Rebellion - 13 (Patreon)

"Finally finished playing with that mage and your traitorous little friends, are you?" Tulvan asked the moment I stepped into her command tent, lounging nonchalantly in a plush armchair some poor bastard had to lug all the way here. She even took a moment to sip from a glass of wine, looking the very picture of a spoiled noble, as she met my eyes. "About time. Having heard the excuses of the Mistmantles, I would hear yours. Why, exactly, did you allow Godfrey's escape? Was your vaunted magic not enough to break a flimsy bridge of ice?"

It was easy enough to tell she hadn't let up on Isolde or Howard while I was busy healing the wounded; despite their best efforts, neither of them looked comfortable in their positions across from her.

Not that I could blame them.

Tulvan's tent, pitched in the remains of Godfrey's camp as if she was marking her territory, was just as ostentatious as the chair. All the comforts of her status brought to bear that had been lacking on our march northward. Portraits, many of Archbishop Adam, hung from the support structure alongside a great assortment of maps detailing Gilneas.

Her lords, who were plentiful and watching with varying degrees of interest and amusement, weren't really helping with the atmosphere either. Literally, in some cases, as several of the older lords indulged in nauseating tobacco and filled the tent with smoke, though most merely muttered how they would have done better.

All of this was a power play, through and through, and I was honestly done enough after the last week that I didn't care to play her game like I normally would. "Would you mind clearing the air, please?" I asked softly, but still audibly enough.

Tulvan raised an eyebrow as I ignored her, then the other as a rippling wind rushed through the tent and carried the smoke away.

"Have you ever tried to argue with someone, only every time you try to speak someone on the sidelines shoves a sock into your mouth?" I asked rhetorically; as if she had ever had to deal with something like that. "The most rancid, nauseating sock you can imagine, and you can't physically stop them. Just spit it out and say something different. Nor can you stop talking, because if you do, the sock-shover will take up the argument as well."

"A curious analogy." She said neutrally.

"What in the world do socks have to do with magic?" One of the less subtle lordlings muttered a little too loudly, earning a few glares and a chorus of much more hushed whispers.

"Being counterspelled might be more pleasant than being shot, by a small margin, but it isn't much less frustrating." I waved a hand, forming a trail of star lights which I set adrift around the tent. Fresh air, better lighting, much more pleasant, and decidedly less Tulvan's domain. "Were I to take a break from being countered, from having a rancid sock shoved into my mouth, we would be under magical assault ourselves. Frankly, Tulvan, I am exhausted."

She sipped from her glass slowly, making a point to look me up and down, and her expression shifted ever so slightly towards condescending disapproval; possibly even disgust.

Bitch. I knew I still looked like shit, but I had people whose lives I could save so I didn't stop.

"Your reason for falling for Godfrey's trap?"

"Merringale wanted to accept to stall for time." I said bluntly. "As commander, it was his decision. Why I went with him? I have a slight grudge against the bastard for wrecking my home and wanted to see him squirm." In hindsight, it wasn't a good reason. I had some business being there, as the one most familiar with the Golden Cross' concept, and as the sole magic user on our side, but my actual reason for choosing to go was bad. "I could say that I went for other reasons, but it'd be a lie."

"At least you chose to be honest." She smirked at me, sitting up in her chair and putting the glass aside. "I can understand spite as a motivator, and even I underestimated Godfrey's duplicity. Geoffrey!"

A young man, little older than me, with brown hair and the carefully trimmed beginnings of a beard, stepped up eagerly. "Yes, Grandmother?"

"This concerns your first command, Geoffrey." She marked out our position on the map in front of her. "The main force will march down to the confluence of the Tul and Ember rivers, securing the crossings or burning them out as we go. From there the goal will be the confluence of the Ember and Northgate rivers – at which point we will threaten the capital."

Tracing the line down the rivers cut a third of Gilneas off from the rest of the kingdom, almost everything from the capital eastward. And outside of the Duskmist Plains, sheltered behind the Duskrocks, all but a fraction of the populated and fertile lands.

And vitally, all of the mines of the Ember Hills. The Blackwald would be no less impassible for Genn's armies than the rivers were, and the forest held sway from the Northgate River all the way south to the narrow strip of cleared coastal cliffs on which Stormglen sat.

"However, this leaves a great extent of land to our rear which must be seized and controlled. No doubt Godfrey's army was largely drawn from these lands, but some will remain." Tulvan tapped Godfrey's personal estate and a few other major townships. "Crowley will handle much of it but we are in a better position for what lies north of the Ember."

"And we can hardly allow Crowley to take it all for himself!" Geoffrey puffed loudly. "I would rather be on the front lines with you to avenge Uncle Adam, Grandmother, but if you wish for me to enact revenge upon Godfrey then I shall do so gladly!"

Glancing at Tulvan's grandson I could scarcely suppress a frown, wondering just how like his grandmother he would be in exacting revenge upon people who didn't deserve it.

"I'm sure you'll do your father proud, Geoffrey." Tulvan smiled at him wanly before flicking a hand at Isolde, then Howard, and at last me. "These three will join you. We've little need for Crowley's militia any longer–"

A lady stood, raising a glass into the air. "Hear hear, we can fight our own wars!"

"The dales were the last to break, and the first to rally." Another added proudly.

"Avenging the son of the dales, and the dawn's chosen!"

"Too long has it been since the dales have run with the blood of tyrants." An old man declared darkly. "We'll hang all those that would support the wronging of our kin atop the hills as was done a millennia ago!"

One man slammed back his drink and puffed himself up arrogantly. "I say we need not wait for the shade lords to rally, nor the ash seekers! With the might of the north behind us the soft riverlanders will run and hide like their lord did!"

As her lords echoed the sentiment that they could, and would, fight and win this war alone if needs be, Tulvan took up her glass to drink again. Grimly smug satisfaction radiated off of her as her lords rallied to her cause.

Looking at Isolde I rolled my eyes. "Bloodthirsty, aren't they?" I spoke softly, trusting the wind to carry my words to her. "And rude."

"They're wind-blasted fools." She replied solemnly, eyes flicking between me and Tulvan. "It's to be expected. The roaring up here could drive anyone mad."

"Isolde!" Howard hissed at her, utterly appalled. But Isolde just covered her mouth and giggled softly.

Whether the duchess took offence, or even heard, she didn't remark on it. Simply letting her lords get it out of their systems before continuing. "As I was saying, we've little need for Crowley's militia any longer, and with the little witches who've crawled out of their dells, whether under that mockery of good heraldry or not, we've no need for a miracle healer either. Take those men Crowley lent me and return to your master. I won't even pretend to order you to act sensibly as you do, but remember, girl, we are at war."

I snorted, making a point at picking at one of the bloodstains on my dress. "The last week rather made that clear." I said snarkily; just because I wasn't a monster didn't mean I was an idiot. I turned to the Mistmantles, we'd need some degree of plan for this. "How soon will we be ready to–"

"Oh, I do believe you misunderstood." Tulvan said, amused condescension dripping from her voice. "They will of course be going also, but one force is far too few to manage all of the Riverlands." Emptying her glass she handed it off to a servant and stood, looming a solid six inches over me. "With how important you are we can hardly leave you inexperienced in command, can we?"

What.

"A simple task to see that you understand the demands of command." She said, clasping her arms behind her back and moving to stand mere inches away from me; so close I had to crane my neck to meet her eyes. "It is not as if you haven't tried to do so already – after all, who was it that foolishly decided to spare that mage whom we have no ability to hold?"

She was setting me up to fail, to make some horrid mistake that she could lord over me and use to put me in my 'place'. If it wasn't clear enough from her condescending tone, the chuckling that spread amongst her lords made it painfully obvious.

Well, I had the respect of the majority of the force. Or at least I was fairly sure I did, which was... something. "Understood, Lady Tulvan." I replied irritably as I offered a perfunctory curtsy.

Tulvan sniffed, returning to the map. "With my grandson, that will make three groups; the northern reaches are most similar to the dales and as such he will handle those. Familiar ground in which to earn his spurs, while the forests are more suited to your company..."

With planning underway, the sniping and power plays fell away to a minimum, leaving us free to organise resupply and what paths we would take.

Along with just how many prisoners we'd take with us, far away from the front lines. Including the mage I really would rather never see again – Archmage Arugal better blood appreciate me dragging his sorry arse back to the wall.

-oOoOo-

"I am even less enthused by this than I was to begin with." I grumbled as I flopped down on top of Vivi in our tent, wriggling and crawling for a more comfortable – and softer – position on her chest. "Supply wagons, payrolls, order of march, weapon checks, guard rotations, keeping discipline... Giving orders."

Tulvan had thrown me into the deep end and entirely ripped out the command staff I'd been used to working with. She'd commandeered Commander Smith to serve as her grandson's second, a more neutral option than any of her own lords, and that meant it was me, Vivi, Hannah, and a bunch of veteran soldiers that had bugger all to do with the paperwork and organisation of an independent force.

Not for a single sodding moment had I expected to end up in command of a proper force without anyone else involved. I was a witch, yes, but that meant I was suitable for giving advice, not taking over from someone properly trained for leadership.

Vivi let out a short laugh. "You give out plenty of orders, Gwen. And it's not like this is the first time; you went cultist hunting only a few months back, remember? Didn't even bring me that time."

"'S different." I mumbled, putting aside the lingering guilt I felt from hearing hurt in her last words. "Left that to Sergeant Fallan, just directed us where to go. Didn't have paperwork." I sighed and wrapped my arms around her before she could argue further. "I know. It's more a matter of scale and I've got sergeants to pass responsibility off to still... but it's still a pain."

It was a stupid oversight. If I intended to be a hero, a champion, of Gilneas, like Jaina was for Theramore or Brann was for the Explorer's League, then people were going to look to me for leadership at some point. I should've paid more attention to what Isolde and Caleb were doing, how Tulvan managed the march. Not been so caught up in my magic, my role, that I didn't take the time to learn other skills I'd need in the future.

Tulvan had almost certainly just done this to teach me a lesson, probably something about how being merciful would hurt my people, but that didn't mean I couldn't learn other things.

Just that right now I really didn't want to.

Vivi pulled my head up, meeting my sleepy eyes. "What's left that needs doing?" She asked.

I blinked blearily at her. "Huh?"

She puffed out her cheeks, then leaned down to kiss me, which worked wonders for waking me up. "What's left that needs doing? It's not like I'm not going to help."

"Oh." I smiled as I felt a blush spread across my cheeks. Stupid, of course Vivi'll help. "Uh, I've sorted out the provisioning and arranged the guard rotation for the prisoners, but there's still the outrider patrols and how we'll actually tackle the villages when we get there."

Snuggled into her embrace, soft hands stroking my head and back, we hashed out what still needed to be done before we broke off and made our own way back eastward.

-oOoOo-

Over the course of the campaign through the Northern Headlands the initial thousand men that had left Crowford had been whittled down to a bare five hundred, mostly from being left behind as guards and garrisons. Less than three dozen had died based on the records we had which both felt like too many and... astonishingly few.

Adding in Isolde's Merrowfall soldiers that brought the numbers back up to six hundred or so, which got split evenly in two between us. Three hundred men was a lot to be directly responsible for, to have the duty of keeping fed, warm, on track, and disciplined as we moved through hostile territory... but with just how uneventful, how simple, things were turning out, I was beginning to think I had massively overcomplicated the preparations for my command of the company.

"We all know the drill by now," I said loudly as we approached another of the many villages in Godfrey's domain, "keep looting to a minimum, treat the people with respect so long as they don't fight back. We're after their weapons and ammunition, not their wealth or food. I can grow better anyway."

There were a couple of chuckles, but a notable amount of grumbles too. Looting was very much part of what a soldier expected for themselves.

Despite that I felt that morale was high; the lack of danger, free healing, and good variety in what the cooks prepared each evening making up for a multitude of sins – or the lack thereof. The fact we'd picked up a few... camp followers, of a sort that I'd had to make sure they were willing, also helped. Whether I liked it or not – firmly not – if they wanted to make coin and travel that way... I wasn't going to stop them.

So long as they didn't stick around long enough to make me play midwife. Handling the inevitable illnesses was bad enough.

I remained in the village green as the men got to work, keeping an eye on the villagers as they were rooted out of their various homes. A few wound up bruised from being manhandled, or resisting and ending up in a scuffle, but that was easily fixed with barely any effort on my part.

Which left the last part before we moved on. "Hannah, these the ones who're local?"

"Ayep." She nodded, leading a gaggle of two young boys, two girls, a woman, and a pair of older men behind her. Prisoners of war from the battle with Godfrey. "Few others lied abou' it, but they weren't good at it."

Nodding to her I turned to them. "Alright, I'm sure you've heard this before, but I'm going to say it again for their benefit." I gestured to the villagers. "My name is Gwyneth Arevin, Witch of the Order of Amber. As part of the Northgate Rebellion I fought, and defeated, Lord Godfrey along the banks of the Tul; he made his escape but lost more than half his army. Keeping all of you in prison is not practical, nor sensible – I might grow the harvest but I sure as dawn will come again ain't gonna harvest it."

Hannah sighed; she'd heard this pun a dozen times over by now, having been put in charge of the prisoners for the simple reason of being the best at tracking the ones who 'wandered off and got lost'. Most were terrified of me and didn't make trouble, but it was still a lot of people to keep track of.

Also, she didn't agree with quite how merciful I was being. She didn't trust people all too much.

Not... not that I really trusted them either, it didn't matter that it would be stupid of them, that there would be consequences, there were undoubtedly some that would break the oath I made them take. I just felt it was the better choice.

"We will exchange those captured for a single hostage, the rest released back to their homes. You fought in the war, you did your duty to your lord and the king, but you lost." I leveled a stare at them. "The next time you are not likely to be so lucky as to make it out alive. So, swear by the Light, by the keepers of old that shaped the world, that you will remain here and you will be granted parole."

"Bloody lost me leg." One of the girls muttered, rubbing at the appendage under her leggings. "Ain't gonna try that again... I swear, Light an'... keepers take me if I fight in a bloody war again."

After a moment, where Hannah took the girl's name and noted the oath, her bindings were undone and she rushed off to her family who embraced her. One by one the prisoners were released while my company finished up pulling out all the weapons in the village – a few guns, but mostly old swords and spears; occasionally a piece of armour.

"On to the nob's house?" Hannah asked and I nodded. Vivi would be done with whoever was up there by now, if they hadn't fled already.

-oOoOo-

"You're small, you see. It makes it more difficult to be intimidating." Lord Landel said jovially, utterly unphased by the fact he'd been taken hostage for the compliance of his family several days ago. "Not that short folk can't be intimidating! A dwarf can be mighty fearsome, wrapped up in heavy armour and wielding those hammers of theirs, but they've plenty you lack." He mused at his chin for a moment. "A good beard for one, always been envious of the blighters’ beards."

He did have something of a beard, close cut and framing his mouth without trailing up his cheeks. Like all of his hair it was greying, and definitely didn't meet the standards for a dwarf.

"Being a girl I rather think a beard wouldn't suit me." I said dryly. "Though, if that is your suggestion..."

Lord Landel broke out into laughter. "Hah! Is that how you manage your hair? My daughters would, well, my granddaughters these days, would betray the king for hair like yours, I'm sure! But no, a beard wouldn't suit you. Too... hmm, soft on the eyes?"

"Adorable." Vivi supplied distractedly as she rode beside me.

"Yes, that! Adorable, cute, and all such things. Unsuited to intimidation beyond your stature; I've met a mage or two with similar issues, one of mine went to Dalaran you know..." He shook his head. "Ah, another time. The trick is to use your magic. Make it clear that it doesn't matter how small or appealing you are, you aren't to be messed with. Lady Mistmantle manages with her bearing – a warrior's stance, a faint menace, it's palpable."

"But I'm unintimidating." I sighed; it's not like I normally wanted to be intimidating, but being taken seriously was starting to become a problem.

Not amongst the company, they knew better, but amongst those who hadn't heard of me or my appearance. Some had heard of me but thought I was impersonating the Harvest Witch by using my own name, saying that I was seven feet tall, wore the forest like a crown, and made plants sprout with every footstep.

Stupid rumours.

Lord Landel had surrendered easily when we took his home, offering himself up as a hostage in place of his son-in-law or his grandchildren, but not everyone had been as sensible. Half of the lords I'd confronted had laughed at the thought of me being in charge and put up a fight when the 'commander' wouldn't arrive to accept their surrender personally.

"Indeed you are. The dress doesn't help much, well made and fancier than anything my family has owned, but it's no robe." Lord Landel nodded to himself. "One can tell a mage from a distance without them casting a single spell, no one dresses quite like them."

"No one dresses quite like Gwen either," Vivi protested.

"Her skirts are indeed shorter than I'd ever let my daughters get away with," he continued without missing a beat, "but that isn't the same thing. Unusual, but not distinctive."

Well, there was one trick I did which could become distinctive quickly enough. As I brushed a strand of hair behind my ear I laced my hair with a chain of starlights, some drifting up to form a tiara above my head.

"Yes, yes, that's good. Not perfect, but good." Lord Landel grinned. "Make it clear you have power and people will listen. Only fools ignore a mage – or a witch, I suppose. Never thought much of those stories till you all came out of the woodwork all of a sudden..."

The old lord was a veritable font of advice on an absurd number of topics, though how much of it was good advice was more in question. At the very least, he was good at telling stories and whiling away the time as we marched.

It also kept me from being too busy wondering what had happened to Lorna, which I knew was troubling Vivi too. Darius had sent a raven asking if we'd seen her, saying that she'd been missing since she dropped the Candrens off in Crowford. She'd better not have gotten into more trouble than she could handle without us...

-oOoOo-

Standing over a freshly dug grave, looking down at the face of a man whose name I hadn't even known until this morning, I felt a sharp pang of guilt. "I'm sorry." I said, closing my eyes and kneeling. My hand touched the soil, stirring the tree to grow and draw in the soil around him. "Rest well, John Aberdee, you fought for our people. I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

Not all wounds could be healed. Not all lives could be saved. I'd come to terms with that long ago as a healer, but being directly responsible as his commander was a new form of guilt. One I was less able to brush aside.

It had been my order that we should camp in the village, sheltering from the rain here rather than moving on.

It had been my order that we treated the villagers so kindly that they thought they could get away with this.

It had been my order that left the lord, listening to his family's pleas of illness and his own refusal to be healed by a witch, free to act as he did.

It had been my orders, my mercy, that had things end up this way. One man lost, two dozen injured, and half the noble hostages freed to run away into the night; Vivi and Hannah would run them down, and should they not be enough... I had strands of hair by which to divine their location.

They might ride their horses down and keep ahead of other riders, but they wouldn't outrun a raven.

Leaving the grave I made my way back to the village green, a grim yew tree grown freshly in its centre. Those who hadn't escaped, those that had taken part in the short battle to free our prisoners, held there at the end of a musket.

"I suppose you thought my name was associated with being soft after the last month." I said to them, my words cold and punctuated by stars forming behind me and casting my face into shadow as they shone down on them. "That Gwyneth Arevin let people go free because she was kind, merciful, foolish, and maybe even weak."

This was probably what Tulvan wanted to happen to me, to make me change my mind and change my ways, so that I'd become more ruthless.

Maybe she just wanted me to suffer the churning nausea I felt as I looked at the people, my fellow humans who each had families, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters... all those that loved them that would soon lose them. Removing the ability to delegate the responsibility to someone above me, to not have to act.

I wasn't going to change what I was doing. My duty was to Gilneas, the Gilnean people, and as much as those in front of me were my enemies... they were still Gilneans. I wasn't going to pretend they weren't.

"Kind, yes. Merciful, yes. Foolish... maybe, for believing those who held to the king had honour. Weak?"

"Having witnessed your magic, I would have to say that those who call you weak are quite the ignorant fools." Lord Landel said from off to the side. He, along with a few of the other hostages, hadn't tried to run. Simply staying put and waiting for the fighting to end. "Good showing, by the way. Quite terrifying."

Resisting the urge to laugh, cackling madness not being what I was going for right now, I continued. "I made offers, I took oaths, and I made clear the consequences. There shall be no place in the Halls of Light for you, merely an ignominious end."

"Surely you cannot–" Lord Branden tried to speak, his eyes going wide, but the yew tree bent low and wrapped a branch around his net and cut him off. Literally strangling his protest in his throat. I let him struggle, swallowing back my nausea, for over a minute before tightening the tree's grip and snapping his neck to leave him limp.

Next came the hostage I'd taken from the village itself, the daughter of the publican who hung beside her lordly counterpart. Her struggles and screams echoed in the dark of the night.

Now it was the militia's turn, those that had rallied with pitchforks and antique guns, to fight against us. A prepared plan to fight against us, as our passage was hardly a secret. If I went through with killing all of them, the village would be all but depopulated...

"Maybe I am too merciful for my own good." I said, shaking my head.

Once again the yew reached low, men and women screaming and trying to scramble away as the branches reached out for them. The crack of gunfire broke through the quiet of the night as those who tried to run were shot, and others were beaten back into place by grim guards who looked almost as disturbed as those I was executing. But only three were caught by their necks.

The three I had released into the village from our prisoners. Five bodies in the tree, and soon enough Vivi would return and there would be more.

More than enough.

"They made a promise, an oath, an agreement. And broke it." I told those that were left. "You... have suffered the consequences of that already, the one I took for your good behaviour dead. But still, I cannot trust any of you to hold to your word."

If Tulvan was here she would be furious. "Break their legs. Someone can heal them after the war is done with – I will send word to the Golden Cross of their treachery and ask they be left to suffer until then."

I took my leave, the cracking of bones and screams of pain echoing in my ears. What an utterly miserable solution...