Chapter 12

Lord Völkchenheim examined her for several moments before guessing at what she wanted.

“Does it have to do with migrants? It’s common knowledge amongst the nobility that you’ve been trying hard to attract more people to your territory.”

“I doubt that you’d be willing to part with your townsfolk,” Ludmila replied.

“I take it that’s something you’ve heard from the others already,” he said. “Still, I have plenty of farmers and woodsmen that I need to relocate somehow, and your territory is an attractive outlet. You’ll have plenty of migrants to fill your town with – it would help us both.”

The administration of the Sorcerous Kingdom disclosed nothing about Class Levels, bloodlines or aptitudes in the materials that it distributed, so Lord Völkchenheim probably did not understand that he stood to take the lions’ share of the benefit in such an arrangement. Bringing people whose entire lives had revolved around farming or forestry into a city did neither Ludmila nor the migrants any favours.

In the past, one could move to the city and find a job as a menial labourer, but Undead labour filled those positions in Ludmila’s territory. She could probably find a place for unskilled labour – say, apprenticing farmers to blacksmiths – but she would have to provide for them until they could complete their apprenticeships.

This, in turn, was a gamble as a person’s aptitude in an unfamiliar trade was unknown, as was their ‘class build’. The primary concern for migrants changing professions was how much they could advance their new profession before ‘slowing down’. If the aforementioned migrant had 7 Levels as a Farmer, and the average person slowed down before reaching ‘Platinum’ – that was, Level 15 – Ludmila could only reasonably expect a Level 8 Blacksmith.

Though her grasp on Classes and Levels was only cursory at the time, the way Ludmila had designed her farming villages ‘pre-sorted’ her population. There was a specific ratio of professions in every village, which more closely reflected the ratios of urban populations. Every child was given a basic education and attempts were made at identifying their aptitudes before figuring out where they would find the greatest success.

The fact that the Temple of the Six, with its extensive records on the bloodlines of its congregation, was the primary source of her migrants made the process immeasurably smoother. She had modelled many of the systems in her demesne after the institutions of her faith and by integrating the wisdom of their sacred scriptures. The gods’ wisdom was made clearer with every passing month as their teachings were made manifest in reality.

Ludmila would never be able to understand why so many would fall to heresy when the truths of the Six Great Gods could be seen so clearly.

“That’s also something I’ve heard from the others already, my lord,” Ludmila said, “Unfortunately, I have no need for any more farmers or woodsmen.”

“Forgive me for saying so, Miss Camilla,” Lord Völkchenheim said, “but that sounds insane. Your land stretches from the wilderness to the borders of my territory, so I can’t imagine why you would refuse. Are you saying that you’ve already secured tens of thousands of migrants to occupy the areas you’ve expanded to?”

“Not at all,” Ludmila replied. “The reason is that I do not intend to develop the lands under my management much further than what I have planned already.”

A look of confusion fell over Lord Völkchenheim’s face. He looked over at his similarly confused wife.

“But…but why?” Lady Adelia asked, “The entire House of Lords is green with envy over how much undeveloped territory you’ve brought under your title. Unless…does Lady Bloodfallen or His Majesty intend to create new titles for those lands?”

It was something that could potentially happen in Re-Estize if there was territory for the taking. In exchange for their liege’s support, a Frontier Lord could agree to relinquish some of the lands that they claimed. It was an arrangement that benefitted both, provided the investment was worth the risk.

“There is no such arrangement, my lady,” Ludmila shook her head.

“Then there will be an uproar in the House of Lords,” Lady Adelia frowned. “The central administration will be infuriated as well. They always go on and on about efficiency and taxes and production. If they see all of that idle land that you’re doing nothing with…”

“I am doing something with it,” Ludmila told her. “What I’m doing is leaving it mostly alone.”

“Then it will completely turn back into a wilderness,” a tinge of frustration entered Lord Völkchenheim’s voice. “My house has been on the border of that encroaching wildland since before my father’s time. I can’t even imagine how many Demihumans will…”

His mouth worked silently as realization dawned upon him.

“That’s right,” Ludmila said. “The Sorcerous Kingdom is no longer a Human nation. It was members of the Royal Court that suggested that I do this, so the protests of the House of Lords will fall upon deaf ears. Sooner or later, non-Humans will take their place in the House of Lords, and those protests will meet internal resistance.”

The echo of her voice faded away, and silence fell over the hall. Ludmila’s gaze went from Lord Völkchenheim to Lady Völkchenheim, who appeared to have nothing more to say.

“As leaders of humanity,” Ludmila told them, “please work hard to ensure that there will always be a place for your people.”

Though admittedly forceful in her tone, she did her best to convey her genuine feelings. The people of Völkchenheim County were not followers of The Six, but the Faith of the Six’s divine mandate included all of humanity. They kept watch even over those who had lost their way, and the door was always open for them to return.

“Now,” Ludmila said, “on to what I wanted to ask you about.”

“That wasn’t it?”

“Of course not. I am here on the King’s business. Bringing forward my personal concerns while I am here by His Majesty’s authority would be improper.”

“Well, that’s laudable, I suppose.”

I suppose.

Like common culture, noble culture also had norms that, while considered harmless by those who practised them, in reality facilitated corruption. Every point of contact was an opportunity to make connections, increase awareness of various issues and impress or influence others. It was something that went hand in hand with the dance of protocol and discourse that occurred between members of the aristocracy. Very little – if any – thought was given towards how one was taking advantage of their position.

An official appointment like the one Ludmila held, as temporary and specific as it was, was coveted for this very reason. A noble with her appointment could travel and make new acquaintances while carrying the prestige and authority of a greater power. The unscrupulous would combine this with their personal interests, effectively presenting a veiled threat against those who might resist their proposals. If one still held firm, unfavourable reports and false charges would go straight to those in authority.

To people like Ludmila, duty was an honour. She did not kneel upon receiving the King’s order simply in deference to the King’s authority. It was in appreciation of the King’s appreciation – that she had been recognized as one who was capable of carrying out His Majesty’s will and was worthy of trust in the duties that she prided herself in upholding.

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Even with her deep respect for the appointment and commitment to duty, Ludmila had been invariably tempted into ‘small talk’ that had nothing to do with the reason why she was here.

“It has to do with the utilization of His Majesty’s Undead servitors.”

“The Undead?” Lord Völkchenheim frowned.

“Yes…they appear quite scarce. I understand the problems that come with adopting Undead labour, but I heard that the majority of your Death Knights have been deployed along the borders.”

“Is there a problem with that?”

“Your territory is surrounded by other territories of the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

“Yes, but most of those borders are not with Human lands.”

“…are you saying that you’ve deployed your security forces to guard against other citizens because they’re not Human? Weren’t you bemoaning the thought of looking like some evil magistrate just now?”

Lord Völkchenheim fell silent, fidgeting with a silver fork as he glanced down at his half-empty plate.

“That’s a very strange thing to say for a follower of The Six, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“It isn’t just the Temple of the Four that needed to adapt to the realities of a secular nation,” Ludmila replied. “It also doesn’t change the fact that you’ve deployed Death Knights to defend against our nation’s citizens.”

“The administration understands that these things take time,” he said after several moments. “Our people need time to get used to things. You saw that parade of people that I had to sort out this morning – even the idea that they had committed a crime led them straight to thoughts of being turned into monsters.”

Ludmila set her utensils down before they warped in her grip. The Count had what he considered a strong argument. Even after months of being left in peace and seeing their lands prosper, the majority of the citizens outside of Corelyn County and Warden’s Vale harboured reservations over the Undead. Criminal activity was suppressed simply by the idea that those caught would have their souls enslaved for eternity by the Sorcerer King or one of his minions. Views on Demihumans that were historically a threat to Humans were probably not much better.

“I don’t disagree, my lord,” Ludmila said. “The Prime Minister has an excellent mind for broadly gauging these matters. You should, however, understand the weaknesses in her approach. Well, it wouldn’t be right to call them weaknesses – they are aspects of governance that are best dealt with by nobles and their retainers, and she most likely understands this as well. If things were as simple as adhering to almanacs, manuals and advisories, Sanju would be sitting where you are right now.”

“It’s not as simple as sticking Death Knights on the roads.”

Lady Adelia suddenly spoke up again. She shrunk back slightly as their heads all swivelled towards her.

“I-its not as simple as that,” she said. “We have to think about the people.”

“That’s right,” Lord Völkchenheim nodded. “If we just put them everywhere, there will be panic or paralysis or both. It’s taken so much to get everything working again. We can’t risk it.”

“The city had to go through the same thing,” Ludmila noted, “and the city didn’t have the benefit of your guidance. Your leadership counts for more than you might think.”

“If the supplies for Re-Estize’s Royal Army had not been seized,” Lord Völkchenheim told her, “the city would have starved. We don’t have that sort of leeway here and we cannot afford to do anything of the sort until winter. Once the autumn harvest season is over, we can start putting Undead patrols on the rural roads without the risk of disrupting agriculture.”

It seemed like a flimsy excuse. Though rural areas contained about ninety-five per cent of the duchy’s population, they were still sparsely populated. The number of people exposed to Undead patrols at any given point would be in the single digits unless a Death Knight stomped straight through the centre of a village early in the morning.

Lord Völkchenheim also appeared entirely unaware of the notion that he was subtly fortifying his subjects. The ability was something Ludmila couldn’t feel herself applying to others, so it was understandable that he wouldn’t notice it. Perhaps he had not harnessed it at all, or its effects were something that nobles and their loyal subjects always took for granted as normal.

“What about the town and the highway?”

“That’s even more problematic,” Lord Völkchenheim replied. “Merchants from Re-Estize will turn around and flee the moment they encounter a Death Knight patrol on the highway. The best we can do is keep a few in the town.”

“You’ve stuffed them in your gatehouses,” Ludmila frowned.

“It’s the best we can do,” he repeated himself. “My dear Adelia is right: it’s not so simple.”

The delegation from the temple drifted to the forefront of her mind.

“The temples…”

“The temples know the law as well as we do,” Lord Völkchenheim told her. “Better, when it comes to the parts that apply to them. But you’re not too far off with your thinking. In the same way that the temples cannot interfere with the administration of the realm, the realm cannot interfere with matters of faith. They legally cannot dictate which gods to follow.”

The sound of a bell filled the hall, striking twice to mark the time. They had to wait to be heard again.

“I really have to do something about that bell,” Lord Völkchenheim frowned. “At any rate, my people cannot be as cavalier about the Undead as yours. Followers of The Four are taught to universally revile the Undead from the moment they are old enough to understand words.”

There were nuances between sects within the Faith of the Six when it came to views on the Undead, but saying so would only serve to support his case. That both Lord Völkchenheim and his retainer presented the same argument in different ways gave her the impression that their reservations were a shallow excuse to avoid efforts to integrate the Undead in the county. Undead labour was being used where people were willing, but the various issues specific to the territory were impeding progress.

As an outsider, it was not her place to tell Count Völkchenheim what to do unless it concerned matters under her jurisdiction. He probably had a better grasp of how to manage his realm and its people, so she would only be getting in the way.

“I suppose this means that you’re unwilling to deploy Undead servitors to help with this string of arsons.”

“Not if it means disturbing my subjects,” Lord Völkchenheim told her. “Andrei says that we don’t have nearly enough to cover every possible target, anyway…what did you have in mind?”

“I wanted to cast a net after the next incident,” Ludmila said. “To detect any suspicious movement from the reported location.”

“After the next incident?” Lord Völkchenheim sighed, “How many more mills can I expect to lose?”

“At least two.”

“And just how did you come up with that?”

“Our criminal has picked up the pace of their attacks,” Ludmila explained. “It has been over two days since the last incident, so there’s probably a mill on fire somewhere right now. It just takes time for word to arrive since it’s being delivered by local messengers.”

The Count’s look indicated that he understood, but he certainly didn’t like it.

“After this report,” he asked, “what will your plan be?”

“Since the rate of attacks has increased, there should only be a limited distance that they can travel before needing to set up for the next one. Their goals appear to be both the destruction of property and the disruption of economic activities, so they are targeting facilities actively being used. They are not attacking any territories under your direct jurisdiction and they are not attacking any villages or the town. Unless the attacker deviates from this pattern, we can expect them to be attacking your untouched lumber mills.”

“So the next incident will tell you how far he can go,” Lord Völkchenheim murmured, “and you’ll have Undead forces waiting for them to leave the next location after the attack.”

“It’s a boring plan,” Ludmila shrugged, “but it should do the job.”

As dessert arrived, the door to the town hall opened a crack. Andrei slipped inside.

“Young Mast–Lord Völkchenheim!” He said before he completely made his way to the dais, “A messenger just arrived on horseback.”

“Another lumber mill?”

“Yes, my lord. In the southwest of Allard Barony.”

“Miss Camilla,” Lord Völkchenheim shifted to address Ludmila. “Is there any way that you can carry out what you proposed without disturbing my subjects?”

“There is, my lord.”

“Then…go ahead. The sooner we end this, the better.”