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.
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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.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
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!”