-The Noble Serfs -

{Excerpt}

The Fellowship of the Six stood as the foremost and decisive spiritual authority in the annals of Udoris, reigning supreme until the onset of the Great War. Singularly, it held sway as the most paramount religious entity throughout the Early to Late Middle Ages. Tracing its lineage back over centuries, witnessing the rise and fall of countless realms and empires, it is acknowledged as the oldest enduring absolute monarchy in ancient times.

Indisputable statistical and historical evidence underscores the necessity of comprehending the faith of the Six—its storied past, its institutional framework, its tenets and rituals, and its significance in the world—as an essential facet of cultural literacy, irrespective of one's personal convictions regarding life's ultimate inquiries of existence, mortality, and faith. Lacking an understanding of the Fellowship of the Six, grasping the historical tapestry of Udoris becomes arduous. How did the Great War lead to the fragmentation of Udorian realms? Was the downfall of The Church's absolute monarchy an inevitability? Conversely, such inquiries are fundamental to defining the essence of the Fellowship of the Six itself. Similar to any intricate and ancient phenomenon, The Church can be elucidated and interpreted through various lenses and methodologies. Thus, the Fellowship itself emerges as a complex institution, far exceeding the simplistic portrayal of a hierarchical pyramid extending from the Grand at its zenith to the lay believers. Nonetheless, a historical perspective proves most apt for this endeavor. Not solely because nearly a millennium of history is encapsulated within the Fellowship, but also because the notion of its continuity with the past, and the divine truth embodied therein, lie at the core of the church's self-perception and are pivotal to justifying its authority.

…

Excerpt from Jonas Diane's fourth book on Udorian powers- 'Religious Fallacies'

{END}

[21.02.1624]

Mallowston.

Count Josh at long last returned to Mallowston Keep, though not in the manner he had anticipated. As if he were naught but a base criminal, the count was bound at wrist and neck by grimy flax and dragged along the cobblestone path toward the fort's entrance. His attire was soiled, his locks matted with mud and debris. Unmoved by the lord's bedraggled state, his mounted captors—bannermen of von Grifenburg, he discerned after a time—ruthlessly propelled him onward, even as he stumbled perilously upon his own feet.

Ravaged by hunger and fatigue, Josh stumbled past the portcullis into the bailey within. From the periphery of his vision, he caught sight of a few of his former servants and maids stealing glances at him; some looked upon him with indignation at his mistreatment, while others wore expressions of curiosity or pity.

Yet, there were those whose gazes dripped with condescension, hints of mirth and schadenfreude swirling within.

However, the count paid them little heed. Even the sight of one of his former bannermen averting his gaze in shame and self-reproach upon meeting his eyes failed to elicit a significant reaction from the Hera patriarch. Internally, he acknowledged a simmering anger at it all—at his downfall, at the apparent betrayals, at the ignominy of his captor's forced march. He felt a measure of confusion still, a shard of despair at the fate of his kin. Yet, above all, he harboured a profound weariness—a hollow ache that gnawed at his heart.

Straightaway, the count was ushered up the keep's staircase toward his former sanctuary—his study. At the heart of what had once been his haven from the tumult of lordly life in Mallowston stood a grand oak desk, adorned with brass embellishments and strewn with stacks of documents and tomes. A quill and inkwell lay upon one side, while a magnifying glass and his favoured spectacles rested on the other. The walls were lined with shelves laden with leather-bound volumes and manuscripts. The air was thick with the fragrance of parchment and ink, suffused with the soft radiance of sunlight streaming in through ivy-clad windows.

A high-backed chair, cushioned with plush velvet, occupied the space behind the desk, atop a rug of wool and fur. Nearby, a crackling fireplace cast a warm glow over the room, tempering the early spring chill of the stone walls.

Adorning the walls were various maps, charts, and diagrams, some embellished with gold and vibrant ink, others faded and yellowed with age. In one corner stood a wooden book stand, bearing a massive leather-bound tome too sizable for any shelf. A hint of lavender and sandalwood lingered in the air, emanating from a bowl of potpourri upon the windowsill. Several comfortable chairs were scattered throughout the room, inviting visitors to relax and peruse the volumes lining the shelves.

The study served as a sanctuary for quiet contemplation and intellectual pursuit, a bastion of solemn reflection. And within it, by the shelves, stood a familiar young man.

"So, it was you?" the count inquired, a rueful chuckle escaping his lips as he beheld Lord Aden's true-born son.

"Yes," the earl affirmed, his gaze mild as it lifted from the tome in his grasp to meet the count's. "How have you fared, Lord Josh?" the youth inquired.

Josh chuckled again, his expression disbelieving. "...Terribly," he finally confessed. "I came close to death."

"Well, I am relieved that you did not succumb," the earl remarked with a smile. "It would have been quite disappointing... though, truth be told, I am already somewhat disappointed."

"Why? Were you expecting a more grandiose presence from a man who had spent three days on the run without food or shelter just hours prior?"

"Oh, no, please do not misunderstand," the earl interjected, strolling to recline behind the desk near the window. He gestured for the count to take a seat, and Josh complied. "I do not mock you. I was merely alluding to our skirmish at the harbour."

"...That farce hardly qualifies as a skirmish."

"Exactly," the earl concurred. "Yet my counsellors promised me one, hence my disappointment."

Josh found himself at a loss for words as the earl continued speaking. "Nevertheless, I believe it is imperative that we now discuss the path forward from this juncture, do you not agree?"

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

"...To be candid," Josh admitted, "I fully expected you to ransom me and my family to my sister at Norcastle... assuming, of course, that my family yet lives."

"They do," the earl confirmed to Josh's relief. "Gilbert has been summoned; he shall be here imminently. As for ransoming you to Lady Elind... I think not. It would be remiss of me to release you unscathed following your attempted treason."

"...We would be hanged?" the count inquired, dread gripping him anew.

"That remains to be determined," the earl replied, his gaze wandering past the count. "Ah! Gilbert, my dear!" he called out, his lips curving into a warm smile. "You have arrived. Come in. Come. Greet your father."

Josh turned to behold his son. The youth's visage was rosy-cheeked and plump, appearing well-fed and cared for. Yet beneath his outward appearance, something seemed amiss. He appeared... more timid. His eyes darted everywhere but toward the earl, skittish.

"He was present during the skirmish, you know?" the earl remarked. "I had him bound to the mast of the Seabiscuit, just above the mainsail, in hopes that your sight of him might incline you to remain and fight. Needless to say, it proved unnecessary, given how swiftly you and your bannermen opted to flee."

"...What have you done to my son?" the count demanded, his complexion paling as Gilbert remained silent.

"Gilbert," the earl prompted gently, "I instructed you to greet your father, did I not?"

"Y-yes, My Lord. I-I apologize," the young Hera stammered before turning to face the count. "Good morrow, Father."

"Pay him no mind," Earl Levi said to the bewildered count. "He was obstinate, taciturn, and headstrong. It took me weeks to coax him into compliance, though now he is annoyingly skittish as a consequence."

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY SON?!" the count erupted, his anger flaring as he rose unsteadily to his feet, his hunger and fatigue evident. His eyes flashed with despair as a sudden realization dawned upon him. "And what of my wife and daughters?!" he snarled.

"Mind your tone, Josh," the earl retorted, his voice turning icy. Gilbert whimpered, retreating further toward a corner of the room, away from the wrathful count. "I am not so uncouth as to inflict upon the ladies what you insinuate of me. Moreover, recall that I possess the power to put you and your kin to the blade. Should you continue to displease me I might have to make an example out of one of them." The count's rage drained away at those words, the nascent flames in him snuffed out as he collapsed back into his seat.

"...Calm now, are we?" the earl inquired, his tone steeped in disdain. "Now that you fully comprehend how out of depth you are, let us discourse on the amends mine house would demand of thine for your recent misdemeanours."

"...What do you seek?"

"Firstly, I shall convene a hearing at Towleigh to prosecute the Timels for their involvement in your house's attempted rebellion; you and your son shall testify against them in that hearing."

Josh's countenance contorted in confusion. "The Timels had scant hand in this matter," he protested, "I see not how such accusations would hold weight."

"That matter concerns me alone," the earl retorted with a dismissive sniff. "Secondly, thou shalt pen a missive to your sister at Norcastle, informing her of thy defeat at the harbour and subsequent capture, as well as my gracious decision to pardon you and your kin. You shall make mention of thy family's new status as indentured servants of mine. Furthermore, you shall bid her to dispatch a trusted subordinate to visit and verify thy well-being and standard of living under my care, beseeching her not to incite her husband to raise an army against me.

"For my third demand, you shall make a public proclamation in the town square, renouncing your title as Count of Mallowston as an act of penance for your rebellion against your Liege. During this proclamation, You shall implore your men to abandon all thoughts of rebellion, expressing your reluctance to see the blood of more noble men spilt in futile conflict with your lord. Should you fulfil these conditions, you and your family shall be spared the executioner's axe and shall serve a mere ten years in servitude to me. Throughout your indenture, you shalt receive no wages, nor shall you be permitted to leave Faywyn. Only food, lodging, and attire shall be provided to you."

"...I cannot accept this!" the count spat, incensed by the earl's demands.

"'Tis either death by hanging or a decade of servitude, Josh. You have lost your fief to me and lack men to contest my demands. You have nought to offer. Your family shall perish today as nobles, or live to see the next decade as freemen once more; this is the sole choice I afford you."

The count fell silent, his son fidgeting nervously behind him. Josh glanced back at Gilbert. The ousted earl gazed back anxiously, fear flickering in his eyes. With a sigh, Josh turned back. "...May I make a request before I agree to this?" he implored.

"I shall ponder it."

"You have a betrothed, Lancelot's daughter?"

"Aye?"

"I beseech you to appoint my youngest, Titi, as her Lady's companion. She is but a child, unacquainted with the ways of our world. I entreat you to show mercy."

The earl smiled. "Nay. I shall not entertain the notion of appointing the offspring of a traitor to such a prestigious position as companion to my betrothed based on such a flimsy argument. Young? You should have pondered that before your treasonous acts."

Josh fell silent, his gaze frantic. "What of my eldest?" he proposed.

"Malina?" the earl inquired, brows furrowed in confusion. "What of her?"

"She could serve as your handmaiden," the count suggested. "She is well-born... and unwed! Her wit surpasseth her mother's thrice over; I believe she would excel in such a role."

A glimmer of understanding appeared in the earl's eyes. "Still striving to regain some semblance of power, I see," he remarked with a smile, before turning away, his gaze pensive. "...I shall allow it," the earl declared a few moments later, "yet only after she has proven herself worthy of the post."

"Thank you," Josh sighed. Though a profound sense of loss still weighed heavily upon his heart, at least a sliver of hope remained.

"Gilbert, lead your father to the guest chambers," the earl instructed with a smile. "I believe your mother and sisters shall rejoice to see him again."

"A-aye, My Lord."