That night, the victors feasted on the stores of the defeated Marche clan. Their larders were pried open by greedy hands and landed out on the tables of their great hall. The invading warriors feasted on beef and mutton butchered just hours prior. Juices of the slaughtered animals dripped down their chins to either collect back onto their plates or deftly wiped away by a cloth rag.
The surviving Marche clansmen were dressed in the garb of their servants and forced to pour drink in the cups of the coalition’s nobles and deggan. It was deemed that these meager garb worn by those that were once far below the station of the Marche clan would be more humiliating than stripping them of everything and forcing them to serve nude. This was a transition to their new position. It was a staging area to reveal to the world the new Marche clan, dispossessed of the trappings that held them apart from those that they ruled over.
Valentin kept his hand over his drink cup whenever one of these despondent, dead eyed individuals passed him. His choice was to wait until a servant strayed by the table to meet his needs. However, he sat at the table of nobles, which was exclusively served by these disgraced individuals.
The celebrating nobles of the coalition did not have a unified reaction to the boy’s peculiar stance towards the Marche’s servitude nor did they practice the same levels of cruelty towards them. Some, like Valentin, seemed hesitant to call upon the now lowly members of this extended Marche clan. They looked away in shame at the depths that the clan was subjected to, not willing to participate in such activities.
Others were much more interested in making the experience worse. One noble demanded an elderly man to perform a demeaning dance for them. Others groped at the girls that were not recruited into battle. They were sat upon the laps of the victors and asked to sing along with songs that exalted Arven.
Jonas sat next to a man that looked very similar to him who had one of the girls sit upon his lap. The boy looked uncertain as to how he should react to the situation and began to follow the lead of the man next to him until Adelaide’s cross reaction caused him to eject the Marche girl from his lap, much to the amusement of those around them.
Even Estelle Forstier regarded the petty displays of humiliation with a regally thin grin of approval. She sat beside Tiarna Celfor opposite of his wife and Ferris, all but confirming her ascendance to become the next Tiarna of Etrineux. The other nobles of the coalition rose from their seats to make appropriate introductions to her over the course of the meal.
Only one member of the Marche clan was spared the humiliation that the rest of their family was subjected to. Despite her gaunt and feeble appearance, the woman held her chin high and sat with dignity. She made no outward reaction to the harassment and humiliation that her clan was subjected to. However, Valentin could see a righteous fury boil through her otherwise serene face.
Spiced pheasant and mutton basted in sweet berry sauce did not excite the boy’s taste buds as much as it typically would. The only motivation to eat was to avoid bringing more undue attention towards himself and stave off future hunger.
Only Ferron, Durant, and Valentin had been given the invitation to sit at the most enviable table of the feast. Valentin looked around the rest of the hall to spot other members of the Armée celebrating but was unable to make many out. If they were present, they were lost in the sea of warriors and bannermen of the coalition. The lack of the faces that he had grown so familiar with made the entire celebration all the more foreign.
Tables and cushions were moved to allow the revelers to dance in the center of the hall to music sang by the dedicated troubadours of the coalition. They sang many songs that Valentin had never heard before and engaged in a complicated partner swapping dance that was difficult for the boy to follow. Even several of the nobles took the dance in the center of the floor. They held their partners closely and looked with envy when they were swapped away into the arms of another.
“You can tell it’s a great celebration when the nobles dance the Gra Tiria,” a voice near Valentin said.
Valentin turned to see Ferris watching him intensely. The younger boy’s interest in Valentin had not waned over the several days that they had spent time together. After the events of this morning, it seemed to Valentin that that scrutiny had only amplified.
“In the south, when they celebrate, they dance in a group, each with their hands interlocked. If they dance in couples, there will be no exchanges,” Valentin replied, watching the shuffling of people vying for the same partner. Elbows were thrown and people were shoved while spectators laughed at the desperate attempts.
Such a celebration would have awaited him in Tiarna Lunoult’s Great Hall after Killicia ended. He would have locked hands with his father and uncle and danced to the drums and chants of the druids.
He would have seen Jeanne and Vincent dance as if they had been fused together on the day of the wedding. Jeanne would wear a cloak of her favorite wildflowers and become the next Ceile of Roucotte. Roland would have successfully married into the Tiarna’s family and enacted whatever plans he had to continue to spite his disowned family. Then all eyes would turn towards Valentin and who he shall marry.
“I was not aware of the customs of those to the south,” Ferris said with glittering eyes. “Have you traveled there before?”
“My mother was born there,” Valentin answered truthfully. He tried to keep his answers vague to prevent a careless word from biting him. However, he was finding himself growing tired of trying to maintain pretenses.
Valentin continued to watch the dance unfold. More prominent members of the coalition joined in on the dancing. Tiarna Celfor quickly occupied the center of attention, his dance moves flowed well yet still felt stilted. Estelle Forstier entertained many suitors towards her prospective ascension. Her son stood to the side and watched with disapproving eyes, ignoring the girls that lined up at the behest of their parents to steal a dance with the new heir.
Jonas and Adelaide danced slowly and awkwardly to the side, their hands and feet moving discordantly. However, the chaos and ugliness of their dance held some of the most spirit to Valentin. They looked in each other's eyes with an emotion that Valentin had yet to feel towards anything. What did that emotion feel like? What was it like to be looked upon with such a gaze?
He felt like he had experienced it before but this couple’s eyes do not hold the same pollution that Morna’s held. Did Jeanne ever look at Vincent that way? Did he ever catch his parents stare at each other like that? He lacked reference and understanding for it, yet he felt a longing towards it.
“I’d like to see the other realms like Father did when he was younger. Perhaps we could visit it together and you could show me where your mother lived,” Ferris proposed.
“Why are you taking such an interest in me?” Valentin asked with a tongue that had gained some edge through annoyance. “If you should be attached to anyone, it should be Ferron. His feat from this morning is still a clear picture in my mind. I have just watched from my horse.”
Ferris looked momentarily taken aback but managed to stay brave in the face of Valentin’s pointed question. “We are nearly the same age, yet you are campaigning with the most famous warrior in the region. You have already bloodied your weapon and earned the respect of my father. In only a handful of days, you matched me at Seren’s Strategy even though you had never played before.”
Ferris’ eyes transitioned over to the dancing couples. “Father wishes for me to marry Estelle Forstier’s eldest daughter to strengthen our ties over the land. She’s six. Six! When this is over, I will stay at home in Arven, yet I see you living out the life I want. How could I not watch it all?”
Valentin saw the frustration on the other boy’s face. He could not deny it. If their roles were reversed, he would possess the same jealousy that Ferris now showed towards him. However, it was not Valentin’s situation that Ferris craved. It was the fictitious life of Valentin Guerros that filled the boy with envy. Of course, if Ferris knew who hunted for his blood, he would certainly possess less enthusiasm.
“Perhaps, during the war Tiarna Celfor has promised to support, we will meet on the battlefield as allies,” Valentin said.
Valentin was unsure why he offered those words to Ferris. He didn’t pity the boy that would soon become the next Tiarna of Arven, yet he could not help but see the similarities between Ferris and himself.
The boy’s eyes lit up. “You will see me without question.”
The dancing began to meander along towards its inevitable conclusion. After energy was spent and sweat had fallen, the music became muted before dissipating into the sounds of conversations had around the hall. Seats were once again occupied by those of higher status and attention was returned to the center of the table.
Tiarna Celfor did not sit. Instead, he took the opportunity to hold dominion over the hall. The sounds of voices began to quickly evaporate until attention fully centered upon the tiarna.
“Friends and noble people of Etrineux, I offer my appreciation to those that saw that the Marche clan was committing a great wrong and flocked to my banner to rectify this long held mistake. I hope that the endeavors of this campaign have sown the seeds of friendship that will bring peace to our regions.”
A call of agreement echoed through the hall as nobles, citizens, and warriors hoisted their cups in the air. The unity shown in the room almost made Valentin forget about the animosity that surrounded the town and suffocated the streets.
“While we all wish for these things, I understand that some of you harbor apprehension about my ideas of future stewardship of Etrineux. I tell you now that I have no intentions of choosing your next tiarna for you. Naming your next leader is no different from announcing my intentions to rule Etrineux myself. Such an approach will never bring us to peace.”
Murmurs of surprise percolated throughout the room. Nobles offered each other sidelong glances at the sudden prospect of rising higher. Even Ferron raised a curious eyebrow towards Tiarna Celfor’s announcement, the most emotion he had shown the entire celebration.
“That is not to say that I do not have an ideal successor to my old rival. Estelle Forstier has shown prudent leadership of this coalition and talent as an administrator. If I am permitted an endorsement within your eventual deliberations, I would recommend Forstier.”
Hope for an independent selection was dashed as quickly as it had budded by the deft words of Tiarna Celfor. Estelle Forstier would be the person receiving support if rebellion brewed and the nobility was fully aware of it.
“I have also taken your petitions seriously in regards to the surviving children and Ceile of Tiarna Firmin Marche,” Tiarna Celfor looked down at the emaciated woman at the table. “I understand the difficulties that the continued presence of my warriors will have on the reunification of your region. I trust the remainder of my revenge to all of you. And, by any chance they return to reclaim Etrineux, I will be here to prevent it with every fiber of my being.”
The gathering began to splinter after Tiarna Celfor’s speech. The invaders would depart the next morning and leave the remaining issues of Etrineux to the nobles that resided there. Ferron did not linger in the hall for very long. He deliberately provided departing words to Tiarna Celfor and Estelle Forstier before making his way to the former Ceile.
He leaned down and spoke words into her ear that doused her fire instantly. Her hands grabbed at the warrior’s sleeve. She pleaded something back at him and shook her head. He seemed to chuckle before exiting the party with Durant and Valentin in tow.
Silence had befallen the streets of Etrineux as many of its citizenry had already been dispersed back into their hovels. Only the hooves of horses ridden by nobility and the boots of their warriors echoed in the twilight. Ortus’s light dipped behind the trees and obscured the tents of the camp they were approaching.
Some of Ferron’s warriors were outside their tents and idling about. However, it seemed to Valentin, that the population of the camp felt awfully small. Had most already gone to bed? It wasn’t an impossible thought. Night was imminent and sleep would be soon to follow. Yet he had spent many nights around the camp of the Armée du Corbeaux and he had yet to know them as those that rested early.
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The trio trotted through the camp and reached the outskirts on the other side. By now, Valentin was puzzled about Ferron’s intentions.
“Durant, I’m leaving you in charge of the camp while I attend to a final matter of business,” Ferron ordered his son.
“Wait, Father, where in Mother's name could you possibly be going this late at night? If you are going somewhere would it not be better if I accompany you?” Durant protested, feeling as though he were being left out of something crucial.
“It is a task that I cannot speak of carelessly,” Ferron explained in a low voice. “I am asking you to stay because I trust that you will keep things proper when I am gone. It is crucial that suspicious eyes do not turn our way.”
“Why not Hrost or Arthus or Darcy?” Durant asked, mimicking his father’s volume.
“Because you are my son,” Ferron emphasized by pointing a finger at Durant. “You are destined to be my right hand and eventually lead this warband. I cannot allow you to shirk such valuable opportunities to show to me that you are capable of handling such responsibilities. Can I trust you with this?”
“Yes father,” Durant responded, trying to muster as much conviction as he could. “I will live up to your expectations and prove that I am worthy of your belief.”
“Good lad,” Ferron praised. “Now, let’s go, Valentin.”
“He is going?” Durant complained. “Father, you show favoritism.”
“The two of you have different purposes,” Ferron explained. “It is of value to Valentin that he attends with me. If you are displeased, you can forfeit the warband and the eventual seat of Corvello to Valentin and you can attend to this matter with me and he will stay. Is that what you wish for?”
“No,” Durant admitted after a short silence. “Have a safe journey, Father.”
The three horses separated. Two rode into the dying light of the woods while the other sadly sat behind before turning back into camp. Darkness descended quickly and visibility went with it. However, the smoky light of torches shone like beacons to guide Ferron and Valentin forwards.
A different pair of horsemen awaiting the arrival of Ferron and Valentin. They appeared to be wearing colors of the Armée du Corbeaux but Valentin could not identify them clearly. The group silently turned and rode further away from Etrineux. Valentin followed the fiery path forwards for some time. Night had fully enveloped the riders in a blanket of soupy blackness that was only staved off by the flame of the torch being flickered by the wind.
Unlike the breakneck pace his Uncle Gilles subjected him to on their flight from Roucotte, the ride from Etrineux was at a more measured pace. The horses took comfortable steps over the uneven terrain of the pathless route that they took.
An hour was swallowed by the night before they reached a group of structures at the edge of the woods. If not for the flickering of light from some of the buildings, the village would have appeared completely abandoned. Vines and other vegetation coated the thatch roof and found home in the wattle and daub walls. Weeds suffocated the trampled garden and the feeling of familiar death gripped Valentin’s heart.
“What is this place?” Valentin asked.
“This is where we will meet a special person,” Ferron answered. “Our hosts from the village by the river told me of a nearby village that had been abandoned by their original residents. A perfect place for such an occasion, wouldn’t you say?”
“I suppose so,” Valentin answered, not asking about the fate of villagers as he feared the answer.
Ferron and Valentin dismounted their horses along with the pair of warriors. The two were led into the building directly in front of them. Awaiting them inside were three people and a lantern. The flame of the lantern provided insufficient illumination and Valentin could not easily identify features of any of them. However, the person in the middle appeared to be bound around their hands and feet but had long since given up on resisting.
“Which of you should I acknowledge for this result?” Ferron asked the room.
“Both of us,” Hubert’s familiar voice penetrated the dark. “We knew quickly that this was not something that could be achieved alone. Elane determined where she would be, and I brought the necessary reinforcements to overpower her and her escort.”
“She was offering one last forlorn glance upon the home she was abandoning from atop the northern cliffs. If she had not been so sentimental in those crucial moments, she may have had a chance to escape,” Elane teased.
“What of her escort?” Ferron asked in an even tone.
“In the other buildings,” Hubert answered with a bored tone and a pout. “They surrendered too quickly after we apprehended our guest. It wasn’t interesting at all.”
“Leave us,” Ferron ordered. “I wish to talk to my guest in private.”
Hubert and Elane offered a bow before exiting the building. Before they left the room, Ferron spoke once more.
“Hubert, Elane, well done.”
“It is our pleasure,” Hubert said, disappearing into darkness.
The only remaining company for Valentin was Ferron and the woman bound on the floor. He saw her feet move as she writhed away from the pair of entrants. Her retreat into the corner of the room served to further obscure any of her features.
“Who is this?” Valentin asked Ferron, apprehensive of the possibility of another execution and feeding.
Ferron stared hungrily in the direction of the hidden woman. There was only one person during this campaign that would have elicited such an unguarded greed from the warrior.
“Allow us to introduce ourselves. I am Ferron Martelle and this is my ward, Valentin Guerros. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Strategist of Etrineux. Or would you prefer it if I called you Julianna Marche?”
No answer crossed the room. Silence hung in the air for what felt like minutes while Ferron patiently awaited a response from the woman huddled along the far wall. The warrior stood perfectly still in the dimly lit room as the waves of light revealed his eager visage had yet to recede. His ward fidgeted nervously.
“I know that you are not gagged. Is it not impolite to ignore a greeting?” Ferron chastised his captive.
“Why is it that I have to play these games with you?” A voice raspy from tears viciously emanated from the corner of the room like a wounded animal. “Will you not just kill me and end this farce? I have nothing to say to my enemy’s dog.”
Ferron tutted at the woman’s question. He shook his head and made a face of disappointment. “A response unbefitting of your upbringing. I am nobody’s dog, Strategist.”
“Yet you have traded your honor for money. My father is dead, my siblings are dead, my husband is dead, and my home has been seized. It was you who made that possible. You were the one that ruined everything.”
The woman’s voice quivered with bitterness and regret. Her restrained limbs could only writhe like a beheaded snake before her body went limp. She took heaving breaths that shuddered with grief. Here was a person who had lost everything and sat before the person that made such a catastrophe possible. The person who even denied her an escape to plot a future revenge.
“Kill me now,” the woman implored. “Do not do me the disservice of dragging me before this disguised Novesse who rules over Arven. I wish to return to the peace of the Great Spirit. Deliver him my corpse or my ashes, I no longer care.”
“Is that what you believe I have captured you for?” Ferron groaned. “Are you so rattled that you have lost the sharp mind that I have sought after? Breathe, think, and tell me what it is I am after by capturing you. If you cannot, then perhaps I will fulfill your request and trade your corpse in for a pouch of silver. Or maybe I will trade you for some good graces with the likely new tiarna, Estelle Forstier.”
The name of the treacherous vassal roused the woman a bit. “Where are we?” She asked, calmer than before.
“In a village no longer needed by those who used to live here, several miles from Etrineux,” Ferron explained with hope in his voice that he was about to receive what he came for. “It was the perfect spot to avoid prying eyes and tender ears.”
The strategist continued her morose lounging in the dirt. The sound of her breathing was the only indicator that she was still alive.
“To what end do I have to entertain my enemy? I have no interest in impressing you, brute.”
Ferron kneeled before the woman and spoke with a harsh tone, “Tiarna Celfor and I made an agreement. My warriors now for his warriors later. My service to him is complete and so is my aggression against the people of Etrineux. If you wish to survive tonight or have any aspirations to recover the surviving members of your clan, I recommend you drop those unnecessary notions of yours. I am growing impatient.”
Julianna sighed. It was no longer the sound of a person who had long since given up on their life. Now, it was the sound of a person who saw an opportunity to continue. Vengeance was the word that fueled the flames inside of the strategist’s head. She shifted to a sitting position and looked at the silhouettes that stood across from her.
“If you are to make a deal, it is poor form to have your potential partner restrained,” she said with wit baked into her tone.
“With pleasure,” Ferron responded with a smile as he undid the knots that restrained his guest.
“I have another question,” Julianna Marche asked as she stretched her newly freed limbs. “Why do you assume that I am the strategist you seem so enamored with?”
“It was a phenomenal plan,” Ferron spoke, not answering the question posed to him. “Lead the superior force in the hills to fortified positions to slow them down and chip away at their numbers with your weaker forces. Meanwhile, you dispatch the majority of your strength to ambush the enemies in the forests by leveraging your superior knowledge of the area.”
Ferron rose to his feet and began to pace the room, his body blocking the flame with every pass. “In theory, it was the perfect plan to demotivate my forces while dealing crucial damage to the conscripted warriors of Arven. Yet, it went so horribly wrong. Your hired mercenaries and even your own father neglected the network of traps you painstakingly arranged in favor of the pride of a head on conflict that they were clearly outmatched in. Your vassals betrayed you in pursuit of titles, replenishing the enemy forces while diminishing your own. Your plan didn’t fail, you were failed by incompetence and greed sown in your ranks. I did not destroy your home, the people you trusted did.”
Valentin could not see the face of Julianna Marche. However, he could hear soft sobbing coming from the woman. It was a mix of frustration and vindication. It was not her fault that things had fallen apart, even her enemy acknowledged that as fact. The two men stood silently to let her mourn all of the losses she had endured.
Julianna wiped at her eyes with her sleeves in an attempt to compose herself. “So you wish for me to come up with plans on your behalf?”
“That’s right,” Ferron confirmed with a congenial tone. “You see, I have aspirations of retaking my ancestral seat in Corvello and I could not sit idly by and let such a talent as yours slip through my fingers.”
“What would motivate me to assist someone who is still allied to my worst enemy?”
“Come now,” Ferron said with a tinge of disappointment on his lips. “Many people die in wars, tiarnas included. If I give you control over the strategy in this area, an opportunity will surely arise. A miscommunication or ill-informed order can easily spell doom for someone even as powerful as Tiarna Celfor. Towns and land change hands with such fluidity that it would not be difficult to return you to your rightful place at home. Such things are only over when you’ve given up on them.”
“We lost our governance of Etrineux because we are no longer strong enough to keep it. What if I decline your partnership to search for a different one?” Julianna asked with a confident tone beginning to invade her voice, a certain return to the bravado she exhibited as commander of the armies of Etrineux.
“What do you believe I will do?” Ferron asked.
“If my body, living or dead, brings you value,” Julianna began. “Your obvious decision in the event of failing to secure my cooperation would be to sell me to my enemies. My leaving here unscathed and without a deal with you is impossible. Yet I hope you understand that failing to obtain my full cooperation will only disservice you when it matters most.”
Ferron laughed at the threats of insubordination. “I understand that only proper incentive will secure your cooperation. May we not cast aside the looming threat upon your life and only focus on the negotiations?”
“I apologize, but my certain demise upon declining a partnership will only coerce me into a worse deal, will it not?” Julianna corrected Ferron’s assertions with a question of her own.
“Of course not,” Ferron reassured with confidence. “If I force you into an unfavorable deal, then I will have to face endless paranoia as to when you will strike me. At that point, it’d be better to kill you and be done with it. If you are not satisfied with the arrangement, then it’s pointless. So what is that you request in exchange for your cooperation?”
“Tiarna Celfor’s head and the resurrection of my clan to the seat of Etrineux effective immediately.”
“Do not waste my time with jests,” Ferron reprimanded. “You are not equivalent to Arven. We can plot how to recover what you have lost after I have achieved my victory.”
“I will not make a deal with you for distant promises,” Julianna rejected. “You must offer me some immediate satisfaction to prove your sincerity. Yet there is nothing you can give me quickly, can you? What can I possibly get?”
The hopelessness began to creep back into Julianna’s voice. What was there to fight for? What satisfaction could be gained from the restoration of an empty house? In the history of the realms of humanity, her clan was not unique in their fall from the top. Yet the words written by those that watched the passing of time would salve little of the raw pain that is felt by the person at the wrong end of that passage.
Valentin also considered his own deal and motivations. Was the desire to live unburdened by others enough to form a life around? Was it enough in exchange for an entire realm?
“I spoke to your mother before I left our victory feast,” Ferron commented.
Julianna immediately rose to her knees to grip her hands on Ferron’s clothes. Her arms trembled with the revelation. “Is she well?”
“She lives, assuredly, as a hostage of the next regime, same as your brother, Harald. I am no healer, but she looked terrible. Is it a wasting disease?” Ferron inquired apologetically.
Julianna did not respond. Her fists remained clenched upon Ferron. Her mind was, no doubt, considering if she wanted to rescue her mother from the clutches of her rivals.
“We could free your mother from her captivity,” Ferron said as though he were reading the woman’s mind. “However, would you like the remaining cycles of your mother’s feeble life away from her home?”
“If we remove her from home, she will not live long,” Julianna admitted.
“I told her that I had prevented your retreat but hadn’t decided what to do with you yet,” Ferron informed. “She did not answer my statement, however she did respond with something else. Find Sothin.”
“Sothin!” Julianna shouted in surprise, pulling on Ferron’s clothes again. “He’s alive? Where is he?”
“I do not know where he is, or who he is with, or what they would be plotting,” Ferron answered, finally wresting her hands from his clothes. “I am not familiar enough with your clan politics to comment. If you gave it some thought, I’m sure you could deduce where to find him and I will dispatch the warriors necessary to recover him. Unless, of course, your genius is limited to the borders of your realm.”
The woman finally rose to her feet and brushed her clothes off. She stood with a poise that clashed with her mood for much of the conversation yet Ferron did not disparage her.
“If you can bring me Sothin, I will help you win your war.”