Chapter Text
“...And thus, with the assassination of King Alfred, Hornburg dissolved into chaos. Within but a few years’ time, the land was partitioned between neighboring nations.”
Before the professor even finishes speaking, Princess Mary’s hand flies into the air. She lights up like a little sun in the classroom, fully engaged with matters of the past. Truthfully, at the beginning of Olberic’s tenure as her bodyguard, he figured such fascination with history would make her an ill fit for the throne one day. A monarch needed to focus on her current subjects, not the people of yesteryear. But he had softened over time, coming to view her passion as hope for the future. Mary needed only bring this earnest desire to learn and understand with her to queenhood, and her realm would prosper.
“I have heard tale of King Alfred’s premier warriors: the state magician, Cyrus, and the king’s right-hand, Erhardt. What befell them in the intervening years?” Princess Mary asks, hand poised to scribble another page of notes. That was one reservation Olberic still privately held: all of her constant writing would one day damage her wrist, and carrying the weight of all of her school things would one day damage Olberic’s back. Such was the price to pay for an education, he supposed.
Professor Greenwich nods, turning back to his chalkboard. He writes as he lectures: “The legendary Twin Jewels of Hornburg, yes. Fearsome men in their prime, and experts in all manner of swordsmanship and magic. Unfortunately, though rather fitting to their name as legendary, both of them fell into obscurity after Hornburg’s dissolution. Scholars believe both Erhardt and Cyrus perished in the same battle that saw King Alfred slain–they were tasked with defending the king, after all, and had admirably performed their job for many years. However, because their remains were never located on the battlefield, it is generally agreed that their remains were either destroyed or hidden, so as to add to the confusion and doubt that inevitably tore the kingdom apart.”
Mary nods as if she had suspected such. Yet Olberic cannot help but catch her glance back at him. He musters a slight smile, which she returns before turning back with another question.
Olberic cannot see whatever connection she has made between him and two tragic heroes. He might be a royal guard, yes, but that hardly makes him on par with the likes of Cyrus and Erhardt. He earned this position not through some great feat on the battlefield, but rather as a matter of good behavior. Olberic was the most noble, responsible, and righteous man in the King’s entire guard–or so his commanding officer had boasted, practically shoving Olberic towards King Wold’s messenger. There is no better candidate to protect Her Highness, Captain Erlin continued, preening with pride. Eisenberg would gladly lay down his life for her.
That, at least, was no exaggeration. Olberic had long been loyal to his kingdom. Theirs was a just and righteous king, whose daughter exemplified similar ideals. Olberic would one day serve her as part of the guard just like he once served her father. And if that meant dying for their cause, then so be it. Olberic had lived a better life than most. To die in service to the kingdom would be his greatest pride.
Not that he’d be throwing himself in front of an assassin’s blade any time soon, of course. Wold was a peaceful nation, and had been so for decades. The entire nation loved Princess Mary. No one would consider hurting her. Truthfully, Olberic’s new post would be better described as Her Highness’s Pack Mule.
At the end of class, Olberic dutifully shouldered the Princess’s bookbag and followed her out into the crowded halls of the Royal Academy, dutifully standing by as she greeted her friends and sat down for lunch with her cousin, the bashful Lady Therese. Olberic never claimed his job was glamorous or exciting. But it was an honor and a privilege, and one he would not take lightly.
His position was also the envy of several others. Olberic ignored the soured looks cast his way when the guards thought him unaware. Few whispered rumors had already reached his ears: claims that Olberic had bribed his way to this position, or that he sought to use Princess Mary’s favor to one day lift him and his family name to great (and unearned) heights. It was, after all, previously unheard of that a commoner should find himself in such close service to royalty. Surely Olberic had some ulterior motive.
Never mind that he’d been hand-picked for this job–and by a noble-born commander, no less. Olberic wouldn’t let the rumors or thinly-veiled jealousy affect him. The people whose opinions of him mattered knew of his integrity and found no fault within him or his quality of service.
And so, it would come as a great surprise that in less than a day’s time, Olberic will be banished from the kingdom.
Atlasdam in the early morning is all pastel light and birdsong. The scent of freshly baked sweet bread drifts through the air without a care, overpowered only by the strong bitter wafts of coffee shops along the main street. The city is busy because it is always busy, but these bustling crowds are thin in comparison to the noon and evening hours. And so it is now, awash in the dawning blush, that Princess Mary dons the livery of a maid and sneaks out to experience all her future kingdom has to offer.
Olberic comes with her, of course. That’s part of their deal: Olberic does not inform the palace of her secret outings so long as she allows him to act as her escort. Part of him wishes he could let her roam fully independent, but as peaceful as Atlasdam is, thieves and ne’er-do-wells still flit amongst the crowds. Olberic won’t stand for the princess to be mugged or worse while she tries to have some fun. Besides, if someone else ever catches Princess Mary while she’s out on one of these excursions, Olberic can step in and shoulder the blame. Let him face the repercussions, not her.
Her Highness takes it all in stride because Olberic still saves her the trouble of carrying all of her things. And today, Princess Mary’s favorite place to visit, the library, happens to have added new books to their collection.
Princess Mary gasps, snatching a green cloth-bound novel off the shelf. “A new publication from Lady Mint Arkette! She authors my favorite mystery series. I’ve told you about her works, haven’t I, Olberic?”
She has indeed, and at great length, but Olberic shakes his head. The princess lights up and launches into a detailed breakdown of each book and mystery in excruciating detail. Olberic never had the patience for reading, but he’s happy to hear these stories second-hand. He accepts every book she hands him, nodding along with her tales. Though the longer she speaks, Olberic begins to suspect she cares less for the narrative and more for the supposed illicit romantic affair between the detective and his assistant.
“An unorthodox clergyman and a Knight Ardante,” she sighs, fanning her face, “protecting the land by serving the ideals of truth and justice… falling more and more in love with each mystery solved… I can scarcely imagine a more enthralling story. Wouldn’t you agree, Olberic?”
Olberic also isn’t very interested in romantic tales (of which he’s positive this series is not, but who is he to argue with Her Highness?). Fantasy is nothing like reality, of which he’s painfully aware. But who is he to rain on her parade? Princess Mary is still young. She’s never known heartbreak, and he prays she never will.
“Of course,” he politely lies.
Princess Mary chuckles, seeing right through him. “If I’m boring you, you need only tell me. I promise it will not hurt my feelings.”
“I never said such a thing,” Olberic counters. “The stories are very interesting–”
“But the romance isn’t?” the princess finishes. She wanders towards another section of the library, trailing her fingers along the embossed spines. “Then fear not, Olberic, I shall save my thoughts on their relationship for Therese. In the meantime, perhaps you can help me find–”
“I demand to see the book!” some shouts at the circulation desk. Olberic peers around one of the stacks, assessing the scene for any trouble. As he suspected, a scholar who likely hasn’t slept in half a week glares at the librarian. Such an occurrence is rare, but not unheard of. When Olberic was but a city guard, he had been called upon to escort and trespass unruly guests in the Royal Library a couple times. Often these scholars did not remain in Atlasdam for very long, as a trespass from the Royal Library often preceded a trespass from the Royal Academy. “It is an integral part of my studies, and I will not suffer an uneducated hick to impede my research!”
Princess Mary goes taut with offense. That hick must be Mercedes, a good friend of the princess, and the highly educated new head librarian. This fool must be new to the city if he isn’t familiar with her. “Unacceptable,” she grimly decides, gearing up to confront the scholar.
“It’s best you not get involved,” Olberic advises her. He can only imagine the cascade of scandals Princess Mary’s involvement will set off. “I’ll handle this. Please remain here, Your Highness.”
“And on whose authority is the tome placed under maximum security?” the scholar sneers, slamming his hands on the desk. “I am the foremost expert in Hornburgian history! From the Far Reaches of Hell is essential for my stu–urk.”
At last, the scholar’s tirade comes to a blessed halt when Olberic kindly yanks him out of Mercedes’ face. “Might we try following proper procedure instead of acting as a fool?” Olberic suggests.
Thank you, Mercedes mouths. While the scholar is distracted, she pushes a small button under her desk. It taps a lightning soulstone embedded in the wood, which then runs a zip of magic through a buried line to signal a metal bell posted outside, alerting the guard on duty. Who, truthfully, should have already come to investigate the noise. Olberic tries to remember who is stationed outside at this hour–it was Horatio, wasn’t it? New to the ranks, still bright-eyed and jittery.
“Unhand me!” the scholar snaps, slapping at Olberic’s grip like he’s nothing more than a pesky gnat. His voice grinds even louder and more annoying–he has the eye of every patron in the building now, yet he continues raving, totally undaunted, “The nerve! Is this not the Royal Library? What manner of brutes and troglodytes habit the place? Are there no rules in place to stay the rabble?”
Mercedes worriedly taps the button again. She scowls past them at the front doors, still closed. Did no one explain to Horatio what the bell means? Did he walk away from his post? Such a green guard shouldn’t have been tasked with guarding such a high profile location–Olberic must have a word with the captain later.
Finally, the scholar tears away from Olberic’s reach. He rants and raves, causing even more of a scene–but something isn’t right. Olberic rubs his fingers together, feeling something flake apart. He stares at his hand and finds… gold foil?
Slowly, the truth of the matter dawns on him. A so-called prestigious scholar bearing the regalia of the Royal Academy, but unfamiliar with Mercedes. He searches for an unavailable book in early hours of the day, and throws a tantrum when he is not granted access to it. The guard posted outside is still unavailable–is the greenhorn sleeping on the job or was he incapacitated? And, most damning, this scholar painted fake buttons with gold.
Praying this is nothing more than a book robbery, Olberic ditches the distraction, running back to the stacks where he left Princess Mary–and finds nothing but a green book carelessly dropped open on the ground.
Olberic is too panicked to curse. He peers down each narrow passage between the nearby stacks, looking for the princess, all the while considering how someone could possibly abduct her from the library. The building only has one entrance, upon which Mercedes has a visual. She knows Princess Mary must be here, because Olberic is not the type of person to voluntarily visit the library in his free time. Mercedes would alert Olberic if she saw the princess being hauled away. There are other doors leading deeper into the archives and small rooms intended for study, but as Olberic recalls, none of those rooms open to the street. They’re filled with windows, though, and most of them are just large enough for someone to easily fit through, even if they were carrying someone.
But where? Olberic wonders, shoving another patron out of his way as he marches towards those back rooms. And how? Whoever devised this plan must have known Princess Mary would be here. They must have specifically planned to abduct her during one of her clandestine outings because the palace would be unaware of her comings and goings, and she wouldn’t immediately be recognized as royalty. Who? Who else knew about her excursions? The staff at the palace? She didn’t look like her usual self, and Olberic wouldn’t be so stupid as to dress in his full knight armor and regalia, either. No one could use him as means to recognize and locate her unless they were familiar with Olberic–
Someone in the guard, he thinks. The realization shudders through him, nearly giving him pause, but duty propels him ever forward. He must recover Princess Mary first. Pointing fingers, figuring out which of his colleagues might be a traitor–that can come later, once she is safe.
The first conference reveals nothing out of the norm: no open windows, no signs of a chaotic escape. The second and third are much the same. Olberic barges into the fourth room, praying for the gods to grant him an ounce of clemency and–
There! An open window, desks shoved aside, a crack in the glass and a small splatter of blood. “Princess!” Olberic yells out the window, already half climbed onto the sill in pursuit.
But he gets no farther. Hands grab the back of his shirt and jerk him backwards. Olberic instinctively fights, eyes never leaving the trail the captors left, but somewhere in the midst of panic and grappling rings out a clear, jarring order: “Olberic Eisenberg! By order of the crown, stop resisting!”
He freezes. Still conditioned to obey his commander’s orders, even after all this time. But the spell of obedience does not last long. “Sir,” Olberic begins, turning to Captain Erlin. “Someone created a ruse and used the distraction to kidnap Her Highness. We must pursue them before they leave the city–”
“We’ve already sent the guard after them,” Captain Erlin says. Then he looks to the guardsman still gripping Olberic’s arm. “Cuff Eisenberg and bring him to my office.”
Olberic blinks. “What? But sir–”
“Enough,” Captain Erlin snaps. “Save it for the interrogation.”
“Interro–? Sir, I can explain everything while we pursue her captors. There’s no time to waste!”
Olberic’s words fall of deaf ears. He swallows the inclination to make a break for it. This is some kind of misunderstanding. Captain Erlin and the guards, those men and women he once served alongside, know him better than any other. If someone has pinned the blame on Olberic for Princess Mary’s abduction, the truth will come to light soon, especially once he shares his theory that someone else in the guard played a role in her kidnapping. He’s more sure of his theory now than before.
Someone is framing him for this. Someone who has the captain’s ear. Because why else would Captain Erlin arrest him? He was the very man who recommended Olberic to his role. He should know that Olberic would never participate in such a crooked plot, so why–
But Olberic is at fault for this, isn’t he?
He left Princess Mary alone. It doesn’t matter if he merely stepped away for a moment–a moment was clearly all it took for someone to abduct her. Olberic should have known better. He shouldn’t have acted so cavalierly and just waited for the actual guard on duty to intervene. Inaction would have saved Her Highness. Doing his damn job and sticking to her side would have saved her.
Olberic stays his tongue. He doesn’t resist.
Later, he’ll wonder if that’s the only reason they didn’t choose execution.
The Flatlands have long held a sort of storybook quality to them. Rolling emerald fields dotted with wildflowers of every color and shape stretch to meet a cloudless blue sky at the horizon. Olberic used to think it comparable to the ocean.
His mother thought him a maudlin child, tsking at him every time she’d catch him sitting in the quiet of the evening, gazing out across the land. She thought such thoughtfulness would see her son take a more academic path in life, chasing the allure of scholarship, but Olberic’s patience was no match for the psychological rigor of study.
No, Olberic didn’t want to live a life of books and theory. He wanted the real world and every experience it had to offer. As soon as he came of age, he enlisted with the city guard, hoping to find station elsewhere across the emerald green–perhaps at the northern foothills, where the holy mountains of the Frostlands kissed the seats of the gods, or maybe in south, where the soil turned to sandy loam as the earth gave way to the ocean. Olberic never got the chance to leave the capitol. He was grateful for it, of course, for no other station paid as well, but still that burgeoning yearn for something else, someplace else, lingered in the back of his mind.
So some part of him cannot help but latch onto the positive aspects of his banishment. Olberic now has all the time in the world to get his fill of exploration and travel.
He and his escort pause at the first fork in the road. Olberic means to stand steadfast, head held high, but shame makes a small thing of him instead. He feels piteously young next to Captain Erlin. For this, too, Olberic should be glad: only his captain accompanied his walk of shame out of the city limits. Neither spoke a word to one another after the king delivered his distraught verdict. Olberic expects the silence to persist as he decides whether to flee to the Frostlands or Coastlands, but then his captain says, “There’s a scholar in Quarrycrest, name of Odette. She has an ear for underhanded dealings pertaining to the crown and Royal Academy.”
Olberic starts. “What–”
Captain Erlin tersely interrupts him, “I know you’re not at fault for this, Eisenberg. Anyone with common sense can see that. But someone must take the fall for a crime of this scale, and you’re the only person who could put banishment to good use. Seek out this scholar, and have her help you rescue our princess.”
Such a charge should empower him, and perhaps it does in some way or another, but the reality of the situation is slow to sink in. Olberic turns away from Captain Erlin and gazes out at the verdant sea before him.
This is his home. The only home he has ever known. During the long walk, Olberic made his peace with leaving it behind forever. He privately said his goodbyes to the familiar, and prepared himself to accept the unknown as his new home. To have this small light of hope again, this assurance that someone still has faith in him, is….
“I will,” Olberic finally musters. “I will see her returned safely home, no matter what.”
Captain Erlin claps him on the shoulder. “Good man. See that you do.”
The Clifflands are half a world away from these emerald fields, so Olberic does not waste another second. He sets off for the southern path, sure that he’ll find a ship in Coastlands willing to ferry him across the Middlesea. He’ll find Odette the Scholar. He’ll find Princess Mary.
And finally, when the journey is done, Olberic will come back home.
By the end of his journey, Olberic will realize that home isn’t a place, but another hand held tightly in his.