The earth was slowly waking, coaxed onward by the morning sun as it peaked over the hill. A cool mist hung above the ground, softening the soil and leaving drops of dew on the sprouting grain. Farmers began to stir in their houses, unburdening themselves of their blankets, setting out for the day’s work.

It was time for the Marquess Viemen’s fields to come alive.

By this time, and on this particular day, the lord of the manor had risen; his bath had been heated and the servants were working hard to prepare his clothing. And as Frederick Viemen III bathed himself, he could not help from frowning.

“Is everything alright, m’lord?”

“There is no concern to you,” Frederick answered. He then snapped his fingers at the young man and motioned him over. “Bring the soap! Quickly now.”

Frederick knew that there was always trouble to follow wherever Zorren Zalphineas XI saw fit to tread. The Marquess had received a letter from the Magistrate only yesterday indicating Zorren’s intent to meet him on this morning. The two were on good terms as of their last encounter, but Frederick knew that a sudden meeting from Zorren would not come without its demands. This time, however, Frederick was keen to make demands of his own.

After his bath, Lord Viemen began dressing in his formal wear. As soon as the last button was popped into place, he turned to his manservant and began barking orders

“Go to the cook and make sure he has started breakfast as I’ve instructed him. Help him if he needs it. There are two very important guests coming today and I will not have them suffer mediocre accommodations.”

The young man bowed his head and quickly left the room.

Now alone, Lord Viemen ran his hand along the intricately woven fabric, settling on the stitching of his front pocket. He mindlessly felt the pocket flap between his fingers, letting his thoughts run wild.

“What could he possibly want…?”

Just then, a lulling voice called to him from the other room.

“Frederick?”

Annette, Frederick’s wife and lady of the land, appeared in the doorway, dressed in her night clothes. Her hair was an untidy mess of auburn which tumbled down over her shoulders. She reclined against the door frame and yawned.

“Annette, have you not been dressed yet?” Frederick chided.

He was upset, and she could tell.

“I will be ready by the time they arrive; I can assure you,” she replied, twirling her hair between her fingers. “Although, I suspect I will not be needed…?”

Frederick shook his head, drew his hand from his pocket, then heading towards the door.

Lady Annette Marie Garder Bateaux, Marchioness of Viemen, is the eldest daughter of the Lord Jean Garder Bateaux, the Marquess of Hoverden. The Garder Bateaux were of low Omnirian nobility and had minimal social standing within the high houses of Eadenfros. Frederick had tried his best to court the affection of a Kendrich or a Norgrave, but in the end he had settled with Annette. Over time, she became aware of this fact. It seemed that she now made small efforts to frustrate him. She liked to give conflicting orders to the house staff and then play innocent. And she especially enjoyed delaying Frederick’s schedules as much as possible, as she knew how much he prided himself on timeliness. Pushing those frustrations aside, Frederick ignored her as he left the room and headed to the ground floor to alert the rest of the house staff.

Moving from one room to the next, Lord Viemen barked orders to every servant he could find. They watched him with wide, fearful eyes as he spoke.

“Make sure the path has been cleared for the carriage! You two, quit gawking! Head upstairs and make sure the guest rooms are well stocked with linens. Quickly now!”

Soon, hurried steps came from the corridor and a young woman entered the room.

“Lord Viemen, the carriage approaches.”

“Good. Have the maids at the ready. The rest of you, do as you are told.”

With a swift motion of his hand, the servants were dismissed. Frederick then made his way upstairs to the balcony that looked out toward the river.

Zorren would be traveling along main road, which ran from the north, near Eadenfros, along the river to the southernmost reaches of Omnirian territory. The region of North Viemen sat opposite the manor, on the western side of the Helmaedia river. It was to North Viemen that the main roads led, and so any visitors to the manor must necessarily pass through North Viemen in order to reach the river’s bridge. From his second story balcony, Lord Viemen could gaze out into the distance with a full view of the Helmaedia. There were none who could approach from the west without being seen.

Frederick liked to have his awareness— to sit above and to observe all that went on within his land. For it was, of course, his land.

By rights and several centuries of loyalty to the Omnirian royal family, the Viemen’s had been stewards of the southern land for generations. With the fall of the Omnir Dynasty, the Viemen’s managed to assert themselves among the high nobility of Omnirius. Even thinking about it now made Frederick’s pulse quicken. To strip away a piece of Viemen land and award it to a Mannigold was something Frederick could not find a way to accept, even if that order had come from High King Rhoden himself…

In the distance, the tiny shape of a horse drawn carriage came into view as it crested the top of the bridge. Having finally laid eyes on it, Frederick headed back to the ground floor to meet his guests. As he descended the steps, methodically placing each foot on the strips of polished dark wood, he sought to organize his mind.

The trip from Eadenfros to Viemen was by no means a quick or easy affair. The journey south would have taken several days before one would reach the nearest port town. From there, one could travel down the Helmaedia by boat to Viemen if they wished. Postage travels more quickly than a Magistrate caravan by at least several days, and thus a letter should have reached Frederick with several days to spare.

For notice of their arrival to have only reached Frederick yesterday must mean that the letter was sent after Zalphineas had already set forth from Eadenfros.

Frederick furrowed his brow.

Either their intention was to catch him off guard with an abrupt notice, or they were already headed south on other business when they decided thereafter to pay him a visit. Either conclusion filled him with concern.

As Frederick reached the landing, the two doorman each grabbed one of the metal latches on the manor doors and pulled them open. Frederick tugged at the bottom of his doublet to straighten it out against his torso and walked over the threshold. He then descended the steps to the front porch and continued out onto the dirt road.

After a few minutes, he saw the carriage appear. Behind the carriage rode four armored guards on horseback. The procession overall was relatively inconspicuous; there were no banners being flown, and the carriage itself, though sturdy and well made, was not nearly as extravagant as could have been afforded. Furthermore, the carriage chassis bore no emblem, nor any design indicating an association with the Omnirian government. Though anyone observing the procession would know that whoever was traveling inside was wealthy, they certainly would not suspect such a person to be the Chairmen of the Omnirian Magistrate, nor the Head of the Omnirian Treasury. Soon the carriage came to a halt and the driver jumped down to open the door for his passengers.

Allan Munzhaler was first to exit the carriage; he hobbled down the carriage step while clutching his briefcase and swatting away the men who offered him their hands.

During the plague of 938, Allan’s left leg had become afflicted. He managed to recover to the point where he could spare his leg from amputation, but it never functioned quite the same afterwards.

“I don’t need help, you fools. Back away!”

“Allan! What a pleasure to see you again!” Frederick declared as he walked toward him with open arms.

“Frederick! It’s been too long.”

Allan smiled at him and the two embraced.

“How is the leg, Allan?”

“Bah! Miserable, Frederick, just miserable!” he said as he patted his left thigh.

Over Allan’s shoulder Frederick could see Zorren exiting the carriage. He seemed as disagreeable as ever.

“Zorren, welcome to Viemen Manor. I trust your journey was without issue?”

“It went as expected, Frederick.”

Zorren looked around the property, squinting as the morning sun shone in his eyes.

“Where is Lady Viemen?”

“Ah, Annette…she is…”

“Zorren! Allan! How lovely to see you both!”

Frederick turned around in time to see Annette strolling down the porch steps, fully dressed.

“Annette, darling, you look lovely.”

She smiled politely back at Frederick.

“Naturally. We have distinguished company, after all.”

“Well then,” Allan started, “Pleasantries aside, Zorren and I have come strictly on matters of business, and sadly our time is minimal.”

“And we would not wish to delay you, Allan,” Annette said as she smiled at him. “Please, let me show you to the reading room.” Lady Viemen beckoned Allan forward, batting her eyelashes and flashing her bright blue eyes. One would have to be blind to not notice Allan’s cheeks become flush. That was something that Frederick could not deny her— she was certainly a nobleman’s daughter.

“Indeed, your business must be quite important,” Frederick offered as he and Zorren began walking toward the house. “I assume it was the necessity of this business that delayed your communication?”

Frederick watched Zorren, searching for a crack in his veneer.

“Rest assured, Frederick, that we will be brief.”

The servants bowed low as the group crossed the threshold into the manor. Following Annette, they continued down hallways and around corners until they reached the reading room. Tall glass windows rose from floor to ceiling, spanning two stories of the manor. A long, wooden table sat in the center of the room. A balcony ran along the second story, tracing the circumference of the atrium and ending at a spiral staircase that connected the two floors.

“Shall I have the maids bring you refreshments?” Annette asked.

“There is no need, Lady Viemen,” Zorren answered.

“Have them leave the trays outside the room,” Frederick insisted. “I will call if they are needed.”

Zorren remained silent as he made his way to a chair at the head of the table.

“Annette?”

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“Yes, Dear?”

“We will be discussing business.”

“Of course,” she said, bitting her tongue. “I shall be nearby if you need me.” She shot Frederick a nasty look before folding her arms. Annette took her time crossing the room to the door and turned once more to face the men before slowly shutting the doors behind her.

Within a few moments, Allan had grabbed a chair and began dragging it towards the table. The chair legs screeched against the wooden floorboards, settling into silence with a huff as Allan sat down.

“Ahh, feels good to sit on something that isn’t rattling and moving about.”

Frederick frowned.

“Please, sit wherever you like.”

“Thank you, Frederick. These seats are quite comfortable.”

Allan took the lens out of his pocket and wiped it with a handkerchief. He then placed his briefcase on the table and withdrew several parchments.

“Right to business then?” Frederick mused, rounding the table and taking the seat across from Allan.

“Just a quick audit is all, Frederick, nothing too serious.” Allan licked the tip of his index finger and flipped through pages.

Lord Viemen watched Zorren from the corner of his eyes, struggling greatly to conceal his loathing. Frederick felt as if he was being interviewed by a tribunal in his own home.

“Ah, Viemen Manor!” Allan announced as he plucked the appropriate page. He placed it gently on the table and withdrew his quill and ink. Frederick watched as he undid the lid to the container, dipped the tip of his quill inside and held it over the page in waiting.

“Tenant in chief?” Allan asked.

Frederick looked at him in annoyance and said nothing.

“ ‘Lord Frederick Viemen’,” Allan chuckled to himself as he recorded. “Now, to update the household records…How many peasants are currently in your employ?”

“Ninety-seven.”

“Smallholders?”

“As of this past year, forty-three.”

“Good to hear, that’s an increase from our last record,” Allan said while nodding his head. “Do you currently possess slaves?”

“There are five.”

“Purchased at market?”

“They were given from the Saundell’s in order to settle a debt.”

“I see. And how about—”

“There are currently twenty-eight servants and thirty-three serfs, Allan,” Frederick cut in.

“Slow down, slow down. If I write too quickly the ink will smudge.”

Frederick crossed his hands in front of him, squeezing them tightly.

Zorren remained seated at the head of the table, quietly listening to their exchange.

“How many plough teams do you possess, Frederick?”

Lord Viemen exhaled slowly before speaking.

“Fourteen of my own, while the freemen have eight, which they manage on their own.”

“Meadowland?”

“Thirty-one acres.”

“Oh, much less than before I see.”

“Yes,” Frederick agreed, bitterly.

“Woodland?”

“Around sixty-eight acres.”

“Mhm…and how many mills do you manage?”

“Two, currently.”

“Two? One less than before if I remember correctly.”

“We no longer have the resources for upkeep on any more than two.”

“Do you still maintain your fisheries?”

“There are three we have currently along the river—”

“Not five?”

“The other two were in the south, but we no longer have access to them from both sides of the river since the completion of Rothwell’s construction projects.”

“A shame indeed,” Allan agreed.

Frederick could feel his heartbeat quickening.

“Now, to take count of livestock.”

“We have seventy-five cattle in the fields, presently.”

“Tough breeding?”

Lord Viemen glared at Allan.

“How about the rest then?”

“There are roughly eighty pigs and near thirty sheep.”

“Any others?”

“We have twelve beehives and we have recently begun harvesting.”

“Beehives? That’s a new venture for you, Frederick.”

“Yes, well, we came to know a very skilled beekeeper who offered us his services. The hives take a great deal less space than the other livestock and the price of honey has risen quite a bit in recent years.”

“A lucrative endeavor, indeed,” Allan agreed. “It will especially help you recoup the losses on the fisheries.”

Frederick leaned back in the chair.

“The fisheries were not lost, Allan, they were taken.”

Allan raised an eyebrow.

“Taken?”

Frederick snorted.

“Can you not guess by whom?”

“Frederick,” Zorren said in a dry tone, “We have no time for veiled allusions. If there is a problem, speak freely.”

“Rothwell!” Frederick cried as he shot up from his chair, unable to contain himself. “Rothwell is the problem, Zorren. He has been since you put him here!”

Allan drew himself back from the table and eyed Frederick. Zorren remained seated.

“The Magistrate did not choose to appoint Mayor Rothwell,” Zorren responded calmly.

“But you allowed it to happen, Zorren.”

“The order was Rhoden’s, Frederick, you know this as well as I do.”

“It was a mistake, Zorren. A mistake!” Frederick turned away from the table as his rage continued to build. “Kendrith should never have been deposed.”

“From our position, Viemen is as profitable as ever. Even a cursory glance at your resources show that you are managing quite well.” Zorren paused. “Or are you perhaps angry that you’ve lost your grip on Viemen?”

Frederick laughed as he turned back to face Zorren.

“I am glad to see you’ve lost none of your audacity, Zorren. Viemen is my town. It belongs to my family. We held these lands. We funded and fed Rhoden’s soldiers during the war! It was we who gave them the wood for their spears and arrows and shields, and it was we who helped them raise their defensive walls! Every drop of ale, every loaf of bread, every helmet or sword struck in the forges was a gift from Viemen. We saved Omnirius. And what is our reward!?”

The room was still.

Both Allan and Zorren sat in silence, listening to only the sound of Frederick’s hastened breathing.

“What would you have me do, then?” Zorren asked calmly.

Frederick caught his breath. He looked curiously at Zorren before responding.

“Prior to the war, the entirety of this land belonged to the Viemen house. To maintain the soldiers and manage the resources during the war, Rothwell was assigned to replace Kendrith, and one third of the land was taken from us and put under his control. After the war, another third was given to Sir Perry Mannigold.”

“You want your land back?”

“I want what I am owed. Rothwell should never have stayed after the war was finished, but a royal appointment cannot be undone so easily,” Frederick said bitterly.

“Easily? No,” Zalphineas agreed. “But it is within the Magistrate’s power to overturn.”

Frederick’s body froze.

“What did you say?”

Zorren stood from the table and walked over to Frederick. “It is possible for the Magistrate to overturn a royal appointment,” he said. “We could, if needed, have Rothwell removed, and re-appoint Kendrith as Mayor.”

Frederich narrowed his gaze.

“When did the Magistrate acquire such authority?”

Zorren left Lord Viemen’s side and continued to round the table as he spoke.

“As you are aware, Rhoden has no natural born heir. His final decree has…understandably caused an upset among the aristocracy and the commoners alike. In the absence of a unifying and absolute authority, the Magistrate has become a regent of sorts.”

“The Magistrate as regent?”

“Not in any official capacity, of course. But practically speaking…”

“In the absence of a monarch, authority falls to the Advisorship, does it not?”

“It does indeed. But there are many matters which demand the council’s time and effort. Trivial things, such as government appointments on our southern border, do not behoove the Advisorship to ruminate on.”

Lord Viemen sat down once more, staring intently at the empty space on the table.

Zorren waited patiently for him to come to the conclusion on his own— watching Frederick stew in his own worry was truly a delight. Finally, Frederick turned to Zorren and spoke.

“And what benefit would this bring to you? What interest would the Magistrate have in this matter?”

The corner of Zorren’s mouth lifted up into a smile.

“As you know, the Magistrate has been leading the effort to finish the construction of Gate City.”

“Rhoden’s posthumous building project?”

“Precisely. Gate City is positioned on the banks of the Helmaedia, allowing us access to the waterways as they travel south.”

Frederick shook his head as he responded.

“The river disappears into the mountains, running underground and emptying into the Lake of Auborous far beyond our borders. It is a dead end, Zorren.”

“Helmedia is at its widest just south of Viemen,” Zorren continued. “And to the north, the waterways connect directly to Auborous.”

Frederick rubbed the side of his head as he spoke.

“Yes, and there are over a hundred leagues of earth and rock and forest between Viemen and the Auboran tributaries.”

“Allow me to deal with such problems, Frederick.”

Lord Viemen paused, tensing his jaw as he thought.

“What is it you are planning?”

“You will come to find out in time,” Zorren said softly.

“Not good enough, Zorren,” Frederick spat. “Tell me.”

“I mean to develop Gate City,” Zorren began. “I mean for it to rise as an epicenter for trade and commerce in Omnirius, surpassing even Eadenfros. Our gateway into the East.”

Frederick laughed.

“What makes you think that would happen?”

“Because I will make it happen.”

Frederick was surprised by this brazen confidence. Meanwhile, Zorren took his silence as permission to continue.

“First, I will conquer the rivers — for that, I need your cooperation.”

“I do not know what you are scheming, but such an undertaking would undoubtedly demand more than the people can spare,” Frederick said, looking now to Allan.

“It is true that the economy is…floundering,” Allan responded. “But, we are hoping that our mutual interests can lead us to an understanding.”

“I see,” Frederick said as he folded his hands. “I help bankroll your project, give you access to the river, all while looking the other way so you can do as you please. And what do you offer me in return?”

“When this work is complete,” Zorren said with a smirk, “Viemen will prosper like never before. You will have more money than you know what to do with.”

But Frederick was not moved. He retained his sour frown and kept his eyes locked on Zorren.

And Zorren was happy to oblige.

“You will also have Kendrith’s reappointment,” he continued. “Officially, of course. Between both you and Kendrith, we shall have control over enough workers and land to begin our work.”

“And afterwards?”

“Afterwards?”

Frederick stood up and looked directly at Zorren.

“After your project is finished. After you’ve built your gateway to the east. What happens to Viemen?”

“I see no reason why Kendrith could not stay in power,” Zorren said as he rose from the table and gathered himself.

Allan saw this and began packing up his papers as well.

“If he proves useful,” Zorren continued, “Kendrith can remain as mayor— or whomever else you wish to appoint.” Zorren passed Frederick as he spoke, heading towards the door with Allan following behind. “Viemen will then be yours to govern as you see fit.”

“No.”

Zorren stopped.

Allan looked up at Zorren, then back at Frederick.

“Viemen will not be mine,” Frederick said, “Not until all the land is returned to me.”

“Perry?” Zorren asked.

Frederick nodded.

“We will deal with Rothwell first, after that we can discu—”

“No, Zorren. I want Rothwell and Perry gone.”

The two eyed each other from across the room.

Frederick refused to budge an inch; no longer would he sit by and let Zorren strut around and make demands of him. If Zorren wanted Frederick’s help, he was going to have to pay— and the price was non-negotiable.

Zorren placed his hand on the door handle and turned from Frederick.

“We will be in town tending to other business,” he said as he pulled the handle and stepped over the threshold. “We will return this evening. Then, we will make our decision.”

Zorren and Allan left the room together, guided to the front door by the servants of the manor.

Frederick remained behind, standing still, staring into the open corridor. The smell of freshly baked biscuits and berry jam filled the air. A few moments later, a servant poked his head into the room.

“Is there anything you need, m’lord?”

Without a word, Frederick shoved past the servant, ripped a biscuit off the platter and shoved it into his mouth.