“You’re leaving a bit early, aren’t you?” Belfort asked, his expression slightly dejected as he watched his Master check the fastenings of her armor. “If you waited to depart another day,” he continued, “you would still arrive on time.”
“It is better this way.” Uldred replied.
Normally she would be loath to depart her home and place of comfort, let alone earlier than planned, yet a recent and unsettling addition to her household had troubled her to such a degree that the open road seemed welcome by comparison.
Belfort had been falling all over himself to clean and polish all things in the castle until they shone, and at a seemingly impossible speed to boot. Uldred had watched the dank and dour familiarity of her home transform into something new, different, and clean. She didn’t like it, and she kept herself locked away in her quarters for longer and longer periods with each passing day.
“Besides,” she continued, “this will likely be the final tour of the contract. Better to get it over and done with now so that we can move on to the next one.”
“If you say so, my Lady…” Belfort hesitantly acquiesced.
Once assured that everything had been properly belted and fastened, Uldred put out a hand towards her elderly companion. He, in turn– and with great effort–lifted a great and heavy scabbarded sword into her grasp. She, of course, wielded it with one arm and no trouble at all. It was a truly massive blade, indeed even matching the giant warrior herself in height, and appeared to be crafted of some kind of black iron and wrapped in a crude leather scabbard. She hefted this monstrous thing up with ease up and over her head so that it rested upon the back of her broad shoulders.
“Then I’ll be off.”
As these two exited into the courtyard that led to the outer gate, Uldred paused, for a familiar mule was stood there upon the meager grass, happily feasting into a bag of feed which had been strapped over its mouth. Uldred approached the oblivious creature and loomed over it, blocking out what already little sunlight broke through that cloudy sky. She put out a hand in which the beast could nuzzle its–comparatively, small–head.
“Ah, yes.” Said the butler as he also caught sight of the mule. “Master Thomas arrived just earlier this morning. Luckily he was already in the County when we sent out the bird!”
Uldred turned over her shoulder to better look at him without having to withdraw her hand whereupon the donkey now rested its head.
“Where is he now?” she asked.
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Niklas found himself peeking over his steaming mug of watery tea to steal glances at his guest, something which seemed to have become a regular tactic for him. At the van der Leigh Estate he had never had trouble receiving guests, besides the rarity of such an occasion, yet here in Petrice everyone he met with was… peculiar. When Belfort had pulled him from that pitch-black, cavernous library with word of a guest arriving for him, Niklas had not been expecting a man with such a beaming smile and enthusiastic temperament to greet him.
“Thomas, my new Lord Count!” This fellow declared immediately and loudly after he emerged–thoroughly startling Niklas–even as he produced a hand to shake, which was taken up by the shaken noble lad after a brief hesitation.
“Nik–Count Niklas of Petrice. A pleasure to meet you, sir.” He had stammered in reply.
“Likewise! Likewise!” Replied Thomas, who shook his arm, and his entire frail body along with it, with his usual vigorous enthusiasm.
The two men took their seats once again, and there followed a short pause as Niklas did not speak again immediately. Neither did Thomas, but he simply sat there beaming at Niklas with an expectant grin, and in a way that reminded the Count of some large dog waiting patiently for a stick to be thrown.
“Sooo…” Niklas said, breaking the silence after enduring several minutes of this. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your arrival, Mr. Thomas?”
“Ah, yes!” Thomas replied as one did who suddenly remembered something they had forgotten. “Business of the Countess!”
Niklas nodded, as if this response had been at all informative. “Business of the Countess, indeed.”
Another expectant pause stretched between the two of them, but this time it was the young Count who was waiting for Thomas to speak further.
When the other man did not speak up, Niklas was forced to move the conversation along himself.
“Which would be..?” he prompted.
Thomas grin never faltered as he responded with a cheerful “I have no idea, my Lord!”
Niklas’ face crinkled up in distaste–the same expression he would make upon smelling rotten eggs– and his voice was skeptical and disbelieving. “I was told that you had received a note from the Countess by bird. Did the note not say what your business was to be?”
Thomas shook his head. “No, my Lord!”
“May I… see it for myself?” Niklas inquired.
At that the affable brunette reached into a pouch hanging at his side and retrieved a small and crumpled parchment from inside, handing it across to Niklas, who greedily snatched it up and unfolded it to peer at the contents:
Thomas,
Return.
-U
“... I see.” Niklas said, and then he promptly tossed the offending document over his shoulder, his countenance clearly unamused. “Well,” he continued in a clipped tone. “Perhaps the Countess herself will inform us of your business when she arrives.”
“Alright.” Uldred replied immediately, for she was now standing just behind his chair.
At that Niklas barked out a startled cry as he leapt from his chair, stumbling back across the room until he had plastered himself against the far wall. His body was shaky and beaded with cold sweat, his breaths and heartbeat were quick and loud, so strong was his shock at her unexpected appearance.
How can a woman as large as she move as quietly as a mouse? Niklas wondered to himself. You would expect a person of her size to be announced by heavy footfalls, ones which perhaps shake the room and its contents! Is she a ghost, to appear so silently out of the air?
Neither Thomas nor Uldred appeared to register the young Lord’s overreaction, but looked upon each other casually as he struggled to recover his wits.
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“Eully!” the wandering swordsman called out in greeting, outstretching his arms for a hug that would never come.
“Thomas, I have told you to refer to me as ‘Countess’ have I not?”
“Bah!” Thomas waved his hand dismissively. “You’ll always be little Eully to me!”
Leather squeaked as the Countess’ fists squeezed her massive gloves so hard that they threatened to burst. Niklas’ eyes bulged again as his frantic mind imagined that this impertinent young traveler might be torn to pieces before his eyes, even as the man himself simply grinned like usual.
“So, what did you need of me, oh esteemed Countess?” Thomas asked with an exaggerated flourish.
She raised one large gloved hand then and shoved her finger directly towards where Niklas stood back in the corner.
“That one.” She said, not even bothering to hide her disdain for him Niklas folded his arms defensively and frowned back at her. Ignoring his reaction entirely, she continued. “He wishes to go out and… see the County. You will make sure he does not die.”
For the first time Thomas’ smile gave way to a small frown, but it was one that spoke more of confusion than anything else. “Well, I am not opposed to it, but surely Belfort would be enough to–”
“--It is not safe.” The Countess’ booming rebuttal rang out before he could even finish his words. Behind her, the old butler shrugged helplessly.
Thomas scratched at his chin quizzically. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm in it. And I am interested to see what the Count seeks out among all the villages and spud farms and such...”
He turned his brilliant grin back towards Niklas once more. “We would be most honored to have you along, my Lord! Missy and I would, that is.”
Suddenly all eyes were upon Niklas, most notable of which were Uldred’s, whose violet gaze felt as heavy as the massive sword strapped upon her back. After only a few seconds of this invisible weight bearing down on his small frame, he sighed in resignation.
“Fine. If you trust him so well, then I shall depart for my tour in the morning with this Thomas fellow.”
Yet again a silence fell over the room. Nobody knew what to say now that the matter of Niklas’ escort had been settled.
The spell was quickly broken by Thomas as he suddenly arose from his seat and clapped his hands together.
“So,” he prompted eagerly. “how about lunch?”
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The tall and proud figure of Frith van der Leigh peered down from the hallway window towards the bustle at the front of the Estate. Below her, workers toiled away preparing wagons stacked with chests full of coin, crates packed with materials, or corralling herds of sheep, cows and other livestock.
This caravan of provisions was to serve as the dowry for the marriage between the van der Leigh family and the County of Petrice, though it differed greatly from traditional noble wedding gifts. This was because Petrice was known to be a poor area incomparable to any other, whose only export was those terrible and awesome swordsmen and women who traveled to fight for their own fortune. It was a mostly barren and inhospitable place, and indeed its greatest defense against outside aggression was simply its lack of worth.
It was no coincidence that Niklas, a top study in the art of stewardship, had been chosen to help manage a place so ill of fortune, but even he could not hope to revive Petrice with his two hands alone.
That is why it was so maddening to see my father withhold the dowry for so long. Frith thought to herself, remaining poised despite her lingering frustration. If he had delayed it any longer the Crown might have thought his attitude was not just disparaging of his own son, but of them as well.
Distracted as she was by her thoughts, and by watching the progress below, she did not appear to see the two figures turning the corner and approaching her from down the hall. The first man had a face which was somewhat sallow –although he was nowhere near as gaunt as Niklas-- which was framed by long and stringy hair. He was of an average build, and he stood and walked well, his confident posture betraying his unhealthy appearance. Following just behind him and to his left was a man twice as large in girth and a head taller in height. His hair was cropped short, his neck and jaw were thick, and he wore a stern expression which very much resembled their father’s.
The two men stopped just ahead of their sister, peering out of the window and following her gaze down towards where it was fixed.
“What a waste.” Bemoaned Vicentie as he took in the procession of well-stocked wagons. “All this capital, just for one lousy runt! This is enough that I could start up another business!”
Brudwyn snorted amusedly.
Frith sighed at his harsh words, but otherwise remained as she had been. “If those were our only two choices,” she replied evenly. “then I’d wager this is the more sound investment.”
That elicited a grunted “Heh!” out of Brudwyn, while Vicentie shot her a searing glare. “Always so quick to jump to little Nikki’s side, aren’t you, sister?”
“Somebody has to.”
Unlike Vicentie, the eldest brother only looked amused at her censure. “Even God didn’t when He born him as half a man.” He replied. “Some people will never amount to anything, no matter how much you coddle them.”
Now it was Frith’s turn to chuckle darkly. “That was made more apparent by the rank at which you graduated from the Academy, dear brother.”
It was Brudwyn’s turn to scowl over at his sister while Vicentie laughed. “The van der Leighs produce knights, not pencil-pushers!” You should know that.” He scoffed at her as he shoved at Vicentie’s shoulder from behind, making him stumble. “You, too.” he continued, now addressing his brother as the younger man fumed up at him. “You’re the scrawny one, now! Though at least you can swing a sword a bit.” Vicentie just sneered back at him in open hostility.
“If and when we visit the County,” Frith interjected, entirely ignoring their petty bickering. “I would hope that the two of you leave these disrespectful attitudes behind at the van der Leigh Estate. The little boy you both enjoyed picking on so much now ranks higher than even Father himself.”
Despite their squabbling just a moment before, both of the brothers exchanged amused glances at her words.
“What is he gonna do? That twerp thinks he can flaunt a Title that he bought in front of us as he pleases? When I see him I’ll show him who’s really in charge, Count or no Count.” Brudwyn boasted.
“Oh, but I don’t think that the Countess would be thrilled to be slighted like that.” Frith said, and a wicked grin spread slowly across her face, the change from her usual unflappable demeanor unsettling both of her brothers. “You know of her, yes?” She continued, leaning languidly against the wall even as she watched them with the air of a lioness stalking its prey. “The de facto leader of the infamous Flamberges de Patrice? The Black Knight?”
Vicentie nervously shrunk in on himself a bit, his confident posture vanishing at the thought. Brudwyn did not show his fear so easily, but a bead of sweat had begun to roll down the length of his furrowed brow. Then, noticing his brother’s cowering, he shot him a disgusted look.
“Th-those stories are clearly exaggerated! ‘Monsters’ or what-have-you, hah!” he stammered out brashly, unwilling to show his upset. “They’re most likely just your run-of-the-mill militia who rely on scary weapons to ward off bandits and wolves from flocks of sheep! They’re hardly a match for esteemed Knights like ours!”
Indeed, while Frith had also doubted the claims of the Countess’ terrible size and strength, along with her immeasurable ability on the battlefield–for many unbelievable stories and rumors about her were circulated among the nobility from the West–it was still entertaining to watch these two bullies squirm with anxiety at the thought of her.
“Well,” Frith spoke lightly then, as she was not enjoying watching them squirm. "If the two of you are meaning to maintain the same relationship with our little Nikki that you shared all those years past, then I hope for your sakes that you are right.” With that she left the window and continued on her way past her brothers and down the hall–though she did not go around the two men, but rather through and between them, forcefully shoulder-checking Vicentie and sending him stumbling again as she went.
“Otherwise, I suspect I might have to start referring to him as the ‘Eldest Brother’.” She couldn’t hold back one last smug jab as she made her exit.
The two men silently watched her glide around the corner and disappear.
Vicentie slouched and looked nervously over at his brother, who himself was visibly shaking with anger, as well as his own fear. His jaw was clenched so tight he could just barely force a single word of response out from between his teeth.
“Bitch.’