Sir Dane had to resist the strong urge to stick his pinkie finger in his ear and clear whatever wax had fooled him into hearing this madness. It would simply not be becoming of the hero knight, especially not when he kneeled before the High Lords of Gadrial in his full gilded regalia.
“I beg your pardon, sires,” he said humbly, keeping his gaze down on the plush red carpeting that ran from the door to a point just before the three mighty thrones. “You wish to promote me to Duke? But I am only a knight…”
“Your modesty serves you well, Sir Dane,” said the woman to his right. An imperious, handsome lady, whose visage might only be better suited upon a Valkyrie riding into battle to claim the dead than this vision of beautiful war seated before him.
As if she could hear his thoughts of her, War Marshal Eniel shifted in her seat, the golden metal of her armor scrapping against the throne she occupied. Her expression didn’t seem entirely displeased, if indeed she held an inkling at Dane’s thoughts.
“Indeed, but this is not a time for modesty. We have conferred amongst ourselves following news of your victories won upon the northern front and thusly have decided this is the best course of action,” intoned the gray-haired giant to his left. He and his throne dwarfed his fellow High Lords.
Anbrek might have been carved from the mountains with that frown. His bushy eyebrows raised a fraction as he met Dane’s gaze. “You are to become the Duke of Helreach.”
That is exactly what Dane thought he had heard in the first place. Had he suffered some sort of horrible head trauma in the war he couldn’t remember? That seemed the only reasonable explanation for this.
From sir knight to lord duke in a single bound. And of Helreach, at that? Well, that was perhaps the only part that made a lick of sense. One would need to be a seasoned warrior to survive as lord of that place, were half the talk true.
“But what of Duke Haddock?” Dane dared ask, looking from Eniel to Anbrek, then settling on the placid face of the figure sitting between them. “Is he not the current ruler of the Reach?”
“Haddock went on to receive his reward,” Benediction said, raising a hand from within their voluminous robes to make the holy sign in front of their chest. They shook their head slowly, yet their placid features did not change to reflect their sorrow. “This is one of a few matters we wish you to investigate upon claiming your new position. The report of how Haddock met his end was less than satisfactory. It bears investigation.”
Dane’s next breath hissed through his teeth. “You suspect treason?”
“Perhaps.” Benediction tilted their head toward Anbrek.
The gruff giant nodded. “It is good to see you so eager to take up your duties, young Dane. A briefing has been prepared for you, which you will have plenty of time to peruse during the journey to come. Your assistant can provide it.”
“Of course, the trip to the Reach will take time.” Dane bowed his head. About a month from the capital. He was about ready to move on when something else they said finally breached his mind’s walls. “Ah… my assistant?”
“A noble of your new station must have an assistant,” Eniel said sagely. “One has been assigned to you. She is currently down at the gates preparing the caravan that will take you to your new domain. We will be providing most of what you should need to get started, though be warned. I have heard your castle needs repair.”
“My castle?” Dane’s voice squeaked. Two months ago he had been sieging castles, now they expected him to fix one up? No, not just fix one up, be the master of one. Own his own castle. And have a village, maybe even a couple villages that he was responsible for.
The whole situation sounded preposterous, yet the idea of telling that to the High Lords bordered on treason.
“We expect great things from you,” Benediction said, making it clear by their tone that there would be no further discussion.
Dane dipped his head back down. “By your leave, my lieges.”
He trudged out of the throne room feeling like a defeated man. Years spent on the campaign, toiling in the mud of a foreign land, taking fortresses and defending them. Yet it was here back home, to his allies, that he felt he suffered his worst defeat, and at the very moment that should have heralded his mightiest victory. An hour prior, he had been ecstatic to be called to the High Lord’s chamber to receive his reward for the war effort. Now, he hoped it was all a sick joke.
What in the Forty-Seven Hells am I supposed to do with a castle? And land? I’m not cut out for farming… Dane sighed. Oh Gods, the people? There will be people there, right? Demons at the very least. Demons are people, aren’t they? The rumors might suggest otherwise, but they are still citizens under the High Lords’ rule.
Perhaps leading demons wouldn’t be that different from commanding soldiers. Perhaps, though he doubted it.
With a heavy heart, Dane headed for the gate.
#
Absolute chaos awaited Dane outside the palace gates. The laborers stood around hollering at the stable workers trying to prepare the horses for the journey instead of loading the supplies to go with them, all while a handful of palace guards failed to ease the tension. At least it was easy to find his new assistant—she was cowering in the shadow of the lead wagon.
She wore the robes of an arcanist—blue and gold—and had a sheaf of papers clutched tight to her chest like a shield to protect her against the imposing figure leaning into her space. Red-faced and the size of a bear, the laborers’ foreman was verbally tearing into her.
Dane decided to start there.
“—contract says we’re to be paid four silver marks a man for our troubles heading there and back, so what’s this about one? Nonsense, that’s what it is. Four marks, miss, or we won’t be working!” the foreman was saying as Dane approached.
“According to the High Lords’ arrangements—” He couldn’t quite catch the rest of what she said. Whatever it was, the foreman didn’t like the sound of it.
“I don’t see them down here now, do you?” The barrel-chested man crossed his arms. The way he had positioned himself, Dane’s new assistant had no way out. “If they want to have a say in this, then why don’t you go get them, hm?”
“That is hardly necessary,” Dane said as he inserted himself in the conversation, and also between the two. Though the foreman was bigger than him, the effect was somewhat muted by the fact the knight still wore his armor and had his ceremonial sword strapped to his belt. “We can settle the matter of payment between us, don’t you think? Foreman…”
“…Bellows.” The foreman sniffed.
A fitting name. Dane put on a stiff frown to hide the twitch of a smile that threatened to rise. “There is an issue over the agreed upon payment? We can simply consult the contract to resolve this matter.”
He glanced back. His assistant hadn’t moved from the spot she had frozen in, but whatever stasis had taken hold was broken when her eyes met his. She patted at her sweaty blonde hair, pushing it out of her eyes. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible, sire… Kanalis Dane, is it?”
He nodded. Might as well get introductions out of the way. This bully of a foreman could wait. “Dane will suffice. And I take it you are to be my assistant going forward. I’m afraid the High Lords did not tell me your name. Nor did they inform me that you would be a thaumaturge.”
“I am Iphaxis, but mostly my friends call me Ipha.” Ipha considered what she had said, her cheeks flushing. “N-not to say I consider you a friend, sire! Oh, I mean, not to say that you aren’t my friend either, but, uhm, I—yes, I am from the Arcanist’s Guild. I hope that will not be a problem? Ah, but if it is, I could request a transfer. Oh, not that I am not happy to serve, if you do wish to keep me around, I only meant—”
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“Enough!” Bellows said. The volume of his voice made Dane’s head ring. “Go on, miss, tell your boss why we can’t just settle this by looking at a little paperwork, eh?”
He glanced back at Iphaxis—Ipha, he corrected himself. No point in making the girl feel any more awkward than she clearly already did, though the casualness of the nickname left him somewhat discomforted as well. He supposed he would have to adapt quickly to referring to people by their names and not by their ranks anymore.
The arcanist shook like a leaf in a storm. Dane worried she might start foaming at the mouth at any moment. “I lost it,” she whispered.
“Pardon?”
“I lost it—” she repeated in the same breath she used to begin apologizing, “—I’m so, so, so sorry! I don’t know what happened to it, I swear I had it up until this morning. But when I went to collect the paperwork since they told me you would be arriving—I’m glad you made it safely, by the way, I don’t think I said that yet, I’m sorry—I couldn’t find it!”
The foreman Bellows watched in smug silence, crossing his hairy forearms over his broad chest. “See then? Not my fault you lot lost the contract. S’pose you’ll just have to take me at my word. We wouldn’t want to bother their Majesties with this matter that’s beneath them.”
“Then I suppose I must,” Dane said simply.
There was a quality to this foreman that irked him. Intimidation had its place in business, reluctant as he was to ever employ it he would not begrudge the man his tactics. But the matter of the missing paperwork struck him as awfully convenient. Admittedly, this arcanist did appear a touch less organized than the few he had consulted with prior, but she had been recommended by the High Lords. That earned her a significant amount of trust.
“What?” Bellows visibly blanched. “That’s preposterous. You can’t bother them with a simple trade dispute.”
“It is outside of protocol,” Dane admitted, “but they have commanded me to this task personally, and seemed quite eager to have us on our way. The road to Helreach is long. Should something or someone delay us, it is only right they are informed.”
He paused, allowing the foreman to stammer, before gesturing at Ipha. “Tell me, how much wiggle room do we have in our finances? You say our price set was one mark, could we perhaps allow for two? A small adjustment to accommodate for our mistake.”
Color began to surge back into Bellows’ face. He looked as though he had been reprieved from the gallows with his neck miraculously unbroken. Dane reflected on this for a moment before filing away the matter for later. They would be on the road together for a month, best not to push too hard before he had a sense of the task ahead of him.
In the first bit of good news so far that day, Ipha nodded. “I am confident we can. Though it will make things tighter should you, er, we wish to purchase additional supplies from the capital when we send the wagons back.”
“Is that a fair bargain to you, Foreman Bellows? If it is not, then I can still bring this matter before Lord Anbrek.”
In one hand, a noose. The other, a fistful of gold. Only a fool might have trouble deciding, and despite his apparent greed, Bellows wasn’t fully one. “That is more than acceptable, milord.”
“Then see to it your men get back to work. I would have us leave within the hour.” Dane turned his back to the foreman before he left, giving Ipha now his undivided attention. “Those papers you are carrying, are they for me?”
“No, milord! I mean, yes, er, no sire, but you can look at them. If you, uhm…” She paused to take a deep breath. “What I mean to say is that these are for me to take care of as your assistant. Mostly just numbers, a couple blueprints for the castle and a diagram of the surrounding terrain, er, that sort of thing.”
“Let me see.” She offered them up, and he spent a moment perusing them. The lion’s share consisted of old reports from the late Duke Haddock, mostly him complaining, and census data on the village, but there were a few newer sheets detailing their provided finances and the supplies to be carted along—non-perishable goods to help them through the winter, alongside quarried stone and wood for the castle repairs.
The wagons would take them and two dozen workers out, then leave back to the capital. In another two months’ time they would return with further supplies, as requisitioned and paid for by the new Duke—me, Dane was learning to accept—and to collect the workers that had completed their contract.
Of greater interest was the diagram of Helreach. Aside from the castle itself, there appeared to be a modest farming village in the near vicinity. “Hm… tell me, Ipha, do you know much about Helreach or its occupants?”
“Only historically, sire.”
He stared at her until she got the message.
“The castle was originally built and occupied by the last Lord of Demons. The accounting has it that they were slain upon their throne and the territory was claimed by the Gadrial Empire.” She blinked a few times. “Were you not aware?”
Dane shook his head. “It did not come up.”
It was possible nobody thought it worth mentioning except for a scholar. The demons hadn’t served under a lord of their own blood in at least two ages, and even then, not one worth naming. Quickly suppressed rebels.
Who Ipha meant was the last true Lord of Demons, with hellfire in their veins and a command over magic that could force armies to kneel. One of the last great threats against their empire. Dane knew the stories since his father would recite them on rare but dearly treasured occasions, but his knowledge ended there. With a children’s tale. He hadn’t read many historical accountings, instead finding field reports and supply logs more suited to his time.
Regardless, it did not sound like a big issue. Creepy on principal, mayhap, but the castle’s bloody history should not hamper him in his modern-day duties.
Could it have something to do with Haddock’s mysterious demise? Instinct suggested he could not throw out the possibility entirely, but his greater faculty of reason was ready to be done with it. In either case, learning more couldn’t hurt, and he would have plenty of time on the road.
“Ipha.”
She jumped. “Yes!”
“Once we depart, I want a full accounting of Helreach’s past. Everything you know, whether it might seem useful or not.”
“Oh. Yes, sire.”
With one last nod to her, Dane left Ipha to oversee the loading of the wagons while he gathered the meager belongings he had stored in the barracks. And, more importantly, to free himself of this miserable armor and showy sword.
Things started to feel righter with the world once he had changed out of the heavy plate and donned instead the lighter gambeson and chain shirt he was accustomed to. The sword he exchanged for his proper weapon, a spear with a haft made from ashen wood. Royalty and the nobilities’ obsession with swords, Dane accepted he would never understand.
As he hefted his travel trunk out from the barracks, he ran into a friendly face. Taller than him by a head and wearing an easy smile, Captain Lunn of the palace guard paused on the steps leading down into the courtyard. Seeing Dane, he nimbly hopped down and took a bow, sweeping his arm to welcome the knight forward.
“My Lord Duke.”
“Come off it, Lunn,” Dane said with a snort. He trudged down the stairs, showing considerably less enthusiasm as he set the trunk down. “Guess you’ve heard the news then.”
“I and everyone else that isn’t currently on duty.” The tall guardsman scratched at the short, ruddy brown stubble crowning his head. “Looks like it pays to be the war hero.”
“Hm.”
“What, not so happy with the promotion? Plenty of soldiers that would love to take your place. Hells, I wouldn’t mind myself.”
“You’d be welcome to it.” Dane shook his head. “You know where I am headed?”
“That part didn’t make it out to us. Where?”
“Helreach.”
“You serious?” It occurred to Lunn a moment later that he hardly ever saw his old friend be anything else. “’Course you are. Damnation, man. I take back what I said—you can have that post. I’ve not heard a single pretty thing about that place. You know that’s where the ruler of all demons used to live?”
“It has come up recently,” Dane said dryly.
Lunn whistled. “They’re giving you a haunted castle. No wonder you look more sour than usual.”
“That isn’t my primary concern.” Restless spirits and the waking dead didn’t frighten Dane, though he made a mental note to stock up on the appropriate precautions beforehand. Necromancy was an art best shown its due caution. “I’m afraid I don’t know the first thing about rulership. Repairing a castle is one thing, I have directed workers before, but apparently there is a village I will have to care for.”
Lunn stared down his old friend, his eyebrows raising as high as they would go. They promptly lowered as a loud peal of laughter left the captain of the guard. “Not afraid of spirits or ancient demons or even a hail of arrows, but put a farmer and his wife in front of our fair Duke Dane and he will wilt like a garden in winter.”
“I am not afraid of farmers or their wives,” Dane said, pouting. Or as much as he would ever allow himself, measured by how severe his frown grew. “The High Lords must be testing me with this post. I worry I will not be up to the task.”
“Mhm. Sometimes I forget you don’t have, well, any experience outside the military life. Came out the womb swinging that spear, didn’t you?” Lunn sent himself into another laughing fit with that image.
Once he calmed himself back down, he patted Dane on the shoulder. “I know you’re worried, but the High Lords have a plan. Always do. They’re sending you out there for a reason, so trust the process a little more, eh? Besides, you aren’t going out there to lord over some normal peasants. You’ll be ruling over demons. That’s hardly the same thing.”
Dane had to wonder. He knew nothing useful about his soon-to-be charges. Except that perhaps one or a few or could be even all of them were involved in a treasonous plot that started with the death of the former duke Haddock. And even that was conjecture.
At least he could find comfort in knowing there would be plenty of reports to read on the road, and with those he could hopefully clear up matters in his own head.
For now, for his friend’s sake at least, he managed to keep those worrying thoughts off his face and eased his expression into something resembling a smile. Faintly resembling, in any case. “Thank you for your counsel, captain.”
“Oh, come off it. Throwing it back in my face, are you? Here now, my Lord Duke, allow me to carry your baggage for you. Wouldn’t want you to be late, would we?”
“No.” Dane nodded slowly. “I guess not.”