Not unlike a gargoyle Uldred leered menacingly down upon the courtyard which now housed ever more village-folk as relevant parties were still arriving for the Moot. Such a gathering was an old tradition–one rarely engaged anymore–dating back to the ancient times when there were no villages, towns or cities, but rather clans of folk who roamed the stony hills and mountains of Petrice. Back in those days, after foreigners first began to encroach upon the territory in search of game or foraging, the many clans gathered together to establish a High-Chieftain to represent their mutual interests in negotiations and warfare alike. With the help of the slow, transformative trickle of modernization, the elected position of High Chieftain evolved to eventually become the hereditary Title of Count. A Moot was usually a gathering called to deliberate the position of the High Chief, among other reasons, so when the Moot’s primary purpose was rendered moot the event itself became quite rare.
Uldred stood behind a large and grand window which looked down from the second story just above the courtyard doors. Every so often a few wary eyes would peek up from the throng below to check if she was still there, like children hoping for a chance to misbehave chafing under the scrutiny of their watchful nanny.
Though most of the Village Heads and Elders had only traveled with a handful of attendants apiece for protection, the arrival of so many of these otherwise small groups at once now made the courtyard within the high walls of Castle Petrice quite loud and bustling with activity–and the arrival of the many Mayors of the larger Towns and Cities were still on the horizon. The unlucky Hostess of such a chaotic occasion could only huff in irritation.
I will have to take the minor Nobles in as guests of the Castle after all. There shan’t be room for them all within the Courtyard alone… Uldred postulated with some exasperation.
Her eyes briefly met with the gaze of old Crawford, who sneered up at her before shaking his head and returning to his business.
Some, it seems, have become arrogant from my loose grip upon them. She observed, narrowing her violet eyes. I hope I am not forced to reign them in…
The thought of doing so pained her, for having lived without any true education or expertise to guide her in assuming her Title, the sole act she could do for her people up to this point had been to show her respect for their autonomy by leaving them to their own devices and allowing them to live on their own terms. But they were clearly beginning to take her mercy for granted, and indeed, this was not the first time in recent history that they had acted out of turn.
As she reminisced, another small group of her subjects had begun to trickle in through the gate and joined the greater mass. This one intrigued her enough to pull her from her thoughts, for something notable had caught her eye. Most of the men and women in the courtyard bore weathered faces and graying hair, and even the youngest of them were greater than forty years old. So it was somewhat of a surprise to see a collection of men, most of whom must have just come of age within the past few years, led at the front by a tall, thin, and unsteady-looking young woman. These newcomers looked about them at the many confused and disdainful faces turned their way before deciding to set up their tents in a small nook off to one side of the courtyard, a position which left them separate from the main body of the crowd.
What has become of Thuud, that they would send a delegation of children to the Moot..? Uldred wondered, and for once her thoughts perfectly mirrored those of the many villagers who had traveled to the Castle.
But her wondering would have to wait for another time, for the next arrival through the gate came jogging into the courtyard door, and this was a soldierly young man in appearance, clad in a leather cap and a quilted gambeson, and carrying a sword at his hip. Losing sight of him beneath the window sill, Uldred finally turned and made her way to the stairs, and sweeping down them towards the entrance-way. Meeting her at the bottom of the stairs was the stooped form of old Belfort, a small note clutched in his shaky and wrinkled hands, which he promptly handed to her.
She tossed the folded missive open with a flick of her hand and quickly scanned its contents. As soon as her violet eyes had finished taking in the message they then returned to the butler.
“Prepare the guest rooms, we are to have company soon. Lady Mayor Merida is expected to arrive before the day’s end.”
This done, the Countess immediately turned on her heel and marched back up to her perch.
----------------------------------------
Niklas threw what little weight he had at the thick wooden door that had locked behind him after he was roughly tossed into the guest room that currently served as his prison cell, banging furiously upon it with his balled fists when it did not so much as shudder under his pitiful attempts. But his attempts were to no avail.
“Borney, you rapacious thug! Release me this instant!” He cried out furiously, but he could hear no response coming back from the hallway outside, so the guards had apparently gone away. After hauling him there, they were likely quite confident that this weak and spindly young man would be unable to escape.
At this realization, Niklas growled out a noise of pure frustration as he pulled away from the door and began to bite his nails while pacing the carpeted floor of his room. It was a much finer sort of cell than the last one he had been tossed into, to be sure, but he was in no situation to enjoy the plush furniture, the fine paintings and tapestries, or the gilded decorations scattered about the richly carved wooden shelves. He was tense with worry about what this corrupt Mayor would do now that he had acquired the Seal of the Count of Petrice, the stamp with which Uldred officially signed off onto changes to the territory and its laws.
As long as he has that stamp, and I remain stuck in here and unable to interfere, that man will have free reign to propose and approve of whatever he wishes!
No sooner had that thought entered his mind than did such a surge of adrenaline flush through his body that he immediately lifted a wooden chair–one which would normally have been much too heavy for him to move–and aggressively bashed it against the far window. The glass cracked in an impressive spiderweb pattern as the weaponized furniture shattered into thousands of splinters against it, but did not break.
With his pulse pounding in his ears, Niklas balled his fists and gritted his teeth before letting out a guttural roar of pure, animalistic fury! Once he had screamed himself hoarse, the adrenaline left him and took the last of his strength with it, and he could do nothing but collapse onto the nearby mattress. He was by this point incredibly tired, for he had been walking or riding for days on end to make it to Coronton as quickly as he could. As he let out a muffled sigh of resignation while laying prone on the downy bedding, Niklas blinked his eyes slowly, not having anticipated that his weariness would overtake him quite so quickly.
In what felt like a blink, the daylight that had previously streamed in through the damaged window was all but gone, and it was nearly nighttime! With a great effort the young Count heaved himself up to a seated position, a movement which caused his head to spin as if it had been struck with a rock.
The muffled sound of several sets of footsteps growing in volume quickly caught his attention, then. It was apparent that two or three people were approaching his door, and he heard the jingling sound of a ring of keys being handled, followed by a clicking of the lock on the door coming undone. No sooner had a crack of light appeared from the hallway beyond his cell then Niklas began a desperate bolt for the door!
He was quick enough that he had nearly made it outside, but then a pair of thick arms grabbed roughly at his waist! A young, startled voice cried out in fright at this sudden and unexpected scuffle, but Niklas was too busy writhing for freedom against the hold of his captor to notice it, and he came so near to breaking loose! But in the exact moment before he escaped for good, another large man crossed before him to block his path. The newcomer then reeled back and struck the young Nobleman fully across the face, sending him sprawling back into the room where he crashed against a shelf, causing the books and bobbles it had held to rain down painfully atop him!
“Fackin’ Hell!” One of the guards yelled as best he could while panting to catch his breath, Niklas’ desperate maneuver having clearly caught him quite unawares. “Behave yerself!”
The other guard shoved at his partner roughly. “The Lord told us ‘not the face,’ ya idiot!”
“He woulda’ got out otherwise!” The first hissed at him in protest.
Niklas looked back up at the door as best he could, despite his swimming vision and a large gilded book that had fallen open over one side of his head. As those two large guardsmen continued to bicker and recover their wits in the hallway, a smaller figure with long hair stepped past them into the room and nervously placed a gleaming silver tray of food onto the floor. He appeared to have his gaze locked upon where Niklas lay slumped, but it was hard to be certain of this due to his heavy fringe, which came all the way down to the tip of his nose. Having delivered the tray, the lad bowed with a quick little bob of his head and backed out of the room without a word, the door slamming shut as soon as he had left.
“Damn it all..!” Niklas cursed under his breath, shaking himself free from debris and clutching his rapidly-swelling eye as he crawled back over to the door to retrieve what was the most decadent meal a prisoner had ever been served in all the history of Petrice.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
----------------------------------------
Cresting the top of one last small-but steep hill while mounted on the back of her stallion, Lady Merida finally laid eyes upon Castle Petrice for the first time in nearly two decades. She grimaced at the sight of it, even as the men at her back could not help but marvel at the structure that stood as the Capital of their home.
Riding beside her on the only other horse amongst their group was her Knight and confidante, Ser Gregory. He looked to be in his middle-thirties, making him about a decade her junior. His skin was a sun-kissed tan and his sandy-blonde hair was as short as it could be without being considered ‘shaven’, which was a direct contrast to her pale complexion and the long, sleek, jet-black mane of her hair which was currently tied into a tight bun. She appeared to be of an average height and build for her age, save for a bit of extra muscle she had acquired from routine exercise. Regardless, she would disappear completely behind Ser Gregory’s massive frame if placed behind him, for he stood a head and a half taller than her and his shoulders were twice as broad.
This giant of a man was sat upon a muscled warhorse almost as impressive as himself, which had been quite an expensive acquisition, but was the only mount that could carry his considerable weight. She, in turn, rode upon a pale blonde thoroughbred steed, which was yet an even more expensive acquisition. Still, it was the only mount which could carry her due to the unsettling weight of her airs, which was so scrutinizing, cold and heavy that it sent any lesser horse into a fit of nerves.
Ser Gregory looked over and cocked his brow at her quizzically, and her violet eyes returned his look with one which conveyed the utter distaste that she felt as she looked upon her long-since former home.
“...Finally!”
“I’m exhausted!”
“--my aching feet…”
As the Castle came into view a murmur of relief broke out amongst the young and undisciplined men who marched at her back, drawing a loud grunt and a harsh look from the large mounted Knight, which swiftly cowed them all back into silence. He then turned back to face forward once again and sighed heavily, for he had spent weeks trying to turn this rabble into men-at-arms worthy of her Ladyship… Though he could admit to himself that with his stalwart dedication to her service, his expectations may have been set a bit too high.
Lady Merida lifted a single pale hand, the back of which smacked against the large Knight’s shoulder to draw his attention. Returning to them now was the runner they had sent ahead to announce their imminent arrival to the Castle. He was a young man in his late twenties, but still the eldest of the lads they had brought with them. As he reached the two horses he could not help but lean over his knees and gasp loudly for air for a few moments before he could speak so much as a single word.
“Ap-apologies, my Lady…” He stammered through heavy breaths after he had recovered enough to attempt speech. “The Castle has been notified of your arrival. They say they have prepared accommodations.”
Lady Merida scoffed at the notion. “I was not aware that Castle Petrice had accommodations to prepare in the first place.” But then she looked down at the exhausted messenger again, and her stern countenance softened slightly. “Good work, Nathaniel. A cup of wine will be added for your rations tonight.”
“Thank you, m’Lady.” he bowed gratefully before staggering away to complete his rest elsewhere.
After he had departed, Ser Gregory grimaced and scratched the small, fuzzy goatee sprouting from his chin. “You should not spoil them, My Lady. Being entrusted with such a duty alone should have been reward enough for a soldier.”
“Aye, but they are not real soldiers.” She replied, looking back at them with a small, wry smile. “Well, not yet, anyways.”
The tired smiles of the young conscripts dropped and were replaced with grim, but fiery looks of determination. Some of them sucked in their guts and puffed up their chests, while others tried to stand straighter and better their postures. Lady Merida turned back towards the distant castle, still with a little smile, and she rolled her eyes in an amused way.
“Then shall we continue, My Lady?” Ser Gregory asked, to which she nodded in reply.
So their motley group continued on the last leg of their weary trek, crossing the sparse, hilly grassland and emerging onto the crude dirt road which led in a straight line directly to the gates of the Castle. When they were close enough, one of the men raised an arm and shouted, attempting to hail the two armored guards who stood at either side of the portcullis in suits of full plate.
“Don’t bother.” Lady Merida said then, extending a hand down towards one of her men. “A rock, if you please.”
he young man hesitantly obeyed, plucking a stone from the earth near his feet and handing it to her., She then promptly reeled back her arm and pitched it directly at the head of one of those stoic gate-guardians, just as she had done so many times when she was a child. The stone clanged strangely loudly against his metal helmet. The young men were quite startled when the impact then caused the hollow figure to collapse into a clattering mess of old armor!
“Well I’ll be..!” One of the men exclaimed, while Lady Merida clenched a fist proudly at her success. Ser Gregory’s face remained entirely stoic throughout this demonstration, and it took him a great effort of will to suppress a long-suffering sigh before he finally followed his Noble Lady as she spurred her horse onward.
And thus they continued on through the open gate and along a path which turned a bit as it connected to the courtyard. They were surprised to see the small, but growing, encampment of village folk that congregated within the center of the compound, who looked back at them with those grim and stony expressions which were a trademark of the people of Petrice. They did not look kindly upon the Lady Mayor and her people as they filed into the courtyard. Perhaps it was because of those striking violet eyes of hers, which immediately denoted her Noble blood and familial relation to the Countess. However, when she returned their hostile stares with a steady, sharp gaze that bore some animosity of her own, the pressure she exuded caused one and all to break out in a nervous sweat and hastily look down at their feet.
After this silent exchange of hostilities, Lady Merida closed her eyes in exasperation and leaned back on her horse, while Ser Gregory chuckled over her little display of authority. It was then that something entirely unexpected caught her eye, and while it was not enough of a shock to bring her to a halt, the fact that she consciously took note of it was evidence of how much of a surprise it was. For at the back of the expected crowd of mature, time-hardened peasantry was a small sect of younger village folk, all about the same age as her own followers. They had set up their tents and supplies a bit away from the main group, from whom they were obviously being alienated. And it was this group alone that looked upon Lady Merida and her men as they passed–not with disdain or hostility, as did the elders from the other villages–but with simple curiosity.
Well, that is new! Lady Merida thought to herself, her mood growing a little lighter at the unexpected addition to the Moot. Perhaps this meeting might be more constructive than I had first believed...
Finally, their group stopped before the tall wooden doors which led into the castle. One of them was quickly opened by the familiar figure of Belfort, who was now much older than when she had last seen him, and who seemed to have been dutifully awaiting her arrival.
After descending from her steed–along with Ser Gregory beside her–she handed her reins to one of the lads in her crew. “Let the men have some rest.” She commanded him, to which he nodded gratefully. “Set up the tents somewhere comfortable… Maybe over there.” She suggested, pointedly gesturing over towards that farther-off group of younger folk who were situated near the corner of the courtyard, whose members began to murmur amongst each other after they noticed her gesture to them.
With Ser Gregory following at her back, Lady Merida marched over towards the doors where Belfort stood in waiting. She did her best to maintain her regal poise, but as she approached and saw Belfort beaming down at her from the top of the steps, she could not help but allow a small, warm smile to pierce her prim and proper facade.
“Mister Belfort!” She announced–in a more pleased tone than she had meant to betray–as she put her hand out for him to take.
He took her hand and bowed to briefly peck the back of it, his eyes moist and shining with affection like a proud grandfather. “Why, my Lady Merida! How good it is to see you again! Has it really been twenty years?”
“Aye. It is good to see you again, my old friend. Though I wish it were under better circumstances...” She replied, casting a brief sidelong glance up towards the dark and looming form of the great Castle.
Lady Merida had hoped she would never have cause to return to this bleak old place. Even when she was a child, when the territory had not yet been as poor and dilapidated as it had become under Uldred’s rule, the Castle was still a dank and foreboding place. Its many dusty old rooms were filled with large hanging cobwebs and deep shadowy corners that still caused her to suffer from unpleasant dreams even to this day. Despite all of this, Mr. Belfort would never fail to be a pleasing sight to her, his warmth and devotion serving to ever-so-slightly brighten this whole miserable affair. Truthfully, whenever she had recalled her fond memories of him during these long decades apart, she had feared him to already be long-dead. So for her to see him here, much more withered and gray than before, but still alive and well, lifted her mood up quite considerably.
“Allow me to show you and your attendant to the guest rooms!” He bade her enthusiastically, drawing her back out of her thoughts. “I can take your luggage from you as well.”
Ser Gregory glanced down at the large sack he carried, which appeared to be twice the size and weight of this little old servant, and he hesitated halfway through the motion of handing the thing over, silently cocking an eyebrow down at him.
“I must insist!” Belfort declared, promptly reaching out to take the bag from the larger man’s hands. Gregory could only look on in disbelief as the rickety old fellow easily threw it onto his back–as if the thing were filled with naught but feathers!
Now following behind the Butler as he happily tromped back through the doors while under the weight of that massive bag, Lady Merida closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, taking in the familiar and nostalgic smell of her old home. She then slowly opened her eyes, expecting to see the dark, unlit halls, matted with dust and dripping with cobwebs, that she was familiar with. But wherever she looked now, from the ceiling to the floor her eyes fell upon nothing but stone polished to a dazzling gleam, brightly lit by fresh candles. As she took in the sight of it, the shocked Noblewoman sucked in her breath so harshly that she began to stumble and cough!
Ser Gregory turned back towards her with a start then, a worried expression wrought upon his face. “M’lady, are you unwell?” He asked, much surprised himself.
Lady Merida, however, waved a hand dismissively towards him even as she still fumbled to regain control of her breathing. After resting her weight against a nearby end table for a brief respite, she lifted her head and her gaze to look past her Knight to meet the twinkling gaze of old Belfort again, who could not help but beam back at her with smug satisfaction.