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There was no better state of being than when a plot was going exactly in Ištván's favor. Everything in its place, everything happening as he needed it to, and everything shaping up to leave him exactly where he wanted and needed to be.
Especially when he'd had to bullshit his way there in the first place.
As much as he would like to pretend it was all according to his machinations, Ištván could admit to himself that his retreat to Talmberg had been a hastily made decision. A stab in the dark he hadn't been certain would land when he'd heard of his captive's escape. But a man like him didn't get to where he was by lying to himself or by freezing up when the odds were against him. He could always take pride in his ability to adapt, even in the most inconvenient of circumstances.
Talmberg was, in fact, turning out to be one of the better decisions Ištván had made in his long career as a mercenary. The ride to the castle and its following capture had resulted in him sitting in the most well fortified structure for miles, surrounded by good food, warm walls, comfortable beds. He was now thoroughly enjoying the finer things it had to offer, far more so than the other nobles had.
All he needed to do was wait for Erik to send for Sir Medek for reinforcements, for those reinforcements to arrive, and for the pithy little garrison that surrounded his new fortress to be wiped off the map.
Until then: Breakfast
The Talmberg cooks had been cooperative enough over the past several days to make their meals to standard. Though they required a watchful eye to make sure none of it was poisoned, Ištván and all of his men were presently eating better than they had in weeks if not months. Perhaps it was not to the standard of King Sigismund's court, but far better than he'd expected from the backwater. With that and a store of fine wine he could almost forget that they were under siege.
Though certainly the company could be better...
In the dining hall, if you could call it that, Ištván found himself entertaining a court all his own. One Lady Stephanie and one Lord Radzig, surrounded by several well armed mercenaries-turned-guards. The small length of the table kept them close, but their manner left them feeling distinctly removed.
Radzig sat at the far end, chewing angrily and unsubtly glaring at him in between sips of wine. Lady Stephanie sat on the left side, near center but always somehow scooting herself closer to Radzig over the course of every meal. She ate timidly, eyes downcast, pecking at her food like a sickly bird, looking as if she would burst into tears at any moment. Ištván found her far more annoying than Radzig, but at least she didn't seem to think she could better her situation through muttered insults and hardened stares.
This early afternoon, while they sat in the dimly lit room, they were enjoying a warm meal of smoked venison in pepper sauce and carrots seasoned with saffron and ginger. Freshly baked bread and a pear pottage served as their side dishes. And all of it washed down with a fine vintage of Sylvan red. Ištván would never stop being both amazed and envious at how nobility could so easily get such food out of season. It was a benefit of his station he hadn't yet got accustomed to, even when wintering back in Hungary. And while Lady Stephanie and Radzig barely seemed to see the hedonistic miracle before them, Ištván allowed himself to appreciate each and every bite.
Oh well, he thought. What did he expect from the spoiled and inbred. He'd find better company once this was all over.
He'd just have to make do entertaining himself until then.
Ištván scrapped his teeth against his knife, pulling off the last shred of venison with a contented grin. Pushing his plate away and waving for one of the servants, he let himself sink comfortably into his chair and looked across the table to his host.
"Your hospitality has been much appreciated, Lady Stephanie," Ištván said as his empty plate was taken away. "I haven't had such a pleasant stay since Buda."
"Thank you lord Toth." she replied quietly, not looking up from her own plate which was still mostly untouched.
"And I must say you've quite the lovely castle as well. A bit rustic but much preferable to the gaudiness your countrymen seem to prefer."
He shot a look at Radzig, who at least had the decency to eat, even if he chewed like the food was Ištván's bloody heart.
Lady Stephanie continued to pick, lip quivering before she could muster a reply.
"I do try to make our home comfortable for all our guests."
"Well you've done an excellent job," he smiled. "Honestly between Radzig's castle and this one, I quite prefer yours."
Radzig, ever so easy to needle, piped up.
"Well of course," he said. "My castle is a pile of burnt rubble."
"Such a shame." Ištván pouted.
Radzig went back to chewing angrily, and Lady Stephanie to not chewing at all. Ištván held back a sigh of disappointment. Truly, they were abysmal company.
It wasn't untrue what he'd said. He liked Talmberg castle well enough. It was certainly better than living in bandit camps over half the year. It didn't matter how long he'd been doing it or how used to it he was, Ištván much preferred living a life indoors under a sturdy roof out of the wilds and near civilization. Again it was the sort of thing his companions clearly didn't appreciate, the sort of comfort so all-encompassing in their lives that they weren't even aware of it.
That was a sigh Ištván couldn't hold back.
The title King Sigismund had bequeathed him had come with a fine manor in Buda and enough coin to see him through the next decade of war. A fine payment for saving his life. And one he got to visit from time to time, maybe once a year for a week or two, if he was lucky. And surely a less ambitious man would have taken it before settling into a passable if cozy existence amidst the lower and unlanded nobility, and wiling away his new found fortune on whatever fancy crossed his mind.
Thankfully, Ištván was not such a man.
A place like this or, even better, like Rattay castle? That would take work to acquire. Decisive victory. But the toil would be worth it for what he'd gain. A seat of tall solid towers on steep raised hillsides. Easily defensible walls with a full garrison to guard them. Lands and a populace to work it. All of it far from the borderlands.
And it was all so close! It was hard not to daydream, finger twirling around his chaperon's tail as he did.
It was complete fantasy of course, but in his mind he was already tearing down all the hunting trophies around him, replacing them with tapestries, repainting the mural of saint George with brighter less garish colors. Much like the nobility was unable to see the splendor of their meals, they also couldn't see that their money could be much more wisely spent on art of actual taste. Most of them decorated no better than common knackers and drunkards who'd stumbled upon some extra coin in a shithouse.
Beyond decorating, the castle needed modernizing terribly. His own bedchamber was top priority. The upper guest room or Stephanie's would be acceptable, cramped as they were at least they had a decent view. The sort of spanning sunny vista he deserved to wake to every morning. He'd give it a bigger bed, an armor stand, and a proper desk at which to work. Then he'd have them make the upper hall, dim and gloomy and cramped, somehow brighter. Perhaps with a few fine silver mirrors. Of course he'd also have a proper garden planted in the outer bailey. A place for growing herbs and for taking the air on fine weathered days. Maybe a library could be put in where the chapel sat, or an alchemy bench. He didn't imagine he'd use either much, but a chapel would be unused entirely.
Second priority would be giving his dear castellan, who he would appoint the instant the castle was his, just as fine a room. Something spacious with a big bed and a view, maybe overlooking the new gardens. Perhaps the North tower could be redone with inner windows and proper paneling. He could look down at the whole of the countryside and everyone in it from there, as he deserved. Instead of waking to tent canvas and gloaming woodland, he would awake to warm sunlight an endless horizon. It would be beautiful. It would be beautiful.
Ah but he knew he'd want a room closer to his. They both would. Perhaps he would take Divish's chambers and Erik could have the chamberlain's across the way. Less of a view, but less of a walk. Or perhaps he could contract the construction of a secret passage connecting the two. He'd been through a few in his time visiting and spying upon nobility. He could of course explain it as necessary for his safety. A contentious new lord of the realm who'd been appointed by force was likely to have many enemies at the start of his rule, after all.
"Lord Toth?"
Ištván blinked, pulled from his daydream.
Lady Stephanie was looking at him, eyes uncertain, head still down-turned.
Ištván leaned forward with a smile.
"Yes my dear lady?"
She swallowed, visibly stealing herself.
"Could I be permitted to visit the chapel later this evening?"
"The chapel?"
Stephanie nodded, placing her hands in her lap.
"It has always been my custom to visit it in the morning," she continued. "Since your arrival I have not been able to."
Ištván leaned back, scratching at the stubble on his chin thoughtfully then taking up his goblet and sipping at his wine. It was sweet, unlike the lady’s request.
She hurried her next words along with little grace.
"I could go under watch of your men. And it would only be but a few minutes."
Ištván smiled, setting his goblet down before placing his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers in front of him.
"I'm afraid I can't allow such frivolity," he replied with all the disdain of an adult chastising a very slow child. "It's safer and much more practical to keep you settled in where you are."
Lady Stephanie flinched away as if struck, turning her eyes back to the table in front of her. They were dark from lack of sleep. A bit red, Ištván guessed, from crying.
"Would you at least be amenable to having my rosary brought to me? From my room?"
"No." Ištván smiled.
Radzig placed his fork onto the table with just a touch more force than necessary. From the other end of the room, he wiped his mouth on a napkin in a comical mimic of etiquette.
"Come now Lord Toth," he said. "I've never known you to be needlessly cruel. The lady is only asking for a small comfort with which to console herself in this...unfortunate situation."
Ištván leaned into his chair, feeling the plush fabric press softly against a back that had spent so many years on hard splintered seats and unbalanced stools.
Comfort, Ištván wanted to snort, had she not had plenty enough for a lifetime?
But he chose to be kind, keeping his thoughts to himself.
"I find it sweet you think you ever knew me," he said instead. "And Lady Stephanie has plenty of comforts in her chambers. Wool to spin, chickens to pluck, floors to sweep."
"She's not some peasant woman," Radzig spat. "She can not be expected to entertain herself with such chores."
"And what is wrong with a peasant woman's chores?"
"She is a lady of nobility! Such things beneath her station!"
"Oh? I suppose you are right," he smirked. "Then again peasant women are often beneath you, aren't they?"
Watching Radzig's face redden with barely contained anger easily made up for the past weeks worth of uneventful dinners.
"What exactly is your plan here Toth?" Radzig growled. "You're completely surrounded, you have only so much food and water, we killed your best men at Vranik, and the few that remain are no doubt in shambles."
Ištván held back a laugh.
"I'm not entirely sure why you think I'd tell you," he replied. "Perhaps you could explain what your plan was charging into Talmberg by yourself? Don't you usually send some under-trained bastard to deal with threats instead of doing it yourself?"
Radzig answered with a telling silence, his glare quickly flicking away to some no doubt fascinating speck of dirt on the floor.
Ištván smiled and took another sip from his goblet.
That's right, he thought. For as much as you posture about nobility and honor you're no better than me. Neither of them were. Take all the pageantry away and they were just ordinary flesh and blood people. An angry man and a crying woman. They simply refused to see it.
The room was quiet. Ištván continued to enjoy his wine, letting his meal settle as he watched Radzig wolf down his and Lady Stephanie pick sullenly at hers. When he had had enough of that, Ištván decided to take up another subject of discussion.
"While on the topic of plans," he said. "I had wanted to do some light reading for this afternoon myself."
He turned to Lady Stephanie, who flinched almost imperceptibly.
"But I must ask my dear lady, why has Divish kept so few books in his home? Surely a man of such repute would have more of a collection, even if he couldn't read it."
"My husband has always preferred more active pastimes," she mumbled. "Hunting, riding, long walks and the like."
"Really?"
"Yes," she nodded. "He likes to walk through the town at least once a day. Sometimes he even rides out to Neuhof if the weather is kind."
"How dashing," Ištván hummed. "I suppose such things take on a novel quality when one mustn't do them every day."
Stephanie shrugged into herself.
"I suppose so. I never thought much about it."
"I'm sure you haven't."
He wondered if, after all of this nonsense was over and he was back in Hungary (or enjoying a new castle here in Bohemia), he would do much the same. Perhaps after a few decades of proper lording, boredom or nostalgia would call to him and he would take to hunting or walking through the muddy forested hillsides for entertainment. For fun.
God he hoped not.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching bootsteps. From the courtyard a scar-faced man with only half his teeth entered, a cutthroat by the name of Tymon who'd suddenly found himself in the position of emissary.
He bowed awkwardly.
"My lord."
"Yes, what is it?" Ištván sighed airily, waving him over.
Tymon approached and leaned down, keeping his voice low so their guests would not overhear.
"A message from the field. Lord Hanush wishes to speak to you."
"About?"
"Says he wants to discuss the terms of your surrender."
Ištván scrunched up his face.
"Really?"
"Yes sir."
"Hmm," he brought his goblet to his lips and slowly emptied it, letting the news run over him like the wine over his tongue.
"Any word?"
"Not yet sir."
Ištván sighed, making a show of slouching into his chair just a bit. Really, he was happy to have more after-meal entertainment. But he liked being able to play the put upon noble for a change. He so rarely got to.
"Very well then," he straightened himself up. "I'll permit them an audience shortly, let them know."
Tymon nodded and turned to leave.
Across the table, Radzig watched him openly. He caught Stephanie looking towards him as well, though she tried to hide it.
"I don't suppose you know why that boar of a lord Hanush would want to talk again?" Ištván asked cheerily.
"Haven't the foggiest."
"Very well," Ištván rose, and the guards around them stood at attention. "Grab the lord and lady and let's see what the rabble wants."
Ištván led the way from the dining hall, through the chamberlain's quarters, out to the battlements. He walked briskly along the walkway, filling his lungs with the fresh spring air, only the slightest hint of a small sieging army on the wind. It was a bright day, the sky a vivid blue and the clouds in it full and white and only slightly obscured by smoke. The forests were still luscious and green despite how much of them had been cut down, and the hillsides were still abloom with a dazzling array of colors as flowers grew up under trampling feet. Even the birds that nested in the crooks of the rafters sang contentedly to themselves, only passingly curious of the war waging around them.
It was a beautiful day to look down at the buffoons surrounding the castle, and laugh.
Upon reaching the battlements, Ištván peaked between the mossy merlons, keeping his head low in caution of archers.
The same tired, hungry army he'd been looking down at for the past several weeks was still there. Though it seemed a recent attack, one Ištván had been eagerly expecting, had shaken their resolve. Half-armored men milled around looking exhausted, trying to pull together what was left of their camp. The trebuchet looked to be still intact, disappointingly, but there was noticeable disarray both in and around it. Off in the other siege camps, smoke was pluming and fires were burning.
It was a wonderful view.
Lord Hanush was closer, just past the outer baileys wall and easy to spot from here. Fat as a pig for slaughter, unsightly beard, and garish raiments. He'd never spoken to the man before this, but the way Radzig and Lady Stephanie spoke of him, Ištván was probably better off for it. Divish stood behind him, his over-decorated ass as blinding in the sunlight. They were surrounded by a small retinue of men clothed in piss yellow waffenrocks, who milled aimlessly in and out of the half torched houses in the outer bailey, armed to the teeth with nowhere to go. Between them all, some peasant in a kettle hat scurried like a nervous underfed dog.
After a few moments it seemed the men below finally spotted him and the clamor of their band, sluggish as it was, went still.
Ištván smiled to himself, pulling back and continuing his walk along the battlements, hands behind his back. The men stationed along the parapet seemed just as confident in their position as he was, standing tall, adorned in sturdy well made plate and mail taken from the castle's armory.
"Sir Toth," Hanush called from down below, loud and gravely.
Ištván waited until Stephanie and Radzig were brought to his side, but motioned for them to be kept out of sight of the army below. The two stood freely but were flanked by guards beside and behind them. They, as well as every one of Ištván's men, knew what would happen if they attempted escape.
Finally, feeling they had been given enough time to stew Ištván leaned over the parapet's crenels to address the peons beneath him.
"What is it," he greeted, placing his gloved hands on the stone walls before him, "did our neighborly visit catch you unprepared?"
Lord Hanush didn't seem bothered by his question, practically puffing out his chest as he spoke.
"A little but we've settled in nicely," Hanush called. "And this fellow is enjoying our company so much, we simply can't get rid of him."
Oh, Ištván thought. A hostage of their own? This would be entertaining.
Radzig seemed to be thinking the same thing. Behind him he could hear the man trying his best to peek over his shoulder, prying. Ištván let him, if only so his men could violently yank him back into place when he got too close.
"Can you see what's happening?" Lady Stephanie whispered.
"Worry not my lady," Radzig sighed. "He may be a bit uncouth, but lord Hanush is quite the negotiator. I'm sure he'll get us safely exchanged."
Their ‘guest’ was pushed out from a group of soldiers clustered inside one of the bailey houses.
Ištván could not see them at first. The air was somewhat hazy with smoke and at this distance and height the figure was darkened in the shadow of the rubble.
But they were pushed forward once again, this time out into the sunlight...
White armor, shining under the blood and mud.
Eyes as black as night, hair as bright as gold.
And just like that, in briefest of instants, the entire world slipped away around him.
It slowed to a standstill, an alchemist’s timepiece broken over flame, and its sand turned to glass.
A cold gripped at his limbs and organs that he hadn't felt in years. Somewhere a few of his men were whispering, cursing. The distant shout of Lord Hanush ramblings below. Radzig and the lady shuffled back behind him.
"Oh dear lord."
"What? What's wrong? What's-"
"No no nothing just get behind me," a hurried mumbling. "May actually be trying to get us killed."
Erik was looking forward, eyes down. A prisoner avoiding the wrath of his captors. It was difficult to tell from this distance, the state of him. It was clear he was dirty from weeks in the field, following the orders Ištván had given. But he couldn't tell if he was hurt, injured. The darkness under his eyes could have been from a restless night just as much as they could have been from a fist. His hands were tied behind his back. Two soldiers stood at either side holding him in place, each with one hand on his arm, the other on the hilt of their swords. Despite his height over them, he seemed much smaller.
For the briefest moment, Erik looked up. As if to check that Ištván was actually there.
It was the first time they'd seen each other in weeks.
He lowered his gaze immediately, like a man to the gallows looked away from the sun.
"It seems we are in similar situations," Hanush continued, unphased by Ištván's silence. "Perhaps it's time to send our respective guests home?"
Ištván kept himself upright, face blank, tightening his grip on the stone beneath his hands. But the beating in his chest and his quickened breath were obvious.
He needed to remain calm, he knew. Keep his emotions in check. For the both of them.
Through everything a clear and obvious thought emerged. He couldn't accept an exchange. Not now, not like this. Surrender would do nothing but insure their execution once they were in enemy hands. There was no sense bargaining for Erik's l-
He stopped, mind almost blank with the words. As if it were simply incapable of imagining such a thing. An impossibility it would not allow to even be contemplated.
Ištván swallowed, tried to steady his breathing.
There was no sense bargaining for Erik's life now, only for them both to be killed once Ištván was captured.
On his left cheekbone he could see a bright streak of red. Blood too fresh to be anyone but his.
"Not a chance!" Ištván spat the answer past the sickening, disgusting, earth hollowing hollowness in his chest. "Do you take me for a fucking fool?"
He leaned over the crenel as he spoke, as if a closer look at the sight bellow might somehow change what was there.
But there was Erik, captured by their enemies.
They could kill him right then and there if they wanted. Slit his throat and let him bleed out like a butchered animal. Behead him like a robber baron and place his head on a pike as a warning to others. Hang him like a thief and leave his body where Ištván could see, rotting in the Spring sun, face pecked away by scavengers.
And there would be nothing he could do about it.
He could feel the press of the stone cutting even past his gloves. The heat of sun now beating down unbearably upon him.
Erik remained still, wisely not attempting to escape.
Ištván could recognize that purse of his lips, the stony expression fighting off the slips of emotion that darted across it.
Erik was still refusing to look at him, unable to meet his eye even from here.
He was ashamed.
It churned Ištván's stomach. Made bile rise with the rage in his throat.
How dare they.
How dare they make Erik feel ashamed. How dare they drag him about like a cheap bathhouse wench. How dare they even touch him, as if their grimy shit stained hands had any right to even be near his boy.
"But be warned," the words fell out almost separate from his mind as it tried to remain calm. Tried to reason against the reality in front of him that Erik would be ok.
Erik was a strong, battle hardened mercenary, just like him. Just like he'd raised him to be. He'd been through worse than this. Been in more danger than this. Ištván had seen him shake off arrows to the back and stabs to his gut, falls from a horse that would have killed a lesser rider.
He was the man who'd been terrorizing their enemies back-lines since the beginning of the siege, who'd slaughtered the innocents of dozens of villages over the years, and who'd fought back Turks from fleeing ships in the Danube when he was only fifteen.
But it all seemed so irrelevant now, looking down at him from the battlements.
"-if anything happens to Erik,"
Ištván couldn't see any of it. The man who raided Neuhof, the mercenary who'd commanded a small army of vicious murderers, or even the young knight that'd killed trained soldiers at Nicopolis.
No. He saw only the scared loving boy who'd desperately followed him to the gates of that hell in the first place, and then chosen to walk through them at his side.
"-I'll let every man jack here have his way with this bitch,"
The boy who used to sneak into his bed when he could no longer handle his nightmares alone, who looked to him with bright excited eyes and a brilliant wide smile after landing his first arrow into a target, who could barely restrain his laughter whenever Ištván whispered a dirty joke about their noble employers in the midst of some lord's feats, and who had slipped flowers onto Ištván's desk and into books when he wasn't looking because he'd still been too shy to confess his feelings.
"-and I'll dice Kobyla into goulash meat!"
Ištván didn't, couldn't, see a mercenary covered in dirt and blood. He could only see the scared little boy covered in tears and ash he'd made him from.
His boy. His Erik.
He heard some sort of commotion behind him. Muttered words, shuffling feet. Someone falling and the scramble to catch them. Worthless.
Across the bailey, Lord Hanush seemed unmoved.
"Nobly spoken your grace," he grimaced. "But for all I know you may have done that already."
Ištván could have screamed.
He spun and grabbed the first person he found. Lady Stephanie, half-conscious and held up by one of his men. He dragged her forward and forced her to the front of the parapet despite her struggles.
"Divish, I'm sorry!" was all she could say for herself.
Ištván shoved her away and she fell to the ground like a sack of molded flour.
He grabbed for Radzig next, who smirked and stepped forward for the task, looking all too pleased with himself. In better circumstances it was the sort of smirk Ištván would have slapped off his face.
"Greetings, friends!" Radzig said cheerily as he was displayed. "Fear not! Lord Toth is treating us like royalty!"
Ištván shoved Radzig away into the grasp of a waiting guard, then leaned forward onto the castle's wall once more.
"They're unharmed, as you can see, " he called, barely able to hear his own words. "But don't try any tricks, or they won't be for long, Hanush."
He cast a final look to Erik, who finally thankfully looked up at him in turn. His cheeks were red and not just with his own blood. He was still trying to control himself, not let whatever it was he felt show to the world around him. Not even Ištván. Trying to be brave.
Ištván turned, pushing past his men and his hostages. He could not stand the sight any longer.
Lady Stephanie was sobbing into Radzig's shoulder, near crumbling onto the man as he tried to hide his smug grin. The men were talking, some to each other and some to him, asking questions, trying to follow.
He stormed past them, back into the castle, feet leading him more than his thoughts. He didn't see, didn't hear, didn't even feel where he was or where he was going. With each step his fury grew, a rage like a taught bow pulled further and further along the span of an arm until finally, it snapped.
A scream of utterly powerless all encompassing wrath unleashed itself. He felt his hands grab the nearest piece of furniture and lash it against the castle walls again and again and again until it broke. He continued to break it against every surface he could until it finally fell to pieces between his fingers. Hands empty, he picked up the next closest thing, smashed it, threw it, beat it until it was destroyed to his satisfaction.
And on and on he continued, grasping at anything within his reach, slicing and tearing with anything he could, doing anything and everything to rip apart the world around him as reality as his mind stormed just as cruelly inside him.
There was no help coming, he knew. If Erik was captured then that meant Havel Medek had no doubt either been killed or captured too.
The sound of wood breaking against stone.
He didn't know where Erik was being kept.
There was no one else capable enough to break the sieging army. Their war machine still stood and they would no doubt be bombarded until the outer walls collapsed.
Tearing paper, smashing glass.
How hurt might he be?
They would have to fight their way out with whoever survived the bombardment, and they were already far too few in number as it was.
The slash of a blade against paper, cloth, and metal.
What were they doing to him?
Another guttural unholy scream tore from his body.
He had not been this powerless in a very very long time.
Time passed, though how much he didn't know. The men knew well enough to leave him to his destruction.
Eventually, as it always was, the flesh grew weak in spite of the spirit. His exhaustion soon began to quell his fury, and it settled like an ocean in his chest. Waves coming and going, smaller and smaller and smaller still until, like a tide washing to shore, the world began to clear.
Panting and heaving, with tears on his face that he did not remember shedding, Ištván looked over the room he'd found himself in. Bashed stone frescoes and slashed seat pillows. An overturned candelabra, ripped cloth, a splintered missal. The breeze through a broken window, the smell of extinguished candles. A jug of wine lay shattered, its contents soaking the floor in a dark blood red and seeping irreparably into the wooden icon that'd been stomped to pieces across the floorboards.
The chapel, he thought. Or what was left of it.
His sword was in his hand. It seemed the well balanced blade and the intricately laid pommel had been thoroughly put to work.
Ištván let out a slow stuttering breath. He was still shaking.
There was no help coming. If they walked out of here at all it'd be with their tail between their legs and nothing to show for it. Ištván would have to report his failure to Sigismund as well. He doubted he'd keep his favor after this, and he certainly wouldn't be keeping the castle.
Such a ridiculous thought to have had. Such a ridiculous thought to have now.
Oh but of course it was snatched away now when it had been so close. This sort of life, a better life. A life of comfort, luxury, and decadence. The sort of life those like Sigismund and the nobles outside couldn't see the reality of for how deeply rooted in it they were. The sort of life peasants prayed for.
One of gold, power, and safety.
There was the slightest shattering sound as a piece of glass finally fell from where it'd just been hanging onto its frame.
Then again, Ištván thought as he looked around the destroyed chapel and his handiwork, he'd never prayed for much of anything.
A short mirthless laugh escaped him.
Fuck it.
To hell with fine food, fine wine, and fine clothing. To a life of gold, power, and safety. To the life of lords and ladies and the ever festering cesspit of nobility and their honor.
To hell with it all.
None of it mattered without his boy there by his side to enjoy it with him.
Ištván let out another slow unsteady sigh. He sheathed his sword, ran his gloved hand through his sweat soaked hair, his chaperon having been discarded at some point during his rampage.
What now, what now.
Radzig was probably off with that simpering wench, celebrating his inevitable freedom by making another bastard.
Another just like that whoreson Henry.
He couldn't help but laugh again, bitter as it was.
Well, he couldn't deny the boy his talent in warfare. However he'd done it, he'd sniffed out Erik's importance to him and he hadn't hesitated to use it against him. He'd found Ištván's weakness and and now he had him up against a wall and fucked like a whore.
He'd kill the bastard for it if he ever got the chance, but he couldn't begrudge him his viciousness. Ištván would have done exactly the same.
Perhaps that talent would hold out and the bastard would know to keep Erik alive. That Erik's life was the only thing keeping his father alive.
Ištván fetched his chaperon from the floor, beating out what debris he could and donning it before he left the chapel.
Tymon was waiting there, his slouch straightening at Ištván's appearance. He was smart enough to only ask one question.
"Do you have any orders for the men, sir?"
Ištván huffed straightening his attire. Back to business.
"Tell the others to remain prepared for an assault, though I doubt they'll be trying one just now. Likely they'll want to bombard the castle once the trebuchet is repaired."
"And after that sir?"
Ištván sighed, adjusting his gloves and looking out the hallway windows and into the chaos growing in the courtyard. God he was hungry. And he needed a drink.
"Tell the men to be ready. We'll be leaving soon, one way or another."