Vulkrun and his men left the room with a confident stride. As the heavy doors closed behind him, the grandmaster turned to face the assembly of knights, nobles, and members of his order who had been waiting for an explanation. They all gathered in tight circles around him, their voices raised in protest and confusion, their faces were a mix of confusion and anger. The room, warmed by a massive hearth, did little to ease the cold fury of the gathered men.
One knight, his face flushed with anger, turned to the grandmaster.
“Marshal! Why did you accept such outrageous terms?” a baron asked.
“We cannot afford to squander our resources in such a manner.” Another noble chimed in.
“The payment that the Goldbrand Company demanded was worth a dozen of free companies!”
“I agree with their plight. Are we to bankrupt the duke’s coffers for a single band of mercenaries?” An older knight nodded.
“Grandmaster, can I ask why did you accept that mercenary’s absurd terms?” Even one of his members in the order was questioning his decision.
“No, shouldn’t that be good? Because it only means that they are that confident in their skill for bringing victory in the battlefield.” A knight spoke out loud.
“Shouldn’t that be a normal thing in hiring mercenaries? We are not hiring them just to lose.”
“Precisely,” another noble agreed.
“I heard the rumors also about this company's expensive services but guaranteed victory to their employers.”
“It also meant that he is willing to accept any order that we will give.” A grin spread across another noble’s face.
Claude stood and walked around the room. He let the questions and accusations hang in the air for a moment before raising his hand to silence the crowd.
“Listen well, all of you,” he began, his voice steady and authoritative. “The Goldbrand Company is not just any band of mercenaries. They are known far and wide for their effectiveness. This company is one of the most sought out in neighboring kingdoms for their unparalleled skills and strategic brilliance.”
A murmur rippled through the assembly, and the Grandmaster continued.
“As I had mentioned, they were known hires of Count Harkon during our past war with the kingdom of Aelyria. But their greatest and most famous achievement was when they were hired as personal bodyguards and strategic advisors of the Prince of Kurdan when they successfully retook his Principality. It was no small feat, considering who they were up against – the Einherjar of the Schwyz-D’Livon Empire. A feat many believed impossible.”
The grandmaster let out a weary sigh as the meeting progressed, his stern gaze sweeping across the assembled nobles and knights. He could still see the doubt and fear in their eyes, the shadows of past defeats haunting them. He knew he had to address the elephant in the room.
“Let me remind you all.” he began, his voice cutting through the murmur of conversations. “Our armies have been defeated by Count Reimblitz's forces five times. Five times already in just one month. Remember that, five times.” His words hung heavily in the air, a stark reminder of their precarious situation.
“This situation leaves us with no viable option to be picky.” A somber silence settled over the room as the reality of their situation sank in. Grandmaster Claude continued with his tone more resolute.
“Fortunately for us duke’s treasury is vast, but coin alone cannot win wars. We may have the gold, but we do not have the men. Therefore, we must use our gold to buy the services of these…men, to turn the tide of the war.”
This statement caused a shift in the room. The anger and disbelief began to give way to grudging respect and intrigue.
One of the younger knights, his face pale and anxious, spoke up.
“But can we trust these mercenaries? Will they fight for us with the same fervor as Reimblitz’s crusaders who fight for their faith?”
The Grandmaster fixed him with a steely glare.
“Goldbrand’s loyalty lies with gold. Same with any other mercenaries and free companies. And while they may not fight for faith, they fight for their reputation and their payment. On the other hand, these crusaders were not just fueled by faith. They were also fueled by their greed for gains of lands and power during their Northern Campaigns. What makes them so much different from mercenaries?”
“Their price is high.” The grandmaster continued. “Because they deliver results that go beyond what is expected. They are expensive as a castle because they bring the results of an entire army. This is not a decision made lightly, nor without due consideration.”
One noble, a man with graying hair and a scar across his cheek, stepped forward.
“But surely, grandmaster, there are other mercenaries who could serve us well without such exorbitant costs?”
“Agreed, such a price could probably give us three or four large free companies.”
The grandmaster shook his head, he finally decided to reveal things.
“I have received a missive from the duke himself, instructing me to prioritize the recruitment of selected mercenaries at any cost.”
“What? The duke himself commanded it?”
“Yes. The Goldbrand Company is one of these companies. The duke understands the stakes of this war and the necessity of having the best at our side.”
The room fell silent, the weight of the grandmaster’s words sinking in.
“Again, these were not decisions made in haste or without foresight. The duke’s mandate was clear: secure the most formidable allies, no matter the cost.” He added.
As the knights and nobles absorbed this information, the grandmaster spoke again, his voice softer but no less firm.
“We are on the brink of a war that will determine the future of our realm. Disease, rebellion, and foreign threats all converge upon us. In such times, we cannot afford to be frugal. We must be wise, and that means investing in those who can turn the tide in our favor.”
The noble with the scar nodded slowly, his earlier anger now replaced with understanding.
“Very well, grandmaster. If the duke himself has given this directive, then we must trust in his wisdom. Let us hope these mercenaries prove worthy of their reputation.”
“Indeed. If Count Reimblitz has the faith on his side. Then the duke has the coin on his.” The grandmaster continued. “Do not worry about the cost. The terms we have agreed to with these mercenaries play into our hands as well. We will use them to the extent, of assigning them to the most critical and dangerous missions that will give us our needed victories. And I expect all of you to exceed that.”
The knights and nobles exchanged glances, their earlier doubts giving way to a grim determination.
“Yes, milord!”
---
Hours later, the grandmaster now found himself striding through the dirt-laden streets of Ricortia, his breath forming clouds in the frigid air. His steel-gray eyes scanned the surroundings, ever vigilant. His cloak billowed behind him as his knights and soldiers flanked him, a stern guard around their marshal and stationed at intervals. Their watchful presence was a silent deterrent to any would-be troublemakers. The path to the church was heavily guarded, a testament to the seriousness of the plague that gripped the land.
The city was a fortress in turmoil, with preparations for war mingling with the silent, pervasive dread of the plague. And he was heading to the very center of this invisible fight in this city.
The church, now repurposed as a hospital for the sick, loomed ahead, its once welcoming doors now shut to the public. As they approached, the grandmaster observed the heightened security around the premises. The plague was a silent enemy, and it demanded their constant attention. But even more the same for the people who gave in to their fears and paranoia.
The grandmaster adjusted the crow-like mask over his face, a stark necessity in the plague-ravaged city. The dark, beak-like shape of the mask cast an eerie silhouette. The entry to the church was flanked by two stern-faced knights, their armor glinting dully in the fading light. They saluted as the grandmaster passed, opening the doors to admit him into the oppressive warmth within.
“Stay here. I don’t want any of you carrying the plague to our keep.” He left his men and went inside alone.
The interior was dimly lit, and the atmosphere was thick with the smell of disinfectants and the stench of decay.
Monks and priests moved about in enclosed rooms. Their faces were hidden behind the same grotesque masks of plague doctors he was also wearing. Their black robes and leather gloves were a stark contrast to the purity their faith was supposed to represent, a practical barrier against the ravages of the disease they fought to contain. And this appearance had become a symbol of their grim duty. While some were still offering prayers for those beyond aid.
The grandmaster pushed open a heavy wooden door and entered one of the enclosed rooms. The air was even heavier here, saturated with the smell of infection. The sight that greeted him was enough to turn the stomach of even the most hardened warrior. Rows of cots lined the room, each occupied by a figure that barely resembled a human. The sick and dying groaned and moaned, their bodies bloated with green pus and infection, skin blistering and covered in open, oozing sores.
“Grandmaster,” one of the monks greeted him, his voice muffled by the mask. “We did not expect you today. What brings you here?”
“I came to see the state of the sick myself,” Claude replied, his voice steady despite the horror around him. “Tell me, Brother Anselm, how is our fight faring against this plague?”
Brother Anselm sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly.
Stolen novel; please report.
“It is a losing battle, I fear. The plague spreads rapidly, and we lack the means to contain it.”
The symptoms of the plague were horrifying. Coughing up black blood laced with pus, throats burning from infection, skin blistering and rotting, boils oozing foul fluids.
The afflicted lay in rows of cots, their bodies bloated and discolored, barely recognizable as human. Many are paralyzed, weakened to the point where they cannot move, their eyes bleeding as their bodies struggle. Some whispered prayers for deliverance, others begged for death to end their suffering.
The grandmaster glanced around, his gaze lingering on a child lying on one of the cots. The boy’s eyes were wide with fear and pain, his small body wracked with shivers and black veins, bulging on the skin of his face as his red eyes bled.
“Many in the city were already saying that this is a punishment from God or a sign of the devil’s return. Some even believe this is the end of the world. But what do you think, Brother Anselm?”
The monk hesitated before answering.
“I do not know what to believe, grandmaster. I would be lying to you if I said that my faith had remained unbroken these past days. Even I had already experienced doubts and anger that on many occasions almost drove me to the brink of sinful thoughts. But I have to remain steadfast. For these people who are still suffering and struggling to live. And that is what is important to me and my brothers. We must continue to fight. We believe that through faith and medicine, we can find a way to combat this scourge.”
“I agree. We must find a way to combat this plague. Have you discovered anything that might help?” The grandmaster nodded, his respect for the monk deepening.
“Not yet. We are trying various treatments, but nothing has proven effective. The best we can do is alleviate the suffering of the afflicted.” The monk shook his head.
“This plague is already ravaging several nearby counties and regions, paralyzing the economies, trade, and security that would make the situation in our kingdom, even more complicated. We cannot allow it to do the same here. We must find a way to stop it, or at least contain it.” The grandmaster nodded.
As he spoke, the groans of the dying grew louder, a chorus of agony that seemed to echo off the stone walls of the church. The grandmaster moved among the cots, offering words of comfort where he could, though he knew they were little more than hollow platitudes in the face of such suffering.
“Anyways, I shall not restrict your time now Brother Anselm. Thank you.”
In the corner of the room, the grandmaster made his way to a group of monks huddled together in a quiet conversation. He saw one of the priests who was prostrating on the ground in prayer, his hands clasped tightly around a rosary while in front of a carved stone altar of the Great Eye. The grandmaster approached him after the priest finished his ritual, recognizing the man’s haggard face.
“Father Benedict, how goes the morale of the clergy?”
The priest looked up with his eyes red-rimmed from weeping.
“It is hard to keep faith in times like these, grandmaster. I am sure you have already heard from the monks. Many of my brethren are losing hope, convinced that this is indeed the end.”
“We must not give in to despair, Father. Our people need us to be strong. They need us to believe that there is a way out of this darkness.” The grandmaster placed a hand on the priest’s shoulder. “Whether it is divine punishment or a natural calamity, we cannot simply give up. We must do everything in our power to fight it.”
Father Benedict nodded, though his expression remained one of deep sorrow.
“I will do my best, grandmaster. For the sake of those who still look to us for guidance.”
As the grandmaster continued his inspection, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. He turned to see a group of monks standing silently by the entrance, their eyes hidden behind the eerie masks, but even then, he could feel that this was taking a toll on their will as much as any soldier on the battlefield. They were the last line of defense against the plague, the ones who tended to the sick when no one else would.
“Brothers.” the grandmaster addressed them. “You are the unsung heroes of this war. Know that your efforts are not in vain. We will find a way to overcome this, together.”
The monks bowed their heads in acknowledgment.
Then he went to the locked basement of the church. He knocked at the door twice and the eye opening slid open, inspecting his identity then quickly closed. The door opened in a weary echo and was welcomed by another monk, Brother Theodoric. The room was dimly lit by flickering candles, their light casting long shadows that danced on the stone walls.
“Theodoric.” the grandmaster’s voice was muffled but authoritative. “What is the status of our research?”
Brother Theodoric stepped closer, his eyes barely visible through the narrow slits of his mask, were weary.
“We have made some progress, grandmaster, but we still cannot determine the origin or cause of the disease. As for treatment, we have had no success. The only viable approach we’ve discovered is what we applied to you: inoculation to strengthen resistance against the plague.”
“And are you finally capable and prepared to apply this treatment to my men?” The Grandmaster nodded slowly then asked.
“Yes.”
“Thanks for the Vision!” The grandmaster made a worshipping gesture to give his gratitude to the Great Eye and his gaze sharpened back to the monk. “Good. I want this to begin tomorrow.”
Theodoric hesitated, then spoke with a note of caution.
“Yes, grandmaster,” Theodoric replied. “But it will require more than just your men. For the inoculation to be effective, we need to treat the entire population of the city, the mercenaries, and the incoming refugees. The plague is weak against a united constitution of the faithful. If we miss even one person, they could become infected and spread the disease anew.”
“So, you are saying we must inoculate everyone?” The Grandmaster frowned behind his mask, the weight of the monk’s words sinking in.
“Precisely,” Theodoric affirmed. “It is a daunting task, but it is the only way to ensure the effectiveness of the treatment.”
“And it is possible for the mass application of this… thing to our people…” The Grandmaster digesting this information then answered with a nod. “Very well. Make the necessary preparations. I will command my men to assist.”
Theodoric nodded, but the Grandmaster continued, lowering his voice. There was another matter he wanted to discuss with the monk.
“I am here for another reason as well. We need support from the Pope, or at the very least, a reduction in the religious support for Count Reimblitz. Can the priests here not send a missive to the Holy See? Is there… anyone in the Papal States that could help us with this?”
The monk sighed, a weary sound that echoed the hopelessness of their situation.
“We have already sent requests for aid and appeals to the Holy See, but we have received no reply. The political machinations are complex, and the Church may not view our situation with the urgency it deserves.” Theodoric sighed, glancing at his fellow monks who were still busy at their alchemic tables with their experiments. “We must prepare for the worst.”
“The worst?” the Grandmaster echoed, his eyes narrowing.
“Grandmaster, we must expect that the Holy See will find out about the nature of our research here. And they will renounce us. Branding us heretics or worse, excommunicate us,” Theodoric explained.
“We are fighting to save lives. The Church should see reason. Especially with your great discovery that could fight this plague!” The grandmaster scoffed.
“The Holy See is often... rigid in its views. They would likely see our methods—our research on the diseased—as barbaric and contrary to the teachings of the scripture.” Theodoric said carefully. “We are prepared to face execution for our actions, but to be branded heretics or excommunicated would be a heavy blow. Many of my brothers died willingly for this great knowledge against the plague. And we cannot have their sacrifices be in vain where our work be burned or erased after being deemed blasphemous.”
“Then we must ensure our efforts are successful before any judgment can be passed. We will proceed with the inoculations and fortify our defenses. If the Holy See turns against us, we will deal with it then.” The grandmaster’s eyes blazed with anger. Theodoric’s gaze softened after seeing that the grandmaster sympathized with them. The grandmaster nodded, his mind racing with the implications.
“Still at the very end, if all of the affected kingdoms consider what you found to be a work guided by the Great Eye, even those at the Holy See will surely see reason.”
“We can only pray, grandmaster. The Holy See does not always operate on reason.” Theodoric replied softly. “Their judgments are often steeped in tradition and doctrine. We are treading a dangerous path.”
“It does not matter. We will proceed as planned. The inoculations will start tomorrow. As for the Church, we will deal with their judgment when it comes. Our priority is to save lives.” The Grandmaster’s resolve hardened.
“As you command, Grandmaster.” Theodoric bowed his head slightly in agreement.
That night, as the Grandmaster sat in his chambers, he penned a letter to the duke, outlining the dire situation and the steps they were taking to combat the plague. He requested additional resources, medical supplies, and any information the duke’s other marshals might have regards of the plague’s origins or potential cures. The grandmaster’s hand trembled slightly as he wrote. When the letter was finished, he sealed it with the insignia of his order and handed it to a trusted courier.
“Deliver this to the duke with all possible haste,” he instructed. The courier nodded and departed immediately, understanding the urgency.
As he gazed out into the snowy night, Claude whispered a silent prayer for strength and guidance. The battles ahead would test them all, but he knew that they could not afford to falter. The fate of their kingdom depended on it. Then loud knocks interrupted him calling for his name. He recognized the voices to be his knights.
“Grandmaster, Brother Theodoric wishes to speak with you urgently.”
“Let him in,” Claude answered.
The monk rushed towards the table of the chamber and closed the chambers in haste surprising the grandmaster. He held the hilt of his sword, just in case something happened that he did not expect.
“Grandmaster, please forgive me for disturbing your sleep but it seems that our current situation is even more dire.” The monk did not even meet the gaze of the confused Claude and kept on unrolling scroll after scroll on the table while using books to pin them down. “This plague has not only ravaged our lands but has also reached the Holy See. The power struggles within the Church are intensifying.”
“Explain.” The grandmaster’s eyes narrowed.
Theodoric took a deep breath.
“I have just received a reply. The current pope, in his bid for re-election next year, is using the plague as propaganda to strengthen his position. He seeks to achieve any semblance of success against the plague to secure his power and get more votes.”
This made Claude realize that they could use the treatment of the plague as a bargaining chip.
“So maybe if we provide him with this… inoculation that you had made, maybe we could turn the support of the church-”
“No, grandmaster. I’m afraid not.” The monk dashed his hopes to pieces but gave him something. “It seems that the church prioritizes the crowning of Count Reimblitz to the throne over the plague. And the church, I meant the majority of the papal authority.”
“Majority? So, there’s a minority?”
“Yes, there is another candidate. Archbishop Stricklav, who opposes the current Pope. Stricklav has promised to support us and guarantee we will not be excommunicated if we back his bid for the papacy.”
“He is known for his more progressive stance compared to the current pope,” Claude remembered this name once during his attendance in the past crusades. “So, we could offer this treatment to him instead, which would give him a chance in the coming election?”
“Indeed grandmaster.” The monk nodded. “Although I suggest that we should not send anything now until the election starts which is just next year.”
“True, this way, we could have an equal footing with Stricklav once he receives the inoculation. What we need is timing.” The grandmaster’s mind raced. The hierarchy of the papacy was intricate and steeped in tradition. The pope wielded immense influence over the continent, and his decisions shaped the fate of kingdoms. Beneath him, cardinals and archbishops held significant power, their loyalty often split among various factions within the Church.
In these dark times, where hopelessness and despair loomed, the Church’s influence was both a beacon of hope and a weapon of fear. The current pope’s desire to use the plague for political gain threatened to tip the balance of power in their kingdom, while Archbishop Stricklav’s offer presented a potential lifeline for their cause to restore stability in their home.
“So, we must align ourselves with Stricklav,” the Grandmaster mused aloud. “What assurances do we have of his support?”
“Archbishop Stricklav has promised to provide us with aid and protection against excommunication. He and his supporters could veto any form of sentence that will be made against us and our cause. He understands the severity of our situation and sees the benefit of our loyalty. In return, we must support his bid for the papacy.” Theodoric nodded.
“Wait so you still have not told him about the inoculation?” The grandmaster asked.
The monk shook his head.
Claude sighed heavily, the weight of the decision pressing upon him. Aligning with Stricklav could provide the support they desperately needed, but it also meant entangling themselves in the political machinations of the Papal States.
“I will consider this,” the grandmaster said finally. “And what was the reason for your great haste? This could just be discussed tomorrow.”
“No milord, the thing that forced me to disturb your rest is this.” As he spoke, he handed a scroll. The monk’s face was pale with urgency. “A message from our brothers in the east.”
The grandmaster took the scroll and quickly scanned its contents. His face grew darker with each line he read then with full anger, and he slammed his gauntlet-clad arm onto the table. The wood cracked under the force and the sound of the impact reverberated through the room. The sudden noise startled the knights outside his chambers that they kicked his doors open and they rushed inside in great worry. Preparing for an attacker.
“Grandmaster!”
Instead, they saw him crumpling the scroll on the table and a broken part of the furniture where his gauntlet landed.
“This makes everything even more complicated!” The grandmaster cursed filled with frustration. “Damn that Eingard Empire!”