Chapter 76

Gerald took his seat in the Lord's Hall. Arthur arrived and stood beside him. It also seemed that the matter had attracted Renard's attention, since he arrived and took his place on the other side of his seat.

Moments, then Frederick opened the doors of the hall, letting Robard in. The latter trotted towards Gerald then whispered, "Gasper showed me the head of their commander, my lord. It was indeed one of Westwell's knights."

Gerald nodded. It was no surprise to him. He had just been waiting for the affirmation. He wondered why his rival Count would send a knight and quite a few Warriors for a prospecting journey. According to Gasper, they were pretty intent on protecting the four unarmed men that were captured.

Robard stepped down and took his place two steps below Gerald's seat.

Gerald nodded to Frederick who opened the doors again and stepped outside. After a few moments, he returned, a few soldiers in his trail leading the prisoners in. Gasper came last. He bowed to Gerald and stepped up to stand beside Robard.

"The trespassers, my lord," one of the soldiers announced.

Gerald ran is eyes over the four; three lads and a middle-aged man. The lads were disheveled, their attires dirtied and torn at several spots. But the man fared much better. His garments were clean. His countenance wasn't as panicked as his followers. The small beard covering his chin reached up the sides of his mouth, touching his moustache. His hair was short and he had a flattering smile plastered on his face. Gerald could tell that he was barely holding himself back from blabbering, so he gestured for him to speak.

The man stepped forward and bowed with a hand on his chest. "This one is Georjay Aleysio, my lord. It is by the Mother's blessing that I make your acquaintance. Being here, there is no man more fortunate than I am."

Gerald narrowed his eyes. "The Mother? You're from Andross?"

Georjay nodded with fervor, much like a chicken would do when pecking an adversary. "This one was born in the Kingdom of Kanad, was raised in the Empire of Andross, and is seeking his fortune in the Kingdom of Maric."

Gerald nodded. The Mother's Shrine was a dominant religion in Andross. It was more prevalent in the north of the Empire, but that didn't prevent shrines from appearing in southern cities like Malfi City. "And what fortune do you seek by trespassing on my lands, Georjay Aleysio?"

Georjay raised his hands in feigned innocence. "My lord, I dare not trespass on your lands. I simply followed the wishes of those who have hired me. I am, after all, a Prospecting Adept. In my excitement to pursue my passion, I have neglected my ignorance of where I was being herded to."

Gerald snorted. It was unlikely that he hadn't known exactly where he'd been going, but Gerald ignored the blatant lie. "Prospecting Adept?" He glanced at Arthur by his side. His old minister shook his head with a similarly puzzled face. Gerald looked at Georjay and cocked his head. "And what might a Prospecting Adept be?" The meaning of thewords was quite clear to the ears of everyone, but Gerald had never heard of such a trade.

Georjay cleared his throat and smiled. "My lord, this art of mine has become rare in these lands. I am one of the remaining few who practice this art with such skill."

His proud smile made Gerald's brow twitch. "Art?" He sneered. "This art of yours, how important is it to Count Westwell?"

"It is important to all those of noble birth, my lord. If there are hidden ore veins in your territory, you can count on this one to find them."

Gerald cocked his head again, giving Georjay a doubtful stare. "The ores in my territory have all been mined by my forefathers. You have no use to me."

"Allow this one to disagree, my lord," Georjay bowed his head. "All the ores in your territory have been harvested by your lordship's noble forefathers. It might have escaped your notice, but I believe that only open-air mines have been made use of through the history of this basin. I also believe that there are untapped sources and mines in the depths of the mountains. They will require effort to be mined, but they're there, waiting."

Gerald's interest was piqued. He glanced at Arthur who seemed uncertain. Then he said, "can you find these mines?"

"It would be a long quest, my lord, but I believe I can. If, by any chance, there were written histories of the previous open-air mines harvested by your lordship's forefathers, then they would provide plenty of help to this one, and we might be able to find the veins sooner."

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Gerald leaned back in his seat. Almost every bit of his family's history was indeed written down on some parchment or in some book and stored in the keep. Perhaps he could benefit from this after all. He gestured to Arthur who leaned down. "Find him somewhere to stay, but keep him under guard."

"Yes, my lord."

Georjay below cleared his throat again, beseeching Gerald to allow him to speak again.

Gerald gestured for him impatiently, allowing him to speak.

"My lord, this one works much better with the help of his apprentices. I hope you can find mercy for them if you intend to find it for this one."

Gerald paused for a moment then nodded.

.

After Georjay and his apprentices were shown out, Arthur, Robard, and Gasper remained with Gerald in the Lord's Hall.

He was wondering whether he would be fortunate enough to find a buried fortune in his territory. He thought of gold, but almost snorted at the idea. He couldn't be that fortunate. He glanced at Robard. "Send for Lucas to put some of his men at the southern pass. I don't want this to happen again." He'd kept the southern pass unmanned so as not to slow down the movement of trade. He'd preferred not to stop each caravan passing through the narrow pass just to make sure that it carried no suspicious people, but Westwell was already forcing his hand.

Robard nodded. "Yes, my lord."

"Arthur, prepare every written chronicle written down and stored in the keep and have Frederick deliver them to me in my study tomorrow," Gerald said. He couldn't just give all of his family's chronicles to Georjay, hoping that he would find an answer. There were many things in those chronicles that were only for the eyes of the House's heirs.

Arthur nodded.

Gerald smiled at Gasper. "You did well, Gasper."

"It is only my duty, my lord."

ß--------------------------------------------------à

Alaric Westwell was in the Lord's Hall, accompanied by his minister. He tapped the arm of his seat impatiently. "They haven't returned yet."

"Perhaps they're delayed, my lord," Marle, his minister, said. "Georjay wasn't certain of where he would find the veins."

"It's already been a few days late," Alaric said. "Send someone."

"Yes, my lord," Marle said. "Ezrel is there, though. You should not worry. I'm certain he can bring Georjay home if something goes awry."

Alaric nodded.

There was a knock on the hall's doors. The attendant came in and announced, "the young lord is here, my lord."

Alaric perked up and nodded. "Let him in." He wore a warm smile as his son entered on a wooden wheel chair pushed by a servant. The servant pushed the wheel chair up a stone ramp and brought Alaric's son to his side. He then bowed and left the hall.

"Father," Simuel said. "Have you got important matters to attend to? I can leave." He was only eleven years of age, but he was a bright boy. Alaric only worried about his excessive kindness at times.

"No, no," Alaric shook his head. "Stay. How did your hunt go?" He gazed at his son, a string shaking in his heart. His aides had advised him to find a new wife after his son's mother had died, but he hadn't taken their advice. He knew that they wanted him to have another son, another heir, one that wasn't crippled. But he wouldn't do that to Simuel.

He would expand and expand. He would make the House strong enough for his son to take the reins without worries after him. The physicians had said that his son could have children, even though he was crippled. That was enough to quell his worries regarding the fate of the House.

He had other worries though. His aides, most of them didn't have faith in his son. Perhaps the boy was too kind, but that wasn't the real problem. They disdained having a crippled lord.

He often sneered when he thought of it. He would make sure that they wouldn't have a crippled lord, that was for sure. He didn't know when he would do it, but in time he would put an end to the lives of those aides, even Marle.

This was his thirty-first winter. He intended to leave such bloody work to his older years. Perhaps his son would be ready to take the reins by then.

…

..

.

Alaric washed his face with warm water from the basin. He ran the water through his orderly stubble and cleaned his eyes thoroughly.

When he walked out, Marle was waiting for him with a pale complexion. "My lord."

"What is it, Marle?" Alaric glared at him. It had been a few days since he'd sent someone to check on his Knight and Prospecting Adept who'd snuck into the Tellus territory, and he'd been having an unsettling feeling in his gut since then.

"The southern pass has been blocked by Tellus soldiers," Marle said, gulping. "They're checking every caravan that passes now. The man we've sent attempted to sneak in, but he almost got caught. They seem to be quite alert."

Alaric bobbed his head, suppressed fury in his nods. He gritted his teeth, and through them he said, "then the runt has caught my men."

"My lord, I would suggest—"

Alaric fixed his minister with a disdainful stare then ignored him and swam in his thoughts for a few moments.

"Send a messenger. Tell the Tellus boy to send my envoys back."

"But, my lord, this . . . "

"Unless he wants to make an enemy out of me, he will send them back. Hopefully, Georjay and Ezrel are still alive."

Marle pressed his lips. "I suppose it could be managed, my lord. But all of this means that your wish to mine in the basin is no more, yes?" the minister looked at him with a hopeful countenance.

Alaric broke into laughter. Sometimes he felt that his aides had wooden spines. Marle was specially cautious. He appreciated that caution at times, but mostly it acted as a hurdle in his way. "There will be other opportunities to look for those mines. That boy can't stand against me. If Georjay is right, then there is a lot to gain in that basin, and I'm not about to let such a chance slip through my fingers."

Marle grimaced at the answer. "The conflict with the Viscounty in the south is already taking a toll on us, my lord. Shouldn't we seek a peaceful standing in the north? Must we overstretch ourselves for some mines that we are not certain exist?"

Alaric shook his head. Marle had served his father in the latter's older years. The minister was fifty years of age by now, and he was always seeking stability in the County. It was annoying at times. "You don't understand, Marle." He stepped closer to his minister, looking him in the eyes. "In these lands, you only get what you take."