Niklas stood before the dark wood of the large door that had been slammed shut in his face, confounded at what had just transpired. The Countess–his betrothed–had at long last appeared before him, but had acted with all the decorum of some kind of lumbering, wild beast!
The Butler, meanwhile, had let all of pretense at composure fall away. He now beat rapidly upon the door with all of the strength he could ball up into his little fists.
“Uldred!” he sternly yelled in reproach, “You come out of that room right now and greet your guest!”
“I won’t! Go away!” Came the same deep voice from within, muffled by the thick wood of the door. From her tone, Niklas could almost believe that she was pouting.
“Oh! Ooh! I am right cross with you now!” For several minutes more the old man continued to throw himself against that door as if it were his mortal enemy, to all accounts acting as if he could topple the thing himself. He swore all the while. All too soon though the man fell into a stupor, all of the energy expended from his frail, aged body. He then turned back to look at his new young master, who still stood in befuddled silence with his mouth agape.
“...How about some tea, sir?”
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Niklas pulled the small china cup that had been set before him closer with a grateful thanks. Hot steam wafted up from it to greet his lips like an old friend, though the brew had a suspicious lack of aroma.
This young man observed his elderly compatriot for a time as he rattled about the old kitchen, setting jars and lids and kettles back to where they had sat before, all the while coughing or sneezing as his actions kicked up thick billows of dust.
Finally Niklas imagined his drink had cooled enough and he brought it to his mouth for a sip. And while the floral fruity flavors of tea did meet his palette, they were so thin and strained that he might have preferred to have received plain hot water instead! His eyes now narrowed in suspicion as his gaze fell upon the old man once more, who had just hung the used teabag upon what appeared to be a clothesline, among which hung several others drying as well.
“So, the Countess..?” Niklas said aloud, attempting to distract his tongue from the questionable flavors it has just experienced, setting his teacup aside as he spoke.
The old man spun on his heels to face him–and so fast, in fact–that Niklas startled.
“Oh! That was simply an anomaly, my Lord! Undoubtedly brought on by the stress of a long day’s labor! The Countess is normally quite outgoing, you see.”
“Mmhm.” Niklas noised flatly in reply, obviously untrusting of the butler’s words. He recalled the brief moment he had laid his eyes upon the Lady of the house before her door was so rudely shut in his face, and the dark and stained armor that she wore even in her moments of rest.
“And by a long day’s labor,” he continued, “you are referring to..?”
“Oh, well the slaying of men, you see!” The Butler replied, and in much too jovial a manner for Niklas’ comfort.
Niklas, who had been braving another sip of his cooling tea-water, coughed and spat out some of the drink at that. “I’m sorry?”
While it was true that he had encountered many of the rumors about the County, and how its poor Countess would ride out to work as a sellsword in the neighboring and smaller territories as their main source of income, he had held the image of a Noblewoman giving out orders to her bannermen from atop a fair steed, far away from the heat of battle, allowing their Marshals and Commanders to direct the soldiers as was their expertise. The sight that he had witnessed just a few tens of minutes prior, however, stood in direct contrast to this image; as did the sheer amount of dried gore which covered the woman’s armor!
Is the Countess wading into the frontlines of battle herself? And on a regular basis no less..? Niklas thought to himself, aghast at the implication.
“As you might be aware, my Lord,” The old man continued, ignorant to Niklas’ internal turmoil, “-the territories which border the County–Lengar to the northeast and Otkorn to the southeast–have been in dispute for the Road of Benedict upon which you arrived, which cuts through the eastern mountains and meets the royal highways. They have been our main benefactors for many years now.”
“Which has?” Niklas asked, confused.
“Lengar and Otkorn, sir.” The Butler informed him. “Though the territories beyond them have disputes of their own, where there is also coin to be had.”
Niklas furrowed his brow in annoyance. “But to which territory is the Countess usually employed–Lengar or Otkorn?”
“Why, both sir!”
“...Both?” Niklas echoed again, dumbfounded.
“Correct, sir. Currently the Lady has a contract with Otkorn under whose direction she retook the Road from Lengar, with whom she had been contracted the last year in order to take the Road back from Otkorn, who in turn she had been contracted with the previous year.”
Niklas’ head swam from trying to wrap itself around such a wild and outlandish notion, and he shook it vigorously, as if it could somehow help him make better a sense of the situation.
“You’re telling me,” He replied painfully, his mental state so muddled he was barely able to form words, “-that the Countess has been conquering the same Road, back and forth, for several years now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But-but-but for what reason?!” Niklas choked out, his exasperation so great that he was almost shouting.
The Butler raised a finger before his nose, much like a teacher educating a student. “Well you see, sir, the armies of Lengar and Otkorn are nearly equal in strength, or a lack thereof would be more accurate. Frequently, during the old Count’s time, they would clash over the Road of Benedict, unwilling to share it between themselves. But the battle would always end in a stalemate, and neither remaining force was large enough to enforce control over the Road, and so it would remain as neutral territory. Until finally, Otkorn pled with the Countess for aid to take it for them for the first time…or was it Lengar..?”
Niklas rubbed his temples to soothe his ever-growing headache as the story went on.
“And pray tell,” he asked, “how much do we receive in payment as our contracts demand..?”
“Why, we’ve worked them up to a hundred silvers for a year sir!” The Butler replied proudly.
A single piece of gold? Niklas’ eyes were so wide they nearly bulged from his skull. That would be only half a year’s wage for a single servant!
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
He let his hands fall from his face as if to rest upon the small table before him, but in his agitation he moved more forcefully and slammed his hands upon the wood surface, which caused the Butler to jump with a start! When he spoke again, Niklas’ voice was as even and sharp as the edge of a sword.
“I… would like to see the ledgers, please.”
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The door to what could well have been a long-abandoned crypt creaked open, and for the first time in what was likely many years candlelight illuminated the long rows of towering shelves, stacked thick with books and parchments, papers vellum and tomes which rested there in the dusty library.
The “Ledger” which the Butler had shown to Niklas had been an emaciated, unsatisfying thing which had borne only a scant few records of purchases from the past several years: grain and oats, wood for the fires and candles for lights. Nothing like what the sickly young savant had been searching for. He required comprehensive documents that would give him some idea of how the County had survived in the generations prior–for, surely, they had not always lived in a manner like this..?
“This is more like it!” Niklas cheered, his voice echoing slightly due to the sheer size of the library, the ceiling and the bookshelves so high that the candlelight was unable to illuminate their entirety! Niklas looked ready to roll up his sleeves at this very moment and get to work, but the voice of the Butler cut through his impassioned tunneled-vision.
“I think it would be prudent to show you to your quarters my Lord, so that we may unpack your things.”
Suddenly Niklas was once again aware of the heavy luggage case that he still carried at his side, despite the objections of the old Butler, and with the way his arms ached he could only sigh and relent.
“I suppose you are right.”
The Butler clapped his hands together before him. “Excellent, sir! That will allow me plenty of time to whip this place into shape!”
Only then as he mentioned it did Niklas take note of the thick layer of dust blanketing every aspect of the library that he could see through the dark, to the extent in fact that the few steps that he had taken inside had kicked it up behind him in a plume like a flurry of snow! And across the walls and ceiling hung heavy, low-hanging cobwebs like a macabre parody of a chandelier and tapestries. So thick and copious were they that one might’ve imagined the place to be the lair of some arachnid-type beast the size of a dog!
“Yes… perhaps that would be best.” Niklas assented, and as he returned to the doorway he took one more look about the room, still excited to dig into the old tomes and records. “I shall return to this place, though.”
But then, as the Butler brought the door shut behind him, in his last passing glance Niklas saw something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. For far and across the room, where the corner bent out of view, what looked to be a pale, boney hand crept around the side of a distant bookshelf, as if some harrowing creature was about to come into view–but before it did, the door was shut and all sight of it was lost!
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Several hours had passed, and while toil had made them long, Niklas could finally reward himself with the pleasure of sinking into a chair by the fire in his own room. There had been a surprising amount jammed into that one fat luggage case, but with the aid of the old Butler everything was now unpacked and situated around his living space to the best that they could make of it; and indeed, it seemed as comfortable and homely as his own quaint room back at his family’s estate, despite its precarious position, situated at the top of one of the Castle's several tall spires.
“I shall draw you up a bath.” The Butler had proclaimed with a bow as he had left the room. That had, however, been a good deal of time ago, and Niklas had assumed (and rightly so) that the Butler was currently scrubbing down some washroom–one as cold and filthy as the old library had been–at a desperate and feverish pace.
I thought I might keep myself awake for a bath, but the warmth of the fire is so welcome after such a cold and weary trip, I can barely keep my eyelids open…
In his dreams, Niklas found himself walking the halls of his family estate once again. It felt as though somebody was walking beside him, though he never looked over to actually see who it was.
I believe it is my eldest brother walking beside me. He guessed.
At that he recalled his brother in his mind’s eye–at least as much as he knew of the man, for Brudwyn van der Leigh and he had rarely spoken in earnest. Their only interactions had occurred when Bruder was drunk or in a rage and sought Niklas out to strike him around a bit. At those times, there was very little the frail youngest could do to stop old Bruder, for he was a large and wide specimen, with a broad jaw, a thick neck and short-cut dirty blonde hair. His limbs shared the circumference of a young tree and his torso was like a barrel. The van der Leighs were known to produce a line of some of the finest knights, and the current heir of the house had strayed not a hair from that tradition.
Unfortunately, with his physical condition as it was, Niklas could rarely participate in the training or sparring exercises along with the other van der Leigh sons. This, along with the gap between their years of birth, had allowed precious few times for the two brothers to meet or converse. And while Niklas had–at first– held only good thoughts towards his eldest brother, it seemed that Master Brudwyn did not share his generosity of spirit for any time their eyes did happen to meet he made a face similar to one who had just seen a silverfish creeping up the nearest wall.
No…eldest would never walk beside me like this. Niklas pondered. This must be middlest brother.
That seemed more fitting, for now he could almost feel the prodding glances of his second brother’s eyes as they walked. He looked down upon Niklas and then away again, fleetingly, studying his every move with the keen eyes of a predator.
That is not to say that Niklas was the only one he observed in this way, for Vicentie van der Leigh was infamous for the way in which he would peer back and forth among those around him, in a manner like one suspecting trouble. And if you caught his gaze he would look away just as quickly towards someone else.
He had always been a bit nervous and fidgety in this way. Indeed, as he grew up he stood and walked with an unconfident, slouching posture that diminished his height to match the diminutive stature of Niklas, though in truth he had stood a full head taller than him. Their father had beat such behavior out of him through the vigorous training customary for van der Leigh heirs so that Vicentie now stood and walked straight and at his full height. However, he still maintained the worried brow, somewhat sallow features, and long, unkempt brown hair that reached down to his shoulders.
No, Second brother has never strode so confidently, so who is it then..?
As Niklas finally looked to his side he raised his eyes and gazed upon his mighty father, who strode beside him with a determined gait which required that the smaller Niklas skitter every few steps in order to keep up with him.
Kaiser van der Leigh resembled his second son–or more accurately, Vicentie resembled his father– also long of hair, but his was straight and more fair, and his complexion was free of the sunken or bruised features brought on by constant worry. His face was hale and well-defined, with not a shade of stubble upon his jaw, and he always bore a stern expression. Overall, he appeared most alike to Bruder, if a hundred pounds or more lighter.
I remember this now..! We were at the Royal Palace together.
Niklas suddenly heard the large and opulent doors to the throne room fall shut behind them. The King had just scrawled his name on the contract of marriage between Niklas and the Countess. He dreaded this memory as vividly as he remembered it, for his Father had finally looked down to him with an expression of contentment–something Niklas had never seen from the man before–as if to say, “finally you are worth something to me.”
Niklas awoke in a sweat to the sound of someone tapping upon his chamber door.
“That dream again..?” he grumbled aloud, rubbing the kinks out of the back of his neck as he felt the ugly resentful muddy feeling settle in his belly.
“Old man, is that you? Is the bath ready?” He called out, but no immediate reply came.
Unthinkingly Niklas arose from his seat by the fireplace. An uncountable amount of time had passed and the room was dark now, and the fire was naught but embers. In this barely-lit setting he crept over to the door, knocking into end tables or stacks of books as he was not yet sure of the room and he could barely see.
Finally the lock on the door opened with a click as he pushed the thing open. But, as it swung wide, he was not greeted by the familiar face of the old Butler. He was not met with any sight at all; in fact, he could perceive nothing but a black void. Confused, and wondering if he was still dreaming, he reached a hand out and it met with something like cloth and cold metal just before him.
Only then, and too late, did he realize that dark cloth and blackened plate armor would not be easily seen in this low-lit setting! And before he could even make a sound in reaction to his visitor, a massive hand firmly grasped the front of his shirt and pulled him out into the dark of the hall!