11.2

When imagining the reason for this war, Jewel did not know what she expected.

But it was not this.

After all that he had done to upend her entire world, there was so much to be disappointed in and confused by with the reality of György Thurzó.

For all the ostentatious claims made of his right to the farcical title of low king he was barely taller than her Squire Smithson.

Furthermore, he was not particularly impressive even accounting that he was bereft of arms or armor as a prisoner should be.

He was slight of build in the way that bound chords of twine over bone were, rather than the supple muscles of a knight.

All around, he did not look, smell or sound like a lord befitting to rule over Father or the Count and Countess.

He stank of fear and bone-deep weariness. The kind of exhaustion that its scent lingered even if one slept for days after it had lost its grip in the flesh.

If not for his finer garb, he would not have been at all out of place as a younger headman of one of the villages of Rochford.

Perhaps overwhelmed by new responsibilities, but not entirely bowed by them.

Dark hair, bushy beard, lined face. A considering intelligent eye that despite the dour circumstances lit up at the sight of her.

As they entered through the front gate Jewel could respect how he at least stood straight back as a count should.

Even in defeat he was still afforded the honor of guard here in the courtyard of the fortress he had controlled until just yesterday.

They were likewise unarmed but otherwise allowed armor and to bear his standard and that of the Realm.

His was a curious heraldry, a field of blue and yellow with some great white bird in center. The figure reminded Jewel of a goose. But all in white with lines of black at its eyes.

As their entourage marched into the fortress, the head of their party settled in front of the man who had claimed to be king over them all.

Count Fiebron at the front, standing as György Thurzó’s counterpart.

To the count’s right, Father towered over all but Jewel herself despite standing back as a counterpart honor guard to those afforded Thurzó.

On the left was Baron Kliatbatrn.

Jewel was settled in a loose coil behind all of them, Father having explicitly asked her to raise her head higher than even his or the count’s for the purposes of intimidation.

The rest of the Lords or their chosen representatives marched to encircle and display their banners proudly to Jewel’s left and right. As discussed (and vehemently argued) prior in the morning’s (significantly expanded) council, they each had taken a specific position as befitted their performance in the battle.

Notably absent from the party was any Wizard but Jaksa the Red, who stood close to Jewel on her right, the Banner of Viznove raised high to catch the near noon sun.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

As first among the generals, Fiebron opened the ceremony.

“György Thurzó, General and Lord on this field of the Realm of Blessed Cantor Reborn, the Solar Dynasty Apparent, and her armies on behalf of the Countess Bathory and her allies, I, Count Fiebron of Zehkhedge, am here to accept your surrender in honorable battle and withdrawal of all accusations and lies set against her person and to denounce and refute any claims you make to her lands or any other on their basis.”

Thurzó scowled and looked around at all of them. Fixing a particularly hateful glare at Jaksa the Red.

“I acknowledge that you are victors, and for the sake of my men and those I sheltered here in this fortress from the Countess Bathory and her abominable lust for the blood of the innocent I have surrendered in this war. But you will have to drag such lies and false oaths from my corpse with the sorcery of your mistress’ favorite accomplice.”

He nodded to Jaksa the Red harshly and then spat on the ground.

There was a stiffening among the lords present. But Fiebron did not even move in response, holding fast before he merely shook his head, that puffy mane of white that seemed blown to every wind of the world swaying with the motion.

“Enough of that nonsense, György! You made your play of it, it’s plain as days and stars to every other count across the ridgetail valleys what you and the king were trying.”

Jewel noted with some confusion that Thurzó was utterly shocked at this, but the shock turned to a shining eyed look as the count continued.

“I rallied to her banner because this was a monumental overstep! Take back your lies and we can send you home to your daughters and son. The war can be over.”

György Thurzó just shook his head at that and turned to look Fiebron dead in the eyes, then turned and faced each of the lords in turn.

Father and Kliatbatrn to start but meeting every eye after. Even the least of lord’s representatives. Some were mere Knights, or in one case a Footman!

And then he laughed, it was a strange sound.

Ugly in some ways, relieved in others, horrified in more.

He was stinking now with a scent that matched his laugh.

He looked at Fiebron and then finally met Jewel’s gaze and chuckled a bit softer before clearing his throat.

“Lies? You think my accusation against that monster in the guise of a Countess was Lies?!”

He shakes his head and laughs again. His voice sounded wrong somehow, like something inside was breaking.

“You all took my word and bond as a lie to claim your lands?”

He whispered softly.

“You want to send me back to my daughters? To my son and family?”

He glared at Jaksa the Red.

His voice rising with a fury Jewel had heard only once before.

“Then tell me where she is! Tell me what that witch did to my Marucha!”

And then the voice turned softer and somehow harsher then the loudest shout.

In a way far too familiar for Jewel’s ear.

“Tell me where my daughter is.”

Jewel had only heard such a fury once before.

And it had been in her Father’s voice.