Chapter 580: Chapter 580

The Royal Council Chamber was a monument to Threian power and tradition. Vaulted ceilings soared forty feet overhead, supported by marble columns carved with the deeds of ancient kings. Tapestries depicting great battles hung along the walls, their colors still vibrant despite centuries of age. At the far end of the chamber, elevated on a dais of white stone, sat the throne of Threia… and upon it, King Aldric III.

The king was fifty-three years old, his beard more gray than black now, his face lined with the weight of two decades of rule. He wore the crown of his fathers… a circlet of gold set with sapphires… and robes of royal blue trimmed with ermine. His expression, as always during council sessions, was one of careful attention and measured judgment.

Around the great circular table that dominated the chamber sat the members of the Royal Council. Twenty seats in total, though not all were filled this morning. Each councilor represented either a great noble house, a key government position, or a vital institution of the realm.

Lord Castellan occupied his usual position to the king’s right, his heavy frame settled into his chair with the comfort of long familiarity. Master of Coin Severus sat three seats down, his ledgers and account books stacked neatly before him. Lady Thornbury, representing the eastern provinces, fanned herself despite the chamber’s cool air. The Archbishop of the Church of Light sat in his high-backed chair, fingers steepled, his expression serene.

And scattered among these familiar faces were the representatives of houses not yet fully aware they were about to be maneuvered into a trap.

“Your Majesty,” the Royal Secretary announced, his voice carrying through the chamber. “We have received correspondence from the eastern territories. Messages from both Countess Winters and General Snowe regarding the situation with the orcish incursions.”

King Aldric leaned forward with interest. “Finally. I was beginning to wonder if our commanders had forgotten how to use ravens. Please, read the messages aloud so the council may hear.”

The Secretary unrolled the first scroll… the altered version of Countess Winters’ desperate plea, now transformed into a routine status report.

“From Countess Aliyah Winters, commander of the expeditionary force to the orcish territories. Your Majesty, I write to inform you of our continued operations against orcish raiders in the mountain passes. Our forces have successfully repelled multiple attacks over the past weeks, maintaining our defensive positions with acceptable casualties.”

The Secretary paused, then continued. “However, the ongoing nature of these engagements has depleted our supplies of arrows and provisions. I respectfully request resupply of these materials, along with approximately five hundred additional troops to rotate with our current forces and provide fresh strength for continued operations. The situation remains stable, but these reinforcements would ensure we can maintain our position indefinitely. Signed, Countess Aliyah Winters, Commander of the Southern Expeditionary Force.”

The king nodded slowly. “Acceptable casualties. Situation stable. That’s encouraging. And General Snowe’s report?”

The Secretary picked up the second scroll, this one the sanitized version of Snowe’s equally desperate message.

“From General Aelric Snowe, commander of the Northern expeditionary force. Your Majesty, I report continued success in our campaign against orcish elements threatening our northern borders. My forces have engaged and defeated numerous orcish warbands attempting to penetrate our defensive perimeter. Casualties have been light, morale remains high, and our positions are secure.”

“That said,” the Secretary continued, “extended operations have strained our supply lines. I request resupply of foodstuffs, arrows, and other consumables, along with five hundred fresh troops to bolster our ranks and allow for rotation of forces who have been in continuous deployment. With these modest reinforcements, we can maintain pressure on the orcish forces indefinitely. Signed, General Aelric Snowe, Commander of the Northern Expeditionary Force.”

“Excellent,” the king said, genuine relief in his voice. “Both commanders report stable situations with light casualties. This is far better than I had feared. When we first deployed forces to deal with the orcish problem, I worried we might be committing to a long, costly campaign.”

Lord Fairfax, a minor noble whose family had long been allied with the Winters, cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, if I may… the requests are quite modest. Only five hundred troops each? For operations that have lasted weeks against an enemy known for numerical superiority?”

Before the king could respond, Lord Castellan interjected smoothly. “Which speaks to the effectiveness of our commanders, does it not? They’re achieving their objectives with minimal need for reinforcement. That’s the mark of skilled leadership.”

“Indeed,” added Lady Thornbury, whose loyalty to the Arass cause had been secured through her son’s placement in their academy. “Both the Countess and the General are seasoned commanders. If they say the situation is stable with only minor reinforcement needed, I see no reason to doubt them.”

Lord Fairfax frowned but didn’t press the point. Something felt off about the messages, but he couldn’t quite articulate what.

Severus, the Master of Coin, opened one of his ledgers with practiced efficiency. “Your Majesty, if I may address the financial aspects of this request? Raising and equipping a thousand soldiers… five hundred for each force… along with the requested supplies, is certainly manageable within our current budget.”

He ran his finger down a column of figures. “However, I would recommend we consider a slightly more robust response. The commanders request modest support, yes, but perhaps we should provide more substantial reinforcement to ensure the orcish threat is not merely contained but decisively eliminated.”

This surprised several council members. The Master of Coin was usually the first to argue for fiscal restraint.

“What do you propose, Master Severus?” the king asked.

“I propose we raise a force of ten thousand soldiers, Your Majesty. Five thousand to each expeditionary force. Additionally, we should organize comprehensive resupply caravans with food, arrows, and replacement equipment sufficient for extended operations.”

Murmurs rippled through the council. Ten thousand was a substantial commitment.

Duke Remington of the southern provinces, whose house had no particular allegiance to any faction, spoke up. “That seems excessive, Master Severus. The commanders themselves request only a thousand troops total. Why would we commit ten times that number?”

Severus set down his quill and addressed the duke directly. “Because, Your Grace, our commanders are being appropriately modest in their requests. They ask for what they minimally need, not what would be optimal. But we have an opportunity here to not merely maintain the status quo, but to decisively resolve the orcish problem.”

He gestured to the messages. “Both reports indicate continued orcish attacks. While our forces are successfully repelling these attacks, the orcs clearly haven’t been discouraged. They keep coming. A modest reinforcement maintains our defensive posture. But a substantial reinforcement allows us to go on the offensive, to push into orcish territory and eliminate the threat at its source.”

Lord Castellan nodded vigorously. “The Master of Coin makes an excellent point, Your Majesty. We’ve been reactive in our approach to the orcish problem. Perhaps it’s time to be proactive. Show these savages that Threia will not merely defend its borders but will carry the fight to them.”

“But the cost,” Duke Remington persisted. “Raising, training, equipping, and transporting ten thousand soldiers is a massive undertaking. The treasury…”

“Can easily bear it,” Severus interrupted smoothly. “I’ve reviewed the accounts thoroughly, Your Grace. The recent harvest was excellent. Trade revenues are up. We have the resources. The question is whether we have the will to use them decisively.”

The Archbishop spoke for the first time, his voice calm and measured. “From a strategic standpoint, I find myself agreeing with Master Severus. The orcish raiders have plagued our eastern territories for too long. If we can resolve this threat permanently, it would be worth the investment. The Church would support such an endeavor.”

That carried weight. The Church’s support meant moral authority and, more practically, access to their considerable resources and influence.

Lord Fairfax tried again. “Your Majesty, I still find it peculiar that neither commander mentions the severity of the threat they face. No casualty figures beyond ’acceptable’ and ’light.’ No detailed tactical assessments. These messages read more like routine status reports than requests from armies engaged in serious combat.”

Lady Thornbury waved her fan dismissively. “Lord Fairfax, you worry overmuch. Both commanders are professionals. They report what’s necessary without dramatizing their situations. Would you prefer they exaggerate every skirmish into a crisis to secure more resources?”

“I would prefer,” Fairfax said carefully, “that we have complete information before committing ten thousand soldiers to a campaign we don’t fully understand.”

“We have complete information,” Lord Castellan countered. “Two experienced commanders report stable situations requiring modest reinforcement. The Master of Coin, who has access to all financial and logistical data, recommends a more robust response to decisively resolve the threat. The Church supports this approach. What more information do you require, my lord?”

The king raised a hand, forestalling Fairfax’s response. “Lord Fairfax, I appreciate your caution. It’s valuable to have voices of restraint on the council. However, I find myself persuaded by Master Severus’s reasoning. We have an opportunity to end the orcish threat rather than merely containing it. That seems worth the investment.”

He looked around the table. “The question becomes one of implementation. Raising ten thousand troops is no small matter. They must be recruited, trained, equipped, and transported to the east. This will require significant organizational effort.”

Severus was ready for this. “Indeed, Your Majesty. I would propose that we distribute the burden fairly among the great houses. Each major house could be responsible for raising a portion of the total force from their territories and resources.”

He consulted his notes. “The houses with the greatest resources and the least current military commitments should bear the heaviest burden. This seems only fair, as it would be inequitable to ask houses already maintaining significant forces to shoulder additional costs.”

Duke Remington’s eyes narrowed. “And which houses did you have in mind, Master Severus?”

Severus smiled pleasantly. “Well, the Winters and Snowe families already have substantial forces deployed. It would be unfair to ask them to raise additional troops when they’re the ones actually fighting. Similarly, House Castellan maintains the capital’s garrison and border fortifications. House Thornbury manages the northwestern trade routes and their security.”

He paused, letting the implication settle.

“That leaves houses such as Remington, Blackwood, Fairfax, and Harring. Prosperous houses with strong territorial bases and relatively light current military obligations. I propose they collectively raise the ten thousand troops, with costs distributed according to each house’s relative wealth.”

“Absolutely not,” Duke Remington said flatly. “You’re proposing to burden four houses with the entire cost of this campaign while the rest of the council contributes nothing? That’s hardly equitable.”

“Is it not?” Lord Castellan asked. “Those houses have benefited greatly from the kingdom’s peace and prosperity. The Winters and Snowe forces are currently protecting all our territories from orcish raids. Seems reasonable that those not directly involved in the fighting should support those who are.”

Lord Blackwood, a quiet man who rarely spoke in council, leaned forward. “I must object, Your Majesty. This proposal places undue burden on specific houses while allowing others to avoid responsibility. If we’re raising troops for the kingdom’s defense, all houses should contribute proportionally.”

“All houses ARE contributing,” Lady Thornbury pointed out. “Some with soldiers in the field, others with garrison duties, others with managing critical infrastructure. Now we’re asking houses with available resources to provide additional troops. That’s not inequitable. That’s strategic resource allocation.”

“Furthermore,” Severus added, “the crown will provide partial compensation for recruitment and equipment costs. This isn’t asking the designated houses to bear the full financial burden, merely to organize and initially finance the effort with later reimbursement.”

“Partial reimbursement,” Duke Remington repeated. “How partial?”

“Sixty percent of direct costs,” Severus said smoothly. “Recruitment fees, basic equipment, initial provisions. Transportation costs would be borne by the crown entirely. Ongoing supply would be managed through the military logistics system.”

He made it sound reasonable, even generous. What he didn’t mention was that sixty percent reimbursement still left the designated houses bearing massive costs. Or that the reimbursement could be delayed, manipulated, or tied up in bureaucratic processes indefinitely.

Lord Harring, the youngest of the four targeted lords, spoke up for the first time. “Your Majesty, I must echo Duke Remington’s concerns. My house is prosperous, yes, but raising several thousand troops on short notice would strain our resources significantly. We have our own defensive obligations, local militias to maintain, infrastructure projects underway…”

“All houses have competing priorities,” the Archbishop said, his tone gentle but firm. “Yet the defense of the realm must take precedence. The Church faces similar resource demands… maintaining temples, supporting the poor, training clergy. But when the kingdom faces a threat, we set aside lesser concerns to address the greater need.”

The religious authority behind those words was undeniable. To argue further would risk appearing to put personal interests above the kingdom’s welfare.

King Aldric studied the faces around the table, reading the tension between the factions. “Let us vote on the proposal, then. All in favor of raising a force of ten thousand soldiers, with recruitment and initial costs distributed among Houses Remington, Blackwood, Fairfax, and Harring as described, with partial crown reimbursement?”

Hands rose. Lord Castellan, Lady Thornbury, the Archbishop, Severus himself. Several other councilors whose loyalty to Arass interests had been secured through various means. Lord Marshal Cedric, the commander of the royal armies, raised his hand after a moment’s hesitation… he saw military logic in having more troops available, even if the political maneuvering troubled him.

Thirteen votes in favor.

“Opposed?”

Duke Remington, Lord Blackwood, Lord Fairfax, and Lord Harring raised their hands. A few other councilors joined them, uncomfortable with the lopsided burden distribution.

Seven votes against.

“The motion carries,” King Aldric declared. “Houses Remington, Blackwood, Fairfax, and Harring will raise ten thousand troops total… two thousand five hundred each… to reinforce our forces in the north. Master Severus will work out the specific financial arrangements.”

He looked at the four lords whose houses had just been saddled with this burden. “Gentlemen, I understand your concerns about the distribution of responsibility. However, I trust you’ll approach this task with the dedication and patriotism your houses are known for. The kingdom is counting on you.”

It was phrased as encouragement, but the underlying message was clear: refusal or poor performance would be noted.

“Now, regarding supplies,” the king continued. “Master Severus, what do you recommend?”

“I recommend comprehensive resupply caravans, Your Majesty. Food sufficient for three months for both forces. Arrows, replacement weapons, medical supplies, clothing… the full logistics package. We should organize this in multiple smaller caravans rather than one large convoy. Reduces risk of total loss if orcs intercept any single caravan.”

Lord Fairfax seized on this. “Multiple caravans means higher overall cost. Guards for each convoy, redundant organization, less efficient transport. Why not one well-protected convoy that can defend itself against any orcish raiders?”

“Because,” Severus explained patiently, “a single large convoy becomes a priority target. Every orcish warband in the region would converge on it. Multiple smaller caravans can take different routes, travel at different times, and present distributed targets that are harder to track and attack.”

“It’s sound logistical doctrine,” Lord Marshal Cedric confirmed. “I support Master Severus’s recommendation. Multiple caravans with adequate but not excessive guards. More likely to get supplies through successfully.”

The king nodded. “Very well. Master Severus, work with Lord Marshal Cedric to organize the supply caravans. Houses Remington, Blackwood, Fairfax, and Harring, you have a week to begin recruitment. I want the first troops moving north within a month.”

“A week?” Duke Remington protested. “Your Majesty, that’s barely enough time to…”

“Our commanders are requesting support,” the king interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “They’ve been operating in hostile territory for weeks without reinforcement. We will not make them wait indefinitely while bureaucracy delays the necessary action. A week to begin recruitment. One month to start troop movement. Make it happen, gentlemen.”

The four lords exchanged glances. They’d been outmaneuvered thoroughly, and they knew it. The vote was done. The king had spoken. All that remained was compliance.

“Is there other business?” King Aldric asked, looking around the table.

Silence answered him.

“Then this council is adjourned. Lord Marshal, Master Severus, please remain. I want to discuss the specifics of troop deployment and supply routing.”

The councilors rose and began to file out. As they left, small groups formed naturally. The four burdened lords clustered together, their expressions grim as they discussed how to manage this unwanted task. The Arass-aligned councilors congratulated each other quietly on a well-executed plan. The uncommitted middle looked troubled, sensing they’d witnessed something more than just routine military planning but unable to articulate what.

Lord Fairfax pulled Duke Remington aside once they were in the corridor outside the chamber.

“Something’s wrong,” Fairfax said quietly. “Those messages… they don’t read right. And the way Severus and Castellan pushed so hard to burden our specific houses…”

“I know,” Remington replied, his voice equally low. “But what can we do? The vote’s done. The king has spoken. We refuse, we look like we’re putting our own interests above the kingdom’s defense.”

“We could send our own messengers north. Try to contact Winters or Snowe directly, get more detailed information about what they actually need.”

Remington considered this, then shook his head. “By the time we got responses, it would be too late. The king wants troops moving in a month. We’ll be fully committed before we could learn anything useful.”

“Then we’re trapped,” Fairfax said bitterly.

“We’re being used,” Remington corrected. “I don’t know how or why yet, but we’re pieces being moved on someone else’s board. The question is… whose board?”

Behind them, still in the council chamber, Severus stood with Lord Marshal Cedric and the king, spreading maps across the great table.

“The supply caravans,” Severus was saying, his finger tracing routes on the map. “I recommend we send them via the northern trade routes. Multiple paths, as discussed. Some through the highlands, others along the river valleys. Stagger the departures by three to five days each.”

“Guard strength?” Cedric asked.

“Fifty soldiers per caravan should suffice. Enough to deter opportunistic raiders, not so many that we’re wasting military strength on logistics.”

Cedric frowned. “That seems light for caravans traveling through potentially hostile territory.”

“The territory isn’t that hostile,” Severus countered. “According to the commanders’ own reports, they’re successfully containing the orcish threat. The main danger is to large, obvious targets. Smaller caravans with moderate guards should slip through without difficulty.”

The logic seemed sound, and Cedric nodded reluctantly. “Very well. Fifty per caravan. I’ll assign experienced commanders to lead each group.”

“Excellent,” King Aldric said. “Master Severus, please coordinate with the designated houses to ensure they understand the urgency. Lord Marshal, begin organizing the caravans and selecting commanders. I want the first supplies moving within two weeks.”

Both men bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

As they left the chamber, going their separate ways to begin organizing this massive undertaking, neither noticed the slight smile on Severus’s face.

Everything was proceeding exactly as planned.

The altered messages had convinced the king the situation was stable.

The reinforcements were substantial enough to prevent the commanders from withdrawing, but nowhere near sufficient to actually change their strategic situation.

The supplies would be sent in small, vulnerable caravans that could be… delayed… if necessary.

And best of all, houses not allied with Arass interests were bearing the full burden of recruitment and initial costs, draining their resources and leaving them weakened.

Severus made his way back to his offices, where reports and ledgers awaited. But first, he would send a message to Lord Marius. The council meeting had been a complete success.

In the east, two armies would receive just enough support to keep them fighting.

Just enough to believe help was coming.

Just enough to ensure their doom.

The web tightened.

And the prey had no idea they were already caught.

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