A Necromancer's Guide to Clearing a Game Like Tower

Chapter 271: Chapter 262 — The Night the King Died III (Bonus)

He picked the sword back up, and opened the door, ”The king is dead. Nobody enters this room. Wake the steward and no one else.”

An expression passed the face of the nearer man, his lips trembling a bit. He looked past Baldwin, into the room, at the shape on the floor.

”Your highness—”

”Nobody enters.” Baldwin’s voice did not change at all. ”And nothing leaves the palace before dawn. That order is already standing. Confirm it at the courier gate yourself.”

The man went.

The steward came, and then the men the steward brought, and Baldwin told them what would happen and in what order, and every one of them did it — because the palace had spent nine days learning to move when he spoke, and because none of them had slept, and because a king was dead and somebody was giving instructions.

He invented nothing. There was no poison, no fever, no assassin out of the north. He said the king was dead, and he decided when the rest of the kingdom would hear it, and that turned out to be enough.

When they finally let the officials in, the body had been laid out properly on the bed with the sword wound covered.

Baldwin stood a little way back while two of them drew the shroud up over his father.

He watched them do it, and he did not look away, and when it was done he told them the council would convene at dawn.

---

The succession was the easiest thing that happened all week.

He did not need a claim. He had been the lawful heir since birth, and every man in that council chamber had spent twenty years expecting this, and the palace around them ran smoothly because it had spent nine days being made to run smoothly.

The Crown troops obeyed. The couriers went out on schedule. The city learned in the correct order, from the correct mouths.

There was no seizure. There was nothing to seize. Power did not have to be taken because it had already been arranged into a shape that fitted his hands, and all that remained was for the country to be told which hands they were.

They crowned him in the great hall with the torches lit.

Baldwin knelt, and the weight came down onto his head, and the hall said the words.

He did not smile. Somewhere in the middle of it his eyes went — briefly, without permission — across the hall to the place where his father’s covered body had lain while the council was summoned, and his jaw tightened, and then he looked forward again and was king.

---

The message reached Raymond eleven days later on a frozen road.

He read it standing, with his column strung out behind him and monster blood dried black on his gear and two hundred exhausted men waiting for him to say something.

He read it twice.

The first line said King Alaric was dead.

The second said Prince Baldwin had succeeded him.

Raymond did not say anything at all for a long moment. He did not ask a question, and he did not curse, and he did not look at the officer who had brought it.

He looked south, down the road, at nothing.

His father was dead. That was the whole of what was in his head, and it stayed there while a column of freezing men stood in the road behind him waiting for orders, and it stayed there long enough that his second had to say his name twice.

Then he folded the message and put it inside his coat and turned the column around.

---

The rest of it came with the succession.

Baldwin’s first orders as king reached the north inside a fortnight, and there were three of them.

Recognise the succession. Return the Northern Legion fully to Crown command. Comply with central deployment.

He did not order Raymond arrested. He did not order him replaced. He genuinely did not want either of those things — he wanted the thing he had wanted for two years, which was one army under one structure, and now, finally, he had the authority to have it.

Raymond’s answer came back and it was not defiance.

He recognised the succession without qualification. He acknowledged Baldwin as king. And he refused the deployment order, because it moved four companies south from a frontier that was under active pressure, and he set out in careful detail exactly what would happen to the ground behind those companies if they left.

He asked for the order to be reconsidered.

He signed it as a subject.

Baldwin read that letter three times, and what he saw in it was not a brother making a reasonable case.

He had killed a king nineteen days earlier because he believed divided authority was going to destroy Caerleon. And the very first central order of his reign had come back refused, with reasons attached, from the man whose successful improvisations had spent two years teaching the capital that it never had to choose.

The same weakness. Wearing his brother’s face. On the first day.

He felt the fragment shift in him while he was reading it, and he did not fight that.

He sent the order again, with the word *unconditional* in it.

Raymond refused again, and this time the letter was shorter.

So Baldwin declared the Northern Legion’s continued defiance unlawful, named its commander a rebel against the Crown, and had it proclaimed in every square in Caerleon.

Nothing after that could be walked back.

---

Then the Crown began closing its hand.

Baldwin did not march north. He did something more effective and much less dramatic: he took the three things that decided whether an army in the north could be reached, supplied, or relieved.

Greybridge, because it was the only crossing that carried heavy wagons and cavalry in strength.

Redfield, because it was where the northern supply stockpile sat, and because whoever held it decided what went past it.

Highwatch, because artillery on that ridge covered the approaches, and because a road you cannot walk down is a road you do not have.

His vanguard took all three in the first weeks, against garrisons that mostly did not know yet which prince they were supposed to be obeying.

Raymond understood the shape of it the moment the third report came in.

If he obeyed, Baldwin owned his army. If he refused while those three positions stayed Crown-held, then everything his Legion ate, every replacement it received and every road it could retreat down ran through his brother’s fingers — while the thing coming out of the north kept coming.

He kept command of the Northern Legion.

That was the moment the refusal stopped being a dispute and became a rebellion, and after that the kingdom did what kingdoms do. Men wearing the same silver stag stood in courtyards and had to decide, that morning, in front of each other, whose orders they were going to take.

Some stayed Crown. Some marched north. A few of them had to be held apart by their own sergeants.

---

The first thirty days did most of the damage.

Crown reinforcements that had been earmarked for the frontier began moving on the succession war instead, because a king with a rebel army in the field cannot leave his own routes unheld.

Watchfires went up on the northern line and nobody came, because the companies that would have come were watching a bridge.

The monster pressure worsened, exactly on the schedule Baldwin had predicted for two years — and he was right, and being right had never in his life been less useful, because the reserve he had wanted to build was now spread across three fortified positions holding a road against his own brother.

Each of them read every move the other made as proof.

Raymond looked south and saw a king who had gone to war with his own frontier during an invasion. Baldwin looked north and saw a commander who had chosen his personal judgement over the Crown in the first month of a reign, exactly as he had chosen it over the capital for two years.

Neither of them was inventing his evidence.

---

The depot came in the eighth week.

Raymond’s Legion had been on reduced rations for eleven days. The Crown had not stopped his supply so much as declined to prioritise it, which amounted to the same thing on the ground, and there was a royal supply depot forty miles behind his line with grain, arrows and medicine sitting in it under a small Crown guard.

He rode in with two companies at first light and put his sword through the bar on the storehouse door himself.

The guard commander came out into the yard with eleven men behind him and stood in front of the grain.

”You know what this is, my lord.”

”I know what it is.”

”Then you know I’m to hold it for the Crown.”

”There are four thousand men north of here on half rations,” Raymond said, ”and about nine hundred of them will be dead inside a month, and the Crown has not answered a supply request from me in five weeks.” He did not raise his voice and he did not lower the sword. ”Stand aside or don’t. I’m taking it either way, and I would rather not do the other thing.”

The commander looked at the two companies in his yard, and at the man who had brought them, and stood aside.

Then he asked for it in writing.

Raymond gave him that — the date, the quantities, his own name, and the sentence *taken by my order and on my responsibility* — and the commander folded it and put it inside his coat and had it in Caerleon in four days.

Baldwin read it at his own desk.

He read that a man in open defiance of a royal command had brought armed soldiers into a Crown depot and removed Crown property, and that the man had signed for it in his own hand as though the signature made it something other than what it was.

Four hundred miles north, the same page meant that Raymond had fed his soldiers from his own kingdom’s stores while his brother let a frontier starve through an invasion.

Baldwin put it in the box with the other letters from the north, and stopped writing to Raymond as a commander who might still be recalled, and gave his first order treating him as a claimant.

---

After that it accelerated, and it did so mostly by itself.

Goblins came through a breach on the eastern frontier that had been marked for repair and never repaired, because the timber and the men had gone south. Orcs followed the goblins, in numbers, the way Baldwin had been writing they would since before any of this.

The Crown withdrew from the positions Baldwin had listed two years earlier — all eleven of them, eventually, exactly as he had argued — and concentrated behind the larger walls. He had finally won that argument. He had won it by killing the man who had refused him, and the victory arrived alongside reports of what happened to the people behind those eleven positions, and he read every one of them.

Raymond bled his Legion white on the frontier and simultaneously fortified against his own brother, doing two jobs with one army, and did neither well enough.

In the fourth month a courier brought a report of another failed relief, and a colonel began explaining, at length, in front of the council, why the column had not gone out on the day it was ordered to go out.

Baldwin put his hand flat on the table to stop him.

The oak split under it, corner to corner, and the sound went round the whole chamber.

Nobody in that room moved for several seconds. The colonel had gone white.

”Continue,” Baldwin said.

He looked at his own hand afterward, when the session had emptied and the servants had come to take the table out. He had not decided to do that. He had been angry, and the anger had arrived with something behind it, and the two had come up together like one motion.

The first time, under the palace, it had taken a deliberate reaching-down.

He stood there working out when that had stopped being true, and could not place it, and after a while he stopped trying and went to read the northern dispatches.

Once, late in the war, he went back down.

He did not go for conversation. He walked the old stair to the fourth level with a lamp he did not need, and stood in the corridor where he had drawn a sword on a voice, and looked at the seams in the floor.

The red was brighter than it had been.

It had spread, too. Where there had been one thin line following a single seam, there were now several, running away under the stone in directions the foundations did not go.

Baldwin looked at it for a while.

He was not surprised, and he did not ask it anything, and after a few minutes he turned around and went back up to run his war.

---

The end of it was simple arithmetic that everybody could see coming.

The monster host came through the eastern pass in strength, and once it was behind Raymond’s frontier there was no frontier — only an army in open country with something enormous between it and home.

Raymond turned south, because staying meant being ground between the host and his brother, and because there was one decision left that could still end the war in a single day.

Baldwin drew his own army out of Caerleon and put it on the open ground below the walls, because the same arithmetic worked in reverse and he had six thousand more men.

And on a field six kilometres north of the palace where their father had died, the silver stag of Caerleon flew over two armies who had come to kill each other, while the thing that had come down out of the north closed in behind both of them.

---

The red light climbed another crack and reached the toe of Baldwin’s boot.

James had not moved. Durendal was still up, his ribs hurt, Ronan was breathing wrong somewhere behind him, and forty meters away a Crown formation was still standing with its shields raised and its orders unchanged.

Raymond was looking at his brother.

He had a wound in his side that had not stopped and one leg that was not going to carry him much longer, and he was not looking at the light at all. He was watching Baldwin’s face, and something in his own had begun to come apart, because he had known this man for thirty-one years and he had never once seen him look at anything the way he was looking at the ground.

The battle went on around all of them. Somebody screamed somewhere east. An arrow went over.

And Baldwin lifted his eyes from the red glow, and for the first time in his reign he looked exactly like the man who had stood in a corridor beneath his own house and said yes.