do. Continue to serve your people well, and perhaps we’ll meet each other again soon.”

  The Elf nodded. “I would like that, sire.” Then he hesitated, an uncharacteristic level of uncertainty on his face. “Before I go, might I give you some advice?”

  He studied the Elf a moment, looking for any sign of haughtiness or pride. There was none. “I can’t guarantee I’ll do as you ask, but you can say whatever you want.”

  Tanniven nodded. “Of course, sire.” He paused again before he gave a second nod. “I know you are still deciding what to do about the prisoners from the Alliance.”

  Matt didn’t say anything. He still hadn’t settled on what he should do with the massive number of prisoners. The answers from Earth’s history were not… to his liking. Most people effective enough at war to win such victories weren’t nice enough to avoid things like mass executions or selling people off into slavery. The decision was weighing on him still.

  The Elf continued. “I know you will make the best decision you can for the Kingdom. It is what you must do.” He sighed. “I don’t know exactly what that decision will be, but I might be able to give you a small bit of guidance, from someone who has once been a serf in a foreign land.”

  Tanniven turned to look at the window by Matt’s bedside. “These prisoners are no more your enemies than those Humans we captured were. Most of them are no different than Horsend. They were never given a choice in whether they would serve in the Alliance’s forces. For that matter, they’d never chosen where they could live, or where they could travel. Their nobles are their masters, and they don’t expect anything different from you.”

  Matt watched him carefully. “And?”

  “You need to show them what you really are.” Tanniven’s smile returned as he looked at Matt. “Give them what they’ve never known before. A chance to choose. Their decision may be what you would have done anyway, but like with Horsend, they will remember that you allowed them to make it.”

  He sighed. It was a fair suggestion, but it meant he’d be depending on a bunch of former enemies to make the right choice. It did suggest a different possible solution, though…

  Matt looked back at Tanniven, who was watching him carefully. Another thought came to him. “You wouldn’t be practicing the same kind of technique, would you, Voice?”

  “Now, sire, would you believe I’d try that trick on my own King?” Tanniven’s smile made Matt laugh, regardless of the pain in his ribs. The Elf chuckled along with him for a moment. Then he bowed. “In all sincerity, sire, you have my thanks for all you’ve done. May Fortune favor your cause, and peace favor your rule.”

  He extended his hand, and Matt shook it. “Safe travels, Voice Tanniven, and may Fortune favor you as well.”

  Tanniven smiled one last time and headed for the door. Matt watched as the Elf left and then went back to thinking over his options for the problems ahead. He sighed. If he wasn’t going to get any rest, he might as well come up with something.

  Even if it did seem like every problem he solved just caused two more lately. There had to be a limit on that progression, right?

  Later that same day, Matt managed to limp his way into the dining hall where Lord Angru and his court were waiting for him. The same broad table had been set, though the roster of attendants had slightly changed. Tanniven was gone, of course, but Melren took his place at Gorfeld’s side, while Lady Rothlana had switched sides to sit by her husband on the advisor’s side. Some of the nobles at the other side of the table were arranged differently as well, though there were a lot more of them now. No officials from the Coalition were there either; Paralus had gone back to Redspire days ago, and no other messengers from the western nations had been sent. Tanya and the other Humans were absent, but given how delicate the diplomacy could be, that might have been a benefit rather than a downside. His fellow Humans had fought on the wrong side until recently, after all.

  Matt was using his mace as a cane, grateful that the extra length made it possible. Lord Angru stood to welcome him, and Matt shook his hand with a grateful smile. “Lord Angru. I must thank you for your gift. It was well-timed, and I haven’t had the heart to part with it since.”

  He’d meant it as an excuse for using the fine weapon as a makeshift crutch, but the Orc nobleman practically beamed at the words. “It is an honor for you to give me so much credit, my liege. I had asked my finest armorers to work on it, and I’m sure they will be pleased to know their work helped rout the enemy in your hands.”

  Trying not to fall into the chair, Matt lowered himself into the seat. “It definitely kept me alive, at the very least. I’m certain that the Queen of the Court of Ravens would have killed me if I had anything less well-crafted.”

  Angru sat as well, still beaming. “So it was true, then? You fought her yourself?”

  Matt nodded. “I did, though my lifeguards should receive their own due for their efforts to help. I think it was Balred who finished her, actually.”

  The other Orc flinched in surprise. His wounds appeared to be well on their way to being healed, but he seemed uncomfortable as Angru turned his attention to him. Matt made a note to have a conversation with the man later; he already had an entire raft of questions to ask him when he had the chance.

  Angru continued in a disgruntled tone. “I wish that I could have been there, my liege, but my dear cousin seems to have felt that my presence would have been unwise.” He gave Grufen a half-serious glare, though Lady Unseln rolled her eyes beside him. It was clear the comment was only made in good humor, at least.

  “There needed to be someone to command the city if the ambush failed, my lord.” Grufen’s voice was even, and Angru sighed.

  “I know, cousin, I know.” He toyed with the robes of his office, a discontent expression on his face. “I am still struggling to adjust to leading the Clan in your absence. You were always supposed to lead, while I supported you from a comfortable shadow somewhere.”

  Grufen shook his head, an easy smile on his face. “You’ve done well, Lord Angru. Our Clan could ask for no better leader at this time—and from what I hear, our King managed to give you a taste of battle as well.”

  Angru’s expression broke into a grin. “Oh yes, cousin. I’ll tell you more of it when we are away from prying ears, but may I assure you, it was beyond satisfying ending those bandits. I may have developed a taste for it, actually; it almost makes me wish that there were more truce-breakers for me to seek out.”

  Matt noted that there were a couple of nobles, seated a bit further away down the table, who seemed uncomfortable about their liege’s sudden enthusiasm for bandit-slaughter. He wondered if they were reassessing their own plans about cross-border raids in that light. It brought a smile to his lips as the meal began.

  From there, the conversation continued fairly well. The food was delicious, a fact that helped ease some of the pain in his injuries. Now that there wasn’t an impending invasion weighing on him, Matt felt himself relaxing slightly.

  At least, he was until Angru paused and gave him a secretive smile. He signaled for a toast, and the conversation of the nobility around the table faltered and faded as he stood. Angru raised a cup, his voice ringing out across the hall.

  “On this night of celebration and honor, I raise my cup to King Matthew, ruler of our Kingdom and my liege! Long may he reign!”

  The Orcs echoed the toast, though Matt privately hoped he wouldn’t have to be in the throne for that much longer. Angru continued in that same bright voice. “This victory has truly shown the strength of the Hard Scythe Clan! Our Westguard banners were at the forefront of the fight, and the stalwart warriors of the War Reapers were the ones to topple the cavalry of the enemy. Our own Lord Grufen, Margrave of the Kingdom, was the one who commanded much of the battle, and his courage, combined with our King’s wisdom, won us a triumph that will echo through the ages!”

  Again, the nobles raised their cups, a little more enthusiastically this time. There were smiles on almost every face, and Angru allowed their voices to fade only slightly before he continued. “Yet we did not win this victory alone, my brothers and sisters. Our arms were strong, but without the strength of the rest of the Kingdom, even we would have been buried beneath the numbers we faced. The discipline of the Crown Guard, the nobility of the other High Clans, and yes, even the before-unknown valor of the freeholders helped win the day.”

  A short silence fell, and Angru looked down. He continued with a heavy voice. “For many years, our Clan has faced the onslaught of our enemies alone. Our strength helped us to endure, to overcome, but we did so with barely any support from those who called themselves our friends. After so many battles, our strength was taken for granted, and we considered the possibility of forging our path alone.”

  Angru looked up, and his eyes burned with sudden feeling. “That time is over. The Kingdom has come to our aid, and become our true friends at last. Our King has not just demanded our obedience. He has shown us a path to true strength, one that we must be brave enough, strong enough to embrace. His wisdom has not just given us one victory. King Matthew has shown us a future where our Clan is brought to greatness in a way that none of us could have imagined before. One where our strength is joined to others, and where we are not alone in facing the dangers of this world. One where our sacrifices are not just seen and appreciated, but given the chance to help build a greater future for all of us.”

  The Orc paused, and the silence felt different this time. Matt risked a brief glance and saw every Hard Scythe’s gaze locked on Angru. Many of the Orcs were even leaning forward in their seats, their eyes burning with that same passion. What was happening?

  His question was answered moments later as Angru continued. “To embrace the greatness of that future, House Algru will now make the following proclamation. All serfs who owe their fealty to our House are hereby freed, to join the ranks of the Kingdom’s freeholders. All Houses within our Clan who owe us fealty are called to do the same, that the legacy of chains be broken within our homes.”

  Matt felt his eyes widen in shock. The Hard Scythes had thousands of serfs; next to the Red Moons and the High Imps, they held the most in the Kingdom. For them all to be freed…

  Angru did not pause. “It is a brand new day, brothers and sisters. We face new challenges, and the future is a new country for us to confront. Yet we will not do so alone. Beside our noble Clan, I would see the Low Folk stand beside us as our allies, as our friends, and as our fellow warriors. Others of the Kingdom have faltered when asked to face this change. Some were even forced to do it by our King.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The Orc looked around the table, his expression so determined that it made Matt wonder if Angru was expecting one of the other nobles to challenge him. “We are not such people. We are the Hard Scythes. Where others falter, we march. Where others hesitate, we stand firm! Where others pause, we rise! And while others balk at this new path, we, the Hard Scythes, will lead! For the Harvest!”

  “For the Harvest!” The cry tore from dozens of throats. Matt looked around in alarm and saw Grufen grinning at him. A servant, standing with a platter of food, was frozen in shock. Melren and Gorfeld were staring around with eyes as wide as they could go.

  Angru raised his cup again. “For the future!”

  “For the future!”

  “And for the Kingdom of Iron!”

  One last time, the nobles echoed their leader, and Matt joined them. A sudden rush of heat and joy spiraled through his heart, strong enough that the ache in his head ebbed for a few moments. All the blood, all the sacrifice, it was worth it, in that moment. It was another step forward, and a triumph that became all the sweeter as he noticed the servant still standing, tears on their face, as they realized what the speech meant.

  He met their eyes and nodded. A fragile smile appeared on the servant’s lips, and Matt turned back to see Angru watching him. They exchanged a brief salute with their cups, and Matt drank to the Orc’s health.

  The fight wasn’t over, not by a long shot, but he was winning.

  It took another two days for the healers to agree with Matt’s decision to return to Redspire, and in those two days it seemed like the entire city of Harvesthold had never stopped celebrating.

  The entire population had been swept into a fervor. Between the celebrations over the victory at the Ridge, followed by the wild feasts held in response to Lord Angru’s announcement freeing the serfs, the joy in the city seemed to have become a state of near-delirium. Music and dancing had swept through the streets, and spontaneous parades had been a common sight. Lord Angru had embraced the spirit of it; Gorfeld had reported that the Orc had been constantly out among the people, drinking and singing with them, whether noble or freeholder. If there had been any doubts about the man’s ability to lead his Clan before, there were none now.

  Of course, not everyone had been as convinced by Angru’s speech. There were already rumbles of discontent among the nobility, according to Gorfeld. Some were even complaining that the celebrations would disrupt the farmwork for the spring, as if anyone was going to be capable of stopping what some were calling the Festival of Liberation. Others were unhappy to see their serfs no longer under their control.

  Angru had offered the worst detractors a sop. He’d sent out a quiet announcement that if a noble had freed all their slaves, they could exempt themselves from military service by paying for three freeholders to serve in their place. Combined with an equally quiet announcement of new drafts to replace the losses in the Westguard and the War Reapers, many of the more self-interested among the Hard Scythe nobles abruptly found something convenient about the changes and grew quiet.

  All in all, Matt had no doubt that Angru would continue to face some challenges to his authority, and there would certainly be some disruptions among the Hard Scythes for a while, but they would have the time to figure it out. The Alliance wasn’t going to come back for a while after their losses, and by the time they did, Matt had other plans to deal with them. Even if he’d been tempted to ignore the Hard Scythes, he had a vested interest to make sure they were safe now. After all, the Broken Hills was now more than just another region under his control; it was now also the place where he could show the rest of the Kingdom the power of the changes he’d brought.

  Of course, to make any more progress, Matt needed to end this final war. To do that, he needed to return to his capital. So after those two days of healing, celebrating, and resting, Matt once again set out again for Redspire.

  The journey home was not an easy one.

  It wasn’t just Matt that rode for Redspire, of course. His lifeguards were coming with him, along with Melren and Gorfeld. Tanya, her attendants, and the former Heroes all came along as well, though the other Humans apparently had not learned how to ride anything yet. Riley seemed enthusiastic about riding one of the ‘doggies’, but the others looked at the Wargs and warbucks with more than a little uneasiness. Most of them decided to ride on a cart pulled by aurochs instead.

  They weren’t the only hangers on, either. Matt had brought the entire batch of prisoners along with him, guarded by the Crown Guard and Irregular banners that had fought at the Ridge. The banners of Shadow Hunters and Redguard which had fought there had come as well. Grufen had debated bringing the Westguard and War Reapers as well, but Matt had pointed out that they would be needed to hunt down the remnants of the enemy army, and guard the border with the Alterian Princedom. Instead, the Hard Scythe banners had sent a small group of soldiers, a handful from each banner to represent the rest as they marched into Redspire.

  All in all, he led a column of thousands through the roads towards home, with all the supply carts, scouts, and sentries that involved. After so many days of riding with just his bodyguards as company, it felt horrifically clumsy and slow, but there was no avoiding it.

  Their journey took them along a road that led to Heartlight, a rough journey that took three full days. Each bump in the road, each patch of mud that Nelson slipped on, drove a spike of agony through Matt’s wounds, but he held on with a stubborn determination. He wasn’t going to show any sign of discomfort, not when he had hundreds of exhausted men and women on the road along with him, most without the meager help of a mount to get them through the day.

  He didn’t pause for long in Heartlight. In fact, his column barely paused at all; Matt himself put in a quick appearance with the heads of the Red Moons Houses, shaking hands and then continuing on. The last thing he needed was for some upstart noble to get the idea of challenging him to a duel while he was still recovering from the battle. Fortunately, they mostly seemed to want to gawk at the enormous number of prisoners and ask leading questions about how the new serfs would be distributed. His refusal to commit to anything might have frustrated them, but the way his lifeguard seemed to be watching them like hawks discouraged them from asking many questions.

  The march to Redspire took another four days, but the army made fairly good time. Their marching songs were enough to lift Matt’s spirits, and for once, the weather seemed to be cooperating. No rain pelted them as they moved, and even the cold wind was starting to fade away into more mild temperatures. Roads that could have been muddy and cold were firm and easy to manage, and Matt could feel his wounds mending.

  So his mood was already fairly cheerful as the trees fell away, and the walls of Redspire rose ahead. Matt saw the towers of the castle rising in the distance and let out a short breath. He was home.

  The roars of the crowd rose above streets choked with people.

  Matt rode along with his soldiers, waving to the crowds as they shouted and cheered. Gorfeld had ridden ahead the day before, hoping to prepare the city, and it looked like his steward had once again outdone himself. The people of Redspire seemed more enthusiastic than they had after the Battle of Seven Princes, as if the sheer number of Alliance prisoners overwhelmed their fatigue from the costly wars they had endured.

  A messenger had asked Matt to divert from a direct course to the castle, and instead pass by Victory Square. It was a bit of a frustrating delay, but Matt understood it. The symbolism was important, and it would give the crowds the chance to spread out a bit more along the army’s route.

  Not that the people appeared to be taking advantage of that opportunity. They were packed in as close as they could be, with many once again reaching out to brush fingers across his marching troops. The troops that had already marched to Redspire with him before simply grinned and reached back; those who had been stationed elsewhere seemed a bit uneasy.

  Matt kept his attention focused on what was going on ahead of them. Another turn down an old road, and Victory Square was up ahead, with that tiresome statue. He sighed internally, once again making a note to tear the thing down.

  Behind him, he heard snorts of laughter from where the Heroes were riding. He restrained himself from looking back at them; a gust of cold air down the back of his neck told him that Tanya had noticed. Matt could hear her half-whispering something to the other Humans, and had to grit his teeth against the urge to glare at her.

  A familiar group was waiting for him at the base of the statue. Lord Torth was there, along with a cluster of nobles from the Council. They looked uncharacteristically tired and irritated. The source of their animosity might have been standing a short distance away. Voice Cholia had also come and was staring at Matt with an almost imperious glare. Voice Girtun was a few paces away, as if the former blacksmith wanted to avoid any association with his fellow Voice.

  Gorfeld was also present, looking for all the world like he hadn’t been riding alongside Matt for the better part of a week. Paralus was hovering at the edges of the group too, looking gratifyingly relieved at seeing Matt’s return. It was always reassuring when his supposed treaty partners were happy to see he had lived.

  Matt reached the edge of the square and dismounted. He walked up to the others, nodding to them. Gorfeld held up the traditional cup of clear water.

  As Matt reached out to take it, however, Cholia stepped forward. Her eyes were still blazing with the same internal passions as before. “Sire, we must sp—”

  “One moment, Voice Cholia.” Matt let enough iron leak into his voice that the Voice blinked. The nobles behind her abruptly smiled. Girtun just winced. She seemed to be searching for a reply when Gorfeld pushed the cup into Matt’s hands.

  “Once again, my liege, welcome back to Redspire. In celebration of your great victory over our enemies, I offer you this drink from the waters of our home.”

  Matt nodded to the steward and drank. It tasted just as gratifyingly fresh as he’d hoped. “Thank you, Gorfeld.” He handed the cup back and then turned to face the others. “Lord Torth, I would call a meeting of the Council as quickly as possible. We have much to discuss.”

  The High Imp noble’s eyes flickered with satisfaction. He bowed low. “Of course, sire. We will be assembled whenever you call.”

  “Give me an hour to shake the mud from my boots and then you’ll have my and Grufen’s report.” Cholia opened her mouth again, and Matt continued without looking at her. “The Voices are also invited to attend, if they find it convenient and necessary.”

  Girtun stiffened slightly; he’d heard that tone of voice from Matt before, after Matt had needed to speak with him about Tanya’s antics. Cholia, on the other hand, just closed her mouth with a snap and glared. Matt ignored her entirely, turning to Paralus.

  “Ambassador, I’m glad you reached Redspire safely. We’ll speak later today as soon as my business with the Council is done.”

  Paralus nodded. His eyes flicked to Cholia, and then back. “Of course, King Matthew.”

  Matt nodded. He wanted to pass on what he’d learned about the Alliance’s activities to Paralus and his liege back in the Circle of Echoes. He didn’t know if the Chief Magistrix would be able to do anything, but at the very least, she’d be interested in hearing about the fact that Alerios was definitely in the Alliance’s hands. It wouldn’t cost him anything to spread the word, anyway.

  He spent a few more minutes shaking hands and paused one last time to wave to the celebrating crowd. Then he headed back to Nelson, with Gorfeld trailing along at his heels.

  As he swung himself up onto Nelson’s back, Gorfeld took up his customary position beside the warbuck’s forelimb. The Imp seemed somehow more comfortable on his own two feet rather than riding the dogelk he’d used the past week. It did make speaking with him harder, though. “How bad are things, Gorfeld?”

  His steward didn’t glance up at him. “I felt it was safe to join you in Harvesthold because the nobles were mostly loyal and kept in check, sire, but perhaps I underestimated the amount of trouble that Voice Cholia has been causing. She’s been consistently countering any attempts to raise additional banners of Irregulars, or to introduce any taxes to support funding the war. It seems she’s been stalling multiple appointments as well, for what the nobility feel are spurious reasons.”

  Matt avoided a grimace as he and the column started moving again. “Are they spurious? Or is it just a difference of priorities?”

  Gorfeld didn’t answer for a moment. “It is possible that her concerns are sincere, sire. There are several clear instances where Voice Girtun would have objected as well, and others where she pointed out flaws in their approach.” Then he shook his head. “There are other cases where she seems to be stopping things as a form of leverage. I’ve heard rumors that some nobles can secure protection from her obstruction by providing… donations to her, or her allies among the freeholders. I haven’t been able to determine if they are accurate.”

  He grimaced. Not even six months in, and he already had a clear case of bribery and corruption. It had to be a record of some kind. “Look into it. We can’t let that process get started without a check on them.”

  “Yes, sire.” Gorfeld smiled. “The latest reports from Margraves Karve and Morteth have returned. They’ve been able to keep the Alliance forces from pushing north, and their positions are still secure. No armies are moving through the Grim Hollows, either. The Houses of Shadowfen are keeping a close watch there.”

  Matt nodded. He hadn’t expected the Alliance to try to march through the swamps during spring; if the mud had been awful on real roads, he didn’t want to see what supply lines through the Hollows now would look like. “Anything else?”

  Gorfeld glanced up this time. “Our treasury is truly starting to look depleted, sire. I’m not sure how much longer we can maintain the spending at this rate. Once we run out…”

  “I know, Gorfeld.” Matt breathed out a sigh. His steward had predicted that the funding would dry up by the end of spring. By that measure, he had barely half a dozen weeks left before things got really desperate. “If we have to, maybe we can pause our construction work. I’d rather not, but unless…”

  His words trailed off as he looked to his right on the road to the castle. Nelson’s hooves were clicking along on well-leveled brick now, instead of cobblestones. To the left were the normal clusters of jumbled streets and haphazard houses that marked the older portions of the city, but to his right…

  The Maiden’s House, as Tanya had managed to label it, was already getting close to completing its first building. It rose a full five stories, all grey stone and tall arches. From what he could see, all that they were missing now was the roof and some of the finishing touches. Imp stonemasons were clambering all over the thing, working away.

  Despite himself, Matt had to admit it was going to be an impressive building when it was finished. She’d planned another four wings along with the main building, but at the very least they could open this one with whatever art she’d conned out of the nobility. Maybe it would even keep people from rioting if food ran low.

  Beyond that, however, was a structure that caught his attention far more.

  The New Arsenal rose strong and solid, build from brick and mortar. The walls were already complete, and the only work still going on was on the four corner towers and the battlements. He couldn’t keep a smile from his face as he realized the thing was nearly finished; Parufeth had delivered ahead of schedule, perhaps. Matt glanced down at Gorfeld, still grinning.

  His steward grinned back at him. “Parufeth says that in a couple of days you’ll be able to station your soldiers there. He’s already ready to start on the next project.”

  The Imp gestured to the left, where there were already crews at work measuring the buildings there for demolition. Some of the former residents were standing nearby. They weren’t cheering; instead, they seemed to be dividing their attention between glares at the workmen and the column of soldiers. Clearly, not everybody was happy about the changes in the city. Hopefully that would change as his next project took shape.

  Either way, he couldn’t worry about it now. First, he had to make sure that the crises he was facing now were resolved. Maybe at that point he could finally enjoy a time of peace.