Elder Crawford grit his teeth as a bead of nervous sweat trickled down his brow. He marched forward, pushing aggressively through the crowd until he broke through the front just in time to watch as Salza Lengarson and his men departed through the gate!
No! He thought to himself desperately. We were so close...!
Elder Crawford was a firm believer in the hierarchy of age. The young were foolish and were to be led by the old, who were experienced and wise, as they had survived for so long in such a rough environment. He also believed in strength above all, for anyone weak or runtish could not survive long in Petrice, and would only hold back the strong and leach away what few resources there were to be found. So this Count–this young, spindly, and foreign Count–was not only an insult to him on a personal level, but was an affront to Petrice as a whole! One which he would not tolerate.
“Th-this changes nothing!” He suddenly spat out, startling the people around him, and he jut a finger towards Niklas then. “Do not forget the crimes he has committed against us, and those that he plans to commit against us. He should be cast out–deposed! And his wife along with him.”
The crowd around him gasped in shock, for whatever they had thought of Niklas, no one here would have dared to even think of challenging the Countess’ position as well. Crawford looked about amongst the rest of the villagers present there, desperate for any sympathetic eyes, but even those within his direct view were slowly retreating from him, not wanting to chance being associated with his faction.
“Think, people! Why is he even here? This… wench has sold us all out by bringing a foreigner into our midst who aims to bleed us dry, and all for her own benefit. She is as complicit as he is!”
As this once-respected Elder exposed the true depths of his madness, several things nearly happened at once in response: Lady Merida began to turn around to face this slanderous man; Ser Glorifeld opened his mouth to shout; Uldred’s eyes grew wide and she began to reach for the hilt of the sword on her back. However, in this pivotal moment, none moved faster than the Count of Petrice himself.
“You will not speak of my wife in this way!”
His vision had gone white-hot in his rage, and without even thinking he had grasped upon the hilt of the dagger Ser Glorifeld wore upon his belt and drawn it from its scabbard. In less than a blink, he held its point directly towards the Elder’s heart as he growled down at him from his perch, with eyes more like those of a feral beast than a man!
“Speak what you will of me, but if your gob leaks even one more syllable of slander towards my betrothed, then I will not hesitate to put you in your place.”
A heavy silence hung over the place as everyone witnessed his declaration. Wide-eyed looks full of shocked surprise with mouths agape, all of them fell upon Niklas’ small form, even as the Count regained enough of his wits to decide not to march over and commit a murder in full view of dozens of his subjects, taking a full step backwards as he calmed himself. No one had expected to witness such fire from him. Elder Crawford, on the other hand, was now redder than a ripe tomato, the veins in his forehead, neck, and arms bulging as his blood-pressure reached a dangerous peak. It took the combined strength of his entire entourage then to hold him back from charging over to engage the young Lord in direct fisticuffs, knife and witnesses be damned.
“You challenge me? You… you runt! Fine–you will see what happens! You’ll all see.” With that, the Elder shrugged off the restraining hands of his colleagues. “We’re leaving!” And then finally, altogether, they quickly departed.
“To defy their Lord... the punishment is death.” Said Ser Glorifeld, watching the group depart with a great malice in his eyes. “Simply say the word and my Knights can have him dealt with.”
But Niklas put out his hand before the man as if to prevent him. At the same time, he reached up to the man and retrieved the scabbard, with which he re-stowed his dagger. “No. I will deal with him myself in due time. Do not forget, I am still a son of Kaiser van der Leigh.”
Ser Glorifeld looked at him with a surprised expression, but it was quickly replaced with a proud smile as he sighed softly. “As you say, my Lord.”
Behind them both, Lady Merida turned her gaze upon Uldred, who was stiff as a board and uncharacteristically silent despite the insults that had been aimed at her. Of what little could be seen of her, the Lady Mayor spied a hint of reddish-pinkish in the skin around her eyes, which were blown wide as she stood there, stiff and stunned. When Uldred noticed her studious gaze she swiftly turned away from her aunt, attempting to obscure her already much-shielded face. For indeed, in that moment her heart pounded so fast in her chest it was almost painful, and her face was so flushed that she was afraid her mask would begin to glow from the heat radiating off her skin.
What was all that about? How could he say something so... embarrassing?
Lady Merida could not help but cast a knowing smile towards her niece.
“My Lord, if I may, what is all of this? Do you require our assistance?” Ser Glorifeld asked with a serious expression as he looked back over the crowd. The other Knights also turned and stared down from their steeds at the many villagers gathered there, the most of whom cowered out of guilt and avoided the eyes of these well-furnished soldiers, as the balance of power no longer fell upon their side.
Niklas’ brow rose in realization then. For amongst the Knights-van der Leigh, and the loyal Ser Glorifeld in particular, defiance against their Lord was tantamount to an unforgivable sin. In fact, if they had arrived even slightly earlier and had borne witness to any of the actions or words of the assembled Petricians, Niklas feared he might not have been able to stop the Knights from riding through the crowd, cutting down many people where they stood and scattering the others to the wind!
Quick as a whip, the small Count all but leapt out in front of the Knight-Captain between him and the crowd, his arms outstretched and with a nervous sweat beginning to form across his brow.
“N-nothing you must concern yourself with, Knight-Captain! That man was an outlier. These good people here had nothing to do with him!”
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The throng of villagers then looked towards their Count with some startlement. Not moments ago they were caught up in an enraged bloodlust, demanding the forfeit of his position–or maybe even his life! It was inarguable that they had done him a great disservice, yet now he stood as a bulwark protecting them from a most gruesome fate! Many of them looked down at their feet in shame, while others gulped loudly and began to tear up as they attempted to restrain their roiling emotions.
“In-in fact,” Niklas stammered. “--there is a most dire matter for which I could use the Knight’s assistance. I had called this meeting of Lords and Elders to deliver news about it!”
Upon hearing this the Knight-Captain stood stiff and straight, placing a fist over his heart in salute. “The Knights of van der Leigh stand ready to assist you, my Lord Count, in any endeavor that you might require!”
Niklas wore a wolfish grin at that. “Then let us go inside, and I will brief you on the situation.”
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Within the sturdy Castle Coronton, which had long-served as the seed around which the rest of the city grew, one unsure Sergeant hesitated before entering the fine wooden doors that led into the next hall. It was not often that he had found any part of his duty to be unpleasant, but as of late the thought of giving reports to or receiving orders from the Lord Mayor filled him with a not a small sense of dread and anxiety.
The Lord Mayor’s actions as of late had become increasingly erratic, unpredictable, and–if the rumors he had heard from the other House Soldiers were to be believed–outright treasonous. Following the arrival of that young, newly-instated Count, whom he had escorted from the city gates to the Castle, he had not laid eyes on him again until his supposed departure the following morning… A departure which had suspiciously coincided with the occurrence of a violent break-in by some mysterious intruder. It was all quite fishy.
The Sergeant sighed in resignation and steeled himself before he finally knocked upon the door with the knuckle of his finger before making his way inside. There inside was the Mayor, who was busy at work with a routine of morning exercise he had recently taken up: in his hands was a long, thin blade which he was using to repeatedly thwack away at a humanoid dummy made of straw. Mayor Borney gave but the slightest moment of attention to the entrance of the Sergeant, continuing to pierce here and there at the body of his stationary opponent with great vigor. In every corner of the room a guardsman sat or leaned against a wall. These were not the Sergeant’s men but more of those large, ragged foreign fellows whom the Mayor had recently brought under his employ. As the Sergeant marched down the full length of the room towards the Lord they leered at him suspiciously, as if he were some unknown element, rather than a man of higher station and many more years spent in service to Coronton than themselves. It was all a most unpleasant experience, to say the least.
As the Sergeant finally arrived at his Lord’s side, the man properly seemed to take note of him, for he stood up straighter and used a small towel to wipe at the copious sweat which glistened upon his brow, turning his head only just enough to grimace over at his Knight.
“What is it?” He demanded brusquely, his voice free of any of the usual air of pleasantry which he maintained for important guests.
“My Lord, at your order, we have completed the scouting operation.” The Sergeant dutifully relayed to him, holding out a stack of parchment full of hastily scribbled notes and drawings gathered from amongst the various scouting teams.
Mayor Borney greedily snatched the documents from his hands and began to pour over them with bright eyes and a unsettling grin.
The Sergeant closed his eyes and began to silently offer up a small prayer to his Maker. Please: not to the West. Anything but the West…
“Excellent work, Sergeant!” The Mayor exclaimed, a rare word of praise coming from the man with whom he had, as of late, a tendency to butt heads with. “This trench you have discovered, the one which cuts through the base of the Western mountains? This is perfect!”
The Sergeant’s heart sank, and he almost felt himself sway in place as the blood abruptly drained from his face. So strong was his reaction to his Lord’s proclamation that he only just restrained himself from shouting at him in response. Instead, he took a deep and fortifying breath before he dared to speak again.
“...With respect, my Lord, th-that trench leads around and upwards into the plains lying between Castle Petrice and the Old Fort.”
“And…?” Demanded the Lord, shooting an incredulous look over at his man-at-arms.
The Sergeant so wished to demand that the man explain what he even meant to do with a path leading towards the Castle of the Count, but he knew it was not his place to ask such a thing of his charge, and what’s more: he dreaded the answer that he might receive.
“...Those plains are the beginnings of the No-Man’s Land, sir.”
Mayor Borney turned back to his exercise. “Exactly, that’s why it is perfect. The land is mostly flat and good for marching, and quite empty as well. The eyes of… whoever still resides in that Fort will be looking further West, and the Count will not be looking in that direction at all, for he will have put his trust in the Fort to do so.”
The Sergeant clenched his teeth and gulped quietly before he continued. “B-but sir, the Monsters–”
“Yes yes. ‘Monsters’, I have already heard of such things numerous times, Sergeant.” Said the Mayor, cutting him off with a dismissive flip of his towel. “Don’t you think it is about time you–I mean we Petricians–stop believing in such outlandish and childish stories?”
For the first time, the Sergeant’s face fully betrayed his emotions as he stared at the Lord Mayor in open bewilderment. He doesn’t believe the Monsters are real?!
“Think of it, Sergeant: why would they spread such silly tales of Monsters to any ear that will hear it? Obviously they are hiding something in that region of the West! Something which they do not mean for anyone else to know about. Mines? Gems? Gold? No matter what it is, I mean to go there and find it for myself!”
“S-sir the Monsters are real! I have seen--”
But the Sergeant’s protests were cut off by the creak of the door swinging open as that mustachioed butler walked inside and began making his way over towards them.
“My Lord, the people have been called for your bi-weekly address, as you asked.” Proclaimed the butler while dipping into a respectful bow. He locked eyes with the Sergeant, as whom he shot a secret, smug grin before he continued. “They shall arrive shortly and wait at your convenience.”
“Thank you, man. At least there are a few reliable hands in this superstitious place.” The Mayor said, scowling over at the soldier. “The Sergeant was just leaving, anyhow.”
The Sergeant looked ready to speak again, but a pair of thick, calloused hands clapped down upon either of his shoulders; two of those burly and thuggish men had approached him and stood menacingly behind him now.
“Sergeant, you are to ready your Company for departure to the West. Use this trench, avoid the eyes of the Fort and the Castle, and set up a forward camp here.” The Mayor jabbed a wide, stubby finger upon the County map, leaving a sweaty stain at a point upon the edge of the No-Man’s Land which sat evenly between the Old Fort and Castle Petrice.”
The Sergeant could do nothing but quake a bit as he received this order. “Y-yes sir.” He acknowledged in a trembling voice.
Then the Mayor nodded towards his two thuggish goons, and they forcefully escorted the Sergeant back through the doors and out of the hall.