Arne stood at the bow of the steamboat Adelar, suppressing the urge to jump into the cold water below to avoid the fate looming behind the next riverbend. The first towers of Halden were already visible, and the river was teeming with barges loaded with coal, timber, and grain.
“Finally!” His cousin’s booming voice ripped him out of his contemplations. When the inevitable Hohenfels-style greeting impacted his shoulder, Arne once again found himself glad that the bruises caused by the “farewell spar” with his sister had mostly healed.
“Don’t be so gloomy, Arne. It’ll be fine, trust me!” Anticipation. Compassion.
“I sure hope so,” Arne murmured.
Friedrich von Hohenfels-Steinberg was one of the few people Arne considered a good friend. The younger man rarely had any deceitful thoughts, and scheming was a foreign concept to him. In many regards, he was similar to Lisa – his primary concerns and talents were combat, weapons, and physical exercise. Friedrich might have become the shining martial star of the Hohenfels family, had the princess not set such an exceedingly bright example.
“Just look at the bright side: We’ll get to beat up silklings every day!” Friedrich’s malicious glee was almost palpable.
“Be careful not to get beaten up yourself, Fritz,” Arne snorted. “Matthias von Falkenstein will attend the academy with us, and so will Leonhardt von Wessen.”
“All the better! The only thing more fun than bullying self-important losers is dueling true warriors!” Friedrich put his foot up on the railing, grinning proudly into the distance like a northern warchief. The heroic image was slightly marred by his choice of attire: A stained shirt and worn-out training pants.
“Stop showing off and go get dressed. I can already see the docks.”
As Friedrich darted off, Arne fished a warding amulet out of his uniform’s pocket. While most nobles owned at least one of these, Arne’s amulet was unique, in a particularly expensive way. A small piece of pure banesilver worth more than a knight’s mansion was nestled within the regular silver body of the trinket. It was the only thing offering him some minimal reprieve from the endless assault the unrestrained auras of other nobles would wreak upon his senses. He was not looking forward to wearing it all day because of the uncomfortable weight around his neck, but the alternative was even more daunting.
“Ready to dock!” At the captain's order, the deck of the Adelar flooded with sailors hauling around ropes and cargo. Arne did his best to stay out of their way, not wanting to contribute to the less-than-flattering reputation aristocratic travelers had among crews all over the Empire. He mostly succeeded, with only one instance of a sailor hesitantly shooing him off to the side.
While the riverboat got moored, he scanned the busy docks and quickly found what he was looking for. The ornate academy carriage stood out like a beacon in the rough surroundings, and two attendants huddled behind the armed escorts to avoid the inquisitive stares of dock workers and fishmongers.
As Arne stepped off the boat, one of the carriage attendants approached him and bowed deeply.
“May I dare to greet you as Prince Arnold von Hohenfels?”
“You may.”
“It is a great honor to serve Your Highness,” the attendant said meekly. “The Academy has prepared a carriage for Your Highness and the esteemed Lord Friedrich von Hohenfels-Steinberg.”
“How thoughtful,” Arne replied flatly, already tiring of the interaction. ‘Heavens above, how am I supposed to survive the next four years?’
Thankfully, the conversation was cut short by Friedrich’s arrival, who was now dressed in a uniform denoting him as a Lieutenant of the Hohenfels cavalry. The subsequent carriage ride through the city of Halden was highly uncomfortable at first, the cushions on the seats utterly failing to dampen the continuous impacts from the rough cobblestone lanes. But once they got out of the harbor district and onto the bigger roads, the ride became almost enjoyable.
Halden was exactly what one would expect from a trade hub in the heart of the Empire, a mere fifty-odd miles away from Argen, the capital. The huge cathedral in the center of the city dominated the view, and half-timbered houses lined the busy streets. Everything was surprisingly clean – Arne had heard and expected much worse. ‘It makes sense though. This place regularly hosts an entire generation of young aristocrats,’ he thought to himself, half-heartedly listening to Friedrich once again gushing over the priceless saber on his hip and occasionally offering a grunt of agreement.
After an hour in the carriage, they finally passed the gates of the academy. The compound encompassed an entire valley a few miles south of Halden with almost two dozen buildings varying greatly in size and opulence. Most of those buildings were arranged around a central plaza with sprawling gardens and a large amphitheater in the style of the Old Empire.
“Look, there’s our dorm!” Excitement. Impatience.
Following Friedrich’s pointing finger with his eyes, Arne quickly spotted Hohenfels Hall. The fortress-like complex stood out like a sore thumb among the ornate mansions. Rough stone and embrasures made for a sharp contrast to the polished marble and huge window fronts of the neighboring buildings. It even had exterior ramparts and a small moat, though neither were practical or even functional. Merely a very expensive statement.
‘No wonder Mother was so happy with the renovations.’
The carriage dropped them off at the dorm’s purely performative, but nonetheless impressive drawbridge. After receiving the attendants’ unnecessarily roundabout reassurances that the carriage containing their luggage would arrive within the hour, the young men crossed the bridge into the courtyard. There were no people around, but the neatly trimmed trees and climbing plants conveyed a certain homeliness reminiscent of the old, but well-kept castles back home.
“Say, Arne… What did Aunt Adelheid bribe the academy with to get them to call you ‘Prince’?” Friedrich wondered, shooting Arne an inquisitive look.
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“She sold out Lisa. The prospect of a paladin teaching combat classes was enough.”
“Really? The headmaster would cave in just for that? The Emperor must be even weaker tha–”
“Shut it,” Arne snapped. “None of that talk here.”
Friedrich looked sufficiently chastised, but the stubbornness in his aura told Arne that he would have to keep an eye on his cousin lest he get himself – and their entire house – into dangerous waters.
As if on cue, a pair of heavy-looking doors swung open, and an older gentleman strode into the yard. His gray hair and numerous wrinkles did nothing to lessen the imposing figure he cut. He was almost as tall as the two younger men, a clear sign of Hohenfels blood running through his veins.
“I greet the Young Lords,” he said in a gravelly voice while giving them a traditional salute: Right fist over the heart, left hand grasping the hilt of the antique broadsword on his hip. “I am Hartmut von Hohenfels, serving as the castellan of this hall.”
They returned the salute. “My sister sends her warmest regards, Lord Hartmut. She said she owes you a lot for your extensive combat instruction,” Arne said. As the words left his mouth, he felt a strong spike of emotion from his side, suppressed too quickly to truly identify. ‘Eagerness, maybe?’ He shot a quick glance at Friedrich, but for once, his cousin’s face was unreadable.
The old man chuckled heartily, seemingly unaware of Arne’s distress. Amusement. Pride. “I only taught her a few tricks. Now, should we get the two of you situated?“
The Castellan took them through dim corridors to the top floor of the main building, which was reserved for the Hohenfels family. One large suite for the highest-ranking family member, and three additional ones. One of those was already occupied by Lord Hartmut, and Friedrich laid claim to the suite with the softest bed after a short test nap.
When Arne entered his own suite, he found himself impressed. The builders had managed to accurately capture the atmosphere of castle Hohenfels, and his chambers – though significantly larger than he would have preferred – immediately felt familiar. Thick tapestries in earthen colors covered the stone walls, complementing the oaken furniture and flooring. The afternoon sun shone through the small windows, and Arne felt right at home. ‘This will make for a great refuge’, he thought as relief flooded through him. The coming horrors suddenly seemed a lot less daunting, knowing that he had a cozy place to hole up in.
He moved from room to room, thoroughly inspecting every nook and cranny. His suite was more spacious than entire commoner houses, encompassing a study filled with numerous books and scrolls, a bedchamber, a comfortable lounge, a small personal armory and even a bathroom with indoor plumbing – a luxury not even his chambers back at the castle had offered. Judging from the hot water coming out of the faucet, it was connected to the bathhouse in the adjacent section of the dorm.
The level of comfort surprised him. Generally speaking, House Hohenfels prided itself on a more rugged, almost spartanic lifestyle compared to the lavish mansions of the inner-imperial nobles. And while his suite was… rustic by modern aristocratic standards, it was still a good deal more sophisticated than he had expected.
Though, no matter how happy he was to find a home away from home, he could feel his cousin’s eagerness to explore the academy grounds even through the massive stone walls, and figured that he’d have to indulge Friedrich for today, at least. And when he felt the Castellan’s tightly restrained aura join his cousin’s in the corridor, he could no longer delay.
“–troops at the battle of Grauacker, right?” Friedrich’s excited voice rang through the sparsely decorated halls as Arne left his suite..
“Correct. My brother put me in charge of the northern detachment. At first, I thought it a punishment, but in reality, he trusted me with the most pivotal role on the battlefield,” the old man remembered fondly. “Friedrich, in the future, it will be up to you to proudly stand beside Young Lord Arnold. Just as I supported my brother, and your father supported his father.” Accomplishment. A hint of melancholy. Pride.
“I-I will! Thank you, Lord Hartmut!” Friedrich stumbled over his words, belatedly remembered to perform a formal bow, stopped it halfway out of embarrassment, and finally settled on a military salute. His aura practically sang with euphoria, clearly elated to talk to the heroic commander who had almost singlehandedly expanded the Hohenfels territory by half, ripping the wide eastern boglands out of the savage grip of the Khanate.
The Castellan turned to look at Arne, who had been watching the exchange with an amused smile. “Welcome back, Young Lord Arnold. I will handle the luggage porters once they arrive, so feel free to take a look around the academy grounds.”
“Thank you, Lord Hartmut. Pray tell, how lively are the premises right now? Lessons will begin on Monday, so I would assume a good number of students have arrived already.”
“Only surprisingly few have arrived yet. There have been a number of heavy storms in the west and south, so carriage travel was rather unpredictable.”
Arne seemingly failed to hide his relief, since the older man’s face took on an almost parental compassion, also reflected in his aura. “I take it your talents are every bit as… intensive as your father suggested in his letter?”
“Indeed so, if not more. But let us not speak of this topic here, Lord Hartmut.”
“That would be unwise, yes. We shall have a talk in my office later. For now, go explore the academy.”
Friedrich’s aura spiked with anticipation and he all but dragged Arne out of the dorm, only stopping to offer the Castellan another salute.
“Come on, let’s take a look at the-”
“Training grounds?” Arne sighed.
“Training grounds!”
The central plaza was deserted, and they quickly found out why as they followed the increasingly loud clangs of metal hitting metal to the, in Arne’s fully unbiased opinion, needlessly fancy arena. It was a large structure, reminiscent of the colosseums of old. About two dozen young men were watching a match, scattered across the spectator ranks in small groups.
Settling in a seat in the least populated section, Arne took a good look at the two figures attacking each other with vicious stabs and blows. One seemed to be the son of some northern count, judging by the emblem on his uniform. He could barely get any moves in, ruthlessly suppressed by his opponent-
“Oh, it’s that bitch,” Friedrich grumbled. “Why do we have to see her ugly mug on our very first day here?”
“Language,” Arne chided half-heartedly. He slightly disagreed with his cousin’s assessment – Klara von Eisenberg was by no means an unattractive woman. Physically, at least. She did, however, have an utterly unbearable personality. ‘Though, I suspect she would say the same about me,’ he thought.
A collective groan went through the exclusively male audience as Duke Albrecht von Eisenberg’s second daughter ended the one-sided duel with a brutal kick to the distressed man’s groin. She smoothed back a strand of blonde hair that had come loose from her ponytail and defiantly stared at the audience, who so far had not offered the slightest bit of applause. “Who’s next?” she demanded in a clear challenge to everyone present.
Arne, knowing exactly what was about to happen, moved to grab his cousin’s shoulder, but it was too late.
“I am,” Friedrich proclaimed, drawing her attention. Her eyes narrowed in recognition, and her previously guarded expression morphed into obvious distaste.
“Oh dear, it’s the Mudlords of Hohenfels. Get down here and collect your beatings,” she sneered. He was too far away to feel her aura, but even if that wasn’t the case, it would have been drowned out by the burning rage his cousin projected.
“You dare?!”