Broken Rule | Chapter 28

This post is chapter twenty-eight of my not-previously-published epic fantasy novel Broken Rule, which I'm serializing here on Steemit.

The story so far:
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27

---

Tony Greenhouse woke Duke Gavril just before dawn. “Are you prepared to lead the assault against the goblins this morning, Your Grace?”

Gavril considered the question. Natasza had opened his eyes to many things the night before, and he now realized that he had no interest in leading an assault against goblins today. Really, no interest in goblins at all. “No. There's been a change of plan,” the duke declared. But what would he do instead? What did he want to do instead? For a long time he had limited himself by the expectations of others, followed their laws, their rules. Even when he had plotted against the king it had been done with an eye toward strengthening the kingdom. He saw now how foolish that was. It was time for him to start taking the things he wanted. “We're not hunting goblins any more. Have the men gathered, I wish to address them all.”

Tony dashed about the camp relaying the duke's orders, and the knights and officers cajoled, coerced, or berated their men until they all stood at attention, waiting for the duke. Gavril looked at his assembled men, longing for some sort of raised platform from which to address the group. That was the sort of thing that inspirational leaders always seemed to have in the paintings, and that was the kind of atmosphere he wanted to evoke here. He had to settle for his camp chair, which he lugged from his tent.

“Men, we've been fighting goblins and doing a damned fine job of it, but it bores me.” He paused for a moment to let that sink in. “There's a worse scourge in this kingdom than goblins, and I mean for us to address it.” A murmur ran through the crowd of assembled men. “Radoslav is old and weak. He's not fit to be a king to men such as us.” The murmurs intensified. “I say we put an end to that toothless old coward, and put me on the throne.” The men cheered this, some with fullthroated enthusiasm, some nervously, looking over their shoulders. Gavril hated those sort of men, he realized now, the kind of men who would wonder whether those who cheered too loudly or those who stayed too quiet would come out the worse in the end. He had been too much like them for too long. He had limited his plans and ambitions by what he thought others would be willing to accept, by some nebulous guesses that some acts were beyond the pale. No longer.

“I wager I speak for a lot of you when I say I'm sick to death of mountains. So now it's time for some fun. We're going to head out to Haverwood, take what we want from those Radoslav loving bastards, and burn it to the ground.” Another cheer went up, but it was more scattered this time.

“Your Grace,” said Sir Feodor Trebko from the front ranks. “Most of us knew you wanted the crown when we signed up. We wouldn't be here if we didn't think you'd be a better king. But a man shouldn't pillage his way to the throne.”

So, one of the weasels found his voice. “Come up here so all the men can hear you, Trebko,” Gavril said, stepping down from his chair to make room for the knight.

The young knight was confused for a moment, but then walked up next to the duke and stepped unsteadily onto the chair. He turned and faced the crowd. “Men,” he began. But Gavril drew his sword and ran it through the knight's back, and Trebko's speech concluded with a bloody gurgle as his knees buckled and he fell forward to the ground. He lay face down with Gavril's sword still sticking up from his back, like a grisly model of a sailing ship.

Gavril looked around and still saw some men who looked poised to object. “I'll have no traitors and have no naysayers. Radoslav has poisoned this kingdom for too long with his soft nonsense. We're men, and we're going to start acting like it. We're going to take what we want from Haverwood, and it won't be the end. And if any of you don't have enough steel in your spine to be a part of it, there are plenty of men here who know how to give it to you.” He took the hilt of his sword, still stuck in Trebko's back, and wiggled it for emphasis, smiling a predatory smile.

New cheers went up from the men, led by mostly by the mercenaries, tavern toughs, and former bandits who had joined Gavril's army for his reputation as a reliable paymaster.

“Long live King Gavril!”

“Haverwood burns!”

“Death to Radoslav, death to traitors!”

Gavril nodded in approval as he inspected his men. This was certainly preferable to wasting more time with the blasted goblins. There would probably be a few more doubters, but now his supporters were riled up enough that they were likely to take care of any problems. Gavril returned to his tent to visit with Natasza before starting the day in earnest.

---

By noon the men had all packed their gear in preparation for a long march. Gavril met with his officers, or what was left of them. Some of them had apparently sneaked away after his speech. “Should we send men out after them?” asked one of his knights. “If they were common men, they'd be considered deserters.”

“No,” Gavril said. “They're obviously too cowardly to stand against me directly, so that means I don't want them standing for me, either. And if they're too cowardly to fight, they're no real threat to me. What do I care if they wander about the hills? If they were taking men with them it would be a different story, but I think the chance for some real plunder has bought quite a bit of loyalty from this lot. There are advantages to fielding sellswords.”

“But how we will keep discipline without officers?”

“There are plenty of veterans here. I think it's time some of them got promotions. Truthfully, I'd rather have a man who earned his commission leading these bastards than the type that just inherited their titles.” He let that sink in for a moment. It would be useful to remind these men that they could be replaced if their loyalty wavered. “No offense to present company intended, of course.” Gavril saw from their expressions that they understood his meaning, and the implied threat. “Regardless, there ought to be plenty of fighting soon enough, more than enough for any man to distinguish himself. I don't expect much resistance from Haverwood, but that's no reason to be sloppy about it. Find some new officers to replace the ones who left and explain that they'll be the ones punished for any disorder while we loot the town.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” they said in unison. Gavril cocked an eyebrow and looked at them expectantly. “Your Majesty,” said one, and the others caught on and echoed him. Gavril took his horse to the head of the column and ordered his army to march.