The morning progressed as Sammy was used to by this point. Two barons and a count came forward, greeted King Morstan and Queen Linda, acknowledged the three visiting royals and then stated their petition to Sammy. She did not really care for any of them, but they at least presented a facade of pleasantry to her. She did not buy any of it though. Clearly a bunch of cordial stupid-nobles.

Then her first daring contract of the day presented himself. A short, wide man made of a hundred and ten percent muscle, Sammy was absolutely certain. The squat man looked like he could lift a mountain in one hand while easily cradling a baby in the other. And he was bald. Like, shaved and shiny bald. Sammy was sure he had a profession buffer buff it. The audience chamber lighting reflected so bright it nigh blinded her. He wore tan colored armor, worn with a bit of travel-dirt dulling it. Sammy seriously liked this old man.

The man took a knee at the second line, the orange-colored one, and spoke in a firm voice that easily carried to the throne. “Greetings to King Morstan and his lovely bride, young Queen Linda. I, Daring Lester Cardinal, declare my honor in coming before you this glorious day.”

King Morstan actually gave the man the biggest smirk Sammy had ever seen on his smug face. There seemed to be a bit of history going on here, and the young girl’s curiosity reared its head in glee. She suspected this old daring may have some dirt on the royal that she could dig out, if she played her cards right. A glint of mischief gleamed in her eyes as she leaned forward a bit in her chair.

The old man was in the process of greeting the attending royalty when a disturbance behind him caused him to pause, though he continued to kneel facing the throne. A grimace of displeasure crossed his face, but that instantly changed to a blasé, impressively unexpressive countenance.

A woman appeared at the far end of the hall, brushing past the herald still standing there. She wore a simple yet elegant gown of vibrant yellow and black, formal sandals. The herald raised his hand to stop the intruder, but then dropped it in apparent acquiescence and announced, “Marchioness Setima Voriest, high noble of Dobinstoal.”

The woman sauntered down the crimson marble, passing the daring without a glance. She advanced past all the other lines as well to stop at the black line. She dropped a formal curtsey and said, “Your majesties, I greet you from the trans-province of Dobinstoal.” She then continued without acknowledging the other royals. “A matter of utmost urgence has arisen, as you are aware. The eternal Flame of our holy Contract has been extinguished and several factions of rebellious scum have foolishly taken this as a sign to foment unrest amongst the lowest people in my domain. They have gone so far as to directly attack several of my personal properties. I have heard that many Flames were extinguished due to a new upstart’s Contract and I demand immediate relief by this progenitor.”

Sammy frowned. She had just started questioning her view about the stupid nobility. In fact, she had seriously started entertaining hope for all the accursed, maybe even herself, but now this vile woman showed her face. She stank of arrogance, demanded entitlement, required unreasonable submission, centered the world around her own self, all to the detriment of those around her and ignoring the needs of her own people. Sammy sighed then. This woman was definitely of the nobility she had always pictured in her mind in the past, but for some reason she now found this awful display of utter noble stupidity to be an aberration. Really, a true distortion of what she had seen in the Contracted over the last days. Sammy felt greatly torn about this, and quite annoyed. And to add insult to injury, Sammy’s stomach rebelled against even looking at the woman for even the woman’s contract aura radiated foulness.

“Marchioness Voriest, you are as disagreeable and arrogant as ever” King Morstan said in a voice void of inflection. He barely inclined his head to the woman. He then held out his hand to indicate Sammy. “I present to you the Arch Duchess, Lady Miceah. You are free to make your request. She is the progenitor of her house, and the successor of the Iona bloodline.”

The marchioness rose from her curtsy and looked upon Sammy with clear disdain. She did not even try to put up a facade in the slightest. “She is but a child.”

“She has entered into a full contract with the land,” Queen Linda said in a firm, almost harsh tone.

Setima glanced at the queen with a frown, as if the queen had spoken out of place. Then dismissing the need to speak to the queen, she addressed the king, “Your majesty, I seek your assistance in this matter. It is unacceptable for these fools to think they can attack me just because the eternal Flame has gone out for such a reason.” She waved a hand to indicate Sammy.

Sammy’s ire rose in her throat and found easy escape before the conversation could develop any further. Standing, she said, “An eternal flame should never go out, you stupid noble thing. If it went out, it most definitely is not eternal.” She put a hand on her hip and continued as the marchioness seemed at a loss for words for the moment. “Further, it is impossible for a rebellion to spontaneously spring up and organize coordinated attacks in so short a time. Obviously, those people had long existing issues with you looooong before your contract Flame sputtered out. And, obviously, there’s no chance whatsoever that you’re the one in the right here. I refuse to assist a bad stupid noble to hurt her people. Go away, you evil, stupid thing.” Sammy crossed her arms and glared at the gaping woman.

The Marchioness snapped her mouth shut. “How dare you speak to me in such a manor, you vile little creature. You may have some paltry contract with your land, but you are nothing. Nothing. My armies shall march over your lands and annihilate you and take your people as spoil.”

Sammy blinked, caught off-guard by the woman’s declaration, though she instantly realized her own error in the matter. Still, she did not regret her words. Not really. But now this biddy was actually threatening war, and there was no way at all she could win a war with anyone. She did not even have a proper police force, let alone some kind of army, not that she would ever do send her mom and dad out to die for something like this.

Then the Count’s blessed spell that she griped about so much bloomed one last time in her mind. She could feel its weakened presence and knew that this gift of her ghost-dad would end in moments. She felt a bit of grief at that. Still, it gave her much needed direction and information. For this one time, she felt truly grateful to the spell as it imparted its knowledge about conflict between the contracted.

When a contracted noble, or royal for that matter, conflicted with another, there were four general ways to resolve the issues. First, was full out war with invading armies and battles and a lot of death. While an option in the list, this was practically never done. And for a simple reason. The land fought for its contracted. In the last five millennia, no army had ever successfully invaded a contracted land. Foreign royals got trounced by local commons no matter how strong the armies fielded. Which seriously made Sammy question the actual intelligence of the woman before her. It also brought up questions concerning the existence of armies at all. She would have to grill, er, question Morstan later.

The second method was a contest of houses, or contracts. Border skirmishes. In this case, there would be minor skirmishes on the border, but the real contest was between the landed contracts. Shifting a Contract’s border a mile or two seemed doable in terms of war. Maybe that’s where armies came into play? Again, Sammy thought Morstan needed to be . . . questioned intensely.

Sammy frowned, her eyes narrowing as the third option forced its way into her suddenly resistant mind. The spell showed no delicacy or mercy though and the knowledge implanted itself against the girl’s will. Apparently, the third method of resolution was for the nobles to engage in a mini-war. A select number of daring, the warrior class of the contracted, would battle it out on behalf of contracted commons, nobles or royals. In this way bloodshed was reduced to the bare minimum. The daring might suffer injury, but their contracts allowed for recovery from even amputations over enough time. Some may die, but even that was kept to as minimal as possible. Of course, if the grievance were of sufficient severity, there were instances where the contest would be a death match.

The first method was not embraced by anyone. The second and third methods, depending on the intent and situation, were definitely the go-to methods. The fourth method had long gone out of favor during the Count’s time even, but for a different reason than the first.

The fourth method was direct, personal challenge between contracted individuals. They would contend Contract against Contract, land relation between land relation, individual skill and integrity against individual skill and integrity. It directly challenged one’s connection with their contracted land. It directly risked one’s contract connection in its entirety. It could, and sometimes did forcefully break and dissolve the contract, and when that happened it often did the same to the contracted. Huge risk with next to no gain. It was not like the winner took over the Contract or gained some kind of relationship with those lands. In fact, it was more likely that those lands would ever bear a level of hostility against the winner.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Well, that was in the extreme cases. Usually the winner merely got whatever the conflict was about, the loser’s very Contract forcing them into full acquiesce. And of course, the fourth method was the embodiment of how Sammy always thought nobles should resolve their conflicts. There was absolutely no need to involve, to risk some little girl’s mom and dad in their stupid, insignificant conflicts. They should deal with them between themselves, damn-it all.

Sammy glared at the woman and declared, “No, you won’t,” as the ways and means of this fourth method fill her mind. To put it bluntly, it was a method she used every single time she came into contact with a new glyph. She knew how to infuse foreign glyphs with power and make them reveal their truths to her.

The woman laughed. “Oh, then relight my Flame girl.”

Sammy simply said, “No.”

The woman’s laughter died, though a small, evil smile still touched her lips. “You don’t seem to understand, girl. My armies are as powerful as any royal house, because I know how to rule properly. Do you really think this little king will endanger himself to protect you from me?”

Sammy could sense the rigid rage of the man sitting next to her, but he did not say anything against the woman. Sammy nodded once. “I do not.”

The woman snorted and said, “Oh, well then, you do understand the situation.”

“Yes, I do,” Sammy said. Her full contract blazed to life filling the enter audience hall with light. Stapha and contract-empowering filled her body and she moved. She vanished from standing in front of her chair and appeared in front of the marchioness, both now standing on the crimson marble, one on one side of the black line, one on the other. Sammy reached out and grabbed one of the woman’s wrists. She growled, “You, however do not, stupid noble. I accept your declaration of war, you old biddy, but know I will never fight a war with the beloved parents of my land’s children. If any stupid noble wants to fight me, it will be you or I who dies, not them.”

“You miserable cretin,” the marchioness snarled right back. “Do you think you can really get away with this? I will destroy you.”

Sammy looked into the woman’s eyes and saw her outrage and lust for vengeance. She pulled her opponent’s hand toward her and tapped the marchioness’ forearm with her other hand. The woman’s Contract, which had remained silent till that moment began to glow with dull grayish light. Streaks of a vomit green-orange ichor entwined around the pattern’s engraved lines as if choking the life from them. As the Contract-pattern began to awaken, large nodes of the foul ichor pulsed and rippled in outrage, trembled in terror.

The marchioness screamed, “Stop! Don’t!” but even as she spoke, her whole Contract awakened. In a blinding flash of sky-blue light, all of the ichor-bonds shattered into innumerable motes of blackness that quickly dissolved into nothingness. Within that cleansing of foulest corruption, the marchioness’s body bloated to half again its normal size. She screamed one last time, though the sound came out distorted, hollow and weird, then she burst asunder. Not an explosion per se, rather like an overfull balloon bursting and spewing forth its contents. It was enough to cover Sammy in gore. But a moment later, it all shriveled and dried up, becoming a fine, blackened dust. And then even the black dust disintegrated into a blackened sludge-like residue. The Contract itself though, the very pattern declaring the woman’s connection to her land, remained firmly held in Sammy’s hand.

Sammy stared in stunned shock at the aftermath of her actions, her mind not able to take it in fully. Her eyes shifted from the residue on the crimson floor to the woman-shaped Contract-pattern, all that remained of her opponent. Her mind raced in place, unable to gain traction. This was not something the Count’s spell had shown her as a possible outcome. Well, at least not to this extent. It did indicate that sometimes people got broken she acknowledged. Her eyes shifted between the residue and the Contract that somehow held its form without a host. Should she let it go? Should she keep a firm grip on it? Was it angry with her? She was actually more concerned about the Contract’s opinion of her than she was likely to admit to anyone except Jenna. Maybe the crazy countess. She was starting to really like that spunky girl.

As she contemplated what to do, the Contract’s pattern-strands collapse and then enlarged, forming into the form of a small dragon. Only about the size of a large bear, it still conveyed all the power and authority of a full dragon all the same. It growled at her as it tried to pull its paw from her hand.

Sammy blinked at it and then swatted its nose and said, “Behave you.”

The dragon form flinched back in shoch. It then collapsed in on itself again. This time it transformed into a child of about six or seven. It looked up at her with eye holes made of contract-strands that begged her for mercy. The Contract even seemed to be crying.

Sammy sighed. In a single motion, she bent down and picked the contract-child into her arms. Cradling it in the crook of her arm, the bewildered arch duchess turned around and moved to stand before King Morstan. She took a deep breath and let it out before saying, “King Morstan, I am in way over my head. Help please.”

A splurt of laughter came from the side opposite the visiting royals. Sammy glanced over at the crazy daring, Grande Knight-Marshall Taneth Nira. The man had a hand covering his mouth and the other covering his stomach. She snapped, “You help too. What am I supposed to do here? Should I take her over to her land and release her? Should I just release her here? I want to help her because she’s obviously been mistreated by that vile false-noble thing. She and the land she represents deserve way better than what that thing was forcing upon her. I mean, did you see that filth? It was super gross just looking at it, but this poor Contract had to endure actual cohabitation with it.” Sammy shuddered. “I’ve been up to my neck in sewage and gotten it in my mouth, but I think that’s way preferable than ever having to even look at that vomit corruption.”

“Sammy, too much information,” Countess Dorimor said, a look of disgust on her face.

“It’s the truth,” Sammy defended herself. She rubbed her check affectionately on the Contract-child’s check. “You’re a real cutie, aren’t you,” she cooed. She then glanced at King Warren and blushed. Was this how that old man felt toward his Flame? She was super embarrassed that she had just copied him unconsciously. To make matters worse, the Contract turned her head and gave Sammy the look. You know, the look all children everywhere gave to their mother when she did something exceptionally cringe-worthy. “En, anyways! What the heck am I supposed to do? Help me out already!”

“Well,” Queen Linda said, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “For starters, are you willing to become that Contract’s guardian?”

Sammy bit her upper lip. What kind of trap question was that? She eyes glanced around urgently as she realized that she had totally allowed these sneaky royals to distract her. She had yet to map a good retreat path in this hall. Finally, she tried to buy herself some time. “Linda, what perchance do you actually mean by that?”

The queen just gave her a complacent smile and said with easy grace, “The Contract is strong enough to retain its, rather, her essential form. This is a known phenomenon and has many possible sources. It would not do her, nor any who live on or around her body, the land if you will, any good to remain partnerless. Will you help her find a worthy contractor? If you so agree, the child there will temporarily attach to you until a suitable contractor is found. If you decline, then she will seek out the first person who minimally meets her requirements.” The queen held up a hand as Sammy opened her mouth. “And no, there is no one else who can become her guardian. Not under these conditions.”

Sammy glared at the queen, fully remembering her whole spiel about the worst kind of noble who refused to fulfill their responsibilities. She finally relaxed, giving in to the decision she knew she would make anyway. She glanced at the child in her arms. “Want me to be your guardian?”

The contract nodded her head.

“Yeesh, no hesitation at all,” Sammy griped, but then grinned in a way that belied her next words. “Fine, I suppose I agree to be your guardian then, I guess.” With her words, the Contract once more collapsed, this time forming into a squirrel. It immediately placed all three free paws against Sammy’s closed hand and began tugging.

“You should release it now,” Sir Tane said. “She’ll behave.”

Sammy released the contract and it launched away from her, but then swung around to gallop through the air and start swooping at Sammy’s head.

“Well, she’ll mostly behave,” Sir Tane amended. “Probably.”

Sammy glared at him as she tried to dodge the attacking squirrel. As it tried to swoop her yet again, she contorted her whole body into a kind of counter swoop and snagged the crazy contract out of the air. “Enough out of you, crazy Contract-squirrel,” she declared in triumph as she secured it into the crook of her elbow.

“Well, that was undignified, and definitely unladylike,” the countess quipped at her. “You do remember you are wearing a dress, right Sammy?”

Sammy hesitated, but then got indignant. “I told you this was inappropriate for me, but no, you would not listen to the one who knows me best. So, not my fault.” She then marched back to her seat and defiantly looked down the hall. “Ah,” she said, her face going beet red again. “So, um, Daring . . . .” She trailed off and glance past the man standing at the orange line toward the herald at the hall entrance. Her eyes pled with him for help. He mouthed the name at her and her eyes brightened as she remembered. She then said with pristine confidence, “Daring Lesser Carbinatar.”

“Lester Cardinal,” Countess Dorimor hissed.

Sammy’s eyes went wide and she quickly corrected herself with a horrified squeak, “Daring Lester Cardinal!” She stood up again and strode over to the daring, basically fleeing from her faux paus, even if she was running directly towards the very one she committed the offense against. “Let’s forgo the whole petition thing,” she said urgently and began the ritual of assistance.

Immediately after she relit the daring’s flame, Queen Linda stood and declared the day’s session complete and then she, her daughter and the countess all escorted Sammy out of the hall while her husband stayed behind with the other royalty.