Michael
Most of the noble had already returned to the great hall as Michael entered. He was tense and cold fury was boiling under his skin.
“Uncle,” Michael said with force, and everyone turned toward him with surprise written all over their faces.
“What is it, Michael,” he answered with a raised eyebrow, he was already sitting on the lord’s chair again.
“How are you here, uncle?”
“What are you talking about,” confusion spread over his uncle's face and the nobles looked at each other with similar expressions.
“It has been five days since the attack in Reen and Emall. How are you here already?” Michael gritted his teeth and clenched his fist as the realization settled deeper into his brain.
Lord Grim simply stared at his nephew with a slightly open mouth as the nobles began to whisper.
“Right, isn’t Grent four to five days travel with carriages from here,” Michael heard out of the crowd as he continued to watch for any reaction on his uncle’s face.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We were already on the way to Emall, and the messenger reached us on the way. That is why we were here earlier,” Lord Grim brushed him off with a smile.
“Oh, is that it? And why would you have done that? You would have been over a week too early for the wedding but still too late for the birthday! WHY ARE YOU HERE ALREADY?”
“I told you, we were already on our way,” his uncle stared back but Michael didn’t buy it.
“You hate to be gone a long time from your lands. You never stayed long here and are always itching to get back and now you want to tell us that you just casually would have been in Emall over a week too early?”
Voices got louder when the nobles realized what Michael was getting at, but he spat it out anyway. “How did you leave the day of the attack? A day before the messenger could even arrive if Lord Telp had immediately sent one? And why did you ride ahead alone?”
“I had a bad feeling, okay? I had a feeling that something would happen and that is why we left early!”
“You knew about the attack,” Michael said with a fading voice, tears coming to his eyes, “You always wanted to beat my father.”
Lord Telp and the rest of the council stepped back from Lord Grim with horror on their face and Michael could feel Eydis and Geron come closer. Lord Grim’s guards also wanted to come closer, but they were stopped by a grim-looking one-armed Sir Pyke.
“What are you accusing me of, boy,” Lord Grim pressed out through gritted teeth.
“You knew of the attack before it happened. There is only one way you would know.”
“I didn’t order this,” he spat back, his face getting red from anger.
“Then how are you here already. Did you just know about it and kept it secret? Let others take care of your brother and his heirs so you can inherit everything. What would you have done to me? Would I have had a hunting accident?”
“I would never harm my family.”
“THEN HOW!” Michael screamed as he stepped closer to the podium.
“A SHAMAN TOLD ME!” The room was suddenly silent as everyone stared at the normally steadfast lord who had just jumped out of his seat. “A shaman told me that my brother’s family would be drowned in blood the day that it happened! I sent a messenger, but he vanished and instantly left on my fastest horse. I heard about what happened when I was nearly there, but I couldn’t let anyone know where I got this information from, so I returned to the caravan. I was too slow to save them.”
“That’s how they killed my father isn’t it,” Michael growled with a low tone. “You always wanted to beat him, and you were on your way to Emall. You killed him.”
“WHAT? DIDN’T YOU HEAR A WORD I JUST SAID,” Lord Grim yelled.
“Some random brigands killing my father, I think not but wounded by arrows and faced with you, that would work.”
“I WASN’T THERE!”
“Sure, first you just wanted to be there early, then you had a feeling, and now you heard it from a shaman, send a messenger that never arrived and went there alone but turned around before getting there. Who would believe that,” Lord Uger shouted angrily, Lord Telp fell on a chair and held his head, and Lord Grim looked around at the increasing amount of hostile faces of the nobles. “That is what happened, believe me!”
“Seize him,” Michael said with an expression of stone. Swords were drawn by the respective guards but Lord Grim just looked at his nephew with a pleading expression on his face.
“That is enough,” A new voice appeared in the room, and everyone turned around. A tall man was standing at the entrance of the room, he had gone completely unnoticed in the previous argument. He was bald with a well-groomed white beard. A walking stick sounded on the floor as the man - who was on the heavier side – had to support his scarred leg. Eight knights followed behind him, the knights wore the heraldry of the Duchy of Praanen. A white quill on a blue field surrounded by four golden towers.
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No one dared to speak as Duke Wallsten forced an opening in the present nobles only through his aura of authority.
“This will stop right now,” the old duke said as he reached the end of the hall. The guards still had their weapons out, so he turned to them and said, “Put away your metal, enough blood has been spilled needlessly in these halls already.”
Everyone but Eydis quickly followed the order, the barbarian girl looked confused at the rest and then quickly followed suit, probably sensing that something was going on here.
“He is responsible for my family's death,” Michael roared.
“Oh, and you have proof of that, yes?”
“He is here way earlier than …,” Michael started but was cut off by the old man. “Yes, I have heard everything.”
“Then you already know it is true!”
“I didn’t hear anything that could even remotely be considered proof. I admit that it is quite suspicious but nowhere near enough for a reasonable arrest, don’t you think?” He put his weight on his cane and looked to Lord Grim. “Duncan, I think it would be best for you to leave back home now.”
“I didn’t do this,” he replied, and the duke shook his head. “You won’t convince the people here and I don’t want a fight between my vassals, so I request that you leave immediately and head back to Grent.”
“The funeral …,” Lord Grim started again with a weak tone but Duke Wallsten stomped his cane on the floor slightly before saying in a stricter tone, “Immediately, Duncan.”
The count clenched his fist but then stormed out of the room. The nobles eyed him with hostility and disgust but didn’t do anything to stop him.
“Milord, I know he did it,” Michael said, furious that the duke let him walk out like this.
“You are a smart boy, Michael. Would you condemn anyone on this weak case if it wasn’t concerning you?” The duke smiled sadly but then turned to the rest of the room.
“Has a new count been chosen?”
“Yes, milord. Lord Michael has been chosen as the new Count of Reen and Emall,” Lord Uger replied after Viscount Telp stayed silent.
“Has a guardian been appointed?”
The nobles eyed each other awkwardly and the duke continued, “I see. Then I will take the guardianship myself.” Michael’s heart sank before the duke continued, “But judging by Michael’s maturity, I will not take him with me but let him stay here and rule himself, but I will require you,” – he looked at Michael with a strict gaze – “To send reports and come visit me for in-depth discussions about your decisions regularly. I count on your council to handle the rest. This is what your dear father would have wanted, I am sure.” His eyes stayed focused on the young new count until he nodded.
The vote went over the same way the last one had and with that, the decision had been made but Michael was not glad to have gained the title or retained his independence, he was seething at the revelation he had got to and that he was denied his justice.
After the vote had concluded, Michael stormed out of the hall just to be greeted by Tara.
“What in the hells are you thinking? Accusing my father of murdering your family,” she yelled and began weakly beating on Michael’s chest.
“Tara, stop,” he said with soft force and grabbed onto her arms.
“You are wrong!”
“Think about it. Why did you leave so early? Why did your father leave alone? How would they defeat my father otherwise? Who profits from the end of my house most?”
He held her gaze and he saw the doubt in her eyes.
“No, there has to be an explanation. He loves your father, he loves your siblings, and he loves you. He would never have done this.”
“What is it? And don’t tell me that story about the shaman, I don’t buy that your father, the man that hates the ‘barbarians’ more than anyone would get advice from a shaman.”
She took a step back and shook her head, “I don’t know, Michael, but we are family we have to stick together and trust each other.”
“No, Tara. I can’t do that, and I know that you will realize the truth as well.” Michael didn’t like having to pit a daughter against her father but in this case, his anger overshadowed his reluctance.
Tears in her eyes Tara smiled weakly, “Goodbye, Michael. I hope you will realize the truth someday.” With these words she turned around and walked away, leaving Michael with his thoughts.
Michael sat in his father’s office brooding over what had happened and what he could do. Duke Wallsten sat on the other side of the table, lightly tapping his cane against his forehead.
“This past year was truly a continuous string of nightmarish news wasn’t it,” the old man finally said. “I understand that you are looking for reason in these times, you always struck me as someone ruled by reason from your father’s letters and the few times we have met. This is not the way though; we need to stand together in these times of chaos and not fight each other.”
“I know he did it, I can feel it in my core,” Michael said; the fire in him had mostly died down to a nasty burning sensation.
“Well, maybe I was wrong, and you are much more driven by feeling than I ever imagined.”
A moment of silence fell again before the duke restarted the conversation. “I can’t imagine that your uncle had anything to do with these attacks. I have known both of them for a long time. They fought, of course, as brothers do, but they genuinely loved each other like you rarely see.”
“I don’t care. There is no other explanation for what happened.”
Lord Wallsten sighed at that. “How about the one your uncle gave? Maybe he is being set up to destabilize the region?”
“The one that changed three times in as many minutes,” Michael asked sarcastically. He picked up a quill and began rolling it between his fingers, he needed to do something, but he couldn’t think of what.
“Do you think that it is more realistic that your uncle murdered your whole family or that he was ashamed to admit that he got advice from a shaman?” Michael could never read this man; he was shrewd but liked to hide it, ambitious but everyone thought of him as content. The only thing that everyone knew was that he cared about the people he was in charge of.
“Well, I want you to keep yourself from doing anything rash. Investigate what happened and if you find any actual proof that your uncle had his hand in what happened, then I will personally take care of his punishment. Until then I expect you to steer clear of him if you can’t trust yourself to remain civil. Can you do that?”
Michael knew nothing good would come from picking a fight with his uncle, especially if he violated a direct order of his liege to do it. It would go directly against the realization of this morning that his parents would want him to create a land where his people could be safe. There also was no one in the county left that could match the count with Lord Rowan dead and Sir Pyke crippled.
“I will, milord. As long as he stays away from me.” Michael would find the proof and he would have justice, if not today then on another day.
“Reasonable in the end. So, let’s talk about what kind of reports I expect,” the duke changed his serious expression with a playful one.