Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A green eye peeked meekly past the curtain and through the fine glass window of a carriage, looking out upon the passing landscape.

Hard land. Hard people. Suspicious glances sprang up from all around as if they could sense the gaze of the occupant of that passing carriage. Though a rather humble thing by the standards of his hitherto former home, it appeared quite extravagant out here in these borderlands, and in contrast to its own.

Niklas quickly pulled back into his seat, allowing the curtain to once again obscure all view of him from the outside. He sighed as the nerves rattled uncomfortably in his belly.

What have I gotten myself into..? He wondered.

He remembered his meeting with the young King weeks prior, a gallant and broad-jawed man, clean-shaven, with medium-length brown hair. All told he was a most handsome person with an outgoing and friendly demeanor–quite the contrast to his late father, who had been a fickle, mean and sallow figure, and a tyrant who would not leave a slight forgotten nor a war unwaged; indeed, the kingdom had more than doubled in size under his rule.

Of course, only after the old skinflint had passed and his third and youngest son inherited the throne, had it become apparent that the Kingdom had expanded much faster than it could rightly manage. Like a body whose limbs were so long that the fingers and toes could not be fed with blood and were threatening to blacken and fall off, many of the provinces or colonies at its extremities lacked, in some combination, wealth, food or security. That isn't even mentioning the usual dearth of competent and educated officiants that had plagued these lands even before they were subdued under the yoke of a greedy King.

In fact it was the young King Boratan II’s very first proclamation under his rule that: " Those youth with the highest honors of achievements will be gathered and sent all about the lands, wherever their ability is most needed!" Thereafter, in an attempt to gain favor with their new Liege, men who had just come of age and who were highest ranked among the Institutes of Learning–whether it be in Development or Diplomacy, Swordsmanship or Construction, or any field of education–were in one way or another shipped off by their families to the now long and wide borders of the Kingdom.

Niklas had been no exception to this policy, except for perhaps in the manner that it had occurred to him. For the King had taken an interest in the lad, perhaps due to the fact that they were both third sons of their fathers, and as he was now, Niklas was not in any standing to become head of his Household without some terrible accident or intrigue befalling his brothers.

"I have a task of the utmost import for you, young van der Leigh." He recalled the confidant smile worn by the Royal addressing him during their one and only meeting. "You have just recently come of age, have you not?"

"That is correct, Your Majesty." Niklas replied, though he was well aware the King had already known the answer when he had asked.

Niklas' legs and arms shook with the effort as he knelt before the throne. His weak and spindly body threatened to betray him before the many gathered Noblemen in attendance, but he gritted his teeth and held firm.

"Excellent!" The King smiled and clapped his hands lightly. "For I, with your father's consent of course mind you, have just now approved the certification of marriage between yourself and the Countess Uldred of Petrice!"

A great commotion of gasps and whispers erupted among the gathered heads of houses, and many pitying and sympathetic eyes fell upon him.

Niklas, who was not familiar with the Countess Uldred at the time, only looked up with a shocked and bemused expression.

"I'm getting… married?" He asked, dumbfounded.

The King did not reply except by laughing merrily at the reaction that he had received.

Niklas opened his eyes once more, his thoughts back in the present.

He was traveling through the most poor and desolate of lands. They were dry and cold all year round, the skies were always gray, cloudy and sunless at the best of times. The soil only supported a few meager crops, and barely enough to feed a small family of farmers, let alone to sell. The wood of the homes was rotten and weak, whilst the stonework of the defenses had long since begun crumbling away.

This was Petrice. The only reason the area had not been subjugated sooner was because nobody wanted it. Nobody, that is, besides an elderly and greedy King, more concerned for whatever glory and renown that he could grasp than for the prosperity of his people. Petrice exported only one thing that was worth having, that being its swordsmen.

As a land encircled on its South and North by steep and treacherous mountains, it was only accessible, at least easily, from the East, where it connected to the rest of the Kingdom. To its West lay an even more inhospitable wasteland than Petrice itself, for it was home to many large and grotesque monsters which roamed freely, devouring whatever they could get their large maws upon–whether that be beast or man.

Generations of Petrician men and women took up arms and armor against these monsters, and with what appeared as superhuman ability, they could rend even the most massive of creatures in twain with their signature Flamberge swords.

Obviously, word of skills such as these spread through traveler's mouths all across the continent, and sometimes a warring state or territory would entice one of these mythical swordsmen away from their home and duty with offers of coin and food and finery, things you could not find in this poor land.

Niklas had been forced to study all aspects of this land before his departure. For, though he was a weak and small thing, the King meant for him to save this poor place.

"Go and transform the desolate County of Petrice into a land of opportunity!" had been the King's final decree for him.

"From what I've seen, that will be no easy feat," Niklas grumbled aloud. "Even for me, and I was foremost in the study of Stewardship among my peers at the Institute..."

Suddenly a knocking sound came from the front of the carriage. The worn knuckles of the old carriage driver rapped against the wood, calling for Niklas’ attention. A panel slid open then, but one so small that it only revealed the weary old man's drooping eyes.

"We have almost arrived." He said flatly, before slamming the small panel shut again.

Niklas bit his lip as his nerves began to play up again like worms wriggling in his gut. Nonetheless he clenched his small hands in determination.

No, I cannot be discouraged. I'm going to whip this County into shape, and I'm going to prove to my family that it was a mistake to give away a talent such as me so freely!

He would, however, not maintain such motivation for long; after descending down from the carriage step with his large trunk in hand, the thing sped away just as quickly as his courage. For a moment he stared up, mouth slightly agape, at the old and haunting visage of the Castle the Countess of Petrice called her home. The stone of the building was black and ominous, and he could've sworn he saw a corner of one of its towers crumble and fall away as he looked upon it.

At the sight of his new home he could only think: Oh dear…

Finally, he mustered up the mustard to trek his short legs across the drawbridge, before which sat the gate; at either side stood two soldiers fully clad in blackened plate armor and with halberds in their hands.

"He-hello?" He called out to these two men. "I am… I am the Countess' new husband! I am here to see the Countess!"

There came no reply, and the two men did not move from where they stood.

Niklas gulped and slowly approached one of them.

"Hello?” he tried again. “It is rude to ignore somebody, you know? Let alone one who hath just arrived!"

Still, there came no reply.

Niklas now stood directly before the guardsman, and he reached out a hand towards them. "A-are the two of you unwell?"

But as he put his hand upon the guardsman, they simply collapsed into a heap with much clanging and clattering, the noise causing Niklas to jump backwards with a yelp. No one stood inside these suits of armor–they had only been erected to grant the illusion of a stationed guard.

Niklas huffed out a sigh as he rubbed his forehead, thankful that no one else was present to witness this embarrassing display. Now realizing he was alone, he peered over to the closed gate.

"How am I supposed to get inside, then?" He wondered aloud.

No sooner had he done so, however, then did the single-frame door, which was cut out of the center of the rightmost gate, slowly swing open as if by his command!

Niklas approached the door and peered through it towards the courtyard, but no-one could be seen therein. "H-hello?" He called, but no reply came. "Well, that is a most queer thing indeed!"

With no other choice presented to him, the young lad trotted across the courtyard to the inside doors, his luggage dragging in tow. When he arrived, and with some hesitation, he reached up to the knockers and cracked them down upon the wooden door.

For a time, nothing came of it. But, eventually, a light and fast-paced footstep soon met his ear, and with a creak the old door was pushed slightly open. There, staring at him through the crack, was an elderly and old face with drooping features, a large nose presiding over a thick white mustache that came down over his mouth, and equally bushy eyebrows which threatened to obscure most of his vision.

"Who is it?" The man asked Niklas with an accusatory look.

"It… it is the new Count sir!" Niklas stammered in reply.

This old fellow looked him over from head to toe for a long moment with clear suspicion. Then, as if recognizing his description, the man raised his brows in alarm, and then the door was pressed open further, although not without some effort.

"Welcome, my Lord!" The old man greeted him excitedly, eagerly taking Niklas’ hand and shaking it vigorously. "Welcome to Castle Petrice!" Before he then all but pulled Niklas forcefully inside.

The castle was as dark and eerie a place inside as it was out, Niklas observed as he trotted sheepishly behind the old Butler; even in this midday light the interior was black as pitch, dusty and cobwebbed, and their only source of illumination was a small candle which the old man held on a brass saucer.

Does anybody even live in this place? It looks all but abandoned! Niklas wondered as he looked about. Perhaps this 'Countess' Petrice does not exist, and is simply a guise for embezzlement?

As the two walked, soon enough their path widened out from the dusty old hall, and like some spelunker looking into an old cavern, Niklas stopped to marvel over the grand hall before them, which managed to look somewhat regal and splendid even in its unlit and unkempt state.

"Keep close, sire!" The old man called to him from up ahead. "Wouldn't want you to get lost!" He was much friendlier now than he had been at the door.

…Perhaps he is finally happy to have a master to work under? Niklas wondered, eyeing him.

Finally, I'm not the shortest one here! Was what the old man had actually thought, for while their heights currently matched, the aged butler walked with a great hunch.

Their footfalls began to echo as they stepped through a wide open ballroom-like space, then ascended the old grand staircase up to the second floor where more halls awaited them, but these were lined with portraits of the many Counts and Countesses of Petrice of old. They were scowling, leering things whose eyes followed your every step in a most judgmental way.

Finally, and after what felt a much longer journey than what it was, the two stood before a set of double-doors, dark wood with gilded handles.

"Here we have the study, where the Countess works through her many tasks." The Butler announced, gesturing to the door, which he then knocked upon. "My Lady,” he called, louder this time. “the new Count is here to see you!"

Silence reigned over them, one which grew more awkward with every moment that passed.

"Hm.” The Butler breathed. “It appears that she is not in her study." The nervous sweat upon his brow suggested that he had been hoping that this was not the case.

"In that case..." he then unexpectedly clasped his wrinkled hand upon Niklas'. "Come with me!" With a surprising swiftness and strength, he pulled the young soon-to-be Count along behind him in a most undignified way, all but sprinting back the way that they had come!

Soon enough they stood before another door, this one smaller, but otherwise much like the first. Niklas also noted its gilded handle was much tarnished, clearly worn from frequent use.

The old man cleared his throat obviously attempting to maintain some matter of decorum despite how he had just dragged his Lord behind him like a coat in the wind–and he firmly and loudly knocked upon the door.

"My Lady, the very important guest of whom I spoke earlier has arrived!" He called.

As they waited in silence once again, Niklas wondered to himself what kind of woman it was he would soon be wed to.

I heard that the old Count was a man tall in stature and dark of hair, with a stern countenance. I have neither seen nor heard of the former Countess, perhaps if my… wife, takes after her father she will be slightly taller and wider of frame..?

Niklas started as there finally came a sound from within the room– the creaking of bedsprings.

"Has the Countess… been in bed all day?" He asked, to which the Butler only sighed with exasperation.

Soon enough they could hear slow footsteps approaching the door from the other side. With every step closer they seemed to grow in weight, and so too did Niklas' reservations grow along with them.

Finally the door swung open and inward, and Niklas’ eyes grew as wide as saucers.

Standing in the doorway was a figure so tall the crown of their head nearly scraped the top of the doorframe, while the width of their mighty shoulders almost brushed its sides! They were clad in a dark and ragged cloak, with armor beneath it that was stained with old spatterings of what could be blood or mud. Upon their face they wore a hooded mask that covered them from their chin to the top of their forehead. It was a muted, dirtied silver, carved with the face of a fair lady set in a neutral expression. Behind its eye-slits shone two bright violet irises which looked down upon Niklas with a cold hostility.

In his surprise, Niklas could only stare up, aghast, at this massive person. They then spoke, and while it was a female voice, it was low and growling like a beast, only slightly muffled behind the mask.

" Go … away ! " She snarled, before she slammed the door shut with such force that the rest of the hall rattled along with it.

Your Majesty… What have you gotten me into?!

Niklas stood frozen in his shock, recalling the King's confident and laughing face as indignance rose through him in a hot flush.

Chapter Text

Niklas stood before the dark wood of the large door that had been slammed shut in his face, confounded at what had just transpired. The Countess–his betrothed–had at long last appeared before him, but had acted with all the decorum of some kind of lumbering, wild beast!

The Butler, meanwhile, had let all of pretense at composure fall away. He now beat rapidly upon the door with all of the strength he could ball up into his little fists.

“Uldred!” he sternly yelled in reproach, “You come out of that room right now and greet your guest!”

“I won’t! Go away!” Came the same deep voice from within, muffled by the thick wood of the door. From her tone, Niklas could almost believe that she was pouting.

“Oh! Ooh! I am right cross with you now!” For several minutes more the old man continued to throw himself against that door as if it were his mortal enemy, to all accounts acting as if he could topple the thing himself. He swore all the while. All too soon though the man fell into a stupor, all of the energy expended from his frail, aged body. He then turned back to look at his new young master, who still stood in befuddled silence with his mouth agape.

“...How about some tea, sir?”

Niklas pulled the small china cup that had been set before him closer with a grateful thanks. Hot steam wafted up from it to greet his lips like an old friend, though the brew had a suspicious lack of aroma.

This young man observed his elderly compatriot for a time as he rattled about the old kitchen, setting jars and lids and kettles back to where they had sat before, all the while coughing or sneezing as his actions kicked up thick billows of dust.

Finally Niklas imagined his drink had cooled enough and he brought it to his mouth for a sip. And while the floral fruity flavors of tea did meet his palette, they were so thin and strained that he might have preferred to have received plain hot water instead! His eyes now narrowed in suspicion as his gaze fell upon the old man once more, who had just hung the used teabag upon what appeared to be a clothesline, among which hung several others drying as well.

“So, the Countess..?” Niklas said aloud, attempting to distract his tongue from the questionable flavors it has just experienced, setting his teacup aside as he spoke.

The old man spun on his heels to face him–and so fast, in fact–that Niklas startled.

“Oh! That was simply an anomaly, my Lord! Undoubtedly brought on by the stress of a long day’s labor! The Countess is normally quite outgoing, you see.”

“Mmhm.” Niklas noised flatly in reply, obviously untrusting of the butler’s words. He recalled the brief moment he had laid his eyes upon the Lady of the house before her door was so rudely shut in his face, and the dark and stained armor that she wore even in her moments of rest.

“And by a long day’s labor,” he continued, “you are referring to..?”

“Oh, well the slaying of men, you see!” The Butler replied, and in much too jovial a manner for Niklas’ comfort.

Niklas, who had been braving another sip of his cooling tea-water, coughed and spat out some of the drink at that. “I’m sorry?”

While it was true that he had encountered many of the rumors about the County, and how its poor Countess would ride out to work as a sellsword in the neighboring and smaller territories as their main source of income, he had held the image of a Noblewoman giving out orders to her bannermen from atop a fair steed, far away from the heat of battle, allowing their Marshals and Commanders to direct the soldiers as was their expertise. The sight that he had witnessed just a few tens of minutes prior, however, stood in direct contrast to this image; as did the sheer amount of dried gore which covered the woman’s armor!

Is the Countess wading into the frontlines of battle herself? And on a regular basis no less..? Niklas thought to himself, aghast at the implication.

“As you might be aware, my Lord,” The old man continued, ignorant to Niklas’ internal turmoil, “-the territories which border the County–Lengar to the northeast and Otkorn to the southeast–have been in dispute for the Road of Benedict upon which you arrived, which cuts through the eastern mountains and meets the royal highways. They have been our main benefactors for many years now.”

“Which has?” Niklas asked, confused.

“Lengar and Otkorn, sir.” The Butler informed him. “Though the territories beyond them have disputes of their own, where there is also coin to be had.”

Niklas furrowed his brow in annoyance. “But to which territory is the Countess usually employed–Lengar or Otkorn?”

“Why, both sir!”

“...Both?” Niklas echoed again, dumbfounded.

“Correct, sir. Currently the Lady has a contract with Otkorn under whose direction she retook the Road from Lengar, with whom she had been contracted the last year in order to take the Road back from Otkorn, who in turn she had been contracted with the previous year.”

Niklas’ head swam from trying to wrap itself around such a wild and outlandish notion, and he shook it vigorously, as if it could somehow help him make better a sense of the situation.

“You’re telling me,” He replied painfully, his mental state so muddled he was barely able to form words, “-that the Countess has been conquering the same Road, back and forth, for several years now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But-but-but for what reason?!” Niklas choked out, his exasperation so great that he was almost shouting.

The Butler raised a finger before his nose, much like a teacher educating a student. “Well you see, sir, the armies of Lengar and Otkorn are nearly equal in strength, or a lack thereof would be more accurate. Frequently, during the old Count’s time, they would clash over the Road of Benedict, unwilling to share it between themselves. But the battle would always end in a stalemate, and neither remaining force was large enough to enforce control over the Road, and so it would remain as neutral territory. Until finally, Otkorn pled with the Countess for aid to take it for them for the first time…or was it Lengar..?”

Niklas rubbed his temples to soothe his ever-growing headache as the story went on.

“And pray tell,” he asked, “how much do we receive in payment as our contracts demand..?”

“Why, we’ve worked them up to a hundred silvers for a year sir!” The Butler replied proudly.

A single piece of gold? Niklas’ eyes were so wide they nearly bulged from his skull. That would be only half a year’s wage for a single servant!

He let his hands fall from his face as if to rest upon the small table before him, but in his agitation he moved more forcefully and slammed his hands upon the wood surface, which caused the Butler to jump with a start! When he spoke again, Niklas’ voice was as even and sharp as the edge of a sword.

“I… would like to see the ledgers, please.”

The door to what could well have been a long-abandoned crypt creaked open, and for the first time in what was likely many years candlelight illuminated the long rows of towering shelves, stacked thick with books and parchments, papers vellum and tomes which rested there in the dusty library.

The “Ledger” which the Butler had shown to Niklas had been an emaciated, unsatisfying thing which had borne only a scant few records of purchases from the past several years: grain and oats, wood for the fires and candles for lights. Nothing like what the sickly young savant had been searching for. He required comprehensive documents that would give him some idea of how the County had survived in the generations prior–for, surely, they had not always lived in a manner like this..?

“This is more like it!” Niklas cheered, his voice echoing slightly due to the sheer size of the library, the ceiling and the bookshelves so high that the candlelight was unable to illuminate their entirety! Niklas looked ready to roll up his sleeves at this very moment and get to work, but the voice of the Butler cut through his impassioned tunneled-vision.

“I think it would be prudent to show you to your quarters my Lord, so that we may unpack your things.”

Suddenly Niklas was once again aware of the heavy luggage case that he still carried at his side, despite the objections of the old Butler, and with the way his arms ached he could only sigh and relent.

“I suppose you are right.”

The Butler clapped his hands together before him. “Excellent, sir! That will allow me plenty of time to whip this place into shape!”

Only then as he mentioned it did Niklas take note of the thick layer of dust blanketing every aspect of the library that he could see through the dark, to the extent in fact that the few steps that he had taken inside had kicked it up behind him in a plume like a flurry of snow! And across the walls and ceiling hung heavy, low-hanging cobwebs like a macabre parody of a chandelier and tapestries. So thick and copious were they that one might’ve imagined the place to be the lair of some arachnid-type beast the size of a dog!

“Yes… perhaps that would be best.” Niklas assented, and as he returned to the doorway he took one more look about the room, still excited to dig into the old tomes and records. “I shall return to this place, though.”

But then, as the Butler brought the door shut behind him, in his last passing glance Niklas saw something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. For far and across the room, where the corner bent out of view, what looked to be a pale, boney hand crept around the side of a distant bookshelf, as if some harrowing creature was about to come into view–but before it did, the door was shut and all sight of it was lost!

Several hours had passed, and while toil had made them long, Niklas could finally reward himself with the pleasure of sinking into a chair by the fire in his own room. There had been a surprising amount jammed into that one fat luggage case, but with the aid of the old Butler everything was now unpacked and situated around his living space to the best that they could make of it; and indeed, it seemed as comfortable and homely as his own quaint room back at his family’s estate, despite its precarious position, situated at the top of one of the Castle's several tall spires.

“I shall draw you up a bath.” The Butler had proclaimed with a bow as he had left the room. That had, however, been a good deal of time ago, and Niklas had assumed (and rightly so) that the Butler was currently scrubbing down some washroom–one as cold and filthy as the old library had been–at a desperate and feverish pace.

I thought I might keep myself awake for a bath, but the warmth of the fire is so welcome after such a cold and weary trip, I can barely keep my eyelids open…

In his dreams, Niklas found himself walking the halls of his family estate once again. It felt as though somebody was walking beside him, though he never looked over to actually see who it was.

I believe it is my eldest brother walking beside me. He guessed.

At that he recalled his brother in his mind’s eye–at least as much as he knew of the man, for Brudwyn van der Leigh and he had rarely spoken in earnest. Their only interactions had occurred when Bruder was drunk or in a rage and sought Niklas out to strike him around a bit. At those times, there was very little the frail youngest could do to stop old Bruder, for he was a large and wide specimen, with a broad jaw, a thick neck and short-cut dirty blonde hair. His limbs shared the circumference of a young tree and his torso was like a barrel. The van der Leighs were known to produce a line of some of the finest knights, and the current heir of the house had strayed not a hair from that tradition.

Unfortunately, with his physical condition as it was, Niklas could rarely participate in the training or sparring exercises along with the other van der Leigh sons. This, along with the gap between their years of birth, had allowed precious few times for the two brothers to meet or converse. And while Niklas had–at first– held only good thoughts towards his eldest brother, it seemed that Master Brudwyn did not share his generosity of spirit for any time their eyes did happen to meet he made a face similar to one who had just seen a silverfish creeping up the nearest wall.

No…eldest would never walk beside me like this. Niklas pondered. This must be middlest brother.

That seemed more fitting, for now he could almost feel the prodding glances of his second brother’s eyes as they walked. He looked down upon Niklas and then away again, fleetingly, studying his every move with the keen eyes of a predator.

That is not to say that Niklas was the only one he observed in this way, for Vicentie van der Leigh was infamous for the way in which he would peer back and forth among those around him, in a manner like one suspecting trouble. And if you caught his gaze he would look away just as quickly towards someone else.

He had always been a bit nervous and fidgety in this way. Indeed, as he grew up he stood and walked with an unconfident, slouching posture that diminished his height to match the diminutive stature of Niklas, though in truth he had stood a full head taller than him. Their father had beat such behavior out of him through the vigorous training customary for van der Leigh heirs so that Vicentie now stood and walked straight and at his full height. However, he still maintained the worried brow, somewhat sallow features, and long, unkempt brown hair that reached down to his shoulders.

No, Second brother has never strode so confidently, so who is it then..?

As Niklas finally looked to his side he raised his eyes and gazed upon his mighty father, who strode beside him with a determined gait which required that the smaller Niklas skitter every few steps in order to keep up with him.

Kaiser van der Leigh resembled his second son–or more accurately, Vicentie resembled his father– also long of hair, but his was straight and more fair, and his complexion was free of the sunken or bruised features brought on by constant worry. His face was hale and well-defined, with not a shade of stubble upon his jaw, and he always bore a stern expression. Overall, he appeared most alike to Bruder, if a hundred pounds or more lighter.

I remember this now..! We were at the Royal Palace together.

Niklas suddenly heard the large and opulent doors to the throne room fall shut behind them. The King had just scrawled his name on the contract of marriage between Niklas and the Countess. He dreaded this memory as vividly as he remembered it, for his Father had finally looked down to him with an expression of contentment–something Niklas had never seen from the man before–as if to say, “finally you are worth something to me.”

Niklas awoke in a sweat to the sound of someone tapping upon his chamber door.

“That dream again..?” he grumbled aloud, rubbing the kinks out of the back of his neck as he felt the ugly resentful muddy feeling settle in his belly.

“Old man, is that you? Is the bath ready?” He called out, but no immediate reply came.

Unthinkingly Niklas arose from his seat by the fireplace. An uncountable amount of time had passed and the room was dark now, and the fire was naught but embers. In this barely-lit setting he crept over to the door, knocking into end tables or stacks of books as he was not yet sure of the room and he could barely see.

Finally the lock on the door opened with a click as he pushed the thing open. But, as it swung wide, he was not greeted by the familiar face of the old Butler. He was not met with any sight at all; in fact, he could perceive nothing but a black void. Confused, and wondering if he was still dreaming, he reached a hand out and it met with something like cloth and cold metal just before him.

Only then, and too late, did he realize that dark cloth and blackened plate armor would not be easily seen in this low-lit setting! And before he could even make a sound in reaction to his visitor, a massive hand firmly grasped the front of his shirt and pulled him out into the dark of the hall!

Chapter Text

“You do intend on sending the dowry tonight, correct?”

This was the third such time the noblewoman had asked that day, and perhaps the dozenth over the past week. In fact, her pestering would have likely been even greater had the marriage of her youngest brother not been decided so quickly and spur-of-the-moment by their nation’s young King.
Her father sighed and rubbed his sellion. He could have put the shipment off for some time more but for the insistence of his only daughter, Frith. To him, there were several more important things on his mind than little Niklas’ humble marriage to a poor Countess.
Frith van der Leigh placed a hand on her hip and looked down at her father with a stern, unamused face that would’ve reminded him greatly of his late wife… had he lifted his head and his gaze from his desk and his work.

“My Father is not an unintelligent man by a great stretch…” she continued pointedly, “...so I am sure you have realized, in this uncommon circumstance where the groom is providing the dowry, that Niklas needs the substantial capital provided to him if he is to fix up such a poor territory.”

Finally Kaiser van der Leigh lifted his own stern gaze to meet hers.

“As I am sure my daughter is aware, we have limited capital to offer. There are several more pressing matters that require my time and my limited resources–”

At that Frith interjected, leaning over his desk and beaming down at him with the large and pleasant smile she wore as a mask over her growing irritation.

“So if you simply send the dowry now then this arduous task will no longer hang over your head and interfere with your oh-so-pressing other matters!” She fortified her smile into something even more gratingly cordial, even as her gaze remained as unflinching as steel.
A vein on Kaiser’s forehead visibly throbbed as his blood-pressure increased. Who but his stubborn and bull-headed daughter would dare to interrupt him in such a disrespectful fashion? In that moment it took every fiber of his willpower to keep himself from erupting in an undignified manner.

“We will discuss this later.” He hissed at her. “Now get out of my office!”

Slowly, his daughter rose from where she had leaned upon his desk, returning to her previous tall and proud posture, from which she leered down at him.

“The dowry.” She said one last time, giving his desk a condescending pat, before turning on her heel and leaving through the door. As it swung shut behind her, the two proud and stubborn Nobles it separated unknowingly let out the exact same exasperated sigh.

Frith, a beautiful and mature woman for her age of twenty-four, bore the same dirty blonde hair as her elder brother, although she wore it long, streaming down past her shoulders like her second brother. Her eyes were the same bright emerald green as her youngest sibling, though her gaze was thin and scrutinously sharp. Her body was tall, broad-shouldered and corded with lean muscle, giving her the air of a seasoned stallion–all of the children of the van der Leigh family were to train as Knights regardless of gender and societal norm, and she was no exception to this tradition.

But in this moment, this disciplined and proud young woman slouched in dejection.

I thought I could convince him, but it appears it will take some doing yet to accomplish. She bemoaned to herself.

In her mind she could not help but picture the small, emaciated boy who always appeared so frail and close to death, yet as she played with him he would smile and laugh more lively than any other child his age.

I’m sorry for being such a useless sister, Niklas. I’ll do whatever I can, so I pray you are doing well now!

“Ugh!”

Niklas was tossed with some force into a small room, one that was somehow especially dark and dank even compared to the other similarly decrepit rooms in this crypt of a castle.

The walls nearest to him were composed of cold, perpendicular metal bars. Niklas realized with a start that he had been thrown into a prison cell! He looked up at the tall figure who stood in the open doorway between him and freedom, the moonlight from the small window reflected off of her familiar silver mask which bore a feminine and slightly portly face engraved upon it; her bright and violet eyes glared down upon him from behind it.

“W-what is the meaning of this-” Niklas began to shout, but a deep female voice cut through his, sounding muffled behind her silver mask.

“Who was it?” She demanded forcefully and coldly, as her large, tattered cloak flowed around her and made her appear in that darkness as some kind of ethereal reaper.

“...What?”

“Was it the Lords of Lengar or Otkorn? Have they finally turned their foolish desires from the Road of Benedict to the territory of Petrice proper?”

Niklas looked up at her in clear and silent confusion. As she continued to speak she turned and began to pace before where he sat on the cold and dirty stone floor of the cell.

“Or was it maybe someone a bit further out? Maybe the Duke of Lionel finally means to continue his expansions westward? I’ve always thought him an honorable man, but I have been disappointed before.”

Only then did Niklas begin to wrap his head around what she was implying.

“Perhaps Marquis Illund no longer trusts the integrity of the Kingdom’s borders to a family other than his own..?” She muttered to herself, almost as if she had become so enraptured in her speculation that she had forgotten Niklas’ presence entirely.

Desperately, the young Noble scrambled to his feet.

“I-it was the King!” He cried, recapturing her attention once more. “The King had sent me!”

Before he could blink, a large hand once again grasped the collar of his shirt and with it forcefully dragged him close, so that the mismatched newlyweds now stood eye-to-eye.

“A foolish and unbelievable fib!” She cried, her strong voice battering at Niklas’ ears due to their close proximity. “Why would the King, who has scorned Petrice as worthless for so long, suddenly have a change of heart and pay us any mind?”

Niklas’ eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat.

“Perchance,” he tentatively responded, unable to break his gaze away from hers, “-you had not known..?”

At this the Countess narrowed her eyes, dragging him even closer, to the point where the tip of his nose was touching the cold metal of her mask. “Known what..?” She hissed in quiet suspicion.

“The old King had passed in his sleep a year ago, and another half of one more!” he answered. “There is a new King now!”

The Countess paused and did not speak. For a moment the only sound in that small cavernous little room was of her ragged breathing through the thick mask. Then suddenly she relented her grasp upon him, and Niklas stumbled backwards from the unexpected release.

He managed to catch himself, and after brushing the wrinkles from his shirt, he bowed before the Countess in his most regal manner–though he still never broke his nervous gaze away from her, and he was covered in a film of cold sweat.

“I am Niklas van der Leigh, third son of Baron Kaiser van der Leigh. Top of my class in economics, business, and management, and in high form in other related studies.”

The Countess still did not move nor speak from where she stood before him, and Niklas felt a little awkward and so he continued.

“The new King, in the interest of the prosperity of the County of Petrice, has sent me to help to manage the finances and the capital of the territory, and to help build it up into a wealthy and…beautiful…” He trailed off then as he looked about at the dark musty and old building around them, and the dreary and foggy view out of the nearby barred window.

Another awkward pause followed. Niklas coughed and scratched the back of his head to fill a little of the silence as she glared down upon him, unmoving.

Finally, she spoke. “So you are to be my… Seneschal?” she inquired. “A member of my Court? That, then, is what you purport?” She asked incredulously, and Niklas gulped as it dawned on him that she was not aware of his assigned role.

“W-well…” He stammered as her leering eyes threatened to bore through his skull. “To be more accurate I came here to be your…” And he trailed off again.

Her hands grasped him once more, shoving him violently backwards until she had slammed him against the cobblestone wall of the cell.

“Out with it, you yammering knave!” She demanded. “Answer, or I’ll run you through right here–”

“--Your husband!” he replied in a desperate, gasping whisper, having had almost all of the breath forced out of his lungs. “I was wed to you at the Capital and I am here now as your lawfully wedded husband!”

There was another long pause as the Countess digested the words this small, pitiful man had just spoken.

“Muh-” She stammered, and in an instant she had withdrawn from the cell and then slammed the doors shut to trap him inside!

“What is this!” Niklas shouted, futilely grasping the cell bars to shake them. “Let me out!”

“Criminal!” She boomed down at him. “Your punishment for lying to the Countess shall be decided in the morning!”

Niklas’ heart sank, was there no way for him to convince her of the truth?

“Th-the King will be offended! To lock me up in such a way–as his representative, it will be seen as an insult to his royal person!” Niklas called after the Countess as she began to depart.

She stopped at the door as she placed her hand upon it and looked back over her shoulder to reply. “Your ridiculous tales shall not worry me! For what true Nobleman would agree to lower themselves to marriage with… someone like me?”

And even in his desperate situation, in that moment, Niklas thought that her voice sounded almost…hurt, or sad.

But then as she pulled the door open, on the other side of it stood the butler! The older man was hunched over, perspiring and huffing after much exertion.

“Belfort?” She asked, with a small start.

At first the old Butler could not speak, for his breathing was too labored, but he held aloft in his hand an unrolled scroll of parchment.

Slowly, she reached out and took the thing from him. Her violet eyes poured over its contents for a beat, and Niklas waited in anticipation as he watched her read. She paused for a moment seemingly deep in contemplation, then she shoved the thing back into her butler’s arms forcefully enough to send him stumbling backwards.

And just like that she departed, vanishing into the dark of the hall beyond the threshold of the doorway.

“Ahh~”

Niklas sighed with great relief as his feet broke the surface of the steaming water. Part of him had been afraid that, not unlike other things in this dreary land, a hot drawn bath he had requested would in actuality prove to be lukewarm, or temperate at best. His fears, in this case at least, proved to be unfounded.

What was that all about, then..? He wondered.

The Countess had acted quite beastly in his presence since he had arrived. Even if one harbored suspicions of their guest, to act in such an openly aggressive way was most uncivilized and ignoble!

…and who would want to ‘steal’ a wasteland such as this anyhow?

In his privacy he allowed himself to pout as he thought most indignantly about his situation.

Damn that King! And damn my Father! And damn that Countess too! I’ll show them all that they should not have thought so lightly of me! I’ll make this County flourish, and then I shall flaunt it in that brutish woman’s nose! Hmph, we ‘shan’t ever get along, I reckon!

As he indulged in his silent tantrum he sank his mouth and nose beneath the steaming water and exhaled many bubbles.

Angry, angry bubbles.

Chapter Text

If one were to attempt to read the situation in the room only by the moonlight and shadows which played against the wall opposite the window, they might have thought that some great and terrible creature of the night had made away with a small boy-child, for in her cloak and armor the Countess resembled Nosferatu himself, while young Niklas’ visage seemed even frailer in her presence.

None but herself could have known just how unsure this large, yet equally young and inexperienced, Countess felt in this situation. An unknown element had arrived in her abode that day, one that could belong to any number of greedy and ambitious foes looking to take what little comfort and normalcy she yet possessed.

But then, the young man trembling beneath her cried out “-I am here now as your lawfully wedded husband!” in a voice filled with fearful desperation.

Behind her inscrutable silver mask Uldred’s mouth fell agape as her mind went white with shock. Her entire body stiffened as a shot of adrenaline coursed through her from her crown down to her very toes!

“Muh-” She nearly stammered, once, managing to control herself with the iron grip of her will.

This man is a trickster and a charlatan! He must be! Who else would claim such ridiculous nonsense?!

And so the argument between these two continued, but louder still, and Uldred was all but prepared to leave this intruder to rot forever in that dungeon for attempting to toy with her. She was startled, then, when her old servant Belfort appeared behind the thick wooden door, panting and gasping for air as if he had just run a great distance!

He handed her a writ, which she took silently, noting the anxious look on his wrinkled face. She finally peered at its contents and her eyes grew ever wider as she kept reading.

This was an official document of marriage.

Signed by Kaiser van der Leigh at the left, and by King Boratan a bit above in the center… and also, somehow, signed by Uldred of Petrice on the right.

Whenever did I sign this? Her mind raced as she poured through her memories for some clue. When did this first come before me? I cannot recall! …And yet I cannot recall most of the documents which come through my study, for I barely have the time to glance over the contents before I mark my signature!

Forcefully, and with typical ignorance of her true strength, Uldred thrust the parcel back into her servant’s hands and inadvertently pushed him back into a stumble. Without another word she departed from the room and back into the darkness of the hall beyond.

Great anxious tears welled up in Uldred’s violet eyes and clouded what little vision she retained in those dark passages, and her normally sturdy frame shook violently! She was married? To a man? And one whom she did not know? In recent years Uldred had barely so much as spoken to a man who was not her butler, let alone to one her own age and whom she apparently shared such an… intimate relationship with!

The thought of that horrid word, “relationship”! It was enough to flush her face beet-red behind her silver mask, and her lip quivered at the thought. She had faced down swords and axes and crossbows aplenty in her time serving as the Countess of Petrice, and yet the thought of a boy looking down on her for her lack of etiquette and grace, her defects and disfigurements, why that would hurt her deeper than any blade could possibly cut!

I shouldn’t have gone and done that! Why did I do that? Why did I try to be like Father? Father was smart, and I’m so…stupid! A burden-beast and lame in the head besides!

So stuck in her thoughts was she that as she traveled her shoulder collided with the sharp corner-bend with a loud clatter, and while she ached terribly for it, she continued on.

“Oh he probably hates me now!” She bemoaned aloud to the empty darkness. She sighed in exasperation as she clasped her hands together upon the back of her head. Her ears burned, flushed with her embarrassment.

He probably hated me already. Who would want to be forced to leave their home, to come down from that pretty capital to this sad and monster-riddled land to be married to a big, ugly, unmannered woman like me?

At long last she reached the threshold to her private chambers, the only place in the world where she was safe and comfortable. No sooner had the door shut behind her than did she begin furiously casting off her filthy armor and musty traveling clothes, and finally her dull silver mask and hood followed suit and clattered to the floor! She stared into the mirror then, meeting her own violet eyes; in the dim illumination of her single low-melted candle she could only see the right side of her face, while the left remained cloaked by her long bangs. Behind the shadow of her hair a sort of skeletal outline could only faintly be seen.

Uldred grimaced in disgust at the sight of her own face. Covering it with her hands, she fell back onto her bed and its thick fur blankets, which she shortly burrowed into. She curled up like a newborn in the dark warmth there, and as she succumbed to slumber, a part of her hoped that she simply did not awake again to face the next day.

Niklas arose early the next morning to the sun beaming warmly in through his window and the chirping of a bluejay just outside it. It was a welcome sight, but it was fleeting, for even as he stretched and yawned, a gray and heavy cloud rolled over the sky and Petrice was weary and colorless once again.

Niklas engaged in the usual stretches and light exercises that made up his morning routine. They were most light indeed, for only a few repetitions of each were enough to bring about in him a huffing breath and heavy perspiration. Only a scant few moments more had him bent over his knees and gasping for air.

“Ha… Haa! Y-yet again, not a single improvement!” A hint of frustration rang out in his voice.

No matter, it was not like this was any different from every other day. He rubbed his hand upon his bicep, which was thin enough that he could wrap his thumb and forefinger all the way around until the tips were just brushing against each other, and he sighed in resignation.

A knocking against the door came then, and the butler called out from the hallway beyond.

“Breakfast has been made ready for you, sir!”

“Thank you!” Niklas called out in reply. “I will be right down to join you!”

A seed of nervous energy sprouted in his chest and threatened to grow greater vines of anxiety upon his heart.

I wonder if ‘she’ will be there..?

His fears, though, were unfounded. For the large dining hall, which somehow remained majestic while empty of any decoration besides dust and cobwebs, lay unoccupied besides a few long wooden tables that spanned the length of the hall. The end of one bore a meager serving of porridge and toasted bread, and a steaming cup of the thinnest tea that the man had ever laid eyes on. Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately, he did not quite know—Niklas was much too preoccupied with his thoughts to bear any mind to the mostly bland and tasteless meal. In fact, so depleted had he been from the prior day’s fracas, that he feasted quite ravenously on the stuff!

“Sir.” The butler announced himself in the doorway behind where Niklas sat. “The archives have been cleaned to your liking!”

“My thanks, sir, I can get right to work on the finances after my meal!” Niklas declared.

“Right, sir.”

A small giddiness took the young Noble then. Finally, something he was good at! All of this hard travel, fraternization, diplomacy? These were all outside Niklas’ wheelhouse. Numbers and records, neat and tidy! Those are where he was most at home. In that realm he was King, and his peers would fall over themselves to praise him for his merit!

But that seed of nervousness yet remained in his chest, for as he thought back upon his momentary glance into the library the day before, he recalled the chilling sight of a pale, bony and wraith-like hand that slowly crept from behind one of the bookshelves as they departed.

Surely that was just another castle worker… a librarian perhaps! Yes, that’s it! It was only the librarian!

Truthfully Niklas was much too excited about his work to be dissuaded from it, even by some eerie happenstance.

“Would you like me to fetch the Countess? For she might assist you with such matters of records better than I..” Asked the butler.

“No! No. There is no need.” Niklas hastily replied, raising his hands as if to physically stop the notion any further. “I will be quite alright on my own. Thank you.”

He would not have that large and brutish woman cast a shadow over his enjoyment with any nagging queries or threats of violence. Best he stayed away from her as much as he could.

Brushing the crumbs from his mouth with his handkerchief, the young lad arose with a start and slapped his poor wooden spoon down upon the table emphatically.

“All right!” He announced enthusiastically. “To the archives, my good man!”

The tall wooden doors creaked open once again at the behest of the old butler, as they had the previous day.

“A little oil will do wonders for those hinges, I assure you.” Niklas commented.

“Oil? What a luxury that shall be!” The butler replied with a merry chuckle, which caused Niklas to grimace at the notion that a little oil could be considered ‘luxurious’ to a Noble house.

Indeed though, the place had been cleaned of webs and of dust, at least that which could be seen in this suffocating dark, a feat that was quite miraculous for such a small and feeble man to accomplish over such a large space, and only within the hours that Niklas had slept as well!

“Wonderful work, Belfort..!” Niklas exclaimed, looking up and around for a moment in his awe.

“I appreciate it, my Lord!” The older man then handed Niklas the lit candle which he held in a saucer, as well as a small brass bell.

“I have much to do still,” The butler told him. “So take this light and this bell. You can simply ring it if you need something of old Belfort!”

And with that he made his exit and pushed the door shut behind him, leaving Niklas alone to his books and his records.

Some time passed, hours at least, though time was ever an inscrutable thing in this part of the Castle. Niklas had long since taken in the contents of many records. Some were modern, such as the Castles’ meager expenditures and its even more meager income, but others were from decades past such as old businesses or business partners of the Counts and Countesses of old. In his mind now, Niklas had a well-formed picture of the history of the territory simply from its records of finances and dealings, without even taking a peep at its official written history.

It was an unfortunate thing, then, that the lad could only run his hand through his short-cut hair and sigh in displeasure.

“What a mess indeed!” He said aloud into the dark, cavernous room. He then happened to peer down at his candle, only just noticing that it was nearly burnt to its base!

At first he thought to reach for that brass bell that old Belfort had given him, but then he hesitated and frowned.

The poor man is likely cleaning this castle from top to bottom all on his lonesome, for there have been no other servants on record here for quite a few years!

The young man arose and looked about with what little light he still carried. “Surely in a place of learning and study such as this there would be a cupboard of candles somewhere..?” He wondered aloud.

And so for the next several minutes he jostled and jiggled every little handle of every drawer he could find, but naught but cobwebs and a few bits of charcoal or scraps could he find within them. The flame of his candle flickered and strained in its final gasps, before it finally, poof , vanished and left him alone in pitch darkness!

“Damnable luck!” He cursed. “Where is the door again?”

He put out his hands before him so that he might not stumble into walls or chairs in his blindness. Suddenly, though, he froze, goosebumps rising upon his skin. For he felt something upon his neck, like a cold breath! Then a hand, a long, bony and pale thing, reached out and placed itself upon his shoulder!

Chapter Text

Another cold, gray and dreary day dawned in the County of Petrice and the scattered towns and villages within its borders. Towns such as Tuk, if it could be called such a thing–it was more or less a series of shops and tradesmiths settled along the main road which continued on into the Eastern Mountains, eventually becoming the Road of Benedict. Any few travelers who entered the County would pass through this way, and so the little town sprung up around this meager traffic, not unlike a dank cavern weed that barely sustained itself upon what condensation dripped down the stone walls above it.

The tavern which sat roughly at the center of the Tuk served as its only source of ‘entertainment’, though it was a low-lit and dejected-looking place where haggard, swarthy men drank in silence and did not laugh.

So it was an unusual and peculiar sight when a handsome man with short brown hair and a sunny disposition entered in through the weathered tavern door, positively beaming with a grin. He wore a short, dark cloak draped over dirtied half-plate armor and leather. Despite his long travels and dangerous occupation his armor had stayed impressively intact, and it might have all looked quite regal, if not for the copious amounts of dirt and dried mud which stained most of it and dulled its sheen.

The man strode up to the counter with a swagger which drew eyes–and ire as well–from some of the less-savory folk among the establishment. Paying them no mind, he clapped his two palms down upon the wooden surface of the bar with an enthusiasm which was not returned, going by the expression of the ‘tender.

“A mug of beer please! What a long road it has been! I’ve been looking forward to some refreshments!”

The bartender looked at him with a notably lackadaisical air as he replied. “Ain’t no beer for you. Just for them.” He motioned with his head toward a corner table where three of those previously mentioned less-savory folk were seated, leering over towards the newcomer.

This young man frowned a touch, but it did nothing to dim the merry shine in his eyes.

“A shame, then, that they’ve rented out the whole tap.”

But the bartender shook his head slightly. “They ain’t, they just buy it as they need, and they told me not to give no more to anyone else ‘til they have gone.”

“Ah.” At this, the younger man glanced over his shoulder again at the seated trio, and then back to the bartender, his smile returning once again. “Then a mug of beer it is, my good man!”

The bartender startled at that, as did the men at the table. The sound of wood squeaking against wood rose as two of the three slowly drew from their seats.

“Th-there ain’t no beer for you…” The bartender stammered a bit as these three brigands now approached.

“If they have not yet purchased it then any that have the coin can do so instead.” The lad stated matter-of-factly, seemingly oblivious to the approaching danger.

“Hey!” Called out the smallest of the three men. “Didn’t you hear? That keg is ours ‘til we’re done wif it! Bugger off!”

At his call the young man turned to face them, but he did not seem nervous at all, and in fact displayed that same beaming disposition remained despite the harassment.

The two men halted just before him, eyeing the armor he wore, which despite the grime, was considered quite costly around parts such as this. Then their eyes moved back up to his face, where he still smiled naively, his skin without a single scar or a wrinkle on it, and he appeared quite ignorant of the world to these men, and they grinned with foul intention.

“Now, now lads…” Called the tallest of the three, the only one still seated at the back. He spoke with a friendly tone, but also with a mischievous lilt. “There’s no need to be rude. Let the lad enjoy a drink. One tall mug ain’t gonna dry the tap none.”

His cohorts looked less than pleased at that, but they could sense the meaning behind his words and acquiesced, nodding curtly to the man behind the counter, who nervously fetched a mug.

“Thank you strangers, I was certain we could settle this with some civility!” Replied the lad with a smile.

“Oh, think nothing of it…” Said the third man, as his compatriots slowly made their way back to their table, still eyeing the newcomer with some indignation as he turned back towards the counter.

Niklas attempted to maintain some level of composure as he followed behind the Librarian. He still felt a lingering, shaking weakness in his muscles and bones from that moment when, in the dark, her chilled and decrepit old hand had been placed upon his shoulders and gave him the utmost fright! But swiftly thereafter she had produced a candle from beneath her dark cloak, wordlessly beckoning for him to follow.

Now, Niklas was not so sure that this was the best idea, but his curiosity had overcome his common sense. Now he plodded along behind her as she crept through the corridors between the ancient bookshelves, spaces which were in fact so narrow that Niklas wondered how someone of a normal stature was meant to traverse this place. The Librarian was the only person he had met who was thinner and bonier than himself!

Suddenly she stopped, and so abruptly that had he not maintained a cautious distance from her Niklas might have stumbled into her back! As he recovered his composure, her pale-blue and bony finger emerged from beneath the dark cloth of her hooded robe and flitted across the dusty tomes and files on the shelf before her, which appeared identical to all the rest. Her hand trailed over texts of all different sizes and subjects until it finally stopped upon one, which it withdrew. Then, just as suddenly as she had stopped, she began to move again, and Niklas was forced with a start to catch up with her and follow along, lest he lose his one source of light!

Over the course of a half-hour or so the Librarian repeated this process several more times, until they finally, after a bit more walking, emerged from the maze of tight-set shelves into the familiar space of the desks and tables, which Niklas recognized as where he had been sitting just before. Approaching one of the tables, the old woman placed down an aged tome, a scroll, and a stack of parchments held together by a fraying string, and then she gestured for Niklas to take his seat, placing her own fresh, tall candle down beside them. Staring incredulously at this collection of documents, he lowered himself onto the chair.

“The-these are..!” He stammered in amazement as he began to open each and take in the wealth of information written inside in faded, but precise script. Included among them were various detailed reports, trade receipts, records of purchase, and old quaint histories–all dating back several generations!

These are exactly what I needed next! He thought to himself in amazement as he flipped through the pages laid out before him. How did she find the exact papers that I had hoped for? I didn’t even say a word to her!

He turned over his shoulder to where the Librarian had been standing, ready to express his gratitude for her assistance. “Tha-” but he stopped abruptly. for she was no longer there.

“Huh..?”

After a moment of stunned silence, a knocking came from outside the nearby doors, distracting him quite thoroughly from his mysterious and unsettling helper.

“Yes?” He called, and the portal creaked open again to reveal old Belfort standing there.

“My Lord, supper has been prepared for you.”

“My! Has it already been so long?” Niklas asked in amazement. Time had truly flown as he was buried nose-deep in the records, enjoying himself immensely. “But I have only just now found some more interesting texts!”

“Shall I have them sent to your quarters?” Asked the butler promptly.

“Do that,” Niklas replied eagerly,” I would be most grateful. Then I shall go to sup now and return to them after.”

He moved through the darkness of the library, finally emerging into the light beyond the open doorway. As he passed he said to the old man. “And do thank the Librarian for me, for her assistance!”

Belfort cocked an eyebrow at that, but kept his bemusement to himself, merely scratching his balding scalp instead.

Librarian..?

Emerging from the tavern doors, the brunette youth waved and called a friendly farewell back over his shoulder towards the bartender, which the man did not return, merely watching him depart with a look of troubled annoyance.

“What refreshment!” The lad sighed aloud to himself. “A most good mug of beer after such a long walk! I thought I might stop at the inn for the night, but now I feel I could go on for a bit more of a ways! Perhaps I shall feast on seed with my mule, and camp under the night sky.”

His rather loud and jovial monologue drew eyes from all directions, from locals with mostly pale and gloomy faces, similar to those he had encountered within the tavern.

Paying them no mind at all, the young man walked along for a time until he reached the stables. Within the furthest stall he came upon his mule, still weighed with a great many packs and items tied on with ropes, which was gratefully gorging itself upon grain in a trough.

“Come, my dear! A little more walk is in us before it gets dark!” He called merrily.

But as the two of them exited the building and came back onto the main road he was forced to stop. Three men stood before him, dark-looking thugs with long mangy beards wearing tattered leathers and grim expressions.

“Hello again friends!” He called out to them, just as amicably as always.

The smallest one spat onto the mud. “No friends here.”

That tallest one spoke again in a friendly tone, but with a mean grin. “I had thought at the time it was fine if you had a bit of our beer, but now I’ve changed my mind, and I thought I would like it back from you.”

Confused, the young man said. “I do apologize, but I have already drunk it all.”

At that, the tallest man’s grin grew wider and meaner. “Well then, I guess we’ll just have to cut it out of you!” And all three men at once drew their maces, axes and daggers, respectively.

“Well, that is mighty uncivilized of you.” Said the target of their ill-intent as he reached a hand into one of the packs upon his mule’s back.

“Don’t blame us, stranger.” Replied the middlest man. “It’s you foreigners who keep comin’ here alone with yer fancy-expensive armor an’ goods.”

“You stand out too much!” Said the smallest man. “It’s like yer beggin’ to be robbed!”

“I can’t quite say I understand…I was born here in Petrice myself.” Replied the young man, and from the packs that burdened his mule he withdrew a sword. It appeared to have been entirely forged from some sort of black iron, and it resembled a rapier, except for its blade which had a distinct and wavy design. The brigands' eyes grew wide as they looked upon it.

“Monster Hunter..!” Breathed the tallest man in shock.

There was a pause then, long and tense. Onlookers once content to ignore this foul event were now drawn now to the sight of the infamous blade which represented these elite Petrician swordsmen.

“Aye, Thomas is my name. I hunt monsters and dangerous beasts!”

The shortest man looked most afraid, but he held his ground in an almost indignant manner. The middlest one looked more unsure, but he too held his ground, mostly following after his compatriots’ lead. But the tallest one at the back took a step away and placed his axe back upon his belt loop, unseen by the other two men, his eyes blown wide in terror.

“I’ve yet to see a Petrician act this way in all my life,” the newly-revealed swordsman remarked, almost casually. “You three resemble more the men from Otkorn. I hear it is a foul place with many outlaws and bandits.”

“How dare you..!” Cried the shortest man, offended.

“Ah, so you were the true foreigners all along,” laughed Thomas. “Stow your weapons away, men, I only hunt Monsters.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Replied the middlest man, though a bead of nervous sweat now ran down his temple. “Take off that armor and hand over that mule and you can be on your way!”

For the first time that day, Thomas truly frowned, furrowing his brow. “I need this armor to hunt dangerous beasts. And I shall not abandon my dear friend to the likes of you!”

“You don’t have a say in the matter!” Cried the shortest brigand, and he glanced over to his companions then. “Come on! I don’t care what they say about those Flamberges! He can’t take all three of us at once!”

Together the two more reckless ne'er-do-wells charged forward, weapons aloft, unaware of their companion’s hesitation.

The shortest man died before he even saw Thomas move. He had swiftly and suddenly lunged on the power of his back leg while kneeling in with the front one, piercing his opponent’s neck before withdrawing just as quickly. The second man brought his axe down in a two-handed blow, which awkwardly glanced off of the side of the guard and the quillons of the Flamberge. Thomas then bent his elbow inwards to his waist and jammed the wavy blade into his opponent’s side just above the hip, tearing through leather and chain with unnatural ease. The brigand cried out and fell to his knees beside Thomas, clutching frantically at his wound.

Thomas stepped back from this second lunge and looked down at the man where he knelt and wept. Still watching from the sidelines, the ringleader of the group looked sickly, disturbed as he was at the swiftness with which this fellow had cut his brothers down. Thomas smiled at him most casually, and with a flourish he sank his blade halfway through the neck of the kneeling man, who then went silent and slumped over into the mud as he joined his short companion in death.

From one of his mules’ packs the young brunette produced an old filthy rag, with which he cleaned his blade, before stowing the weapon away once more.

With a flippant nod towards the last man, he said “G’day, then!” before he promptly led his burden-beast forward and departed, leaving the town behind to sort out the mess. The tallest brigand watched the unassuming pair wander away until they disappeared into the distance, before turning back to look at the corpses of his friends, where a small crowd was beginning to gather and gawk. The man spoke to himself then, his silver tongue gone hoarse with fear.

“I...should go back to Otkorn.”

Chapter Text

Dear Brother,

Began the letter.

How fare you in the County? I hear the weather is never-not drab and damp, so I pray that you receive a sunny day soon. I hope that my new sister-in-law is treating you well.

Niklas scoffed aloud.

“Yes, most well, sister…” He said sarcastically as he shivered, recalling his torment in those dark and soggy dungeons.

Father remains stubborn as ever. I think he means to indefinitely hold off on sending your dowry. Worry not, for I shall pester and nag him every day–as he deserves–until the wagons depart!

To that he smiled warmly. Sister Frith had always been his guardian, in more ways than one. She would step between Niklas and his brothers when their bullying went too far, and she would also make sure that he was clothed and bathed and fed when the servants neglected to. Though she had no authority to fire those disrespectful maids, she could still lecture them harshly for their adherence to his Father’s neglect. Niklas had once witnessed his Eldest brother cut down a man twice his size in single combat, and yet in his mind he still held his sister as the utmost pinnacle of confidence and strength.

I hope that you are taking care of yourself. I noticed you had yet not fixed your habit of working late into the morning when you departed, and I would be loath to hear about you continuing that practice despite my most clear disapproval!

Now he sucked his breath in through his teeth as he read. “Here it comes..!” He murmured, steeling himself for a most cruel, albeit commonplace, lashing of tongues.

Indeed! As you left for your duty and marriage, if there was one comfort I could find, it was that Petrice is infamous for its lack of luxuries. Perhaps there you might have no choice but to partake of simple fares more inclined towards your health, rather than the greasy foods that are so easy to buy elsewhere.

Ah, now this was nostalgic. While it had only been a couple of weeks, to Niklas it now it felt it had been a lifetime since his esteemed sister had last berated him. Reading her words, he felt as if she was in that very room, looking upon him with her most infamous disapproving gaze–one that imparted such pressure it could crush boulders into dust!

He read on for a good deal more after that, as she viciously tore down everything from his clothing to his hair, his gait to his posture. By the time he reached the bottom of the parchment, his pride was in absolute tatters!

But really, everyone here is feeling your absence, even if pride does not allow them to show it. Do take good care of yourself and I look forward to the time when I can see you again!

Love and kisses!

-Frith van der Leigh

Niklas shuddered as he recalled her regular doting-which was, perhaps, worse than her chastisement–whereupon she would pull him into her unbreakable iron grasp and peck his face with kisses as though she were a bird and he had been doused in seeds.

But what did she mean by that? Everyone here is feeling your absence… He read over that phrase a few more times. Surely she was simply trying to keep his feelings in mind–there was no way his brothers or his father would feel anything but relief at finally being rid of him. That was, after all, exactly what they told Niklas every time they looked upon his lanky, diminutive form.

“I appreciate the sentiment at least…” He muttered with a smile, scratching his head. “I should write her back soon or she may worry for me. And if I do that to her, I fear for my survival after the arrival of her next letter!”

A small knocking came upon the door to his chambers then, just as he had finished reading this correspondence. Likely it was the old Butler bringing the tea that he had asked for!

“Coming!” he called as he rose to his feet from his seat by the fire.

“Honestly I know not how you can scale a place of this size in such little time-” He spoke distractedly. His eyes were closed for a blink as he pulled the door ajar, so it was not until he was halfway through his words that he actually saw who stood outside, and his breath caught in his lungs then in shock!

There towering over him–and in fact so tall that half of her head was concealed by the top lip of the doorframe–stood his wife, the Countess Uldred. She was still clad in her dark robes, leathers and filthy armor, and her face remained obscured behind her hood and that inscrutable silver facemask. In her hands she clutched a silver tray bearing two glasses and a small steaming teapot, all of it appearing comically small in her titan-like grasp.

“I’ve had a lot of practice…” She mumbled in reply.

An air of seemingly impenetrable awkwardness hung in the room now, as though a transparent wall separated this newly paired husband and wife from one another. It had been more than half of an hour since Niklas had beckoned the large woman inside and to a chair, which creaked beneath her massive size, and since then he had remained unsure of what to say or do with her presence, wondering even if he could simply ignore her?

Niklas enjoyed the warmth of his cup more than what little flavor was left to wring out of those old and overused tea-leaves. He stared down at his feet for the most part, only taking small peeks at the Countess every time he brought his cup up to his lips for another peck of his drink. She had set her cup aside entirely–a formality, he’d wagered, as she still wore that full silver mask upon her face–and every time he looked at her she would flick her violet eyes to him in return, which would then send his gaze scurrying back to the floor just as quickly.

At first he had thought there must be a reason for her to come in place of the butler. Why else would she be sitting here, threatening to ruin his single, rickety guest chair which could barely hold her large frame, not to mention her full set of armor? But here she was anyways, simply sitting in silence, fully covered and as inscrutable as ever.

Niklas finally gathered his wits, set his own drink aside on the end table and spoke. “S-so…” He forced out, despite his body clinging to his words like a starving man to his last crust of bread. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence… wife?”

At his use of ‘wife’ to address her he saw her hand twitch, which caused him to flinch instinctively.

“I…” She finally spoke, but did not say anything beyond that for a time. Niklas waited during her long period of hesitation with bated breath. “...would like to apologize , to you.”

At that Niklas’ mouth hung open for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. “Oh! To apolo- oh!” And he scrambled a bit to arrange himself in a proper posture. “Think nothing of it, my Lady! There is no need-”

“ NO! ” She cried, and so forcefully that even from behind that silver mask, Niklas thought he’d felt his clothes rustle as if disturbed by a strong breeze.

“I…suspected you. Cruelly.” She continued, now more subdued. “And I forced you into a terrible cold cell. Uhm… cruelly.” As she spoke her hulking form had slouched inwards upon itself, as if she was attempting to restrain herself after her sudden outburst.

Not the deepest vocabulary. Niklas mused to himself.

Another long pause followed–he guessed that she might be struggling to think of what to say. Then she abruptly shot straight up out of her chair and onto her feet, which startled Niklas once more and also threatened to nearly send the top of her head through the boards of the ceiling! Before he could begin to process what his wife was doing, she had bent down into a rigid bow before him, and one that was impressively deep for her size and width!

“I, C-Countess of Petrice,” She spoke while holding this incredible position, her body taut as a bowstring. “humbly apologize for my previous rudeness and my transgressions towards you!”

…Did she just stutter?

Niklas knew not what to reply, and indeed was so stunned he could neither move nor speak, so unexpected was this turn of events to him. After a few moments without reaction or reply, without rising from her deep bow, his wife’s violet eyes rose up to meet with his. “Are you going to accept my apology?” She demanded then, her tone brusque with a hint of warning.

“I accept! I accept it!” The lad stammered hastily, putting his hands up between them as if he were going to be struck. “R-really, think nothing of it… my Lady.” This form of address did not elicit a violent twitch from her, so Niklas surmised she might be more comfortable with it.

She narrowed her eyes, but then slowly rose back to her full height–or at least back to her usual hunched posture.

“I understand how it might be confusing and suspicious for a stranger to arrive and claim to be your new husband.” He continued, and every word spoken slowly and deliberately as his mind raced for the right ones to convey his thoughts. “I… understand that you are out of the County, on business of the County, quite often. And that the news from His Majesty and the writ of our official… union might not have graced your eyes yet when I had arrived.”

He waited a beat for her to reply, but she simply remained where she stood, listening wordlessly.

So he continued. “How about we simply… put this behind us? Whoopsies! An honest mistake. Between frie-between partners?” Her hand noticeably twitched again. “Buh-business! Business partners!” He stammered out, having caught this reaction.

“Mmm.” She grunted, barely audible beneath the muffling barrier of her mask. He thought she might say something more then, but she did not. Desperate to avoid another long and awkward lull in the conversation, he continued to speak instead.

“S-so, when do you next depart for the Road of Benedict?”

“Two days time.” She replied immediately; this was a topic she was much more comfortable with, he suspected.

“I was looking over the ledger. There are less than two months until the contract with Otkorn is complete. What normally occurs after that?” He asked her, leaning forward in his chair.

She seemed a bit hesitant to continue, at first, but quickly relented.

“After the contract with Otkorn we will likely receive a contract from Lengar. For twelve months and one hundred silvers.”

Niklas bit his lip and held his tongue. Yes, we will have to do something about that first and foremost. I do not want her… or, I suppose, us, to be beholden to Lengar and Otkorn for so long, and for so little reward.

His gaze flitted up to her now, and for once she was not returning it, but staring down at the fire from where she stood.

He sighed in exasperation and rubbed his temple as he pondered the situation further. Unfortunately I am powerless at this moment. I have neither influence nor capital to my name, nor even knowledge of the surrounding area and the people of Petrice! I cannot ask her to turn away from what little money she may bring in, no matter how disrespectful the assignment, without a concrete alternative!

“Well,” he spoke up tentatively. “I’m considering going out and about the County, to meet the people and to better understand the…situation of the locals. While you are away.”

Her gaze raced back upon him then, and she looked him up and down in a manner that seemed to Niklas to be quite incredulous, which he could somehow detect despite her inscrutable attire.

“G-go out? You?” She asked with such authority it was almost a demand rather than a question. “It is much too dangerous for one as small as you! You should just stay here where it is safe!”

Now it was Niklas’ turn to shoot a look back over to her, cocking one eyebrow up at her in irritation.

“I will not remain cloistered away in this castle while the County is in such dire straits and there is work to be done!” He replied firmly, almost bordering on a shout.

Uldred could not help but flinch back slightly at his forceful rebuttal, but then she straightened her arms at her sides and curled back her fists, in what appeared a somewhat childish looking pose. “I said no! The County is f-fine! We will continue on as we have been. We don’t need your help!”

“And I will not take ‘no’ for an answer!” He barked back without hesitation. “I’ve seen your ledger, and I’ve seen the state of the Petrician towns and their buildings and people on my way here. Perhaps this is normal for you, but as one from places of greater civility, and who has been to the great Capital, I must say this place and people are quite run-down!”

“There are monsters out there!” she snapped.

Niklas paused for this was a true point, though not one that he would let deter him. “I…I shall have Belfort with me.”

“Belfort cannot protect you from monsters!”

“It is a risk I will have to take!” He shouted back at her. Why does she even care if I am in danger? He wondered, for they were, despite their recent marriage, barely more than two strangers.

Uldred appeared somewhat at a loss for words, then. She had never been in an argument before. She had barely ever spoken to anyone in her life but her Father and Belfort, besides giving a few small greetings to soldiers or officials of the old King.

“I-I am the Countess!” She stammered in reply. “You cannot go!”

“I am the Count!” He retorted. “I can go where I like!”

Uldred did not reply after that, and there was another awkward pause between them. As the adrenaline of this confrontation left him, Niklas was instead filled with a wary anxiety. He realized, once again, how large and intimidating the one he had been arguing with appeared, and he fretted over how she might react to his defiance.

“ Fine! ”

But despite his fears, the woman who was now Niklas’ wife simply marched back to the doorway in a huff, wrenching the thing open and only pausing her exit to announce back to him.

“Do what you want!”

Then she slammed the door behind her, and so great was the force that it rattled the stone walls of his chamber–and the pictures and placements upon them–quite violently. The gust of force she had produced threatened to extinguish the fire entirely, and it sent the spindly lad and his chair both toppling backwards head-over-heels.

That was where Niklas lay now; staring up at the tall ceiling, he was reminded of the few times in his youth when he had argued so stubbornly with his Eldest Brother and been beaten for it.

Uldred stood on the other side of his door, slumped against it a bit. Her whole body shook, and her head was hot and her vision white, all in the shock from her first argument. Beneath her mask she pursed her lips–or what was left of them–so hard that they ached, and her vision clouded further as great tears welled up.

He yelled at me! That mean, small, ugly thing, how dare he! She thought petulantly.

I was only looking out for his wellbeing! He is so small that he looks as though a strong breeze might break him in two–But he yelled at me!

“Hmph!” She grumbled haughtily, crossing her arms over her broad chest.

Well, if he wants to go out and be eaten up in one bite he can, what do I care? I just met him the other day… I don’t even know him from the dirt under my boots!

She stood there for a moment more indulging in such thoughts, sniffling childishly. But as her anger slowly abated, a small worry crept in to replace it.

“Oh~! Where is Belfort? I must send a letter right away!”

And with this, she departed hastily down the hall and away from her unsettling thoughts of her husband.

It had only yet been a day and a half since the carrier bird had found him, and yet this man–who had short brunette hair–had already made impressive progress through the County. Placing his hand upon his forehead like a visor to shade his eyes from the nonexistent sun of the regular cloudy day, Thomas looked out from the peak of the steep hill upon which he stood; his sight resting on the large, black and ominous Castle where the Countess resided.

“There it is!” He announced aloud.

He looked back with a delightful smile upon his mule, his stalwart companion, and he spoke excitedly to her as if she understood him.

“It has been so long since she has called for us, it must be important!”

The mule huffed and continued to chew on the dull and somewhat dry grass below her.

“Oh, do not be that way, Missy! She would not call for us out of the blue for some simple chore!” He said, as if she had replied to him.

“Come now, Missy!” he called jovially. “The Countess awaits!” And he led the beast forward.

Chapter Text

“You’re leaving a bit early, aren’t you?” Belfort asked, his expression slightly dejected as he watched his Master check the fastenings of her armor. “If you waited to depart another day,” he continued, “you would still arrive on time.”

“It is better this way.” Uldred replied.

Normally she would be loath to depart her home and place of comfort, let alone earlier than planned, yet a recent and unsettling addition to her household had troubled her to such a degree that the open road seemed welcome by comparison.

Belfort had been falling all over himself to clean and polish all things in the castle until they shone, and at a seemingly impossible speed to boot. Uldred had watched the dank and dour familiarity of her home transform into something new, different, and clean . She didn’t like it, and she kept herself locked away in her quarters for longer and longer periods with each passing day.

“Besides,” she continued, “this will likely be the final tour of the contract. Better to get it over and done with now so that we can move on to the next one.”

“If you say so, my Lady…” Belfort hesitantly acquiesced.

Once assured that everything had been properly belted and fastened, Uldred put out a hand towards her elderly companion. He, in turn– and with great effort–lifted a great and heavy scabbarded sword into her grasp. She, of course, wielded it with one arm and no trouble at all. It was a truly massive blade, indeed even matching the giant warrior herself in height, and appeared to be crafted of some kind of black iron and wrapped in a crude leather scabbard. She hefted this monstrous thing up with ease up and over her head so that it rested upon the back of her broad shoulders.

“Then I’ll be off.”

As these two exited into the courtyard that led to the outer gate, Uldred paused, for a familiar mule was stood there upon the meager grass, happily feasting into a bag of feed which had been strapped over its mouth. Uldred approached the oblivious creature and loomed over it, blocking out what already little sunlight broke through that cloudy sky. She put out a hand in which the beast could nuzzle its–comparatively, small–head.

“Ah, yes.” Said the butler as he also caught sight of the mule. “Master Thomas arrived just earlier this morning. Luckily he was already in the County when we sent out the bird!”

Uldred turned over her shoulder to better look at him without having to withdraw her hand whereupon the donkey now rested its head.

“Where is he now?” she asked.

Niklas found himself peeking over his steaming mug of watery tea to steal glances at his guest, something which seemed to have become a regular tactic for him. At the van der Leigh Estate he had never had trouble receiving guests, besides the rarity of such an occasion, yet here in Petrice everyone he met with was… peculiar . When Belfort had pulled him from that pitch-black, cavernous library with word of a guest arriving for him, Niklas had not been expecting a man with such a beaming smile and enthusiastic temperament to greet him.

“Thomas, my new Lord Count!” This fellow declared immediately and loudly after he emerged–thoroughly startling Niklas–even as he produced a hand to shake, which was taken up by the shaken noble lad after a brief hesitation.

“Nik–Count Niklas of Petrice. A pleasure to meet you, sir.” He had stammered in reply.

“Likewise! Likewise!” Replied Thomas, who shook his arm, and his entire frail body along with it, with his usual vigorous enthusiasm.

The two men took their seats once again, and there followed a short pause as Niklas did not speak again immediately. Neither did Thomas, but he simply sat there beaming at Niklas with an expectant grin, and in a way that reminded the Count of some large dog waiting patiently for a stick to be thrown.

“Sooo…” Niklas said, breaking the silence after enduring several minutes of this. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your arrival, Mr. Thomas?”

“Ah, yes!” Thomas replied as one did who suddenly remembered something they had forgotten. “Business of the Countess!”

Niklas nodded, as if this response had been at all informative. “Business of the Countess, indeed.”

Another expectant pause stretched between the two of them, but this time it was the young Count who was waiting for Thomas to speak further.

When the other man did not speak up, Niklas was forced to move the conversation along himself.

“Which would be..?” he prompted.

Thomas grin never faltered as he responded with a cheerful “I have no idea, my Lord!”

Niklas’ face crinkled up in distaste–the same expression he would make upon smelling rotten eggs– and his voice was skeptical and disbelieving. “I was told that you had received a note from the Countess by bird. Did the note not say what your business was to be?”

Thomas shook his head. “No, my Lord!”

“May I… see it for myself?” Niklas inquired.

At that the affable brunette reached into a pouch hanging at his side and retrieved a small and crumpled parchment from inside, handing it across to Niklas, who greedily snatched it up and unfolded it to peer at the contents:

Thomas,

Return.

-U

“... I see.” Niklas said, and then he promptly tossed the offending document over his shoulder, his countenance clearly unamused. “Well,” he continued in a clipped tone. “Perhaps the Countess herself will inform us of your business when she arrives.”

“Alright.” Uldred replied immediately, for she was now standing just behind his chair.

At that Niklas barked out a startled cry as he leapt from his chair, stumbling back across the room until he had plastered himself against the far wall. His body was shaky and beaded with cold sweat, his breaths and heartbeat were quick and loud, so strong was his shock at her unexpected appearance.

How can a woman as large as she move as quietly as a mouse? Niklas wondered to himself. You would expect a person of her size to be announced by heavy footfalls, ones which perhaps shake the room and its contents! Is she a ghost, to appear so silently out of the air?

Neither Thomas nor Uldred appeared to register the young Lord’s overreaction, but looked upon each other casually as he struggled to recover his wits.

“Eully!” the wandering swordsman called out in greeting, outstretching his arms for a hug that would never come.

“Thomas, I have told you to refer to me as ‘Countess’ have I not?”

“Bah!” Thomas waved his hand dismissively. “You’ll always be little Eully to me!”

Leather squeaked as the Countess’ fists squeezed her massive gloves so hard that they threatened to burst. Niklas’ eyes bulged again as his frantic mind imagined that this impertinent young traveler might be torn to pieces before his eyes, even as the man himself simply grinned like usual.

“So, what did you need of me, oh esteemed Countess?” Thomas asked with an exaggerated flourish.

She raised one large gloved hand then and shoved her finger directly towards where Niklas stood back in the corner.

“ That one .” She said, not even bothering to hide her disdain for him Niklas folded his arms defensively and frowned back at her. Ignoring his reaction entirely, she continued. “He wishes to go out and… see the County. You will make sure he does not die.”

For the first time Thomas’ smile gave way to a small frown, but it was one that spoke more of confusion than anything else. “Well, I am not opposed to it, but surely Belfort would be enough to–”

“-- It is not safe. ” The Countess’ booming rebuttal rang out before he could even finish his words. Behind her, the old butler shrugged helplessly.

Thomas scratched at his chin quizzically. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm in it. And I am interested to see what the Count seeks out among all the villages and spud farms and such...”

He turned his brilliant grin back towards Niklas once more. “We would be most honored to have you along, my Lord! Missy and I would, that is.”

Suddenly all eyes were upon Niklas, most notable of which were Uldred’s, whose violet gaze felt as heavy as the massive sword strapped upon her back. After only a few seconds of this invisible weight bearing down on his small frame, he sighed in resignation.

“ Fine. If you trust him so well, then I shall depart for my tour in the morning with this Thomas fellow.”

Yet again a silence fell over the room. Nobody knew what to say now that the matter of Niklas’ escort had been settled.

The spell was quickly broken by Thomas as he suddenly arose from his seat and clapped his hands together.

“So,” he prompted eagerly. “how about lunch?”

The tall and proud figure of Frith van der Leigh peered down from the hallway window towards the bustle at the front of the Estate. Below her, workers toiled away preparing wagons stacked with chests full of coin, crates packed with materials, or corralling herds of sheep, cows and other livestock.

This caravan of provisions was to serve as the dowry for the marriage between the van der Leigh family and the County of Petrice, though it differed greatly from traditional noble wedding gifts. This was because Petrice was known to be a poor area incomparable to any other, whose only export was those terrible and awesome swordsmen and women who traveled to fight for their own fortune. It was a mostly barren and inhospitable place, and indeed its greatest defense against outside aggression was simply its lack of worth.

It was no coincidence that Niklas, a top study in the art of stewardship, had been chosen to help manage a place so ill of fortune, but even he could not hope to revive Petrice with his two hands alone.

That is why it was so maddening to see my father withhold the dowry for so long. Frith thought to herself, remaining poised despite her lingering frustration. If he had delayed it any longer the Crown might have thought his attitude was not just disparaging of his own son, but of them as well.

Distracted as she was by her thoughts, and by watching the progress below, she did not appear to see the two figures turning the corner and approaching her from down the hall. The first man had a face which was somewhat sallow –although he was nowhere near as gaunt as Niklas-- which was framed by long and stringy hair. He was of an average build, and he stood and walked well, his confident posture betraying his unhealthy appearance. Following just behind him and to his left was a man twice as large in girth and a head taller in height. His hair was cropped short, his neck and jaw were thick, and he wore a stern expression which very much resembled their father’s.

The two men stopped just ahead of their sister, peering out of the window and following her gaze down towards where it was fixed.

“What a waste.” Bemoaned Vicentie as he took in the procession of well-stocked wagons. “All this capital, just for one lousy runt! This is enough that I could start up another business!”

Brudwyn snorted amusedly.

Frith sighed at his harsh words, but otherwise remained as she had been. “If those were our only two choices,” she replied evenly. “then I’d wager this is the more sound investment.”

That elicited a grunted “Heh!” out of Brudwyn, while Vicentie shot her a searing glare. “Always so quick to jump to little Nikki’s side, aren’t you, sister?”

“Somebody has to.”

Unlike Vicentie, the eldest brother only looked amused at her censure. “Even God didn’t when He born him as half a man.” He replied. “Some people will never amount to anything, no matter how much you coddle them.”

Now it was Frith’s turn to chuckle darkly. “That was made more apparent by the rank at which you graduated from the Academy, dear brother.”

It was Brudwyn’s turn to scowl over at his sister while Vicentie laughed. “The van der Leighs produce knights, not pencil-pushers!” You should know that.” He scoffed at her as he shoved at Vicentie’s shoulder from behind, making him stumble. “You, too.” he continued, now addressing his brother as the younger man fumed up at him. “You’re the scrawny one, now! Though at least you can swing a sword a bit.” Vicentie just sneered back at him in open hostility.

“If and when we visit the County,” Frith interjected, entirely ignoring their petty bickering. “I would hope that the two of you leave these disrespectful attitudes behind at the van der Leigh Estate. The little boy you both enjoyed picking on so much now ranks higher than even Father himself.”

Despite their squabbling just a moment before, both of the brothers exchanged amused glances at her words.

“What is he gonna do? That twerp thinks he can flaunt a Title that he bought in front of us as he pleases? When I see him I’ll show him who’s really in charge, Count or no Count.” Brudwyn boasted.

“Oh, but I don’t think that the Countess would be thrilled to be slighted like that.” Frith said, and a wicked grin spread slowly across her face, the change from her usual unflappable demeanor unsettling both of her brothers. “You know of her, yes?” She continued, leaning languidly against the wall even as she watched them with the air of a lioness stalking its prey. “The de facto leader of the infamous Flamberges de Patrice ? The Black Knight?”

Vicentie nervously shrunk in on himself a bit, his confident posture vanishing at the thought. Brudwyn did not show his fear so easily, but a bead of sweat had begun to roll down the length of his furrowed brow. Then, noticing his brother’s cowering, he shot him a disgusted look.

“Th-those stories are clearly exaggerated! ‘Monsters’ or what-have-you, hah!” he stammered out brashly, unwilling to show his upset. “They’re most likely just your run-of-the-mill militia who rely on scary weapons to ward off bandits and wolves from flocks of sheep! They’re hardly a match for esteemed Knights like ours!”

Indeed, while Frith had also doubted the claims of the Countess’ terrible size and strength, along with her immeasurable ability on the battlefield–for many unbelievable stories and rumors about her were circulated among the nobility from the West–it was still entertaining to watch these two bullies squirm with anxiety at the thought of her.

“Well,” Frith spoke lightly then, as she was not enjoying watching them squirm. "If the two of you are meaning to maintain the same relationship with our little Nikki that you shared all those years past, then I hope for your sakes that you are right.” With that she left the window and continued on her way past her brothers and down the hall–though she did not go around the two men, but rather through and between them, forcefully shoulder-checking Vicentie and sending him stumbling again as she went.

“Otherwise, I suspect I might have to start referring to him as the ‘Eldest Brother’.” She couldn’t hold back one last smug jab as she made her exit.

The two men silently watched her glide around the corner and disappear.

Vicentie slouched and looked nervously over at his brother, who himself was visibly shaking with anger, as well as his own fear. His jaw was clenched so tight he could just barely force a single word of response out from between his teeth.

“ Bitch."

Chapter Text

Amongst the bustle and noise of the camp Abor lazily picked between his teeth with the sharp piece of a broken-off bone. He was a large and well-muscled man–not the kind of muscular that appears sculpted from stone, but the girth one obtains from many years of hard labor, both voluntary and indentured. His copper-colored skin was matted with curly black hair, which spread all across his chest and forearms, but grew most heavily upon his face. He was the only man in the camp who was naked from the waist up, for he had complained that the uniform of an Otkornian soldier was much too uncomfortable and caused him to itch terribly, and none of the few true men-at-arms had the stones to reprimand him.

All of the other swarthy men who swarmed about wore the same gray tabard, upon which was displayed the telling image of a stone tower with a flag at its peak waving in the breeze, with two swords crossed behind it: the house symbol of Baron Otkorn. That same tabard was what Abor sat upon to shield his seat from the damp log below.

The men–there must have been fifty there now– cackled and mingled in a merry atmosphere, as most of them were tipsy on grog and well-feasted upon tough and fatty cuts of gristly meat. Standing a ways away and whispering amongst themselves, the few proper men-at-arms present looked on with concern at the gaggle of ruffians that were to be their fighting forces.

“Look at ‘em. Bastards. Like they weren’t born in the same pen as the rest of us.” Abor grumbled to the weaselly-looking man who sat beside him.

“Y-yeah!” His companion stuttered out, looking nervously at Abor as he did so. He was a diminutive fellow with sharp features and prominent buckteeth.

“They act all put off by us, but thems and their Lord are the ones who conscripted us out of the jail in the first place ‘cuz they’s so desperate for fighting men! Hah!”

He reached over and swiped a chunk of grilled meat from the smaller man’s grasp, who looked on in disappointment but did not dare to object.

“At least they have the decency to feed us some meat an’ grog. Still...bastards.”

Abor tore into his gristly spoils with his teeth.

“Yeah!” The other man replied again.

Chewing on a piece of fat, Abor leaned his head back to look up at the cloudy sky and huffed. “An’ now we gots to fight under some stuffy Noble that’s comin’ here? Hah!”

He spat some of the gristle on the dirt.

“It’s a woman too! Can you imagine that? A Noble woman on the battlefield? What rubbish!”

He did not see that his small companion behind him withdrew from him at the mention of this ‘Noble woman’, his expression darkening.

“At least maybe she’s a looker, eh?” Abor continued derisively. “Maybe me an’ the lads will pay her a visit one night ‘fore she departs.” He cackled loudly. It was then that he finally turned, and saw the nervous sweat beading on the face of his henchman. “What’s got your ass? Eh?”

“I-I’s heard stories of that Noble Lady I has…” The small man muttered. “They says she’s tall as a hill, half-Troll or somethin’ like that, and she’s a cannibal too!” His weedy body shook a little as he recounted this. “They calls her ‘The Reaper of the Road’ cuz she comes back every few months an’ clears out all the Lengar boys when they come to take back the trade road. The Baron don’t even pay ‘er! She does it for fun!”

Abor brought a mean fist down upon the top of the small man’s skull, who then fell to his knees and clutched at this new lump, moaning piteously. “Snap out of it lad!” His swarthy tormentor barked out. “Ain’t no woman I ever saw lift a sword before! Let alone one of them prissy Noble ones.”

With extra space having been freed up on the stump that served them as a seat, Abor lay down upon it lazily, resting his chin upon his palm. “There’s what, ten soldiers o’er there in that Tent?” He queried, looking over at the place where the lone Otkorn Sergeant and his soldiers were huddled. He grinned menacingly.

“W-what’re you thinkin’ boss?” Asked the small man nervously from the dirt below the stump.

Abor chuckled, but did not elaborate any further. “Not now…but soon. I think I’s got the ticket to get us out of this lot.” He said, and he jingled the chains which stretched between his ankles.

Niklas couldn’t help but shiver as he stepped out into the cold and damp landscape of Petrice, even while wrapped up in the thickest shirt and vest that he had packed. He sucked in air between his teeth and exhaled a sigh that was faintly visible as mist in the chilly air. Before him, and some twenty feet out, Thomas turned to wave him over; beside the other man stood his trusty mule, her back still furnished with several bulging packs.

“Greetings, Count! Ready to set off?” He said with a cheerful grin--which was surely the brightest expression worn by anyone in the County, Niklas wagered. “The day’ll be long before we come to the first town.”

“Indeed, let us be off at once!” he replied, to which Thomas then responded to Niklas’ declaration with a silly salute.

So began their journey together. For a time no one among the three of them said a word, although Thomas hummed merrily as he walked. Whenever he finished a song he would peer somewhat quizzically over at Niklas. And as Niklas offered up no objections, he would begin to hum a new tune.

He must be used to being told off by his companions for making noise. Niklas thought to himself, a little amused. But I find it to be quite the entertainment, especially in this dreary landscape.

After an hour or so of walking Thomas had transitioned from his light humming to full-blown song, emboldened by Niklas’ lack of protest. They were exotic and alien tunes to Niklas, and he thought that they must have come from the other man’s extensive travels amongst unfamiliar lands and cultures. Soon enough he found himself nodding along to them, and Thomas’ own singing voice was not an unpleasant thing in its own right.

“You are quite the Bard, sir Thomas.” Niklas commented during the break between one song and the next.

“My thanks, your Lordship!” Thomas replied. “Though I’m afraid the only instrument I know is a blade!”

At that Niklas’ eye darted to the weapon which sat atop one of the packs on the mule’s back. It was not a blade that Niklas was familiar with, for despite his family history, he was not permitted much study of such things back at home very much due to frail constitution. From what little he could make of it while in its sheath, it was a long and narrow blade, but with a hilt only fit for one-handed use, and below the crossguard appeared some sort of cage for the hand.

“It’s a peculiar one you have there, at least to my untrained eye.”

Thomas chuckled. “Aye, it’s not what a Knight or a traveler would normally carry. It is much more a weapon of the Nobility. However, I find it fits my… style, you could say, quite nicely!”

Niklas scratched his chin. “It does not appear as if it could handle much abuse. I cannot imagine you could stop a blow with it.”

“Nay, it’s better to move out of the way instead.” Thomas replied with a shake of his head. “And better yet to strike before they even have a chance to attempt a strike of their own, which is what I prefer.”

Something about the blade stirred an excitement in Niklas’ Knightly blood, and he came to a slow realization as he further looked it over.

“...Is much strength required to wield it?” He asked with a feigned lightness that belied the spark in his eyes .

Thomas briefly looked him up and down, noting Niklas’ obvious lack of conventional physical strength or size, and he grinned again. “Not much at all!” he replied. “Just the strength to hold it, my Lord, and enough to pierce through leather and cloth. Why, if you were to procure one I could very well teach you the way of it.”

“Could you?” Niklas’ eyes shone with a look not unlike a peasant child being offered their first sweet.

“Aye!” Thomas’ expression was almost as joyful as Niklas’. I am quite proficient, if I do say so myself.” He then shot Missy a silent grin over his shoulder, to which she only let out a characteristic huff and a roll of her eyes before she resumed her search for tender patches of grass beside the road.

And from thereon the road did not seem so long or so arduous, as the two travelers were enraptured by further conversation of the exotic swords and martial studies which Thomas had witnessed in his travels.

After some further hours of walk, a rest period camping under the night sky, and a halfday thereafter of further travel, Niklas and Thomas could finally see the hazy silhouettes of small buildings in the distance. Every few hours past that time, they happened upon crude wooden barns or sheds that marked the beginnings of what civilization resided in this poor and barren County. Finally they arrived at the first small town closest to the Castle, which was called Wiffeld.

The exterior of the town proper was surrounded by a tall wooden fence. The thing was not exactly a palisade, for the wood poles that made it up were thin and segmented with gaps, and they led to a wide, gateless portcullis of the same make. In front of this humble entrance stood a scruffy looking youth, who gave a start when he saw the two travelers approaching.

“A-are you the Lord Count?” He called out in a reedy voice, to which Niklas replied with a casual wave.

Without another word the boy turned, jogged back into the town and disappeared from their sight. The two men and the mule stopped before the entrance and waited for a short time, and soon the youth returned with an elderly man at his back.

This tall and wide older man first turned his expectant gaze towards Thomas before the lad, correcting him, pointed to Niklas. At this the old man’s look became more unsure and judgmental as he took in the diminutive Nobleman before him.

“I am Crawford, village head.” He finally spoke with a regional accent, and in a low, scratchy voice to boot.

“Count Niklas,” the other man returned amiably. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He put out a hand to shake.

Crawford did not take it, however, and instead simply bowed his head towards him. Niklas awkwardly withdrew the respectful gesture after a moment’s pause.

… All right. Niklas thought to himself, annoyed by the dismissive attitude he had been shown.

“Please, enter.” The old man gestured through the gate and into the town, and so the two newcomers did, with their newmet guides following behind them.

Niklas looked about as they were led in. The many buildings were arranged in a circular pattern around an open center. Most of them were individual living spaces made of thatched wood and with small personal gardens attached. There were, however, a couple larger structures that he supposed must be for storage of animals or other goods. As the party made their way in they soon came to the widest such building in the area, which served as a place of community gatherings.

The young boy ran ahead and the three adults entered behind him, leaving Missy the mule just outside.

Being midday, not many souls were present inside the hall though what few lingered there shared the same gruff, inexpressive demeanor as Crawford himself, and they peered over at the newcomers with distrustful eyes. Finally the elder man sat down at a secluded table, gesturing for his two guests to do the same, with which they readily complied.

Truthfully, Niklas was quite put off by this setting, as well as the scrutiny of the locals, but he did his best to wear a confident veneer. The constant presence of Thomas at his side was one that provided him much comfort as well.

“So,” The larger man said, his voice as unenthusiastic as his expression. “what is your business here, Lord Count?

What followed over the next hour was an abysmal repartee between Niklas and Crawford, wherein the visiting Count could gather little information due to the older man’s stubborn and taciturn nature. Questions of trade, travel, or interactions with the other nearby villages all received short and unhelpful answers from the Head, whilst queries about farming techniques and local specialties brought out suspicious and dagger-like gazes from not only Crawford himself but every other villager in the hall.

From their attitude, you would think I was some common swindler!

Niklas steadily grew more impatient as the meeting wore on, and with every dodgy answer and accusatory suggestion he felt his ire rising.

“Mr. Crawford, I believe you are misunderstanding me.” Niklas sighed in exasperation for what felt like the hundredth time. “I am simply here to gather information so I may come up with a plan to improve the general conditions in which your people live, as well as those of all of the-”

“No.” The elder man gruffly cut him off. “It is you who does not understand. We have lived on and worked these fields for hundreds of seasons longer than your Kingdom has even existed. It is you outsiders who come here and try to tell us as if you know better.” This was, perhaps, the most Crawford had spoken since this conference had begun.

For a moment then the old man’s gaze flitted over and behind Niklas, who glanced over his shoulder to follow it. A group of farmhands who had been sitting at a table across the room had just begun to rise from their seats, their gazes cold and hostile.

“And this…’tax’ that you say?” Crawford continued. “To take the fruits of our toil as your own, as if we owe you anything? You have insulted us, Count, and I think it is time for you to go.”

The air in the room was heavy. Niklas was boiling with anger at such an unreasonable rejection, and had half a mind to tell these people off no matter what it cost him later. Thomas sat between the two men, looking back and forth between them as they traded barbed glares with one another even while his own mug still wore a pleasant and unworried grin. With a great effort of will Niklas reigned in his anger, rubbing at his throbbing temples with his hands.

“... Fine.” He declared then, standing up from the table and making use of what height he had to look down upon his host. “I shall find my own way, then. Both to the gate and the information I desire.”

He gestured for Thomas to follow. He rose from his own seat, and the two of them made to depart. But just before they exited the far doorway out of the hall, Niklas stopped and turned to call back over his shoulder.

“Know this: Change is coming.” He declared, with all the authority he could muster up. “This territory will be reformed, and for the better. Best to steel yourselves for it now, lest you be caught unawares.”

The old man did not so much as twitch at this, but the slight reddening of his countenance and the newly-swelling vein upon his forehead betrayed his reaction to the young Count’s words.

To think that I must be lectured by some… child! The old man raged within the privacy of his thoughts. The female Count was bad enough, but at least she left us bloody well alone!

He turned his angered gaze upon the handful of townsmen across the room, who stared back at him just as intently. Their expressions were much like hunting hounds who desperately wished for Crawford to let them off of their leash!

Maybe it would be best if we cow this boy now, while we have the chance…

But then, as if he had heard the old man’s thoughts ringing out across the hall, Thomas gave the briefest look over his shoulder towards him, his eyes were deadly, sharp and cold as ice.

Crawford’s face went pale as the force of the swordsman’s killing intent snuffed his out the fire of rage like it was a mere candle, a wave of cold ran through his bones. He visibly shivered and looked back to his lads, who looked just as pale. They shook their heads now, any motivation for action having left them as quickly as it had from their leader.

Shaky, but still determined, Crawford reached up a hand which he lay upon the shoulder of that youth who stood to his side. He whispered to him then.

“Send word to the other villages. This new Count is not to be trusted.”

Chapter Text

Something near a week had passed since the newlywed Count and the Countess had departed Castle Petrice upon their separate journeys: Uldred setting out alone and Niklas in the company of Thomas and the trusty mule Missy. During this time the Countess had enjoyed the familiar bleak scenery, as well as the distance between her and the biggest disturbance to her normal life, Niklas. The man himself, meanwhile, was having a most unpleasant time butting heads with the Petrician townsfolk.

The xenophobic nature of the local populace had buffeted all of Niklas’ attempts at even the most basic information-gathering. The leaders and yeomen of the surrounding towns and villages had reacted in an identical fashion to old Crawford, the village head of Wiffeld, resisting the young Count’s probing and allowing through only a few meager crumbs, rather than the answers he sought. Indeed, this trio of travelers found themselves all but chased out from the next several settlements along their journey, and later on a few barred them from entering entirely. Niklas suspected then that the Petrician villages they had visited heretofore might be sending messengers hither and thither to warn the others of their upcoming arrival.

While those three continued along their unexpectedly harrowing journey, the Countess herself was just then taking her first steps past the borders of Petrice along the infamous Road of Benedict. In this narrow corridor of no-man’s land that rested between two Counties and the Barony of Otkorn, her huge and intimidating figure was offered little resistance. Where the caravans of merchants or tradesmen might be set upon by brigands, the mighty Uldred appeared like unto a massive oncoming beast, and as such sent such otherwise dangerous men scattering into the bushes or trees until she had long since passed. Thus, after a long and undisturbed trek, she finally looked out to the East and saw small trails of smoke rising from the nearby forest, and she broke off from the trodden path.

Abor stood amongst his ‘boys’ with his arms folded before him, but wearing a small grin. Indeed, to see him with such a posse at his back, one might have wondered who was really in charge here, as he stood beside the Sergeant and his few true soldiers. Of course, the soldiers were aware of the harsh discrepancy between their men and their loyalties, and they warily eyed their criminal cohorts. Their greatest relief lay in the chains that hung between each of those fifty men’s ankles, limiting their gait to a fast walk at best.

Soldiers and conscripts alike all stood waiting for the anticipated arrival of the Countess of Petrice. Abor imagined her a dainty Lady in some form-fitting and fashionable ‘armor’ unsuitable for true battle, one who would come with a handful of House Guards for her to command from the safety of the rear.

Though Petrice is a poor land, so whatever men-at-arms she brings can’t be any better furnished than we are! Abor postulated to himself. Even with guards and the soldiers, we’ll easily outnumber them both. We can grab the little Lady, have some fun with ‘er, and then ransom ‘er back for an easy reward! He licked his remaining teeth in anticipation of this heinous plan.

It was then that at last a silhouette appeared in the near distance from between the thinning trees. But the lascivious eyes of the conscripted prisoners soon grew wide instead, and they shot startled glances over to the soldiers, who returned them with their own nervous gazes. These two normally disparate groups were, at present, united by their shared anxiety and shock.

“What in all the Hells..?” Abor wondered aloud.

An unexpected lone figure approached the assembled men, one who only grew larger and greater as she closed the distance between them. When she finally stood before them she towered over even the largest man there, and in her black leather, battered plates and hooded mask, she looked so eerie and terrible that some of the men wondered then if some Petrician monster had made its way across the border in place of the expected woman of rank.

“W-welcome, my Lady.” Stuttered the Sergeant as he stepped forward and bowed his head respectfully. Uldred did not speak in reply, but simply waved a large hand indicating for the man to rise.

That… thing is the Countess..? Abor hardly dared to blink as he stared at her in disbelief and rising anger.

“... it’s the Reaper of the Road!” His weaselly companion muttered aloud in a hoarse whisper, fear etched across his face.

The brutish brigand himself ground his teeth in his rage. It was not an anger born from this unexpected change to his plans, nor from the embarrassment of being made to look like a fool in front of his boys, nor even one formed from disappointment that the Countess was not some petite and beauteous thing for him to have his way with.

No, it was more of a base and animal fire that had sparked within the man, for among this lot–and even in his incarceration prior–Abor had been the largest and most menacing of the bunch. And when he was not, and there was one more intimidating than him, he would swiftly dispatch them with either a sharp blade to their guts or strangled with a length of rope as they slept. This woman–if she could even be called as such–stood at least a full head taller than him and was even wider of shoulder, and she wore the countenance of Death Himself. As he looked about he saw his boys, who were fearful and loyal to him , were cowed simply by the sight of her!

“Y-you must be exhausted, my Lady! Please, come r-right this way!” Oblivious to Abor’s growing outrage, the nervous Sergeant stuttered as he addressed the Countess again and then led her away towards the more well-kept and better quality tents where the soldiers slept and did their business.

As she passed by Abor, time seemed to slow for a stretch. He watched as if through molasses as she turned slightly, and a pair of violet eyes glared out from her mask and swept over the gathered conscripts. It was a menacing gaze which Abor returned defiantly.

“B-boss? What’ll we do?” Whispered one man nervously over Abor’s shoulder, and many eyes turned upon their unspoken captain.

“What?!” Abor scoffed as he turned his enraged gaze upon them. “Nothing’s changed! She might look a bit scary, but she’s still only one woman, and a Noble one at that! Under all that armor she’s still soft . ”

At that the men murmured and shared glances amongst themselves, clearly less than satisfied. Abor shook with an even greater anger then, grabbing one of his fellows by the collar and pulling him close enough that their noses touched.

“Listen here, you stupid, useless lot! I’m still the baddest man here! If you all don’t listen to me, I’ll gut ya! Or worse. ”

The man in his grasp could only stare into Abor’s eyes in terror as he vented his anger, and the rest of the men around him instinctively took a step back from the two. Abor pointed one meaty arm towards the tents where the soldiers had led the Countess.

“There’s damn near fifty of us here, and only ten of them--even with that big freak it’s only eleven!” he roared. “Ain’t no way they’re stoppin’ us. So get yer heads out of yer asses, and quick !” Spittle rained down upon the other man’s bearded face. “I ain’t rotting away in some cell for the rest of my days. You all do as I says, and we’ll live like Kings! Or as much as one can in this wretched Barony.”

Finally he released his captive from his grasp–and his wrath–and the man stumbled backwards, fell to his seat and shook, too shocked to even wipe the saliva from his face. Abor turned once more towards the camp with a gaze consumed by the inferno of determination and rage burning in his gut

This changes nothing!

“My apologies, the accommodations surely cannot be to your standards…” Mumbled the nervous Sergeant, a notion to which Uldred gave another dismissive wave.

“I am unused to finery.” Came the muffled reply from beneath her mask.

“R-right…” Stammered the soldier.

Uldred was not paying the man much mind, her attention was turned instead towards the cluster of conscripts. Though she could not see them anymore, she still stared in their direction as if her eyes could penetrate the walls of the tent and the foliage beyond.

“Quite the discrepancy in numbers…” Uldred muttered to herself.

“Yes, we are experiencing a… shortage in manpower recently.” The Sergeant replied, his awkward smile betrayed by the tremble in his voice.

I do not doubt it. Mused the Countess internally. Not many brave men would jump at the chance to pledge their loyalty and fight for a repugnant soul such as Baron Otkorn.

She turned her gaze back upon the Sergeant, barely having to tilt her head to meet his eyes despite the fact that she was sitting and he was standing.

“Last time you all could manage to scrape together at least double the soldiers, and the time before that the soldiers were in equal number to the conscripts…”

The Sergeant gulped audibly. “Yes well, the Baron has needed the men… elsewhere.”

Uldred narrowed her eyes at that. Ah, I see.

She was not truly surprised at this turn of events. Indeed, she was more surprised that something like this had not happened sooner on one of her earlier two contracts with the Baron.

I am here alone, with but a skeleton crew to command, among a sea of desperate thugs who are destined to be jailed or executed upon their return to the Barony?

Contemplating her predicament, Uldred simply sighed. It was not a dejected or resigned sigh, nor one that denoted any kind of fear. It was the heavy, soul-weary sigh of a person who had arrived at their desk to find, waiting patiently upon it, double the work that they had expected. Hers was a sigh that said this is going to be a very long day .

“The shackles, who has the keys for them?” She asked after it had finished.

“Th-there is but one key for all, and it is held by me at all times, except whilst I sleep, and then it held by one of my men, chosen at random.”

She put out a large, black-gloved hand towards the Sergeant, who startled at the gesture.

“Give it here.” she ordered him.

The man hesitated for a moment, but after catching sight of the great Lady’s violet gaze, he reached quickly into a pouch at his belt. From it he produced a large, rusty iron key which he then readily placed within her grasp. She slipped the key within the collar of her clothes.

“You all, the soldiers. Do you carry any coin with you?” She demanded, her voice as cold but calm as a frozen lake.

The Sergeant shot her a confused glance as he replied. “We do carry purses with us to purchase food and supplies..?”

“Have your men take them somewhere and bury them. Every last one. And do it separately as well, so the others do not know where they are.”

Now the expression he turned towards her was downright befuddled, but the look she returned to him was deadly serious.

“Soldier?”

“A-aye!” he hastily acquiesced. “I will have them do this!”

She tilted her head slightly to him, without breaking eye contact. “Complete it tonight. Posthaste.”

He saluted enthusiastically. “I shall do so right away!” He then departed without another word, leaving Uldred alone.

“Tomorrow, likely…” She mumbled to herself as she swung the large, sheathed blade that she carried upon her back over her shoulder and pulled it from its scabbard. Retrieving a whetstone from somewhere beneath her dark cloak, she rode it along the wavy flamberge blade, which produced many great sparks, along with a grinding noise that would be heard until well into the dark of night. It was preparation for the work that waited for her in the morning.

Chapter Text

It was early morning at the camp, the weather no less overcast than any other time of day, but with air cool and crisp enough to see one’s breath hang in the air. Abor’s broad frame was perched upon a large stone protruding from the gravelly soil, and he chewed on a stick for its sap, his mean gaze unusually distant. In his mind a dozen scenarios had played out in which his crew of brigands cut down their few remaining guards in order to snatch up the Noble woman for her bounty. But now, even in the familiar terrain of his own mind, some odd feeling of dread came upon him as he approached her huge and domineering figure. It was as if some animalistic instinct was warning him of the presence of a more dangerous predator than he, and urging to run away as quickly as he could!

The man looked down then at the chain between his ankles and he grunted out a bemused “Hah!” Not that he could do much running in a state like this.

“It might be most efficient to slit their throats as they sleep… No, no, if they hid the key then we’re all done for–me in particular.” He muttered to himself.

Again, he imagined himself approaching the towering figure of that woman with cruel intent, menacing her with his blade And once again his mind’s eye showed him the same horrible result: she lifted him by his neck with one massive, black-gloved hand and strangled him until he was dead, all while his companions cowered in terror on the sidelines.

“Even in my head, they’re all useless!” He growled, tussling the greasy mop of his hair in exasperation.

I’ve got to get over this! He thought to himself. She may be large, but she’s only one woman! Even if I cannot easily picture her weak and afraid, I’ve well seen that even the strongest brutes cry out in terror when they’re in true danger. More importantly, if I cannot even imagine my victory then there is no way I’ll survive! But even as he rationalized it, that strange anxiety continued to twist in his stomach.

Then the sound of feet sprinting in his direction caught his attention. He turned to see a familiar, bony young lad approaching with a worried expression.

“Abor!” He called. “That Noble Lady–she’s gone!”

“What?!”

The swarthy brigand marched back into the camp like he owned it, and as they saw him coming the other criminal conscripts parted before his stormy expression like water around a stone. Finally coming upon the tents occupied by the small contingent of soldiers, the Sergeant also turned to face him. As Abor advanced on him with as wide a gait as the chains bound between his ankles would allow, the Sergeant drew a sword from his side. He swiftly held the blade aloft and pointed towards the convict, who stopped just before its tip.

“What’s goin’ on?” Abor angrily demanded.

The Sergeant only narrowed his eyes at him in response. He did his best not to betray his true feelings, though he could not help but glance about at the crowd of ruffians that had gathered around his lone squad.

“I thought that Noble bitch was gonna come with us an’ that we were gonna attack those Lengar bastards today! Where’d she go?” Abor continued.

Truthfully he did not care one whit about the mission, or about Lengar, but he needed a reason to be upset about her disappearance beyond the ransom that he hoped to pry out of her County for her safe return.

“Stand back!” The Sergeant finally commanded him, but Abor merely glared at him in reply and did not move. The men around them looked nervously betwixt themselves but continued slowly closing in around the pair.

“The Countess said she would go alone to the Road. She departed at dawn.” The Soldier replied, his tone brusque with the effort of repressing his nerves.

“... By herself ?” Abor asked, taking another step forward then so that the tip of the man’s sword was pressed against the broad, bare expanse of his hairy chest.

“I-I said stay back!” The Sergeant stammered, his words catching in his throat at the rage simmering in the brigand’s eyes.

Now she’s gone and got herself killed or captured by those Lengar bastards?! Abor fumed internally. Was she dull in the head? She was supposed to be my payday, dammit! If even one part of this plan goes foul, these boys might mutiny. This fool soldier might have killed me!

He let out a long exhale, his hot breath curling around his face like steam in the cold air, and as he reigned in his boiling anger his expression became sharp and stern.

“I think I’ve had enough of this ruse.” Abor said, and all of the soldiers glanced around fearfully then, taking in the men that had now fully surrounded them. The conscripts were still chained but they were many, and their expressions were twisted with desperate ire, and they had armed themselves with crude, scavenged wooden clubs and heavy stones.

“Take ‘em down, boys! Before they mess anything else up for us!” Abor roared to the assembled crowd.

At his call, the throng of prisoners swiftly fell upon the small group of soldiers, and the sounds of combat rang loud throughout the camp.

“--And you!” Abor turned and snatched up his weaselly companion by his collar, drawing him close. “Take some lads to the road and see if you can’t get that Noble woman back before Lengar gets her, if they haven’t snatched her up already!”

Then he roughly shoved the frailer man from him, who stumbled, toppling onto his back in the dirt below. Abor didn’t shoot him so much as a second glance as he left to join the fray, only growling his final order out over his shoulder.

“ Go! ”

Thomas wore his usual persistent grin as he peered out over the horizon, his hand cupped over his brow to shield it from what little sunlight still trickled through the clouds. The evening had become somewhat foggy, and through the haze the gray, silhouetted forms of small buildings peeking out from behind the protection of a ring of walls could just be seen.

“I believe Thuud is close at hand now, my Lord!” Thomas cheerfully declared.

Niklas did not reply to his companion aloud, but nodded in acknowledgement.

The road to the village, having not been used often, was quite uneven and bumpy. Niklas felt the need to lead Missy, the stalwart Mule, along by her reins slowly and with more care than usual. so that she would not trip or roll an ankle, or worse, while bearing the weight of their luggage upon her back.

As they neared the village and it came better into view Niklas was greeted by a now-familiar sight, as a young lass stood at the front of the small gate evidently awaiting their arrival. She was tall and thin, with long, wavy brunette hair, and she was young enough that she had either just come of age or would do so very soon. As she laid eyes on them she startled briefly before putting up one hand in a small and timid wave.

“W-welcome, my Lords, to Thuud! I am to be your guide.”

Thomas approached first, and his broad grin and handsome features brought a small flush to her face. “Just one Lord here, I’m afraid!” He said, gesturing back towards Niklas and the Mule at his side. “This is Count Niklas, and I am his… hmm, companion? Bodyguard? Well, no matter! I am Thomas.”

“R-right.” She stammered in reply, clearly slightly stunned, and she momentarily glanced over at Niklas in disbelief, for with his stature and size he did not look like a man older than she. “Well then, please f-follow me.”

With that she turned on her heel and led them inside, beckoning for them to follow. As they passed under the wooden awning of the small gate, Niklas observed the stark difference that this village held from the others he had visited, despite their obvious similarities. The houses and halls of gathering were small and shoddy, made mostly from cut wood and packed clay. It was very rare that his eyes fell upon a hut made of stacked stones, let alone fine houses like he had seen in the Capital and more wealthy territories. And while all of these villages consisted of roughly built homes encircling a central open area, there were noticeable small differences between the distances and angling of each individual home.

Having visited so many of these hamlets in such quick succession gave Niklas a dream-like sort of feeling, as if he thought he’d recognized a path to a destination, but he knew that following it would lead him somewhere entirely unfamiliar.

This time their young guide did not lead them to some community hall, as they had become accustomed to, but rather towards a more well-built and modern building than they had seen before–in this village, or indeed in any of the previous ones. It was a tall and rectangular-shaped structure, with wood that appeared freshly cut. The girl pulled aside the long cloth that hung over the doorway, and the two men ducked inside after her, leaving Missy to chew upon the grass outside.

At least at the prior villages to which they had been allowed entry, this was where the Head or Elder would be waiting for them, and they could then begin to discuss their business. But there was nobody else here, and they watched in bemusement as this young girl plodded past them and knelt down onto a cushion in the center of the room. She then gestured to the two to follow her example, and shortly enough all three of them were sat.

Niklas looked about the strange room from his kneeling seat. It was dark and smelled strongly of incense and spices. Bushels of dried leaves, berries and animal bones hung from various hooks and hangers about the walls, along with numerous intricately weaved blankets and tapestries. Strewn about the room were various instruments of alchemy, large clay jars, and a cauldron of some blackened metal.

“I’m sorry, are we awaiting the Village Head now?” Niklas asked as he glanced about. “Will they arrive soon?”.

The girl took in a slow breath, as if steeling herself, before she answered. “The Elder…yes. Well, uh, you see…” She stammered, fidgeting nervously where she knelt. The two men could only look on quizzically. “Th-the thing is…you see my Lord…”

“Out with it, already!” Niklas snapped, clearly exasperated, to which she flinched and finally broke her news.

“The village Elder right now… is me .”

Thomas and Niklas both shared a surprised look with each other, as the girl silently stared at the floor and trembled with anxiety.

A handful of diverse, but uniformly rough, men slunk carefully through the brush of the forest towards the infamous Road of Benedict. At their head was that small and weaselly confidant of Abor, who looked about himself nervously, as if he expected some great and hungry creature to leap out from the growing darkness of the evening at any given moment.

All was quiet in the forest besides the occasional rustle of small creatures in the nearby branches, or the loud caws of flocks of birds which erupted from the trees above whenever a man stepped loudly on a particularly dry twig or cursed while tripping over a stone.

This motley group had been traveling for a few hours now; much longer than they would have taken normally, but those damnable chains between each of their cuffed ankles hindered their progress, jangled as they moved, and occasionally caught and tangled on tall grasses or roots. As this train of men shuffled along, the quiet was broken by the sound of conflict, which started as a distant clamor but steadily became louder as they neared the main Road.

“What do you suppose is happenin’? One man whispered to another.

“Perhaps the Lengar soldiers came upon some bandits..?” Another replied.

It was not normal for such disturbing sounds of battle–desperate shouts and called orders and the occasional clanging clash of metal upon metal–to go on for so long. The weaselly convict wore a gleaming bead of sweat on his brow the closer they approached, an anxious dread turning his stomach sour and skin clammy. Some instinct whispered to him that it was no coincidence that this was happening not even a full day after that the huge and dreadful Noblewoman had arrived.

Finally, the trees and bushes before them broke apart and the criminals could see up the short but steep incline which led to the road proper. And the first sight that greeted them there was the body of a man. He wore the standards of Lengar, a lion’s head above two crossed axes, though it had been badly bloodied and slashed clean through. He lay upon his back, which was bent in an awkward and inhuman way, and his milky, lightless eyes were staring straight at them.

As their troupe crested the incline they found many more men who were strewn about the road in the same way. Scattered amongst them were weapons, arrows and shields–some of which had been cleaved through with what must have been a sharp blade wielded with unnatural strength.

“What in the Hells..?” Came whispers from the other chained men, who were pale with fright, clearly disturbed.

Only the fear of retribution from Abor himself compelled the weaselly man to go past this carnage-which went on for quite a ways-and continue further down the road.

Finally, something came into view through the evening fog that blanketed the Road: a tall, dark silhouette. As they crept forward she finally became clear: it was the Countess Uldred of Petrice who stood at the center of the littered corpses, breathing heavily beneath that unsettling silver mask, which had been spattered with some poor man’s viscera. She then slowly turned to look upon them with her violet eyes, which appeared to glow with a malice as deadly as her enormous, bloodstained sword.

Chapter Text

Uldred slid the wavy blade of her greatsword against the inside of her arm, smearing away most of the gore upon her sleeve before sending the thing back into its sheath, just as the criminal conscripts had finally clambered over the carcasses to meet her upon the Road. This had not been her only battle that morning, but it had been the largest and obviously the most recent. Amongst the Lengar men who lay now strewn about like so much carrion, only a few had possessed any true skill. Most of them had been sell-swords, and poor ones at that, no doubt hired from taverns and guilds across their County as was Count Lengar's preference. The cheaper, the better. Only a handful of them remained alive now, either moaning in discomfort where they lay on the grass below or entirely unconscious. These few survivors had been the true soldiers of Lengar who were sent to lead the defense of the Road, futile as it was. Uldred had spared them, for she knew them to be men of honor and good repute from her previous contract, and so even if they were cut and bruised, they were alive.

“What do you want?” Uldred growled towards the newly-arriving men. The brigands flinched at being addressed directly and did not immediately reply, but they panicked further as she swung to face them in full.

“Th-the Sergeant sent us!” Stammered the weaselly man who headed the group. “He sent us to retrieve you! He was worried you might be in danger…”

Uldred narrowed her eyes at him. That’s quite the obvious lie. She scoffed internally. The Sergeant was witness to my last contract under Lengar–he would not come to my aid even if I was to cry out and beg him to. As she mused to herself, the handful of thugs still looked about at the surrounding carnage in dazed disbelief.

“Fine.” She said, “I shall have one of you lead me back to the tents.”

The small man gulped audibly. “O-one of us..?”

And as she once again unsheathed her sword, revealing that infamous black and wavy flamberge blade, and planted it in the dirt at her feet , the men’s eyes grew wide with recognition and dread.

“Aye, just the one.”

“...Come again?” Niklas asked, looking over the young girl who sat before him in bemusement.

“I-I am the current Elder of Thuud, your royalness.” She repeated in almost an apologetic tone.

A brief silence fell over the room as the two men digested the information they had just received. The girl fidgeted nervously, looking down at the floor to avoid meeting their eyes. Finally, Niklas let out a long, audible exhale and scratched the back of his head.

“Well, I had supposed that to be the ‘Elder’ one must be…the eldest?” Niklas said, his tone humorous.

“I believe it is just a title, my Lord.” Thomas answered him.

Niklas frowned. “It was a joke, ser Thomas.” He replied flatly.

“Ah. Very funny, my Lord.” Thomas said without missing a beat, completely unperturbed. Niklas shot him a glare.

The girl glanced back and forth between them as they bantered. When Niklas finally turned back to meet her gaze, her eyes immediately fell back to the floor. When Niklas spoke again his voice was gentler, as if he was trying to coax a skittish creature.

“Well, I believe I speak for the two of us when I say that we would both be interested to know how such a thing came to be. Elder…?”

The girl looked expectantly at him, waiting for him to continue before she realized the question that he had been asking her. “Oh! Finona, my Lord! My name is Finona.”

“Elder Finona, then. Well met!” As he greeted her properly he took one of her thin hands in his and shook it vigorously, much to her apparent confusion. “I would love to hear your tale!”

“W-well, it is a simple tale, your Lordship.” She replied, self-consciously retrieving her hand from his grip and once again assuming her meek, curled-in posture. “Several m-months ago, a Monster came upon us fr-from further West.”

Niklas thought to himself for a moment. It is true that this village sits the furthest West of all, and is closest to the No-Man’s land where the Monsters reside.

“S-sometimes a Monster will, by luck or cleverness, sneak past the patrols from the Old Fort and the larger Towns. She said, valiantly trying to keep her tone light, but unable to hide the way her voice trembled slightly as she described her village’s misfortunes. “When they do… we are usually the first village that such a beast will come across.”

Her expression darkened as she continued.

“The one that appeared this time broke through our walls and fences in the night and made off with a cow or a pig here or there. The Old Fort usually sends a Hunter once we call, but it was taking too long, so a posse was formed. But all of the men died trying to fight it themselves, and in the end it was not until the Hunter came that the monster was dealt with.”

At the mention of the posse, Thomas’ habitual smile had, for once, faded, and he closed his eyes and shook his head in dismay. Niklas supposed that this was a tale he had heard many times before. As Finona continued she folded her arms around herself and rubbed them as if she was warming herself up from the cold in a small attempt at self-comfort.

“One of the men who we lost was the previous Elder’s son. And when he was gone her mind also sort of… left as well. She laid in bed for hours and she would barely eat, so she eventually just wasted away. Last month was when she...”

Her shaky voice and pale countenance as she recounted these events gave Niklas a terrible suspicion that she was most unfortunately and personally connected to the people in this tale.

“Partly because she neglected her duties, and partly because we lost so many working hands, the crop yield recently has been poor. And with the loss of so many draught animals, we’re unsure that our village will survive the coming cold. S-so everyone else is too engrossed in their own toils to take up the responsibility of an Elder. So, because I know a little about what the Elder did… it fell to me.”

“And you knew it because, to you, the previous Elder was…” Mumbled Niklas, almost without thinking, as he digested this information.

The girl bit her lip, her voice going wet with barely-restrained tears. before she choked out an answer. “She was to be my mother-in-law.”

At that the two men let out heavy breaths at the same time, much as if they had both been socked in the gut. While the girl sat now in a heavy silence, her bowed face shadowed by her wavy hair, her visitors again traded looks between each other. But while Thomas’ gaze was one full of pity and resignation, to his surprise, Niklas returned it with an expression of firm resolve. The young Count then clapped his palms down upon the low table that sat between them, causing Finona to jump in her seat and look back up at them with wide, startled eyes!

“Elder Finona!” Niklas spoke in an official, formal voice that made the young Elder hurriedly straighten her posture. “I, Count Niklas of Petrice, have come before you today to propose and discuss several reforms with you!”

“Re-reforms..?” She stammered, sounding as if unfamiliar with the very word.

“Aye!” He replied. “For I have been educated in the way of Stewardship at the Academy of Saint Noelle, where I was top of my class. And I would use the knowledge which I have acquired there to help you–and all the people of Petrice–and to ease your worries.”

As guilty as it made him feel to take advantage of such tragic circumstances, Niklas knew an opportunity when he saw it. All of the other village leaders which they met had shared a wariness and suspicion towards outsiders such as himself. Most of them had not even allowed him to describe his ideas to them, let alone considered them seriously. But here, in Thuud, the leader sitting before him was not only young and naïve, but also greatly troubled and open to whatever aid he might provide.

“And I swear,” He continued, holding her wide, shocked gaze with his own, which was thick with determination. “-if you listen to what I have to say, and work with me to implement these reforms, you and your village will make it through this winter, and those that follow as well.”

Another beat of silence followed the young Count’s authoritative declaration, but this time it was a contemplative one. Finona still stared at the floor, but now her eyes flitted about, for she was obviously deep in thought. After a few tense moments, she finally raised her head and met his gaze with eyes that now burned with the same fiery determination as his.

“A-alright.” She replied with resolve despite her nerves.. “Let’s hear what it is you have to propose, my Lord.”

Niklas smiled a wolfish grin, then. Yes! Finally!

“Then I shall begin posthaste.” He said with an even tone, even while his eager hands were already reaching down to the pack at his side, retrieving from it the many rolled and folded parchments he had so meticulously prepared.

“Now, young Elder, we shall begin with the roads…”

The trek back towards the camp was one that was long, terrible and silent, save only for the rustling of bushes and the snap of dry twigs underfoot. The weaselly little man walked ahead of her, now sporting one bruised and swollen eye from when she had struck him during the recent melee. He barely dared to breathe or make a sound as they traveled, as if he held onto some small hope that if he made his presence as miniscule as possible this large Countess might lose track of him in the brush so that he could escape. Every so often he would begin to fall behind her, as the difference in their gaits was so great, but in those moments she would grab the hem of his tattered tunic and shove him forward once again. Finally, after a torturously long trek, the smell of woodsmoke began to creep into their nostrils, a sign that the camp was close at hand.

From where he sat at the edge of the camp, Abor heard the sound of rustling brush and turned his head towards it just in time to see his small companion fall through a nearby shrub, skidding in the dirt as if he had been shoved. Noticing Abor, the other man quickly scrambled to his feet and ducked behind the brigand leader’s broad and hairy back.

Soon after the spindly criminal the larger form of the Countess emerged from the forest. She looked quite fearsome as she appeared ominously from the darkness between the trees, like some kind of mythical beast from a tale used to frighten children when they misbehaved.

For a moment Abor looked about in confusion for that of the handful of men he had ordered to retrieve the Noble woman, but aside from the Lady and his henchman, the forest was silent and still. Then, as realization dawned on him, he cast an intense, searching gaze over the Countess, taking in the fresh blood that now stained her blackened leathers and armor– blood that might not have come from the warriors of Lengar alone. He shot up to his feet.

As she approached the camp once more Uldred came upon a sight that was not so unexpected: the full force of the criminal conscripts from Otkorn stood amassed before her, wielding confiscated swords, wood-axes or shovels, although some were forced to resort to large stones or branches. In the center of that group, and beside their Leader, knelt the bloodied and bruised forms of the Sergeant and his soldiers, who had all been bound and gagged.

“Ah, the Noblewoman has returned!” Abor smiled maliciously. “Hearing of your lonesome departure this morning, we were so worried! We feared you might have been hurt or killed by those Lengar soldiers.”

He paced restlessly before her and the men assembled there, captive and conscript alike, as he continued.

“We are happy that you have returned in good health, my Lady.” He said with a mocking sneer. “I will do my utmost to guarantee your safety until you can be… returned to your home. But that protection will come with a price! And speaking of price–” He then kicked the Sergeant’s ear with the bottom of his boot, creating a spatter of blood that fell upon the next hostage in line.

“-these men tell us that you took the key to our hobbles before you left, and that for some reason you also ordered they hide their purses.”

His thin façade of friendliness fell, and the look that replaced it was a menacing expression of simmering anger.

“I don’t know how you knew ‘bout what we planned, but yer still gonna give us what we want if yer thinkin’ to survive.”

He thrust out one meaty, scarred hand, beckoning to her. “Now. The key, if you don’t mind.”

Uldred stood for a long, tense moment without moving. Then she slowly reached above her breastplate and into the collar of her shirt, retrieving from within a large bronze key which lay on a string around her neck. All of the criminals’ eyes widened as they laid eyes on that key, like starving men gazing upon a grand feast. But the anticipation in their expressions turned to rage as she slipped the key back beneath her armor and out of sight.

“Come and take it from me.” she said then, her voice ringing out across the campsite like the beat of a great drum.

A hot flush swept across Abor’s face then, for a man with such an intimidating reputation as his did not usually suffer such defiance, and his immature ego could not tolerate it. But just as he looked ready to explode with rage and charge straight at the Countess he felt a tug at his sleeve. Turning his head, his eyes fell upon the weaselly henchman, whose face was pale and twisted with abject terror.

“B-boss she’s a…a…” He stammered weakly up at Abor.

“ What ?!” The man himself growled out.

But he needed not wait for the answer, as the woman before them pulled from her back that great black-iron sword and tossed away its leather sheath, light from the campfires and torches flickering along the length of the wavy blade. An audible gasp ran through the conscripts then, and the lot of them instinctually took a step backwards, whispers beginning to run through the group like wind through tall grass.

“ A Flamberge! ”

“ She’s a Monster Hunter..? ”

Abor looked about at his men, who had one and all been cowed by the mere sight of a blade, and his own moment of shocked fear was quickly replaced with a burning indignation.

“So what if she hunts Monsters or whatever?” He belted out. “There’s still only one of her, and damn near forty of us! If we all go at once she won’t stand a chance! At his call, many of the criminals regained some of their confidence and once more readied themselves for a fight.

“Y-yeah!”

“Let’s get her!”

“Follow the boss!”

However, even as Abor bolstered some of their spirits, a few men at the far back of his force were slowly, subtly backing away. Abor then held aloft a fine sword, a blade he had taken from the Sergeant himself, and he pointed it towards Uldred.

“Get her!” he commanded.

A great cry erupted in the camp as dozens of men charged forward at once in a disorganized and sloppily advance. Uldred took up a fighting stance herself, holding her greatsword steady at her right shoulder with a two-handed grip. Soon the first wave of opponents unknowingly entered within her reach, which was shockingly broad due to the combination of her long arms and even longer blade. Mustering all of her inhuman strength, Uldred leaned her weight forward and stomped the ground with such force that her foot sank a few inches through the frozen dirt below as she lunged, at the same time swinging her mighty Flamberge in a great arc!

Now, for a normal swordsman, cutting halfway through an opponent is a feat of great strength. For a great swordsman, cleaving all of the way through one man into another is an act fit for a legendary tale. So imagine, if you will, the awe and dread one would feel as they bore witness to a blade which tears through wood and metal, flesh and bone alike as it swings, and is not halted until it has reached the apex of its arc!

The second wave of men and those just out of Uldred’s reach did not so much stop in their tracks as much as they were buffeted back by the great wind generated from her swing. They were also assaulted quite messily by gory shrapnel as remains of the ‘mates’ ahead of them–their blood, bones, guts, and even even whole limbs, heads and bisected torsos–came showering upon them in an instant!

The brave cries of determined men were in that single moment replaced with shrieks of agony and of horror. The men further back in the crowd could not quite see what had occurred at the front, for their vision had been obscured by a thick cloud of dry dirt kicked up by the force of her blade. As the dust settled and the scene unfolded, their mouths fell agape at the carnage wrought by her wrath.

Abor was frozen where he stood, unable to even blink in his shock, even as the eyes of his remaining men fell upon him, pleading for him to give them courage again. But as he slowly looked about at them he was unable to find even a single word to say.

Uldred calmly readied herself for another swing, her demeanor inscrutable as ever beneath her silver mask.

“R-run!” Came a cry from the back of the crowd.

At that, many of the criminals hurriedly turned tail and scrambled away, fleeing into the thick of the forest as fast as their shackled legs would allow them to go.

Finally coming to his senses once more, Abor barked out commands with an anger that was now fueled by desperation and fear. “S-stop you idiots! Come back here or I’ll kill you myself!” He cried after them, futile as it was.

“You won’t have the chance.” Replied a muffled voice from behind him.

Moving impossibly fast for her size, the giant woman had cleared the twenty-or-so paces between the two of them in but an instant. Abor turned just in time to yelp in fear as the razor-sharp edge of her heavy blade swung down upon him–and clean through!

Chapter Text

At first Finona had only meant to listen to the young Count’s proposals in order to humor him and build a good relationship, but soon she found herself genuinely taken by his words. Though her time spent assisting the previous Elder had ensured she was just barely literate, Niklas did his best to walk her through the mountainous amount of information he had to share at a manageable, yet efficient, pace. It was most refreshing for him to find in her a young soul not yet set in its ways, that she may entertain the thought of his developments despite the ways in which they might break local customs or traditions. Though she was obviously confused in many places and needed further explanation, just the fact that Niklas had not been turned away at the door and was able to present this all to her in full meant that he was happy to stop and begin again a hundred more times if she needed it.

“W-wow!” The young Elder said aloud as Niklas closed his briefing on soil conservation. “This is…quite incredible. I almost find it difficult to believe that such tools and rituals are already being used elsewhere!”

Niklas had on his face a small, pleased smile, and he overall looked quite proud of himself. “This, my dear, is only a taste of the many renovations that I would like to bring to Petrice, for if there was one boon that the old King’s wars of expansion granted to us, it was information !”

The girl looked puzzled, so Niklas elaborated further.

“Now that the Kingdom spans from the arid North to the harsh Southern sands, and covers everyplace in between, we have accumulated the knowledge and practices of a great many peoples living in various conditions. As the van der Leigh Barony resides near the Capital, where all of this information has converged, I had access to most of it!”

As he spoke, his countenance had become so self-satisfied that his nose could almost seem to have grown a foot in length.

“With my skills, and the great wealth of knowledge I absorbed during my studies, I mean to transform Petrice from a poor County to a great and wealthy territory which rivals even the Capital itself!”

Thomas politely applauded his enthusiastic declaration with a happy grin, even as Finona sucked in a sharp breath through her nervously clenched teeth.

“As wonderful as that sounds, my Lord, it might be…difficult to convince the other villages of these reforms. Even here in my own home I hold little hope that I might sway my own people.”

Niklas’ proud smile faded from his face, which once again resumed a dour and frustrated expression. “Yes, I have taken note of the local tradition of… incredible stubbornness. Truly, it is Petrice’s greatest export–for better and for worse!”

Thomas chimed in then, his voice just as chipper as ever. “We have received a great deal of pushback towards even the notion of taxation. After our first few visits, the other villages wouldn’t even let us inside.” His words soured Niklas’ face all the more–the look the young Nobleman wore was eerily similar to someone who had just drunk spoiled milk.

Finona thought to herself for a moment before contributing. “... Now that you mention it, the late Elder did receive a missive from Aida just the other day–”

“--So they were warning each other of my arrival!” Niklas cried, clutching his head, and then letting out a long groan of frustration.

“I think we might as well return to the Castle, if no other village will have us, my Lord.” Thomas suggested, still as happy as ever.

Finona clenched her small hands into fists, her face now set with a look of determination. “I-I will do my best to help you my Lord! I will tell everyone in Thuud about your proposals, and that I think that they’re…they’re good ideas. Because they are! ”

Niklas reached out a trembling hand and clasped it upon Finona’s shoulder. “Young Elder…” he said with great emotion, tears gathering in his eyes. “... I have great expectations for you. You are my one and only hope!”

“Please don’t cry, my Lord!” Finona exclaimed.

One by one, Uldred used one of her arms to lift the bruised and beaten soldiers of Otkorn to their feet, while with her other she used a small knife to cut them loose from their bindings. Most of the men looked on towards the carnage she had left in her wake at the edge of the camp, their expressions betraying their deep shock and horror. Just a little ways away from where they knelt on the grass, dead men and severed limbs were strewn about, and the dirt was darkened with the dried remnants of what had been large puddles of human ichor. The head of Abor, the leader of those slaughtered souls, had notably landed perfectly upright next to his fallen body, a gruesome look of horror still etched upon its face.

Of the initial forty-plus criminals that had been conscripted from the prisons of Otkorn, only about seven remained. A dozen had fled deeper into the forest despite the chains that hobbled them. All the rest had thrown themselves recklessly upon the razor-sharp edge of Uldred’s blade, spurred to test their luck against her despite her overwhelming strength because they were due to be hanged upon their return to the province anyhow. Abor and his schemes had been their last chance at not only freedom, but a life beyond their sentences. Being cut down while fighting was, for many of them, both a faster and more dignified end than what awaited them at the gallows.

Among the remainder who had survived that gruesome melee was that small and weaselly henchman–whose name was Hemsley–and six others who much resembled him in size and demeanor. They were one and all cowardly men, most likely convicted of petty crimes, who had stood beneath their peers in the hierarchy of the prisoners.

“Th-thank you, your Grace…” The Sergeant stammered through his swollen lip when Uldred released him and helped him to his feet. “Without you we would’ve been-”

“-It was not for you.” Uldred replied gruffly, her voice somewhat muffled by her mask.

“O-of course, your Grace!” He replied, thoroughly cowed not only by her tone but also by the fresh memories of her fearsome prowess in battle.

Uldred’s voice was deep and cold, and anyone listening in would be convinced that she truly did care little for the lives of these men. How lucky she was that her silver mask hid the flush that had risen to her cheeks from receiving those small words of gratitude.

“They were planning to slit our throats soon as they got their hands on us!” One of the other soldiers she had freed exclaimed.

He and the other men now looked upon her with admiration. “Because you ordered us to hide our purses, they were forced to keep us alive until your return!” Another man explained.

There followed a chorus of continued praise and thanks from that small group of soldiers, an event which only made the hot, throbbing feeling in Uldred’s ears increase.

“E- Enough !” She finally boomed at them, causing them to fall silent one and all as their words caught in their throats.

She then sighed exasperatedly and left the shaken but enthusiastic group to tend to one other. She walked over to the remaining criminals who knelt in a line a short distance away, shaking with anxiety, their faces ashen and a few of them silently weeping.

“So, you..!” She addressed them, her violet eyes flashing dangerously as she leered down at them through her mask. Her voice caused the conscripts to startle badly, and one of the men appeared almost to faint where he sat, and was only saved by a hurried, sharp pinch to the side from one of his fellows. “...What shall I do with you lot, hmm?”

Not a one of them could muster a reply, so full of awe and dread of her were they.

The Sergeant came to Uldred’s side then, a fresh bandage now wrapped over his head and bruised eye, which had already swollen shut. “If you have no need for them, my Lady,” he offered. “then I will take them back to the territory to serve out the remainder of their sentences.”

“W-we din’t wanna have nothin’ to do with all this!” Called out a trembling, but familiar, voice from the surviving criminals. Hemsley did not look up to meet their eyes, but he still spoke with some defiance and conviction despite his trembling shoulders and fearful stammer.

“Hmph, a likely story!” Scoffed the Sergeant in reply.

“It’s true, it is! If we hadn’t done what they said they would have butchered us the same as your soldiers!”

The Sergeant looked as if he was about to reply more harshly then, his face reddening with anger, but then he visibly stopped himself. He took in a deep breath, which he held for a moment, and then let out in a long sigh, bringing one hand up to rub at his bandaged face. “... I suppose it is true. Even if these men had informed us of what the others had planned, with the discrepancies in our numbers we would have fared just the same–that is, if not for your aid, my Lady.”

Uldred simply nodded silently.

He sighed again, then, and shook his head. “Not that the Baron will care or even listen to such a tale as theirs. They'll likely be hung for their participation in this event just to save him a little face, regardless of the circumstances.”

The captive criminals all flinched at those words, a few of them sniffling pathetically. Uldred couldn’t help but see them as small, bedraggled rodents, quaking in terror at her feet and gazing up at her with teary eyes.

For a few long minutes she stood there before them in silent contemplation. Most of her just wanted to wrap up her business here and leave for home, washing her hands of these men both figuratively and literally. Yet, some part of her heartstrings were tugged at the thought of these thin and pitiful men marching back to a foul place like Otkorn only to be locked in a cell to await certain death.

Perhaps I feel this way because of how they resemble my Husband… Came an intrusive thought, one that Uldred quickly shook out of her head, bringing confused glances from the men around her.

Resigned, her broad shoulders slumped as she spoke again. “Undo their shackles, Sergeant.”

He looked up at her then, completely dumbfounded. “M-my Lady..?”

“You and your men are still injured.” She elaborated in her usual monotone. “It would be… most unsafe to attempt to drag a group of prisoners back to the territory in such a condition, no?”

The Sergeant scratched his chin in bemusement at that, pondering her words. “...I suppose that may be true. But what of these , then?” He said, swinging his uninjured arm up to indicate the line of prisoners.

Uldred turned back to gaze over the criminals, who all looked back up at her in surprise.

“A day or so West lays the border to Petrice, my County. I can neither promise you work, nor pay, nor food. Simply… a chance, to live, there. Nothing else.”

But even hearing her meager offer, these few poor men beamed up, their nerves giving way to a great excitement, for all the world as if she had just offered them a Kingship each.

“W-we will go! We will do it, my Lady!” Hemsley cried gratefully, his voice thick with emotion. Somehow his relief had left him looking even more unsightly than before–his dirty, thin face was streaked with tear-tracks, and a trail of snot dripped down from his crooked nose.

“But I warn you…” Uldred spoke again, and this time the kneeling men felt themselves crushed beneath a great and ominous pressure, one so strong it caused even the Sergeant to instinctively step away in fear. “Within my territory any outlaws, or those who turn to banditry, are met with a most grisly ending. If any of you continue to live as criminals in Petrice, you will find yourself begging to return to Otkorn and meet the hangman’s noose!”

The pressure that the Countess exerted upon them was so strong that none even dared to speak in reply, but rather nodded vigorously. After a few moments of looking them over, Uldred was satisfied that they understood, and the pressure faded.

The Sergeant sighed again and scratched the back of his head. “I guess that’s it, then. I’ll undo their chains and send them along West, at your order.”

But as he began to walk back towards the camp a large and powerful hand suddenly clasped upon his shoulder, halting his movement. Uldred’s grip upon the man was so strong, he worried that he may sink into the very earth itself!

“Wait!” She barked out, and so of course he obeyed, though with her hand physically pinning him in place he had little choice in the matter.

“M-my Lady..?” he inquired, slowly, after they spent a silent moment standing there, Uldred quite thoroughly lost in thought.

This is the second such time this man has been sent to his death by Baron Otkorn. I believe I have a good measure of his character now. If he has risen the ranks through good work as a soldier, and still earned the ire of a dreadful man like Baron Otkorn… He may yet be sent onto a third such expedition, one which he may not be fortunate enough to survive.

“What… are you called, Sergeant?” Once she spoke again her voice was still even, but a little stilted, almost awkward.

The man turned to face her in full, his bewildered gaze roaming over her for one long, searching moment, before he quickly regained his composure, straightened his posture and formally saluted her.

“I am S-Sergeant Rochester of Otkorn, my Lady!” He declared loudly.

“Rochester.” She repeated, her voice softer than he had ever heard it before. “...If you ever feel the need, I invite you to visit my lands, and my Castle. I will… welcome you.”

He stared up at her then, and his eyes slowly lit up as he realized the meaning of her words. He grinned widely up at her and saluted her once again. “It would be my honor, Countess. Thank you!”

And at that he bowed to her, turned on his heel and rejoined his men.

Uldred sighed again. What am I doing? She wondered. I’ve not done anything like this before now. I’ve barely spoken to the… others under my command, previously, let alone worry for their safety…

The thought of that frustrating, spindly scholar appeared again in a flash in her mind’s eye, and she struck it out quite forcefully by way of almost putting her fist entirely through a nearby tree.

“ Ouch! ”

Chapter Text

“ They just picked ‘im up an’ dropped ‘im! And they was feastin’ on ‘is innards by the time the Hunter arrived! ”

Niklas shuddered slightly as he recalled the words and gut-wrenching sobs let out by a mourning mother as she was helped back to her village. It was a rare public outburst of emotion, unlike anything Niklas had witnessed in his short time in Petrice, but he supposed the loss of a young babe would cause any loving mother to fall into such a state.

To sate Niklas’ curiosity, Thomas had approached the locals and shared some words with them in his stead, since the Petricians still eyed their small Count warily and viewed him as an outsider. Upon his return, Thomas reported to him that winged Monsters such as these in particular slipped past the Hunters at the Old Fort, or those who patrolled the wastelands, all too often. The ever-present, low-hanging clouds of Petrice could mask their infiltration from even the keenest of marksman’s eye until they were deeper in and could descend upon prey. Most often they’d carry off cattle, pigs or other drought animals, which was bad enough for those people who depended on them for food in the winter. Worse still, to hungry beasts such as these a small boy playing alone out in the fields might look just as tempting a prey as some old cow.

After hearing their tale, Niklas and Thomas quickly took their leave from those grieving folk. Even the few small inquiries they had already made were well past their welcome. However, as these two continued along their journey, this time it was Niklas who was hushed and troubled. The image of that horrible, man-like beast remained freshly burned into his mind’s eye. Besides that, the thought that such a tragedy as this was not an uncommon occurrence filled him with a sickly regret that he could neither do more to immediately help alleviate the burden borne by these already dour and downtrodden people, nor easily hasten his plans to do so in the future.

“How many Hunters dwell at the Old Fort?” Niklas inquired, at last breaking the silence that had hung over their long walk.

Thomas looked up at the distant clouds in contemplation. “I… You know, I can’t rightly name a figure, milord. I don’t know that anyone’s ever counted them.”

Niklas sighed deeply and clapped one hand upon his forehead. “Surely there is someone in charge of such a force–some officer who the Hunters report to for orders?”

Thomas smiled again, but this one was small and apologetic. “Truthfully sir, I believe the Countess holds the title of the Grand-Hunter, but it's more of an honorary position since she never actually visits the Old Fort.”

Hearing this, an annoyed furrow appeared on the small man’s forehead. Does that woman oversee anything in her County..?

“I suppose,” Thomas continued, oblivious of Niklas’ growing frustration. “The last time I was there, I witnessed an older Hunter dealing out orders to the younger and fresher men. Without an official hierarchy, I’d wager age and experience would naturally create one instead.”

Every new revelation only makes the matter more tedious… Niklas bemoaned internally.

Despite his misgivings, Niklas did his best to gather his resolve and increase his pace. “Let us make for the Castle posthaste, then. There is much to be done!”

Yet as they trudged onward, he groaned and rubbed at his throbbing temple, entirely absorbed in his mental review of the ever-growing list of tasks he would need to see to upon his return.

As he crested the steep hill and stood at its peak, the weaselly-looking man named Hemsley turned back with an excited look while pointing his finger straight ahead.

“There it is, your royalness! I sees it!”

Uldred trudged along behind him, still making her way up the side of the grassy incline. The moment the man had seen the spire of the tower peeking up past the top of the hill he had practically sprinted in his eagerness as he scrambled up to the top. She did not understand his excitement at the sight of her gloomy and dusty abode, but she also had not lived a life on the streets, ever exposed to the cold and the damp, as he had.

As she joined the man in standing at the top, she looked with surprise out upon a quite rare sight. This tall hill descended into a sheer and rocky crevice for a long ways, giving it something of the appearance of a valley, as the Castle and the low countryside surrounding it could be made out for miles in every direction. The cover of the fog had also broken, briefly, as had the clouds beyond, which allowed the low, red light of the setting sun to shine in blinding brilliance upon the Castle.

“What a beautiful sight! Eh, milady?” Hemsley called up to her in excitement and awe.

Uldred did not reply, but stared in wide-eyed silence at that picturesque scenery for a good long time. At her sides, she gripped her hands into fists tight enough that the leather of her gloves began to squeak under the pressure, causing Hemsley to eye her her nervously. However, it was not to last, and just as quickly as it had appeared, the sun was banished back behind the gray wall of Petrician clouds, and the fog of the day settled over their surroundings once again. Uldred audibly exhaled, as if she had been holding her breath, and her posture relaxed.

“Sh-shall we continue..?” The weaselly man asked with some apprehension.

Uldred simply grunted at him in reply. Then as they were about to continue their trek, something caught her eye. She peered down the rocky wall-face some fifty or so, her eyes trained on the area just beneath their hill where the dirt road veered off from the main highway and towards the Castle. A small group of silhouetted figures were steadily making their way towards her home along that path. She could just make out the shapes of two men and some kind of beast of burden, perhaps a donkey or a mule…

“Well, will you look at that? Travelers, your grace! Just there!” Hemsley exclaimed, catching sight of that distant group himself. He was distracted enough, then, that he did not see the large, leather-gloved hand reaching out towards him!

Without warning, Uldred scooped the small man up and tucked him under the crook of her arm, where he flailed his limbs in his sudden panic at such treatment.

“M-my Lady!? What are you doing? Put me down! My Lady?” He cried out, his voice increasing in pitch as she, ignoring him entirely, leaned over the side of the steep, craggy cliff, almost as if she meant to toss the man right off!

“--D-don’t do it, my Lady! P- please !” He wailed now, tears now dripping down from his eyes to disappear into the fog far below them.

But she neither replied to him nor even gave any sign that she had heard his desperate pleas. And though she did not drop him, what she did next was just as shocking, as she promptly stepped right off the side of the drop!

After a long, dreary trek down the main highway, the trio of travelers finally came upon a familiar bend in the dirt road, one which led to the left around a small mountain and eventually ended down at the Castle. At first, Niklas hated the thought of entering that dark, musty Castle again just as much as the thought of having to continue down that dusty and foggy road, but the promise of a hot, steaming bath being drawn for him caused a small jolt of excitement in his chest, and he felt much more ready to end his tiresome journey.

He placed a hand upon the haunch of Missy the mule, who did not pay him any mind beyond sending a quick and lazy glance in his direction. Truly, the only time she seemed to show any sort of emotion was, whenever they camped each night, Thomas would strap a back of feed over her snout for her to enjoy at her leisure. Picturing his own meal of tasteless, gray porridge and watery tea, Niklas had the most alarming intrusive thought that Missy’s feed seemed, in comparison, most delectable. He shook his head fervently, attempting to rid himself of such a sinful and ridiculous thought.

Thomas looked over enthusiastically, providing a very welcome distraction. “We’re almost home, milord! It’s just a bit of a ways ahead, now!”

“Aye, I remember this path from my initial journey to the County.” Niklas replied. “Though I rode in a carriage at the time…”

Thomas chuckled. “Anything you’re looking forward to right away, upon your return?”

“I think a hot bath will do my aching body a world of good, for I’m afraid the cold has seeped into my very bones!”

At that Thomas wore a rare look of longing. “Ahh, a hot bath! I haven’t had the pleasure of one in many seasons!”

“I could have Belfort draw one up for you upon our return.” Niklas offered towards his companion with a teasing lilt in his voice.

Thomas pleadingly put up his two hands before him. “Oh no, I couldn’t dream of–”

–BOOM!

Before he could finish speaking a great thundering sound and an eruption of dust from the road was cast up around them all at once! Missy reared back on her hind legs and cried out in a honking, panicked cry, and the two men beside her coughed harshly and peered urgently around through watering eyes.

“What in the Blue Hells-” Niklas called through the hanging cloud of dust. “T-Thomas? Are you alright?”

Suddenly a strong hand clasped upon his shoulder. Niklas attempted to make out his companion through his stinging tears, his face contorted in a grimace from the strain. He put out one hand out before him, and with what appeared to be a great effort, he then cast his hand away in a wide arc. As if following after his movement came a great gust of wind, as harsh enough to whistle some as it passed, and the lingering dusk was carried away in a moment!

Now the cause of the commotion was visible: a large, black-robed figure who now knelt in a small, shallow crater caused by their heavy impact with the ground. As they rose to their full height they towered over the two men, and also revealed a dull–and very familiar–mask of a silver face!

Immediately the serious, alert look fell from Thomas’ face, which again lit up in his usual sunny grin.

“Eully!” He called out jovially, waving his hand in greeting like an excited child.

Missy still looked on-edge and honked in fear and confusion. Hearing this, Thomas turned and wrapped his arm affectionately around her neck, and with the other he stroked the stripe of a mane that adorned her head. “Shush, Missy, hush now. Everything is alright!” He cooed, and at his comforting touch and relaxed tone she quickly calmed and settled once more.

Niklas did not recover quite as easily as either Thomas or Missy had. He still trembled from the force of his shock, and he was still hacking and coughing from the dust that had flown into his throat. As Niklas was struggling to recover, Uldred let another small man–one who she had apparently been carrying about like a sack of potatoes–fall to his knees upon the dirt, where he also began to retch awfully due to his terrifying fall.

“W-what in God’s name are you doing?! ” Niklas shouted furiously towards Uldred.

She did not reply, but only cast her violet gaze down upon where he stood in a silence which felt more awkward than intimidating, and which was only punctuated by the sound of Helmsley retching up the remains of his mid-day meal.

Niklas then looked up towards the peak she must have fallen from, awed at the great height of it as well as at her own composure. “Did you- did you jump from up there?” He asked incredulously.

“It was fine.” She replied evenly, though beneath her cloak her legs quaked slightly and a sharp, throbbing ache ran through her joints. That hurt worse than I thought it would... She thought to herself, though she refused to outwardly show any evidence of her carelessness.

“Also, who is that ?” Niklas gestured in bewilderment at her side towards the man who had collapsed upon the ground there and had only just finished being violently sick upon the grass.

“Eh?” Came a confused response, but from Hemsley rather than from Uldred. He staggered hurriedly to his feet then, wobbling like a newborn deer, saliva still streaked about the corner of his mouth. Once he had a good view of Niklas, his own gaze sharpened in suspicion. “Who am I? Who are you ?” Hemsley demanded in a threatening tone. He marched over to Niklas then and looked at him eye-to-eye–a rare feat for both men, considering their similarly diminutive statures.

“That is the Count of Petrice.” Thomas called over his shoulder in answer, and immediately the ex-convict’s attempted mean-mugging transformed into a nervous admiration. “My Lord!” He exclaimed exaggeratedly, rubbing his hands together in a gesture that indicated either supplication or greed. While he did so, Uldred deigned to offer an explanation.

“He followed me, though I said not to. I don’t know what for–”

“--What she means to say,” Hemsley interrupted hurriedly, standing in front of her and putting his arms out as if to catch the very words she had spoken out of the air before they could reach the others. “Is that this oh-so-very-Noble Woman gallantly rescued me from the clutches of some violent brigands, and from the hangman’s noose to boot! And so, naturally I have sworn to serve her henceforth!”

For a long moment the three others could only stare incredulously at this audacious little man, and then up at Uldred, who remained inscrutable as ever under her coverings and mask. “...Sure.” She reluctantly huffed, turning her head away slightly to avoid all of the eyes that were currently trained upon her. At this, Hemsley beamed smugly in triumph before turning to Niklas and dropping into a clumsy, dramatic mockery of a bow.

“And there you have it, milord!”

Together their motley group continued down the slightly winding road towards the Castle, which was once again partially obscured by heavy fog. Seeming completely oblivious to the dreary and chilly atmosphere, Hemsley spent the walk regaling his companions with the tale of the Countess’ battle against the mighty bandit Abor upon the Road of Benedict.

His account deviated wildly from the original event, and his exaggerations included tripling the number of thugs she had been forced to battle alone, a dramatic rescue of his damsel-like self from their clutches, and how all the other residents of the camp had been brutally butchered and cannibalized by their foes. The most obvious untruths he spun were his descriptions of the Countess’ heroic (and slightly long-winded) speeches in which she denounced Abor– along with, for some reason, the poor state of the economy in the surrounding local regions. Still, true or not, his storytelling made for good entertainment during the remainder of their journey, so he was allowed to speak his fill.

“...Then she ran him though with her mighty blade, and with one hand, held him aloft! And as his life-blood drenched her she declared: ‘This is the fate of evil before me!’ Just before a bolt of lightning struck the tip of her sword, and Abor’s body exploded in a fountain of gore!”

Thomas and Niklas eyed Uldred, who appeared quite clean besides the usual layer of dust and grime from the road. The two shared a short, skeptical glance, but did not move to question or correct Hemsley’s account.

Hemsley looked all-too ready to carry on with his bombastic tale, but with a quick glance about he realized they now stood only a few short paces away from the castle gates. “Oh!” He called out excitedly. “We’re here your grace--er, your graces!”

Making their ways through the gatehouse door and into the courtyard, Thomas led Missy off towards the empty stables to unload her packs, and Hemsley ran excitedly to the great wooden doors to knock upon them. After a short wait one of them creaked slowly open to reveal the old butler, Belfort.

“My Lords you’ve returned I-” He stopped in the middle of his welcome when he noticed the unfamiliar, scruffy little fellow standing before him. He blinked once in confusion, before asking “Who’re you?”

But Niklas called over before the newcomer had a chance to introduce himself. “Belfort, my good man! You are a sight for sore eyes. This is…” He startled, realizing he did not actually know the man’s name. “...well, this is a new servant, I suppose He will be in your employ from now on.”

Hearing this, the old man’s shoulders slouched and his arms fell to his sides, his mouth agape and his eyes as wide as saucers. “A n-n-new…” He stammered out. Suddenly, he reached out and took up both of the weaselly little man’s rough hands in his own, shaking them vigorously! “Oh this is most welcome indeed! There has not been a new servant in this place since the Countess was a babe!”

Hemsley recoiled as much as he could while caught in the old man’s oddly strong grasp. “Y-yes..?” Was all he could say in reply, so startled was he. But it hardly seemed to matter to the butler as he carried on excitedly.

“We must start your training right away! I--oh gosh, and we must get you fitted for your uniform… There isn’t a moment to spare! Right this way.” He said before turning at an alarming speed and bodily pulling Hemsley deep into the Castle along with him. Hemsley could do nothing but let out a short, alarmed yelp before the two had disappeared out of sight.

The remaining two members of their already small party were left alone in the courtyard. The Countess and Count of Petrice, wife and husband, stood side by side. The quiet that fell over this reunited couple was an awkward one, as per usual. Niklas peeked sheepishly up at Uldred, and she returned his short glances with her own piercing violet gaze. After a long, strained beat of silence, Uldred shrugged her broad shoulders, huffed quietly, and began to make her way up the short stone steps which led into the now-open doorway leading into the Castle.

But as she made to leave, she suddenly felt a grip upon her hand! It was not the strength of the hand that clasped hers that made her pause, for she could have broken it with but a thought if she had a mind to. It was the action itself, of another human being reaching out to grasp her hand in theirs, which had brought her to an abrupt halt. She slowly turned back to glance over her shoulder at the person who had taken such an unprecedented action– who of course, could be none other than Niklas.

The shorter man looked up at her then with a slightly surprised expression, as if his own spontaneous action had startled him just as much as it had her. Quickly he drew his hand away, freeing her from his grasp, and took a small step backwards, looking away and nervously scratching the back of his head. He was well aware that the two of them had not yet shared an interaction which had ended pleasantly, which did nothing to reduce his nerves or his sheepishness around her.

“S-so…” He started, drawing out the word in an attempt to buy himself more time to figure out what to say..

Uldred stood so still she seemed carved from stone, simply looking down upon him without showing any sign of reaction.

He took a deep breath, then, and did his best to paste a bright smile upon his face. He was so nervous that it was a weak and obviously forced thing, but Uldred was quite used to others wearing such expressions around her, and paid that little mind.

“...W-welcome home!” Niklas then stuttered out, with the most welcoming and pleasant smile that he could manage. He could feel the back of his neck heat up as he realized how awkward and stilted his attempted greeting must seem.

Another hushed pause stretched between the two of them. He remained where he was, resolutely smiling at her despite his nerves, though he lifted his eyebrow quizzically at her as the minutes stretched on and she failed to respond.

Finally she reached out, and gave Niklas a light shove. For her such an action was the gentlest tap she could exert, but for his smaller, lighter frame it was enough force to send him back reeling a few steps. “Hey!” He cried out, more in affronted surprise than anything else.

By the time he had recovered himself and looked back towards where she had stood looming over him, she was already gone, having speedily crested the steps and disappeared into the dark halls beyond the doors.

“What was that all about..?” He wondered aloud, once again rubbing at the back of his head. Because of her hood and mask which covered the whole of her head, there was no way for him to have noticed the beet-red flush that now entirely engulfed Uldred’s hidden face.

Chapter Text

“ They just picked ‘im up an’ dropped ‘im! And they was feastin’ on ‘is innards by the time the Hunter arrived! ”

Niklas shuddered slightly as he recalled the words and gut-wrenching sobs let out by a mourning mother as she was helped back to her village. It was a rare public outburst of emotion, unlike anything Niklas had witnessed in his short time in Petrice, but he supposed the loss of a young babe would cause any loving mother to fall into such a state.

To sate Niklas’ curiosity, Thomas had approached the locals and shared some words with them in his stead, since the Petricians still eyed their small Count warily and viewed him as an outsider. Upon his return, Thomas reported to him that winged Monsters such as these in particular slipped past the Hunters at the Old Fort, or those who patrolled the wastelands, all too often. The ever-present, low-hanging clouds of Petrice could mask their infiltration from even the keenest of marksman’s eye until they were deeper in and could descend upon prey. Most often they’d carry off cattle, pigs or other drought animals, which was bad enough for those people who depended on them for food in the winter. Worse still, to hungry beasts such as these a small boy playing alone out in the fields might look just as tempting a prey as some old cow.

After hearing their tale, Niklas and Thomas quickly took their leave from those grieving folk. Even the few small inquiries they had already made were well past their welcome. However, as these two continued along their journey, this time it was Niklas who was hushed and troubled. The image of that horrible, man-like beast remained freshly burned into his mind’s eye. Besides that, the thought that such a tragedy as this was not an uncommon occurrence filled him with a sickly regret that he could neither do more to immediately help alleviate the burden borne by these already dour and downtrodden people, nor easily hasten his plans to do so in the future.

“How many Hunters dwell at the Old Fort?” Niklas inquired, at last breaking the silence that had hung over their long walk.

Thomas looked up at the distant clouds in contemplation. “I… You know, I can’t rightly name a figure, milord. I don’t know that anyone’s ever counted them.”

Niklas sighed deeply and clapped one hand upon his forehead. “Surely there is someone in charge of such a force–some officer who the Hunters report to for orders?”

Thomas smiled again, but this one was small and apologetic. “Truthfully sir, I believe the Countess holds the title of the Grand-Hunter, but it's more of an honorary position since she never actually visits the Old Fort.”

Hearing this, an annoyed furrow appeared on the small man’s forehead. Does that woman oversee anything in her County..?

“I suppose,” Thomas continued, oblivious of Niklas’ growing frustration. “The last time I was there, I witnessed an older Hunter dealing out orders to the younger and fresher men. Without an official hierarchy, I’d wager age and experience would naturally create one instead.”

Every new revelation only makes the matter more tedious… Niklas bemoaned internally.

Despite his misgivings, Niklas did his best to gather his resolve and increase his pace. “Let us make for the Castle posthaste, then. There is much to be done!”

Yet as they trudged onward, he groaned and rubbed at his throbbing temple, entirely absorbed in his mental review of the ever-growing list of tasks he would need to see to upon his return.

As he crested the steep hill and stood at its peak, the weaselly-looking man named Hemsley turned back with an excited look while pointing his finger straight ahead.

“There it is, your royalness! I sees it!”

Uldred trudged along behind him, still making her way up the side of the grassy incline. The moment the man had seen the spire of the tower peeking up past the top of the hill he had practically sprinted in his eagerness as he scrambled up to the top. She did not understand his excitement at the sight of her gloomy and dusty abode, but she also had not lived a life on the streets, ever exposed to the cold and the damp, as he had.

As she joined the man in standing at the top, she looked with surprise out upon a quite rare sight. This tall hill descended into a sheer and rocky crevice for a long ways, giving it something of the appearance of a valley, as the Castle and the low countryside surrounding it could be made out for miles in every direction. The cover of the fog had also broken, briefly, as had the clouds beyond, which allowed the low, red light of the setting sun to shine in blinding brilliance upon the Castle.

“What a beautiful sight! Eh, milady?” Hemsley called up to her in excitement and awe.

Uldred did not reply, but stared in wide-eyed silence at that picturesque scenery for a good long time. At her sides, she gripped her hands into fists tight enough that the leather of her gloves began to squeak under the pressure, causing Hemsley to eye her her nervously. However, it was not to last, and just as quickly as it had appeared, the sun was banished back behind the gray wall of Petrician clouds, and the fog of the day settled over their surroundings once again. Uldred audibly exhaled, as if she had been holding her breath, and her posture relaxed.

“Sh-shall we continue..?” The weaselly man asked with some apprehension.

Uldred simply grunted at him in reply. Then as they were about to continue their trek, something caught her eye. She peered down the rocky wall-face some fifty or so, her eyes trained on the area just beneath their hill where the dirt road veered off from the main highway and towards the Castle. A small group of silhouetted figures were steadily making their way towards her home along that path. She could just make out the shapes of two men and some kind of beast of burden, perhaps a donkey or a mule…

“Well, will you look at that? Travelers, your grace! Just there!” Hemsley exclaimed, catching sight of that distant group himself. He was distracted enough, then, that he did not see the large, leather-gloved hand reaching out towards him!

Without warning, Uldred scooped the small man up and tucked him under the crook of her arm, where he flailed his limbs in his sudden panic at such treatment.

“M-my Lady!? What are you doing? Put me down! My Lady?” He cried out, his voice increasing in pitch as she, ignoring him entirely, leaned over the side of the steep, craggy cliff, almost as if she meant to toss the man right off!

“--D-don’t do it, my Lady! P- please !” He wailed now, tears now dripping down from his eyes to disappear into the fog far below them.

But she neither replied to him nor even gave any sign that she had heard his desperate pleas. And though she did not drop him, what she did next was just as shocking, as she promptly stepped right off the side of the drop!

After a long, dreary trek down the main highway, the trio of travelers finally came upon a familiar bend in the dirt road, one which led to the left around a small mountain and eventually ended down at the Castle. At first, Niklas hated the thought of entering that dark, musty Castle again just as much as the thought of having to continue down that dusty and foggy road, but the promise of a hot, steaming bath being drawn for him caused a small jolt of excitement in his chest, and he felt much more ready to end his tiresome journey.

He placed a hand upon the haunch of Missy the mule, who did not pay him any mind beyond sending a quick and lazy glance in his direction. Truly, the only time she seemed to show any sort of emotion was, whenever they camped each night, Thomas would strap a back of feed over her snout for her to enjoy at her leisure. Picturing his own meal of tasteless, gray porridge and watery tea, Niklas had the most alarming intrusive thought that Missy’s feed seemed, in comparison, most delectable. He shook his head fervently, attempting to rid himself of such a sinful and ridiculous thought.

Thomas looked over enthusiastically, providing a very welcome distraction. “We’re almost home, milord! It’s just a bit of a ways ahead, now!”

“Aye, I remember this path from my initial journey to the County.” Niklas replied. “Though I rode in a carriage at the time…”

Thomas chuckled. “Anything you’re looking forward to right away, upon your return?”

“I think a hot bath will do my aching body a world of good, for I’m afraid the cold has seeped into my very bones!”

At that Thomas wore a rare look of longing. “Ahh, a hot bath! I haven’t had the pleasure of one in many seasons!”

“I could have Belfort draw one up for you upon our return.” Niklas offered towards his companion with a teasing lilt in his voice.

Thomas pleadingly put up his two hands before him. “Oh no, I couldn’t dream of–”

–BOOM!

Before he could finish speaking a great thundering sound and an eruption of dust from the road was cast up around them all at once! Missy reared back on her hind legs and cried out in a honking, panicked cry, and the two men beside her coughed harshly and peered urgently around through watering eyes.

“What in the Blue Hells-” Niklas called through the hanging cloud of dust. “T-Thomas? Are you alright?”

Suddenly a strong hand clasped upon his shoulder. Niklas attempted to make out his companion through his stinging tears, his face contorted in a grimace from the strain. He put out one hand out before him, and with what appeared to be a great effort, he then cast his hand away in a wide arc. As if following after his movement came a great gust of wind, as harsh enough to whistle some as it passed, and the lingering dusk was carried away in a moment!

Now the cause of the commotion was visible: a large, black-robed figure who now knelt in a small, shallow crater caused by their heavy impact with the ground. As they rose to their full height they towered over the two men, and also revealed a dull–and very familiar–mask of a silver face!

Immediately the serious, alert look fell from Thomas’ face, which again lit up in his usual sunny grin.

“Eully!” He called out jovially, waving his hand in greeting like an excited child.

Missy still looked on-edge and honked in fear and confusion. Hearing this, Thomas turned and wrapped his arm affectionately around her neck, and with the other he stroked the stripe of a mane that adorned her head. “Shush, Missy, hush now. Everything is alright!” He cooed, and at his comforting touch and relaxed tone she quickly calmed and settled once more.

Niklas did not recover quite as easily as either Thomas or Missy had. He still trembled from the force of his shock, and he was still hacking and coughing from the dust that had flown into his throat. As Niklas was struggling to recover, Uldred let another small man–one who she had apparently been carrying about like a sack of potatoes–fall to his knees upon the dirt, where he also began to retch awfully due to his terrifying fall.

“W-what in God’s name are you doing?! ” Niklas shouted furiously towards Uldred.

She did not reply, but only cast her violet gaze down upon where he stood in a silence which felt more awkward than intimidating, and which was only punctuated by the sound of Helmsley retching up the remains of his mid-day meal.

Niklas then looked up towards the peak she must have fallen from, awed at the great height of it as well as at her own composure. “Did you- did you jump from up there?” He asked incredulously.

“It was fine.” She replied evenly, though beneath her cloak her legs quaked slightly and a sharp, throbbing ache ran through her joints. That hurt worse than I thought it would... She thought to herself, though she refused to outwardly show any evidence of her carelessness.

“Also, who is that ?” Niklas gestured in bewilderment at her side towards the man who had collapsed upon the ground there and had only just finished being violently sick upon the grass.

“Eh?” Came a confused response, but from Hemsley rather than from Uldred. He staggered hurriedly to his feet then, wobbling like a newborn deer, saliva still streaked about the corner of his mouth. Once he had a good view of Niklas, his own gaze sharpened in suspicion. “Who am I? Who are you ?” Hemsley demanded in a threatening tone. He marched over to Niklas then and looked at him eye-to-eye–a rare feat for both men, considering their similarly diminutive statures.

“That is the Count of Petrice.” Thomas called over his shoulder in answer, and immediately the ex-convict’s attempted mean-mugging transformed into a nervous admiration. “My Lord!” He exclaimed exaggeratedly, rubbing his hands together in a gesture that indicated either supplication or greed. While he did so, Uldred deigned to offer an explanation.

“He followed me, though I said not to. I don’t know what for–”

“--What she means to say,” Hemsley interrupted hurriedly, standing in front of her and putting his arms out as if to catch the very words she had spoken out of the air before they could reach the others. “Is that this oh-so-very-Noble Woman gallantly rescued me from the clutches of some violent brigands, and from the hangman’s noose to boot! And so, naturally I have sworn to serve her henceforth!”

For a long moment the three others could only stare incredulously at this audacious little man, and then up at Uldred, who remained inscrutable as ever under her coverings and mask. “...Sure.” She reluctantly huffed, turning her head away slightly to avoid all of the eyes that were currently trained upon her. At this, Hemsley beamed smugly in triumph before turning to Niklas and dropping into a clumsy, dramatic mockery of a bow.

“And there you have it, milord!”

Together their motley group continued down the slightly winding road towards the Castle, which was once again partially obscured by heavy fog. Seeming completely oblivious to the dreary and chilly atmosphere, Hemsley spent the walk regaling his companions with the tale of the Countess’ battle against the mighty bandit Abor upon the Road of Benedict.

His account deviated wildly from the original event, and his exaggerations included tripling the number of thugs she had been forced to battle alone, a dramatic rescue of his damsel-like self from their clutches, and how all the other residents of the camp had been brutally butchered and cannibalized by their foes. The most obvious untruths he spun were his descriptions of the Countess’ heroic (and slightly long-winded) speeches in which she denounced Abor– along with, for some reason, the poor state of the economy in the surrounding local regions. Still, true or not, his storytelling made for good entertainment during the remainder of their journey, so he was allowed to speak his fill.

“...Then she ran him though with her mighty blade, and with one hand, held him aloft! And as his life-blood drenched her she declared: ‘This is the fate of evil before me!’ Just before a bolt of lightning struck the tip of her sword, and Abor’s body exploded in a fountain of gore!”

Thomas and Niklas eyed Uldred, who appeared quite clean besides the usual layer of dust and grime from the road. The two shared a short, skeptical glance, but did not move to question or correct Hemsley’s account.

Hemsley looked all-too ready to carry on with his bombastic tale, but with a quick glance about he realized they now stood only a few short paces away from the castle gates. “Oh!” He called out excitedly. “We’re here your grace--er, your graces!”

Making their ways through the gatehouse door and into the courtyard, Thomas led Missy off towards the empty stables to unload her packs, and Hemsley ran excitedly to the great wooden doors to knock upon them. After a short wait one of them creaked slowly open to reveal the old butler, Belfort.

“My Lords you’ve returned I-” He stopped in the middle of his welcome when he noticed the unfamiliar, scruffy little fellow standing before him. He blinked once in confusion, before asking “Who’re you?”

But Niklas called over before the newcomer had a chance to introduce himself. “Belfort, my good man! You are a sight for sore eyes. This is…” He startled, realizing he did not actually know the man’s name. “...well, this is a new servant, I suppose He will be in your employ from now on.”

Hearing this, the old man’s shoulders slouched and his arms fell to his sides, his mouth agape and his eyes as wide as saucers. “A n-n-new…” He stammered out. Suddenly, he reached out and took up both of the weaselly little man’s rough hands in his own, shaking them vigorously! “Oh this is most welcome indeed! There has not been a new servant in this place since the Countess was a babe!”

Hemsley recoiled as much as he could while caught in the old man’s oddly strong grasp. “Y-yes..?” Was all he could say in reply, so startled was he. But it hardly seemed to matter to the butler as he carried on excitedly.

“We must start your training right away! I--oh gosh, and we must get you fitted for your uniform… There isn’t a moment to spare! Right this way.” He said before turning at an alarming speed and bodily pulling Hemsley deep into the Castle along with him. Hemsley could do nothing but let out a short, alarmed yelp before the two had disappeared out of sight.

The remaining two members of their already small party were left alone in the courtyard. The Countess and Count of Petrice, wife and husband, stood side by side. The quiet that fell over this reunited couple was an awkward one, as per usual. Niklas peeked sheepishly up at Uldred, and she returned his short glances with her own piercing violet gaze. After a long, strained beat of silence, Uldred shrugged her broad shoulders, huffed quietly, and began to make her way up the short stone steps which led into the now-open doorway leading into the Castle.

But as she made to leave, she suddenly felt a grip upon her hand! It was not the strength of the hand that clasped hers that made her pause, for she could have broken it with but a thought if she had a mind to. It was the action itself, of another human being reaching out to grasp her hand in theirs, which had brought her to an abrupt halt. She slowly turned back to glance over her shoulder at the person who had taken such an unprecedented action– who of course, could be none other than Niklas.

The shorter man looked up at her then with a slightly surprised expression, as if his own spontaneous action had startled him just as much as it had her. Quickly he drew his hand away, freeing her from his grasp, and took a small step backwards, looking away and nervously scratching the back of his head. He was well aware that the two of them had not yet shared an interaction which had ended pleasantly, which did nothing to reduce his nerves or his sheepishness around her.

“S-so…” He started, drawing out the word in an attempt to buy himself more time to figure out what to say..

Uldred stood so still she seemed carved from stone, simply looking down upon him without showing any sign of reaction.

He took a deep breath, then, and did his best to paste a bright smile upon his face. He was so nervous that it was a weak and obviously forced thing, but Uldred was quite used to others wearing such expressions around her, and paid that little mind.

“...W-welcome home!” Niklas then stuttered out, with the most welcoming and pleasant smile that he could manage. He could feel the back of his neck heat up as he realized how awkward and stilted his attempted greeting must seem.

Another hushed pause stretched between the two of them. He remained where he was, resolutely smiling at her despite his nerves, though he lifted his eyebrow quizzically at her as the minutes stretched on and she failed to respond.

Finally she reached out, and gave Niklas a light shove. For her such an action was the gentlest tap she could exert, but for his smaller, lighter frame it was enough force to send him back reeling a few steps. “Hey!” He cried out, more in affronted surprise than anything else.

By the time he had recovered himself and looked back towards where she had stood looming over him, she was already gone, having speedily crested the steps and disappeared into the dark halls beyond the doors.

“What was that all about..?” He wondered aloud, once again rubbing at the back of his head. Because of her hood and mask which covered the whole of her head, there was no way for him to have noticed the beet-red flush that now entirely engulfed Uldred’s hidden face.