Valkyrie's Shadow - The Paladin of the Holy Kingdom, Part III: Act 4, Chapter 12

Chapter 12

A chilly gust swept in from the sea and over the infantry column, sending locks of Lugo Agrela’s hair over his face. He brushed them aside with his fingers, focusing his gaze on the coast. Road conditions remained poor since the storm and a ceiling of dark clouds made improvements to travel conditions a dubious prospect, at best.

“Slow our pace by a half measure,” he ordered. “Make sure the Sergeants keep their men on the road.”

The man riding to his right – a Knight of House Agrela by the name of Ibarra – nodded.

“Understood, Lord Lugo.”

Lugo looked over his shoulder at the column stretching halfway to the horizon. Not long ago, the idea he would be leading so many men-at-arms would have filled him with a sense of chivalric pride, but now his mind was filled with other concerns.

They were lucky they hadn’t brought any wagons, as the men halfway down the column were already ankle-deep in mud. If they tried to make things easier on themselves by walking off to the side of the road, the local tenants would press charges for damaging their property. Transporting troops was normally done with ships in the Holy Kingdom and he didn’t envy Re-Estize and Baharuth for being stuck with the headaches of land-bound logistics every day.

Gomez, one of the ranchers screening ahead, stopped his mount and waited for the column to catch up. When they did, he nudged his mount into a walk beside Lugo’s.

“Someone’s up ahead. Dressed in city clothes.”

Another one?

Lugo peered up the road. Several minutes later, a silhouette appeared. It froze for a moment before fleeing into the field.

“Unbelievable,” he shook his head.

They had only travelled for a few hours, yet had come across dozens of men and women fleeing the conscription order from Hoburns. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t wrap his head around how shamelessly immoral some people could be.

“If you were called to serve,” Lugo asked Gomez, “what would you do?”

“I’d go,” the rancher answered. “I admit I’d be annoyed, though.”

“In what way?”

“Hmm…I suppose the way the army does things doesn’t sit right with me.”

The unexpected answer gave Lugo pause. He was half expecting something about unfairness or inconvenience.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Ah, nothin’ about you Nobles. Well, maybe. The army does things the way they do, and it ain’t how we ranchers do things. Any commoner who ends up in the army is handed a spear and told to hold the line. They could be using people like us as cavalry, but that’s not something for the rank and file.”

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Lugo said, “but there are more substantial reasons. The Royal Army can’t afford that many horses.”

Even before the war manning the wall to twenty per cent of its design capacity was a monumental struggle for the Holy Kingdom. Men were much cheaper to sustain than horses.

“You get what you pay for,” Gomez shrugged. “As for whether it’s worth it…well, we’ll just have to see about that shortly.”

The rancher urged his mount into a canter, returning to his position ahead of the column. Lugo frowned at his back as he rode off, silently digesting the dark tone of the man’s voice. As far as he knew, the attitudes harboured by Miss Baraja and her followers were never before noted in the entire history of the Holy Kingdom. Then again, never before had the Holy Kingdom been in its present situation.

As far as the conservative camp went, their position was still broadly one of firm, but peaceful, political opposition. Baraja must have realised that when she told him what she did before departing for Lloyds.

And, if it becomes a civil conflict, then what?

His faction was prepared to show their resolve, but it was a last-resort option. Too late, he realised that Baraja’s people had already reached the point where they considered the last resort their sole remaining recourse.

If a new choice presented itself, would they even recognise it? Or would it be seen as a stalling tactic; perhaps deception from the royalists? Lugo understood that his more traditional peers in the conservative camp would see any violence as a violation of diplomatic convention. This left him in an unenviable position as the Duke’s representative in the prefecture.

Lugo looked over his shoulder once again. He had three companies of men-at-arms while Baraja had one. However, that would quickly change when Baraja’s reinforcements arrived. Lugo had no practical way to stop her if she decided to attack the royalists, so he could only pray that cooler heads prevailed in the trial ahead.

The hours passed as they rode into dusk. Villagers in the settlements along the way looked curiously from their homes and many children came out to gape at them as they passed. As twilight was replaced by the light of the waxing moon, an elderly man from the fishing village ahead came out to meet him on the road.

“Is this the village of North Point?” Lugo asked from atop his horse.

“It is,” the elder said in a voice that was as wiry as he looked. “Miss Baraja stopped by on her way to Lloyds. Said someone named Lugo, Guerrero, and Carlos were going to arrive tonight.”

“Lord Lugo of Agrela,” Lugo introduced himself, then gestured to his left.

“This is Captain Guerrero. Captain Carlos and his men haven’t caught up with us yet, but they shouldn’t be long in coming.”

“I see,” the elder nodded. “Pedro, Chief of North Point. The westernmost one.”

Lugo smiled slightly at the Chief’s response. There were, in fact, five villages named North Point in the Holy Kingdom: three on the northern coast and two others on the south side of the central bay.

“Miss Baraja said that Lord Aston’s approved of your stay here,” Chief Pedro turned around to gaze at the coast. “We have plenty of free space on the beach, so feel free to make yourselves at home, Lord Lugo.”

“Excellent,” Lugo nodded. “Do you have stores of firewood we could purchase for tonight?”

“If you don’t mind burning damp fuel, plenty of driftwood’s washed up on the beach after that storm. You’re free to take as much of that as you’d like. The crabs, too.”

“Did you say crabs?” Lugo frowned.

“Crabs, Lord Lugo,” the Chief nodded.

With that, the old man turned around and tottered away. Lugo exchanged looks with the men nearby.

“Any idea what he meant by that?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Gomez urged his mount into a trot. Lugo led the column around the perimeter of the village, catching up to the rancher five minutes later. He looked down from the sandy escarpment in shock.

“A lot of crabs, eh?” Captain Carlos said.

“That’s just a bit of an understatement…”

The storm had washed up a wall of driftwood, which was teeming with countless crabs. Most were regular-sized, but several dozen were between a metre to two metres across.

“We can’t camp with those here,” Lugo said. “The village itself is at risk of being destroyed!”

“…destroyed by crabs,” Gomez said flatly.

“Lord Lugo isn’t wrong,” Captain Guerrero told him. “The Gyre brings all sorts of nasties to the north Coast. A village is lost to crabs out here at least once a year. Fortunately, the crabs don’t move on to the nearby villages until they run out of food on the beach, so the locals have plenty of time to get out of the way if Adventurers don’t show up.”

Gomez’s expression told Lugo that he didn’t believe the Captain’s claim in the slightest.

“What’s so damn special about these crabs?” The rancher asked, “Actually, you know what: how much is clearing up these walking meals worth as an Adventurer Commission?”

“Come to think of it,” Captain Guerrero said, “I recall something about being paid…”

Gomez and Captain Guerrero sent expectant looks in Lugo’s direction. Lugo spent a moment recalling his house’s commission tables.

“An infestation of Giant Crabs…one of this magnitude would open as a Gold-rank commission. Considering the distance to Lloyds and the time required to eliminate every threat, a metre-wide Giant Crab would be worth one silver. Two-metre crabs would be worth three.”

“Isn’t that too cheap for something that needs a Gold-ranked team to beat?” Captain Guerrero asked.

“Individually,” Lugo answered, “a Giant Crab can be safely dispatched by an Iron-rank team. Work like this is slated for Gold because the sheer number of crabs can easily overwhelm anything less than a Gold-rank team. As for the low rates, Adventurers keep the materials gained from commissions unless specified otherwise.”

“I see.”

Captain Guerrero turned to address his company.

“You heard the young lord here!” His voice boomed into the moonlit night, “We’re getting paid to eat! Spears and shields, three deep! Gomez, you’re on offence.”

Even as the Captain gave his orders, his company rushed to comply. They formed a small shield wall three men deep on the beach below while Gomez’s two squads of light cavalry rode ahead. Lugo, accompanied by Sir Ibarra, trotted their mounts down to join Captain Guerrero behind his company.

“What’s the plan, here?” Lugo asked.

“It’s simple, Lord Lugo,” Captain Guerrero replied. “The shield wall is the ‘fort’. Gomez’s men are the ‘raiders’. The raiders retreat to the fort if they bite off more than they can chew.”

“Are you certain things will go as you expect?”

“They’re just crabs,” the Captain shrugged. “Actually, it may not. Ranchers are great at dealing with Beasts, so Gomez’s men may wipe out the colony without us.”

Four crabs already lay motionless on the sand, their bony shells no match for the ranchers’ iron quarrels. Those that attempted to pursue the ‘raiders’ in retaliation looked like they had no hope of getting close.

Two kills later, Gomez charged the shield wall, a two-metre-wide crab scuttling after him. He performed a sharp turn, twisting around in his saddle to call out to them as he rode off.

“I hope you boys like sharin’, ‘cause that’s the only meal you get!”

Lugo gripped the hilt of his longsword as the Giant Crab – which must have weighed at least a hundred kilograms – smashed into the shield wall. Still, the company held firm. Shouts arose as spears stabbed at the stunned crustacean. Lugo sat aghast at the reckless stunt, but Captain Guerrero only grinned.

“Company, advance!”

Captain Guerrero’s company moved forward, their suits of scale mail glistening in the silver light. By the time they arrived at the driftwood wall, over a dozen Giant Crabs already lay slain while a dozen more chased the mounted crossbowmen around the beach.

Captain Guerrero hefted a spear and hurled it at a group of unengaged crabs foraging through the debris, skewering one of them. The others went into their odd, sideways scuttle, charging the infantry line.

“Brace!” The Captain commanded.

Unlike the first Giant Crab, the next group bounced off of the shield wall. Spears flashed to take advantage of the openings, though the largest crab quickly recovered. It slashed at the barrier several times with its oversized claws before opting to climb over it. A Sergeant and two of his men reacted immediately.

“「Thrust」!”

Three spears lanced in from the back of the formation, punching into the Giant Crab’s underside and knocking it off of the shield wall. It lay upside down, twitching as froth bubbled out of the holes in its shell.

They know Martial Arts…

The ranchers seemed competent enough, but the men of Captain Carlo’s company were even more so. Could every single one use them? Only one per cent of the Royal Army had been capable of such feats, so where did these men appear from, if so?

His questions aside, the royalists in Lloyds had little chance in combat against them without an overwhelming numbers advantage. By all reports, their retinues in the north were made up of hastily assembled groups of spares with a few experienced officers leading them.

“Mama crab’s come out!”

A set of ranchers crossed in front of the shield wall. On their tails was a Monstrous Crab that seemed to have come out of nowhere. Captain Guerrero grabbed another spear and sprinted around the left of the shield wall while the formation manoeuvred to face the towering threat.

“「Fortress」!”

The Captain’s spear blocked a claw twice his size. As he grappled with the huge crustacean, his men advanced from the flank. Their shields formed a protective roof over their heads as they attacked their foe’s legs and black bolts rained in from the ranchers surrounding Monstrous Crab, though they bounced off of its sturdy shell more often than they penetrated.

Clods of sand flew every which way as the massive beast tried to react to its assailants, but the conclusion was all but foregone. A few minutes later, it collapsed to the ground and the men drew back, lowering their shields to look up at their fallen foe.

“Lord Lugo,” Captain Guerrero propped his spear on the sand, “how much would you say that one was worth?”

* * *

By the time Captain Carlos arrived with his reinforcements, the feast was already in full swing. The men in the camp were at a loss as to what to do, so they recruited some fishwives from the village to help out. A huge fire was built and the Monstrous Crab’s five-metre-wide shell was placed atop it, serving as a giant pot. Troops and villagers both were gathered on the beach, partaking in the delicious bounty.

“We rushed over expectin’ a fight,” Captain Carlos said, “not a feast.”

“Well, we got both,” Captain Guerrero didn’t look up from the Giant Crab leg lying across his lap.

Lugo shook his head, eyeing the Monstrous-Crab-turned-cookpot. Alone, the huge creature was at least a high Gold-rank commission – roughly equivalent in Difficulty Rating to a single Hill Giant. The royalists probably had about as much of a chance against Captain Guerrero and his company as they did against the average Demihuman warband.

Once he ate his fill, Lugo looked around for the village Chief, finding him in one of the groups around the cookfire.

“Chief Pedro,” he said, “is there someplace nearby where we can gain a vantage on Lloyds?”

The elderly man gestured to the rocky rocky formation jutting out at the eastern end of the cove.

“You can see the entire city from the end of the cape,” the elderly man told him.

Lugo thanked the Chief before searching for Captain Carlos and Captain Guerrero. Sir Ibarra joined them with a small escort and they scaled the point to gaze upon the city in the distance. The moon was bright enough to distinguish most of the countryside between themselves and Lloyds. Lugo examined the surroundings through a spyglass as Baraja’s officers discussed their options.

“If it doesn’t rain on our asses,” Captain Guerrero said, “we should arrive at Lloyds before noon.”

“You sure you want to camp here overnight?” Captain Carlos asked, “The sentries on the city wall will notice us long before we get to the landin’.”

It was a valid point, and one Lugo had discussed with Captain Guerrero while their troops prepared for their march back in Bast. In the end, however, they decided it was better to arrive well-rested.

“It’s better to be relatively fresh than exhausted just as our opponents are waking up,” Lugo said. “I don’t believe the royalists have a chance either way, so we may as well keep morale up.”

“How does the landing spot look, Lord Lugo?” Captain Guerrero asked.

Lugo adjusted his spyglass, focusing on the stretch of beach between the city walls and the village to the east of it. Most of the northern coast had been pounded into sand by the relentless, Gyre-driven waves, so the location was more of a loose area they had picked out that was far enough from the city to strip the royalists of any defensive advantage.

“It’s littered with debris from the storm, much like the beach here.”

“…any crabs?”

“Not that I can see. We can–”

“Hold up,” Captain Carlos said. “I think we should get movin’, after all.”

Lugo lowered his spyglass, turning a frown on the rancher. Then, he followed the line of the man’s gaze to a set of sails billowing in the moonlight.

“You sure it’s not ours?” Captain Guerrero asked.

“Either way,” Captain Carlos said, “we’re supposed to secure the landin’, yeah?”

Lugo raised his spyglass again. The next galleon to Bast was due to arrive early in the morning, so reinforcements from Rimun showing up early wasn’t outside the realm of expectation. His field of view travelled to the ship’s stern, where the ensign of the Holy Kingdom fluttered in the wind. He cursed upon seeing what accompanied it.

“A band of vines with white flowers,” Lugo said. “House Horta. It’s a royalist ship.”

“There’s no way they ain’t noticed our little beach party,” Captain Carlos said. “Wait, another ship’s comin’ up behind it.”

Lugo scanned the horizon with his spyglass until he found the next vessel.

“I can’t make out the pennant,” he muttered.

“Yellow crescent moon,” Captain Carlos said. “Or maybe the sun sinkin’ into the sea?”

“Colours?”

“White on top, blue on the bottom.”

“Another royalist ship,” Lugo said, “but that house was assigned to a county in Kalinsha prefecture. It may be a supply ship heading past Lloyds.”

“Alright,” Captain Carlos said, “then what about the next one?”

With a deepening frown, Lugo shifted his spyglass until he found another galleon. Behind that one, another set of sails was coming over the horizon.

“…I think we should go,” Captain Guerrero said.

“I think so, too,” Lugo collapsed his spyglass.

The third galleon was sailing past North Point by the time they broke camp. Lugo clenched his reins impatiently as they set a brisk, but measured pace for their march.

“Why is there a royalist fleet here?” Captain Carlos asked, “Did they respond that quickly to us bein’ here?”

“That’s highly doubtful,” Lugo answered. “Even if they were informed of our arrival in Bast, it’s difficult to believe that they could muster a suitable response and deliver it to Lloyds in less than a week. Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless they knew something was going on before that. Information from Rimun for instance. It could even be a response to Los Ganaderos going over to the Duke’s side.”

There were any number of incidents that could have spurred the royalists to action. He couldn’t say that there was any real secrecy to what they were doing, either, as Merchants still flowed freely throughout the Holy Kingdom. As reprehensible as their methods were, there were few fools amongst the royalists and none of them were in a position of any importance. An army could have been prepared in advance and dispatched as soon as they knew where to send them.

“Not to throw cold water on your excitement,” Sir Joam said, “but it may simply be a coincidence. Ships travel together for safety all the time, and the royalists have a greater distance to sail.”

“Did Lord Aston say anything about the royalists’ logistics?” Captain Carlos asked.

“Honestly,” Lugo answered, “I didn’t think to ask. Large, seafaring vessels are so scarce nowadays that one wouldn’t expect fleets of them to appear.”

“All the more reason to travel together,” Sir Joam said. “Losing even one to a monster would be a blow that they won’t recover from anytime soon. They may also have separately put into port to wait out the other day’s storm, then departed together.”

It seemed that the ships could have shown up as they had for any number of reasons. Lugo turned his spyglass to the coast, where a fifth ship was overtaking the column. He scanned the length of the vessel, searching for any indication of its cargo.

“They’re sitting too high on the water to be fully loaded with anything normally shipped to the north,” he said.

“So…men?”

“Men and their provisions, if it is.”

“They may be loaded with conscripts bound for the wall,” Sir Joam offered. “No one’s silly enough to send troops overland unless they’re in Kalinsha Prefecture.”

Lugo nodded. It seemed like the most reasonable explanation. His frown didn’t leave him, however, as yet another disturbing possibility came to mind.

“What if the conscription order was drawn up to put down the conservative faction?”

“Hah?”

The officers travelling alongside him all turned their dumbfounded gazes upon him.

“When I first heard about it in Bast,” Lugo said, “I thought the royalists were spiting us by not relaying the Holy King’s edict. What if the true reason was that they were going to be deployed against us?”

If that was the case, then the royalists were so many moves ahead of the conservatives that their efforts seemed hopeless.

“But we haven’t done anything wrong, Lord Lugo,” Sir Ibarra said. “Why would the crown–”

“The crown has been anything but rational as of late if you haven’t noticed, Sir Ibarra.”

“But there must be a motive,” the Knight said, “however irrational it may be.”

“We can spend all day making guesses and it wouldn’t matter,” Lugo said. “It could be as simple – and insane – as our continued push for more reasonable domestic policies being judged as treason.”

The last set of sails disappeared over the horizon before the column had made it three kilometres out from North Point. Fears filled Lugo’s mind as they marched on in silence. Bast could have been invaded while its defenders were away. Or ships could be lying in ambush for Baraja’s reinforcements.

A few hours later, Lugo cursed to himself as Lloyds came into view, revealing all five galleons in the harbour. Three were moored and disgorging men while the other two were anchored offshore as they awaited their turn in port.

“Well,” Captain Guerrero said, “that narrows things down immensely.”

“The question now is who they’re offloading,” Lugo said. “I know what you said about fighting southern retinues, but what will you do if faced with conscripts?”

The two Captains shared a long look.

“That’s a question for Miss Baraja to answer,” Captain Guerrero said. “But if I understand our plan correctly, wouldn’t the army being here mean that the Paladins can use them to help investigate the royalists?”

“If they’re here explicitly for us,” Lugo said, “that muddies the issue. The royalists will impede the Holy Order’s procedures with claims of conspiracy and such, using the Royal Army’s orders as proof.”

“…and what can we do about that?”

“Nothing when we’re five kilometres outside the city. Those damn royalists are probably pressing their case right at this very moment to preempt any of our attempts to sway the Holy Order.”

“Miss Baraja came in ahead of ‘em,” Carlos said, “so things may not be as grim as you think.”

That part worried him more than anything else. War hero or not, she would only be a lone woman against a small army. If they captured Baraja and held her hostage, there was a strong chance that her people would probably stand down. If she was imprisoned, it could kill the momentum of her following’s campaign.

“Looks like they’re formin’ up,” Captain Carlos said.

Lugo peered through the darkness before raising his spyglass again. How in the gods’ names could the rancher see so far?

“What do you see, Lord Lugo?” Sir Ibarra asked.

“Royal Army banners,” Lugo sighed.

Men streamed out of the city’s western gate, forming up below the walls. Several hundred of them already formed neat ranks, yet there was no end in sight to the troops coming to bolster their lines.

“We must assume that every galleon was loaded with soldiers,” Lugo said. “I don’t see much in the way of cavalry on their side. Five southern galleons can transport somewhere in the neighbourhood of three thousand men, plus the forces that were already stationed in Lloyds before their arrival.”

“Then what’s the plan?” Captain Carlos asked.

“I don’t fancy entertaining them where they are,” Lugo said.

“We don’t have to,” Captain Guerrero told them. “They haven’t realised where we’re headed, yet.”

Lugo’s eyes went from the city to the shore. The Captain was right. Their goal wasn’t to reach Lloyds but to secure the beach two kilometres west of it. The royalists were positioning themselves directly beneath the city walls, oblivious to their opponents’ objective.

“How shall we approach this…” Lugo mused, “They’re protecting the gate because we’re using the road. If they see us diverting to the coast, they’ll figure out what we’re up to.”

‘This battle is ours to take,” Sir Ibarra said. “And nothing says we must take it at all.”

“He has a point,” Captain Guerrero admitted. “We don’t have to be where we need to be until we need to be there. Sitting on the beach waiting for our reinforcements will give the royalists the high ground to set up on as they please…though we could–”

“They’re movin’!” Captain Carlos called out.

Below the city walls, thousands of spearheads glinted in the moonlight as the royalist ranks advanced.

“But their troops are still coming out of the gate…” Lugo furrowed his brow.

“Our reinforcements are here,” Captain Guerrero said.

Lugo looked north, scanning the horizon for a new set of sails, but he saw none.

“I don’t see…shit.”

The curse left his mouth as his eyes rested upon the cape behind them. An observer at Lloyds would spot any vessels rounding the craggy point before they did.

“Let’s move!” Lugo said.

“What about the fields?” Sir Ibarra asked.

Lugo pointed ahead of them.

“We’ll use the road over there. I hope the allies don’t mistake the royalists for their beachhead.”

“I’d be more worried if they mistook us for the royalists,” Captain Guerrero laughed.

Within minutes, the sails of another galleon appeared from behind the cape. Lugo raised his spyglass, focusing on the bow of the vessel.

“It’s the Dancing Duchess,” he said. “Our reinforcements.”

They picked up their pace, but it still didn’t seem fast enough. His studies never covered this part. Be they gripping epics or sterile histories, the tales of old never recounted the spaces between moments in history. Time seemed to crawl by as they raced for the beach and they seemed to gain no ground on their opposition no matter how he willed it.