B2 Chapter 59: To Whom it May Concern

The duke's eyes bored into Marcus for a long time, seeming to evaluate whether or not to toss the bard into the hall right then and there. It wasn't entirely unexpected. He had just proposed that the man commit treason against Novara. Even if the king was a lazy and gluttonous fop who would drive the country to ruin, knowing that and actually doing something about it were two entirely different things.

Eventually, the duke closed his eyes. He let out a long sigh that spoke of a bone-deep weariness.

"I cannot say that I am completely blind to your reasoning." The man admitted tiredly. "However… that does not change anything. Even if more and more of my people die each day in a pointless and prideful war, even if the king were incompetent… there's not much I can do about it. I swore an oath of fealty to the king—a System-enforced one. I can't disobey his orders any more than a raindrop can refuse to fall. Not without catastrophic consequences."

Gaius cleared his throat. Both men turned to look at the Legionnaire as he finally joined the conversation.

"That is not entirely true. I have made it a point to study the System and its workings. System oaths of fealty are binding, yes, as long as orders are reasonable and within the bounds of the agreed-upon terms. But there are several conditions under which oaths may be shifted or broken. Cases of betrayal, being one such, are to be adjudicated by the System. But also, upon being conquered, there is an option to offer an oath to your new liege instead."

Marcus blinked. He had indeed entertained many questions from both Tiberius and Gaius about System matters. However, this was a level of detail that he hadn't spoken on, in part because he wasn't aware of it. Evidently, Gaius really had been doing his own research.

The Duke nodded slowly. "You are correct. However, doing so would require my house and forces to fall to the conquering army. It would also come with significant penalties to me and my territory."

"Or you can surrender." Gaius said simply. "It would accomplish the same result without bloodshed."

The duke glared at Gaius as one might an arrogant child. "Surrendering would imply that I do not believe I can win."

Marcus jumped in before the two began to fight. "Not necessarily. It can also imply that you believe another arrangement to be more… desirable than the one you have with the king. After all, whether Novara falls to the orcs or to internal strife, we both agree that it will fall. Why not take a chance to secure the safety of your people before that happens?"

"You are making a lot of assumptions." The duke said. "Both of you. Ones that I'm not certain I appreciate.

Marcus internally grimaced. He looked toward Gaius, communicating silently with his eyes. He'd offered up a lot of information about the Legion and its origins during this conversation. For good reason, of course. Everything he'd said was calculated to increase the duke's chance of taking them seriously as a threat and as a nation.

Yet they had one more card to play. One that he didn't feel comfortable offering up on his own.

Gaius held his gaze, seeming to understand Marcus's implied question. Then he sighed and reached into the pouch at his waist. Marcus saw the duke tense slightly for a moment before the Legionnaire produced a folded note.

"It seems that we are in no position to convince you of the Legion's strength." Gaius said. "Fortunately, there is a source that you may find more reliable."

He offered up the note. The duke hesitated for a moment before reaching out and accepting it. He unfolded the paper, his eyes widening slightly as he scanned over it.

"That," Gaius explained, "Is a breakdown of the Legion's capabilities and military strength as understood by your daughter. Complete with quite detailed sketches of our siege weaponry and equipment and a few details about her own situation. Although I will admit that her knowledge is lacking in many areas, I believe that the picture she paints is accurate enough."

"She tried to slip this note into your chamberlain's coat." Marcus headed off the question that was certain to come. "Tried being the operative word there. Nevertheless, I believe that allowing it to come into your possession may honestly be beneficial."

The man looked at them over the edge of the paper before reading it over a few more times. Marcus didn't doubt that he'd question the veracity of the note. However, it was in his daughter's hand, which certainly worked in their favor. While the work could have been accomplished through the services of a skilled [Forger], it certainly would be a lot of trouble to go through to deceive someone they were not actively at war with. Also there was the family codes she had embedded in the letter to boost its credibility.

Frowning, the duke folded it back up and tapped it on the edge of his desk. "I don't particularly appreciate some of the details about her treatment at your hands, though I suppose that things could certainly be much worse. But if anything, their inclusion speaks towards the validity of the note. The claims she makes are... hard to believe. But I find myself inclined to do so."

The duke leaned forward. "Answer me this. For what purpose have you built such terrifying things as these siege engines? What manner of craftsman do you have among you that can construct such things?"

Gaius shook his head. "You misunderstand. These are not even the most impressive of our constructions. Already our weapons have advanced far, far past where they were when she saw them."

Marcus hid his grimace. He was pretty sure that was a bluff—but it was a bluff that Gaius seemed to believe in enough that any truth-detection skill wouldn't reveal it. Only a vague gut feeling told Marcus to be suspicious of the Legionnaire's projected certainty.

"Now, you can take this information and use it to prepare a defense, or even offer it up to the king to develop a battle strategy against the Legion." Marcus said. "Or you can take it as evidence of our claims and use it as impetus to surrender. I can assure you, that is far more preferable than the alternative. As the late baron unfortunately discovered."

The Duke rubbed his temple with a sigh. "What you suggest—that I commit treason by surrendering and throwing my hat in with your lot… This is not a decision I can make on a whim. You have intrigued me, for certain. However, I have other priorities. The safety of my family being first and foremost."

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"Of course." Marcus agreed easily. "Regardless of your decision, we will be happy to return them to you for the agreed upon sum."

"But know that if you do not surrender now, you may find yourself having to protect them personally in the near future." Gaius added ominously. "And in Rome, once an offer to surrender is spurned, it is rarely offered again."

The threat made the duke's eyes flash briefly, but the man got himself under control. "Hrmph. Then let us put this matter aside for the moment."

***

After a comparatively brief discussion about the specifics of the ransom and the release of Mariella and her daughter, the bard and the soldier were ushered out of the duke's study. The bard offered one of his performative bows, his rich cloak swirling dramatically behind him, while the soldier seemed to think before offering a curt nod.

The door clicked shut behind them. With a deep sigh, the man finally allowed himself to relax and lean back in his chair. His gaze drifted up toward the ceiling as he considered the words of the two men who had come before him.

On their face, they were absurd. The blustering claims of two young upstarts who thought they could take on a kingdom. And yet…

The duke closed his eyes. He had harbored doubts about the king's leadership for longer than he'd like to admit. The arrogant fop thought of nothing but his own comfort and excesses, leaving the actual work of running the kingdom to his corrupt advisers. It was an open secret among the nobility. And while he lowered himself to bow and scrape before the man, it was only because he lacked a real alternative. He needed to stay in the regent's good graces if he wanted any chance of aid. Or if he wanted his men to survive the war. The man was nothing if not vindictive.

In contrast, this discussion had been astonishingly cordial, especially considering its contents. He'd never expected a discussion of ransom terms and treason to proceed so amicably. True, that the young Gaius fellow seemed a bit standoffish and prideful, but not as openly hostile as he may have expected. More… matter-of-fact. Unwilling to give respect that hadn't been earned.

All in all, he was relatively satisfied with how things had gone. The only real tragedy was the death of his son-in-law. He'd been grooming the young baron as a potential heir—a fallback of sorts, given that his other sons were far more interested in fighting or fucking than the day to day running of a noble estate. He had been a good man. But unfortunately, tragedies were a fact of life. Sometimes Zabit demanded tribute and would not be denied.

The duke closed his eyes. He would be well within his rights to seek vengeance. Yet he wasn't eager to send what few men he had remaining to another battle for the sake of pride alone. Not unless he saw a practical benefit to such a course of action. Besides, the seizure of Hausten and slaying of the baron wasn't done as a slight to him or his family, nor out of malice. It was simply business. After speaking to these Romans, he was certain of it.

He wasn't going to forgive and forget, of course. But nor would he burn his own territory to the ground to try and set this Legion aflame. A stance that he was certain his daughter would object to.

He shook his head and began to rise from his chair. Charles would be taking care of the final ransom arrangements and putting together payment. Assuming there was no trickery at play, Mariella and her daughter would be in his care soon. And he intended to ensure she was provided every comfort that she had lacked over these last few weeks. Besides, he could hardly focus on work at the moment. He needed some time away from his desk to think.

But before he'd even finished standing, a knock came at the door. Charles peeked his head in apologetically.

"Milord, sorry to interrupt. I know you said no visitors, but a letter from His Majesty has arrived."

The duke waved off the chamberlain's apology. "It's fine. Bring it here."

Charles stepped into the room and quickly made his way to the duke's side. He produced a crisp white letter embossed with a blood red seal. Its surface bore the ornate crown and staff that were the widely recognized symbols of his royal highness.

With the letter delivered, Charles bowed and quickly retreated to the door. The duke frowned as he left. The man had seemed… tense. More so than he had even during the ransom negotiations.

Putting the thoughts of his prior meeting aside, the duke slid a dagger from his belt and cut open the top of the letter. Pulling out the crisp piece of paper, he began to read. It didn't take long before his expression began to darken. With each line, he felt his mood slip further and further into blackened anger as his grip began to tighten.

By the final line, the duke's fists had crumpled the edges of the letter in his hands. He growled, balling it up and hurling it across the room before slamming a hand on his desk in frustration. Something cracked, the sound rousing him from his rage. This desk was older than he was. The idea of damaging it was unpleasant, to say the least. Hopefully it wasn't anything too bad.

The duke let out a long, slow breath to collect himself. Then, he rose and began to pace. The insults, the blame, the demands that were hilariously divorced from reality—it was the culmination of everything he hated about their great king. It was too much.

Redcliffe was already holding on by a mere thread. There was no way he could possibly comply with increased taxation and levies at the level that was being asked of him. He didn't have more to give. Something that the buffoon either didn't know or simply didn't care about. In fact, the only reason he'd managed to stave off an invasion of his own lands was because the neighboring countries were recovering from wars of their own, both internal and external.

The slow drain of decades at war had pushed them to the brink. And this? This would kick them straight over. It would be the end of their family, one way or another.

Which meant the king had left him no choice.

The duke stopped in the middle of the room and closed his eyes. The significance of what he was about to do weighed heavy on his shoulders. But he'd always been a family man. Before his liege, before his country, he would take care of his own. Whatever the cost.

In a few quick steps, he was back at his desk. He didn't even bother to sit as he snatched a blank piece of paper and a pen from its surface and began to write. The hurried script came out less refined than his usual penmanship, its lines more angular and jagged, but he didn't care. Nor would its recipient.

My son,

I pray that these tidings find you well. I have heard much talk of how cold the mountains are at this time of year. As such, I hope that you have not forgotten the red cloak I bequeathed unto you so long ago…

The letter went on and on. To a casual observer, it seemed like an inane enough bit of correspondence between a father and his eldest son, speaking about common things like the weather and the state of things around the manor. But the mundane phrases merely served as cover for the true message, encoded in the language the duke and his family were all fluent in.

The king has chosen to cast us aside. Pull your troops back and return home immediately. We have need of you.

The duke sealed the letter with his signet. His oldest son had been his general since the day he turned twenty-one. A true tactician, he led their armies in the field against the orcs in one of the most battle-heavy fronts to protect Bathel's Gap, the long path through otherwise impassible mountains. It didn't lead straight to the capital, but was certainly one of the easier paths there.

"Let's see the king deal with the consequences of his own decisions for once." The Duke muttered darkly.

He held the letter in his hands. It felt heavy, as though the slim piece of paper weighed more than his own sword. It might as well have. Its contents would hurl him into a situation that he could not turn back from.

Heading for the door, the duke continued to think. Once he had his troops here, what exactly did he plan to do with them? That was the real question. Would he simply defend himself from the king's possible retribution? Or would it be better to deal with the other threats at his doorstep? After all, his neighbors weren't in any better situation than he was. And he happened to have an idea of who he might turn to for a timely alliance.

Perhaps it was time for the Redcliffe duchy to expand again.

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