Halrec stood on the highest balcony of the mansion that had recently belonged to Lord Holder Tarelle, surveying Larreburgh and the surrounding land. The outer walls had long since been repaired after Emrael’s assault of the city, and had been strengthened significantly besides. The Malithii priests could tear down a stone wall just as easily as the Ordenan mages had done, so the Imperators and Crafters assigned to Halrec had erected a series of steel stakes and lighted fixtures outside the walls, all around the city perimeter. The bastards wouldn’t sneak up on them without one of their patrols or watchmen sounding the alarm first.
That wouldn’t help Halrec with the challenge that faced him today, however. He had just received a letter from Emrael, telling him that Lord Holder Tarelle had defected, and that he was offering to give the Tarelle Holding to Halrec—if he could hold it. Holding it was the issue.
“Commander Syrtsan, sir? They are waiting for you downstairs.” Captain Third Karran stood at attention in the doorway that led back to his study.
“How many came?” he asked.
Karran pursed his lips in thought before responding. “Fifty or so, sir.”
Fifty minor holders represented perhaps two-thirds of those he had summoned. More than he thought would come, given the circumstances.
The Watcher raids from the Paellar Holding in the north had grown more frequent and had ranged farther into the Tarelle Holding. A month ago, the Watchers had fled after only minor skirmishes. Twice in as many weeks, Halrec had fought brief pitched battles and had been fortunate to turn back the raiding parties after only minor damage to farmsteads in the north. He suspected that Emrael held the attention of the bulk of the Watchers and their Malithii allies for now, making a full attack on Larreburgh unlikely, but an attack from the north would come soon. He wasn’t sure he would have allied with someone in such dire circumstances.
“Have any of the scouts in the Tarelle Gap returned?”
“None, sir.”
Halrec cursed. “It’s been ten days. Something is wrong. If Corrande has sent an army across the Duskans…”
He stared at the giant canyon that wound its way through the looming mountains directly east of the city. Was that smoke wafting above the peaks that separated Iraea from the Corrande Province, or just a dark tendril of cloud?
If Corrande decided to march an army through the pass, there was little Halrec could do but retreat behind the walls of the city and prepare for a siege. Even with the reinforcements from minor holders he’d convinced to join him, he only had fifteen thousand men at his command, and perhaps half of those would have been up to Barros Legion standards. Many were middle-aged, or teenagers, or simply hadn’t been in so much as a brawl at a tavern. He had his officers training them night and day, but he knew that they would be a liability in a real battle.
“Commander Syrtsan, sir? They’re waiting for you in the grand hall.”
“Thank you, Karran. Lead the way.”
When he walked in, all fifty holders—the minor lords that with their oaths granted the Lord Holder of a Holding his title—rose to their feet to stand in silence as Halrec took his place at a small table set in front of the rows of chairs.
Halrec waved them back to their seats as he settled into his, embarrassed but pleased at the show of respect. “You all know the odds we face,” he began, surveying the room and finding mostly grey-haired men staring back at him. “And I think by now you know what I represent, and what Emrael Ire represents. What we fight for, and who we fight against. Many of you have already stood with me and my men, fought back the Watcher raids from the north.”
Halrec held up the letter from Emrael. “I’ve received a letter from Lord Ire. Lord Holder Tarelle has defected, betraying us all. Lord Ire has offered me the Tarelle Holding.”
He paused to gauge the reaction of the holders in the room. Those that had fought the Watchers with him had irrevocably thrown their lot in with him and Emrael. But supplanting a Lord Holder with hundreds of years of history as the ruling noble in the region was bound to raise a few eyebrows even still.
“With your support,” he continued, “I will accept, making this not just a military assignment, but my home as your Lord Holder. What say you?”
The room was silent for an awkward moment in which Halrec began to fear he had misjudged the intent of these lords who had come in response to his summons.
But then a small, slender man in the front row—Luran, one of the first to bring his entire garrison from his holding to the south—smiled and said loudly, “Aye.”
A chorus of deep voices echoed his, and Halrec didn’t hold back his smile. “Thank you, Lords. That’s enough for now. You should also know that our battle is soon to become a war. Bring your people here, all of them, and any stores you can transport quickly. You will be given space, wherever we can find it. I suspect we have weeks, months if we’re lucky, before Corrande leads a sizable force into Iraea. I think we will be his first target. They’ll try take Larreburgh, perhaps more, before the first snows fall. Count on it.”