Tired by the drudgery of the capital of Argem and trapped by his own fame as a rogue but extremely effective tool, Captain Erich confronted his employer – the Chamberlain of the Imperial Estate – demanding action. After a tense exchange between the two, Erich was sent to Leuthbach to put a stop to the increased banditry in the area of south Hermannia. While the suggestion was Erich’s, it was not long before he suspected the Chamberlain was all to happy to sanction this mission. The man behind the bandits was, after all, a noble, one Enzo of Beriglia and Erich suspected exposing him served the Chamberlain’s plans in some way. Experienced and backed by Imperial expertise, Erich soon found and confronted the culprit. After a swift victory, Erich did what Erich was known to do best: he lost his temper and executed the young noble.
With his own men complaining about his decision, Erich soon found himself confronted by the Chamberlain; and, perhaps unsurprisingly, an entire retinue of nobles that demanded to witness his punishment. What Erich did not expect was the type of punishment. Awaiting for the Chamberlain to berate him in public, while slapping his wrist in private and forcing him to lay low for a time, the Chamberlain publicly humiliated the seasoned veteran and assigned him to the Command Service Company, forcing him to serve drinks and look after the pampered diplomats of the capital. Despite every fiber of his military being screaming in fury for being punished for doing what deep down believed the Chamberlain expected him to do, Erich, in one of very rare occasions in his life, accepted the defeat and did as was told.
Relief came after Fredrik of Brandengrad reshuffled the entire nobility of Riismark and unilaterally offered land and titles to his supporters, often stripping old and established families that had fought him in the process. Eager to showcase that the events of the young King’s trials did not mean that the Chamberlain secretly supported such a radical move, Erich was ordered to ensure that Fredrik remained isolated during the Nord invasion on his shores. Further more, he was to remain ready to engage – either Fredrik or the Nords – when ordered. But as the Riismark Campaign raged on and after it had eventually ended, Erich was never ordered to move.
Tired of waiting, Erich then decided to “release” one of his most enthusiastic officers, the young noble Etienne and his idealistic followers. His plan was to force the Chamberlain’s hand to order him to chase after the young noble before he was lost or before a single youth’s folly was viewed as the Chamberlain’s involvement. True enough, the plan worked; sort of. In the end, it was Fredrik that invited Schur to Riismark, offering him and his men free passage through Riismark in their quest to recover the young noble. Grabbing the opportunity and eager to engage the Nords himself, Erich accepted. In the front he met with Master Everard of the Order of the Sword, acting marshal for the Riismark forces on the front against the Nords. Together, they devised a plan; Erich would lure the Nord forces outside the city of Angengrad, while Everard and the Order would assault the exposed city.
Little did Erich know that, once again, he was caught in the same type of intrigue and trickery that he so despised.
Autumn has ended and winter grips the capital in an icy grip. Having recently returned from active duty, Erich Schur finds himself locked in the capital with nothing to do. Quickly succumbing to boredom and irritation Schur looks for an outlet to his restless energy. He…
(Choice: )
Walks up to the Imperial Palace to demand an audience from the Imperial Chamberlain. There are reports of banditry and unrest in the eastern Kingdoms of Hermania he could investigate. The Chamberlain has long been looking for an excuse to interfere amongst those stiff-necked southern fops.
Goddammit, he hated waiting. He particularly hated waiting when he knew the shit-stained bastard was doing it on purpose just to punish him for the temerity of demanding an audience. Well… fuck him and his piss stained boots. He would not be so easily thrown off balance or manipulated.
Calm… all he needed was to stay calm. He also needed to ignore the delicious peaty scent wafting his way from the decanter set on the console by the giant doors that led to his study. The fucker had put it there on purpose. It was exactly the kind of dirty trick the piece of shit would play on him. Placing a Touranne ’54, no dammit it was a ’48, in the entry just to agitate him. God how he hated the man. Hated his closed, serious face. His firm honest handshake. His…
‘His Grace will see you n…Eeep’, the secretary squealed almost tripping over herself to get out as turned towards the study, his arm swinging to smash the beautiful decanter and its golden nectar against the door itself. The fucker wanted something… This was too much effort just to needle him. A cold smile curled his lips as he stalked towards the door.
‘Good,’ he thought as he stalked across the massive double doors, ‘I happen to want some things too…’
The smug bastard stood there with an insufferably calm look on his face, watching Erich pace while he sipped slowly stirred his tea seated a gilt monstrosity of a chair that was most clearly not a throne… but only just. Refusing to take the bait, Erich leaned back against his own chair and crossed his arms, determined to outwait the self important prick. He had long abandoned the idea of ever sitting comfortably in the Chamberlain’s office. The guests chairs in this office were one of the most ingenious and subtle torture devices he had ever had the displeasure to encounter: they looked so comfortable and inviting, but were literally designed to make you squirm uncomfortably in the presence of the Chamberlain… Just another one of the countless little mind games this pompous ass played on people.
The silences stretched uncomfortably as the Chamberlain looked at him, the seconds ticking by as the tension in the room stretched and quivered…The Chamberlain raised an eyebrow and gave an exasperated sigh.
‘I don’t have time for our games today, Erich.’ The Chamberlains smooth, rich voice resonated throughout the office… Probably some trick of acoustics.
‘You do recall you arranged, no… demanded, this meeting with me today, after all?’
Crap. That was true…
‘I need something to do. All of this quiet tiptoeing around each other is doing my head in.’ Erich leaned forward. ‘I’ve heard reports of rampant banditry in the..,’ here Erich hesitated, recalling at the last minute who he was talking to, ‘around the city of Leuthbach.’ Obnoxious bastard though he was, he was still the Imperial Chamberlain, probably amongst the most intelligent individuals in the Kingdoms, not to mention almost certainly amongst the most powerful and dangerous.
Not a good plan to antagonize him… any further.
‘Leuthbach… Leuthbach…,’ the Chamberlain mused as he stood from his desk and ambled over to the map on the wall. Thats… southern Hermania, isn’t it?’ He asked, turning to peer curiously at him. Cursing inwardly, Erich schooled his face to remain calm… nonchalant even.
‘Yes, somewhere in the southern reaches’, he said, making a point of looking at the man, ‘not familiar exactly where.’
‘You are telling me you want me to grant you an army funded by the Imperial coffers for you to go bandit hunting…,’ here the Chamberlain paused, looking up at the map as he idly stroked his chin, ’right in the middle of the Beast of Beriglia’s back yard even as I am aware of your… bad blood?’
Dammit. In for a penny in for a pound as they say. ‘Yes, sir,’ he responded promptly, while staring straight ahead and through the window.
Almost a minute passed in tense silence before the Chamberlain turned.
‘Permission…’
(Choice: )
‘…granted. Draw a list of the muster you wish to assemble and forward it to my office.’ the Imperial chamberlain turned to Erich as he struggled to master his surprise. ‘And Erich, he said quietly, menacingly, ‘stick to and complete to your task.’
‘Damn, but it really, feels good to be back on the road,’ Erich called to a column of veterans as her rode by, good humoredly splattering them with mud.
‘Piss off’, came the surly response from Edmund, a towering veteran with half a face, as he heaved on the reins of the floundering mule.
Granted, the weather was shit, the men were miserable, his thighs ached, and his mare had stumbled more than once, threatening to pitch him over and break his neck and his balls felt like they would freeze and fall off the moment he dismounted. But if felt good to be back on the road.
Despite their grumbling many of his men were as happy as he was to be on the road again. He had shared to much blood and too many miles with them to believe these were men who could handle the fat life between campaigns easily. By the time Ander’s had come back to report the recruitment had started, he already had a trusted core of veterans, like Edmund there, queuing up to sign on. It had taken him less than two weeks to gather the men and get on the road, a simple feat of logistics that would have defied most commanders.
But most men did not have a blank cheque underwritten by the Imperial Treasury or the good sense to gather and cultivate the most professional officer corps this side of the mountains, did they?
Damn, but it really feels good to be back on the road.
Especially when that road ended at Enzo of Berigilia’s door.
The south of Hermania was not blessed with the richest lands and for a long time law and order have been hard to come by. As a result, many noble families had developed a tradition of lining their pockets in times of need through outright theft and old-fashioned plunder. This was commonly understood if grudgingly accepted. What Enzo of Beriglia did not understand was… Frankly, there was a lot Enzo did not understand: basic human decency, integrity, honesty…how to be human, really. He understood violence and coercion though. And tomorrow, Erich Schur and half a thousand Imperial Legionnaires would come to teach him that there is a price to pay for earning a name like the ‘Beast of Beriglia.’
The sun, having found a gap in the heavy cloud cover, shone brightly behind him, lighting the far end of the hill and the autumnal foliage of the woods yonder in bright crisp colors. For a few seconds the sunlight warmed the nape of his neck and he could almost forget he had over a thousand men arrayed behind him in battle formation or that an equivalent number of men stood on hill across from him and probably had reinforcements in the woods to the right… But the sunlight faded as a cloud stole it from the battlefield and the moment was gone, its calm silence slowly invaded by sound of a thousand men bracing themselves to come to terms with the grim realities the day would bring.
Across from him, Enzo’s army was just finishing its order of battle. A solid block of mercenaries, he could not recognize their symbol, held the center which was peculiar. Few commanders would trust that critical a position to mercenaries. On the left flank he could see a mass of heavily armored men at arms while on the right flank stood the mass of his levy. Heavy cavalry one the wings and his own personal guard and butchers held in reserve. A refused flank, eh? Interesting. He could either match it or seek to break his right before the left collapsed…
Making up his mind, he turned to the nearest messenger, a young lad on an expensive mount, probably a gift from his father before punting him into the legions make his fortune while his older brothers inherited the land, and spoke.
‘Lad,’ damnation, he couldn’t remember the boy’s name, ‘Run off and inform Colin I want his Legion to redeploy on our left flank. Close with the enemy and reform into a defensive formation. They are to hold off until we break their right. He will have no cavalry support.’ The youth blanched at the order but repeated it verbatim before touching the spur to his mount and galloping off to deliver the orders.
There weren’t many men he could count on to perform those orders, but Colin Wright and his Gilded Legion would hold, even if it were only to have the chance to spit on his corpse after the battle ended. That left only the disposition of the Steel Legion and his own mercenaries to secure.
Giacomo’s bows had broken into skirmish order and would cover the advance, focusing on light cavalry and the levy. Marcus and the Boar’s Head Company would normally have been sufficient for the center… but not knowing those mercenaries worried him. He would take to the center with the Steel Legion and leave the right flank to Marcus and the Boars.
His own cavalry, limited as it was, would go on reserve, keeping a close eye on the right flank as those woods were almost certainly harboring a surprise. He wanted that crushed and the battle decided before Colin and the golden boys were swamped.
In the meanwhile, Enzo’s army was still not done deploying and moved slowly, comfortable to hold the high ground. A few projectiles flew across the gap between both armies, but Enzo’s weapons lacked the range to bridge the gap. Committing his enemies disposition to memory, Erich turned his back on his enemy as their formation settled.
‘Harold,’ he called, ‘gather the men and reform them in the center.’ The blonde giant who commanded the Steel Legion simply noded and moved to comply.
‘Etienne,’ he turned and craned his neck to glare at the young noble who commanded his cavalry, ‘don’t even think about it.’ The young noble had been about to argue with him. Again. ‘You are in reserve.’ He raised his hand to forestall the automatic argument. ‘My scouts have not returned, that means they have a surprise for us in the forest and I want you ready to clear whatever it is. Fail and we die. Succeed and you will singlehandedly crush their flank, giving us victory.’
The young noble sat atop his mount for a few moments, torn between his own contrarian nature and the violent punishment Erich’s hard glare promised. ‘As you command,’ he finally said turning his mount to ride back to the lines, mollified and threatened in equal measure.
Behind him the enemy continued their slow deployment but as his own troops started to redeploy, the enemy force started to roil in response to the hurried dispatches from Enzo’s command tent who suddenly faced a stark choice: to allow Erich to complete his redeployment without answering or commit his still disorganized forces to an all out attack hoping to catch Erich’s forces before they redeployed.
‘Either suits me,’ he whispered as he donned his helm and fell in amongst the Steel Legion. His commanders knew their craft well and were allowed a tremendous amount of latitude. Time for thinking was past. Now is the time to fight.
The outcome of this battle hangs in the balance: the more votes cast either for or against Erich Schur victory, the more decisive the result will be. Victory or defeat the result of this battle are in your hands!
(Result: ) Victory
Erich Schur sat awkwardly on the battlefield, his grimy face twisted into a grimace of distaste as he steadily worked his boot back and forth, back and forth, trying to pull it from his battered extremity. The boot itself was caked with mud, blood and all the other, worse, bodily fluids that graced the field in the aftermath of battle.
‘Erich’, a resigned voice called behind him, ‘there was absolutely no need to do that’. There were few men in the world who would talk to him with such familiarity. Especially when disagreeing with him. But Mattheusz had earned the privilege many long years ago.
Erich stopped pulling at his boot, but remained seated as he squinted at the tall, gaunt figure of his adjutant. He paused for a few seconds before turning his attention back to his most recent
‘Beg to differ on that one, Theo’, Erich grunted between clenched teeth as the boot finally came free. ‘There was every need in the goddamned world to do that.’ Erich stuffed his hand into the boot and dug around, issuing a satisfied grunt as his fingers closed about the tiny pebble that had been bedeviling him throughout the battle.
‘That boy and his men saved the right flank. He conducted himself gallantly and with great discipline, singlehandedly turning the flank and winning us the battle. And you are making his men, many of them sons of nobility I might add,’ Theo’s voice was rising in pitch and there was even the beginnings of a flush under his collar, ‘to dig graves for our men and the enemy!’
Theo’s tone was coming dangerously close to insubordinate and Erich didn’t want to punish his oldest friend. He grimaced and held up his hand.
‘Theo, stop before you give yourself an aneurism and ten lashes’, Erich rumbled. ‘The battle was won long before Etinne and his knights moved. Collin held the left alone and the center was already caving by the time the cavalry arrived.’ Theo sought to argue but Erich forestalled him. ‘I know he performed well. His actions saved dozens, possibly hundreds of lives today by bringing the battle to an end earlier.’
‘But the little twit came to my flush with victory and crowing about the slaughter we had delivered.’ Erichs eyes darkened at this and glinted dangerously. ‘He was reveling in death, Theo. He is the firstborn son of a noble and he was thrilled at the slaughter he and his men had delivered. Think about that for a second will you? That has to be burned out of him… and if this afternoon doesn’t do it, we will find other ways to do so.’
Theo stood there impassively for a few seconds, visibly struggling to compose himself and absorb his commanders unexpected line of argument. After a few seconds he gave a resigned sigh, shrugged and saluted his superior officer.
‘I stand corrected, sir’
With that he turned and strode away, but not before getting the last word in.
‘And for crying out loud, get off the Duke of Beriglia. We have to get him cleaned up and send him to his heir along with our terms.’
“I will take no pleasure in doing this, Erich” the Chamberlain said coldly before he was announced, leaving the Captain and his junior officers in the ante-chamber.
“Yeah, well, I bet he’ll enjoy it a little” he said and they chuckled but the tension was obvious in their laugh. “Why else would he gather an audience for this?”
“Captain, you…” Mattheusz started but he never finished his sentence.
“Theo,” Erich barked at him “I swear by all that is holy! If you say that we shouldn’t have killed him one more time, the next time I will need to work my boot will be to un-shove it from…” Uncharacteristically he paused, his eyes stuck on the valet that waited patiently by the door. “I am sorry. Did I shock you?” he asked.
“All I am saying” Mattheusz cut in “is that what you do in there is a career move. No one doubts your effectiveness, the Chamberlain least of all. Show him you can let him play his game or at least you won’t stir it too badly and you will only help yourself… and us with you.” Erich simply waved his hand dismissively, mouthing a “yeah, yeah, yeah”.
“Do we know what will happen?” Archibald asked nervously. Erich scoffed.
“The usual, Archie” he said, shrugging. “We’ll be forced to lie low for a little while. Maybe get sent somewhere far off, where the beer tastes like piss and the…” he paused again, eyeing the valet, before he went on “…physical entertainment establishments are housed in barns. That’ll let their toddler memories forget all about it in a couple of months’ time then off we go to fight their next battle. Oh, and I’ll get a dressing-down, of course, with important words like ‘duty’, ‘honor’, ‘tradition’ being waved around like laundry in the wind. That should make them pretty nobles feel all better and important.”
* * *
He did get a dressing down and the Chamberlain was wearing his most severe and stern look while giving it. Important words like ‘duty’, ‘honor’ and ‘tradition’ were waved around like laundry in the wind and the assembly nodded satisfied. It was all a sham, of course. He knew it, the Chamberlain knew it, heck most of the ones assembled and nodding knew it to. That bastard needed to die and so he died. Plain and simple. So he stood there, maybe even trying not to look too bored by nodding now and then, while inside he wondered what that pretty noble lady was drinking. But then…
“Under different circumstances, Captain” the Chamberlain said “I would have no choice but to suspend your contract, if not terminate it completely. As it stands, however, your services are desperately required and there is no other Free Company available for this. Captain Muller and his men and women have recently been reassigned to the north.”
Erich looked up, raising an eyebrow. Don’t, he mouthed but the Chamberlain went on.
“This leaves the post of Command Service Company of here at the palace entirely unmanned. You and your men are to report immediately for duty to General Mann.”
“Command Service Company?” Erich spat. “You expect us to…”
“I understand your confusion. This is usually reserved as an honorary position. The specifics of your duties are to be discussed with the General. You are dismissed, Captain Schur.”
Choice
Take it: OK. He knew there were men and women who would kill for the “honor” of serving the Command’s soirees, looking silent and pretty, even if it did also include cleaning after their trash and, some say, the latrines. But Theo had a point and the Chamberlain was making another. He would take the hit. And he would remember each and every one of their stupid faces that so much as hinted at a chuckle or smirk when the time came.
“Unpleasantness?!”
The word echoed in the large room, bouncing against the marble pillars and the heavy tapestries of the walls.
“My property was seized and my money was taken, all to compensate a prick’s noble brats, while you would have me serve and smile…”
The Chamberlain raised his hand in a manner that even Erich knew better than to ignore. That matter was closed. End of story. Erich panted and grunted and sighed but in the end he said nothing.
“Good” said the Chamberlain. “Now, to business. Have you heard of the events in Riismark?”
“Sure” Erich scoffed. “That prince the Conclave almost hanged is now King and has caused no small amount of trouble to the local nobles. In fact, some say, he has unified the entire Province under one crown. What of it?”
“He has done more than that, I am afraid. Not only has he effectively united the Province, as you said, he did so by replacing an immense number of local nobles with his own people.”
“Well, good” Erich said. “These new nobles won’t have votes, so the old votes come to you, no?”
“Yes, well” commented the Chamberlain “this same conclusion will be reached by the Conclave which I doubt will be thrilled. Some would go as far as to suggest that I manipulated events, or at the very least allow them to unfold as they did, exactly to get those votes. My behavior during Fredrik’s trial was, I fear, sympathetic and this will be used against me.”
“OK. Where do I fit in?”
“A public statement is needed, something to announce that I am not endorsing such behavior. You will be my statement.”
“Them nobles sure can be fast and efficient when they want to be” Mattheusz muttered. “Who knew?”
Erich grunted. He was overlooking the palisades being built all along the shoreline, leaning with one leg against a rock, his hands resting on his bended knee, while his cloak flapped and whipped the air as it danced violently with the strong wind. It was a pretty beach, he mused, or at least had been until the day before. Now, dozens of men and women were working, shoving sharpened logs in the grey sand, while lookout posts were being erected on higher ground. The same thing could be seen almost throughout Norvden, he knew: all shores that could be used for landing an army from the north were being fortified or at least had watchtowers and signal pyres being built.
“Yeah” he answered in the end. “Amazing how money can be found when it’s your ass on the line, isn’t it?” He took a big gulp from his flask before he went on. “If this Nord fleet being built turns out to be true as the Hanse Guild said, it won’t just be the commoners that pay the price. The whole north is coordinating and preparing. Well. Almost.”
His eyes turned southwards instinctively. No one was coordinating with Riismark. No one was supporting Riismark. In fact, every damn noble around Riismark was making sure that its shores would be the only ones left open for a Nord invasion. Wasn’t that nice?
He recognized the strategy behind the thought, and not only as a political power play between nobles. Sure, this new King would not have fun with a Nord army landing on his shores. He just came out of a long campaign with his own neighbors, he had a boiling cauldron in the form of a Spire within his lands and rumors had it there was even a Dweghom roaming force flirting with his eastern borders. And yet, if he had effectively united the province he could also effectively put up a defense. It most likely would not hold for too long but the rest of the Kingdoms needed the time he and his glorified marshland of a province would buy for them. The troublemaker Fredrik would be reminded of his place in the world, while the rest of the Hundred Kingdoms could prepare to properly counter a Nord invasion. No one wanted a repeat of the last one.
He downed another gulp before standing straight and flexing his shoulders. Well, he wasn’t here to make friends. In fact, he was here to make sure no one confused the Chamberlain for this Fredrik’s friend so all in all this would work very well. He had brought money and men to Norvden as was his mission. Now for the next part.
Choice
The Next Day: Reinforce Silisia’s borders with Riismark and ensure that the lands beyond Riismark are prepared when the time comes. Besides, he was told to prepare for the possibility to move in and strike against Fredrik directly. He’d rather be prepared to make that strike hard and fast.
The march south was slow and boring. Well, for him. His troops were pretty much on vacation, weren’t they?
He was watching them from the newly-erected watchtower. Spring was well on its way and the weather was better so there they were, playing at the beach, swimming in the freezing northern waters like they were children. He shrugged. They deserved a break. They’d spent weeks marching through the entire span of the Kingdoms, really, only to work all day on palisades and raising watchtowers for more weeks after that. If they were about to walk in battle with Nords or that King-ling, they could use the change of pace and he was happy for their sorry lot. He would have been even happier if any inn in this Theos-forsaken place had a decent wine or ale that had a kick, even if it were a bad one. As it were, he was stuck with weak, piss-tasting mead.
Well. Maybe Silisia had some proper stuff. Time would tell.
A cold spring breeze greeted Eric as he stepped out into the anemic light of yet another day of odious idleness. Sluggish and slow due to the months of inactivity, his forces, probably one of the most powerful armies in the Hundred Kingdoms right now, slowly stirred as they rose to greet a new day. His foul mood was in no way improved by having spent the last night compiling a letter not quite demanding the Chamberlain give him leave to intervene in the mess that was Riismark. Each morning he read reports of Nord, Dweghom and W’adrhŭn predations, each evening he penned a report to his employer knowing it would be ignored. This last letter would be ignored too, he knew. The response would be the same: No forces under his command were to cross the border into Riismark or engage hostiles unless directly attacked.
Erich glowered as his staff slowly walked up the rise upon which his tent was located. Handpicked, every one of them, they represented some of the most formidable commanders and leaders he had ever had the dubious honor of working with. Even the pup Etienne who had been foisted on him was coming along nicely. Despite the fact that his father had ensured Etienne and his household knights remained nominally independent of the Imperial force, the young man had proven to be a bold leader and fearsome fighter. Still far too impulsive and earnest, his gaze had at least lost some of that patrician arrogance as he began to understand how little he knew about how the world conducted its business. The reality of the situation had finally been impressed upon him and even if he wasn’t under his nominal command the young man could now be entrusted to follow orders and stick to the plan of battle better than most nobles Erich had been forced to work with.
In fact… A wolfish grin slowly crept up his features. By the time his staff had arrived they could not help but notice, not without some trepidation, that their commander was in a far better mood than he had been the last few months.
“Simon,” a hard eyed Etienne called as he strode from the commander’s tent, “strike the tents and gather the men. We depart.”
Flustered, his second in command rushed to his side, struggling to match his pace. “The army is finally moving? Are we to march on Fredrik?” he asked breathlessly.
“No,” Etienne responded curtly, “not the army. Just us, the Companions.”
“Whaa—,” a dumbfounded Simon slowed as he tried to process Etienne’s words. “What do you mean, just us?”
“Exactly what you heard. The Companions have been dismissed by Master Schur’s command. We are to return home.”
“WHAT?” Simon stopped walking and stood as if poleaxed before hurrying after his superior. “What do you mean DISMISSED?!”
“Are you hard of hearing? These are simple words. We have been dismissed from service by the commander of this army.” Etienne restrained his grin, relishing his friend’s confusion before he unleashed his final surprise.
“We are to return home posthaste. Mast Erich has given us two hours to strike camp and depart.”
“Two hours?! That’s hardly enough time to—”
“Furthermore, he advises us that strict orders of the Chamberlain concerning unaligned soldiers commanded by the nobility in the region will force him to treat our group as a hostile force.”
“Has he gone insane?” Simon sputtered, ‘Our parents won’t stand for this! The nobility, the entire Conclave will be how—”
“Think about it Simon. Think about it for a moment.” Finally allowing a smile to cross his face as his eyes gleamed. “We are dismissed, ordered to quit the theatre and return home. Master Erich has made it clear that the moment we depart we will be considered a hostile force.”
“The man dares threat—” Simon sputtered before Etienne interrupted him again.
“Meaning our only path home is north to the ferry currently in Nord hands,” he held up his fingers hammering the point home, “or south to the bridge held by the W’adrhun.”
“Think about it, my friend,” Etienne urged. “Half a hundred of the finest and nobles heavy cavalry plus our attendant squires and men at arms free of Erich Schur’s orders for the first time in months!”
Simon’s eyes slowly lost their wide-eyed indignation and by the time Etienne had finished his friend was already grinning.
‘So… What will it be? Shall we…
Choice
…make our way to the northern fords in Nord occupied lands?
“Is the boy gone?”
“Yup. I’ve only seen such speed from those fleeing in the opposite direction of the enemy.”
“That kid is… passionate, let’s say,” Erich chuckled. “Too much so for his own good – or anyone else’s, for that matter. Mark the date, by the way.”
“Why?”
He took a generous gulp. Damn but this Nord mead-thing was good.
“I want to see how long it will take for us to be ordered to reign him in,” he said, amused for the first time in months.
“I never had you capable of guile, Etienne.”
Simon’s word stung. Etienne prided himself in his straightforwardness, in his honesty and – uncompromising he would like to think – ethics; this was not the way he would have liked to face these Nord invaders, that much was true. But his Companions and his time with Schur had taught him much. While he would not count guile among those, he had learned that he could make the best out of the guile of others.
“I would have much preferred if we had been sent to face the Nords since they first landed,” he said earnest. ”But if this is the only way to do the right thing, I’ll do it and consequences be damned.”
“You won’t look a gift horse in the mouth, eh?” Simon chuckled. “I get that.”
“You know you are actually supposed to look at a horse’s teeth when…”
“It’s an expression, Etienne!” the lad exclaimed, almost tired, but then saw the playful shine in Etienne’s eye. “Pah! See? Guile!” he spat and Etienne laughed.
“Speaking of which,” Simon went on. “Do you plan to announce yourself to the locals? Fredrik and his lot?”
“It would be the proper thing, I suppose,” he answered thoughtfully. “We are nobility, after all.”
“It would also be the surer way to be delayed,” Simon muttered, “and I am not sure how much time we will have in the end.”
Choice
I suppose it must be done – Etienne will present himself and the Companions to local nobility.
“So,” Erich said, taking a deep gulp of breakfast ale before he went on, “we have news from our young knight, do we?”
“Aye, Commander,” the reply came from a clean-shaven lieutenant. “I am afraid the young lord Etienne presented himself in the court of King Otto III of Haubach.”
“And..?” Erich said, downing a good chunk of buttered bread.
“The King was not there. Our information places him, in fact, in Brandengrad.”
“Buuuut…?” Erich said amused.
“But he was met by Otto’s Steward, the Lady Annadhen. It is said that she was… quite taken by him. The rumors are…”
“If only,” Erich interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. “Would do the boy some good to think for once with his lower…”
“No, Commander, I meant the rumors are that she gave him free leave to engage the Nords,” the lieutenant went on.
There was a pause, followed by laughter, which quickly led to a cough and some cursing. Then, Erich finally spoke:
“This Otto won’t like this. Or he’ll use it to start another bloody war right amid winter.” He paused, eyes frowned as he washed down some more bread with ale. “Let’s start prepping some folks for marching, why don’t we?” he said in the end. “It won’t be long now. I’ll lead them myself.”
* * *
“Bloody hell, that’s a lot of Swordbrothers,” Simon commented, spitting some of the straw he was chewing; a disgusting habit, Etienne thought, which he had picked up from the Companions no doubt. The young lord shook his head.
“Only few are true Brothers,” he said. Lifting his head a little more over the bush, he scanned the camp once more. “Yes, mostly lower order initiates, not part of the gentry.”
“Yeah, who counts those none-gentry folk?” The words came slow, deliberate and carried a blunt edge. Coming from any other than Captain Johan, a noble would find such a response reason enough for insubordination charges and a couple of lashes. But the seasoned man-at-arms officer knew exactly how to deliver disobedience and sarcasm without ever truly saying something wrong, all the while his expression portraying nothing but innocent blankness. Now he, thought Etienne, turning to look at the man… He knew how to chew on that straw. Professionally.
“Why are we hiding, Etienne?” Simon asked. “The Sword can’t stop us, they’re just an Order, we are nobility.”
The soft cough from Captain Johan could have sounded like a chuckle to a suspicious person.
“Pardon,” he said, clearing his throat. “Boss, I am not sure how much time we have before your parents and other relatives have Schur drag you back from the frontline and that detour through Haubach already cost time. You want to do some good, I say we skip meeting the Swordbrothers – simple formality that it no doubt is – and start patrolling beyond the line to protect the villages from raids. No one knows who we are, no one knows where we move, we have more time to do some good.”
“Nonsense!” Simon said. “We have leave to be here by the land’s Steward. We could walk right into the camp, pass through all good and proper. Fall, we might even conscript a couple of dozen for escort. If you want to truly kick the Nords where it hurts, we must try and take back one of the river control chains. That’s how we start reclaiming the land.”
Choice
Listen to Simon.
“I hear you, Captain,” Etienne said. “I am itching to just march in and start protecting some people from those Nords rascals. But I think…”
“Don’t think too much, lord,” Johan said, somehow managing to accent the ‘lord’ in a way without a capital L. “Let’s go in and do some good.”
Etienne shook his head. “I think Simon has the right of it this time, Captain. It’s not about the etiquette, really, it’s about the long term good. If we manage to reclaim a river chain, that’s what helps most, even the people in the end.”
Grimacing, the Captain nodded. “Your call, boss,” he said. “But mark my words, those Swords won’t let us just prance around.”
“We are nobility,” Simon snorted dismissively, with the confidence only a pedigree could offer.
* * *
“They did what?” Erich guffawed, banging his hand on the table as he descended into near uncontrollable laughter.
He had to admit, this had proved to be one of his best ideas to date; well, one of the most entertaining at least. No doubt his usual luck would take over any minute now. Somehow he’d be blamed for the lad’s idiotic optimism and he’d be crawling himself out of a shithole of his own making soon enough. But at least he’d do so with a chuckle and mirth aplenty.
“If the Orders have arrested a noble, this will go very sideways, very quickly.
“Well, arrested may be a bit of strong term,” the spymaster said.
“You said detained.”
“Contained, Sir. The young noble seems to be… kept in the forward camp. Apparently he wants to press on and hit the Nords at one of the river chains. But the local commander is bringing up excuses for paperwork and the like. So far, it has worked but… My, sir, you seem terribly entertained by all this.”
“I am,” Erich replied. “I expected the boy to bring trouble to the whole Riismark lot but this is even better. If the Sword Master Everard doesn’t let the boy go, then we’ll go and bring him back. If he does, then he’ll engage the Nords. Either way, we should be marching soon enough.”
* * *
“Master Everard, do not take me for a fool.”
Etienne’s voice was cold with hints of an angry flare. It was not so rare, usually triggered by things he considered ‘Wrong’ but the contradiction to his usual mannerisms was so stark that even a stranger, much more an Order Master, was taken aback.
“I beg your pardon, my Lord but I do no such thing,” he said, matching the coldness in the voice. “It is exactly for that reason that I am sure you understand why my men have been delaying you. Your presence here is complicating in an already complicated situation.”
“I do not see how,” Etienne cut in. “I am here by leave of by the leave of Lady Annadhen, Steward of Haubach, whose lands we currently step on. I have her direct and open invitation to engage the Nords as I see fit. But your Order is stopping me.”
“Fredrik of Brandengrad, First among the Eleven of Riismark as it stands. has entrusted the war effort against the Nords to my Order, my Lord – with the agreement of King Otto of Haubach, I must add.”
“ ‘First among the Eleven’ is not a title recognized by the Conclave, Swordmaster,” Etienne retorted. “As such, my leave from the local sovereign’s steward supersede your orders. Now, if, in the interest of the war effort, you have a target, a river chain, in mind, that would most benefit the theater, I would welcome your input, as much as I would welcome any assistance you’d be willing to offer.”
“You have to know how this can cause political chaos,” Everard said, dropping all etiquette.
“I know that it will help against the Nords,” Etienne answered. “It will open a river to us, possibly help bring provisions to people who need them and move troops with more ease. That is what I know, Swordmaster.”
“So be it,” Everard said.
Choice
“If it’s going to be done, I will see it is done right.” – Everard will send Order forces with Etienne to reclaim the bridge. This is contrary to the agreed plan with Fredrik.
Master of the Sword Everard shivered as the mist crawled under cloak, armor, padding and cloth. It had rolled in slowly and deliberately, as if fueled by the foggy breaths of the men and women under his command. He had come to appreciate this land for the most part; the misty mornings, the slow rivers, the wet forests, wide plains and its hardened people. Even the mist itself resonated within him in some way, as if its grey cloak mirrored his increasingly clouded thoughts. Oh, yes. Riismark was a good home to a troubled, burdened mind. But when it came to campaigning in it, there were few hells he could imagine worse than this.
Marching was slow, unless you were a local accustomed to a lifetime of walking through mud or slippery grass and stone. The wildlife lived up to its name, from the serpents in the vegetation, to the crocodiles near swamps and rivers and the wildcats and boars where the land hadn’t been swallowed by the water. The humidity made the armor nigh unbearable, and hilts had to be clothed to not be slippery. And as for tracking from afar…
Everard sighed, starring into the mist. It had been only a few dozen breaths since the noble brat and his company had left – Fall, he could still hear them! – but they could not be seen. Truth is, he had sent them half-blindly into enemy land, or at least based on an educated guess at best. Worse, he had offered a dozen of his own; a fifth of the overall presence of Sword Knights and a little less than a twelfth of the overall presence of Swordbrethren in Riismark. Every Knight lost would be another dagger on the Order’s dying flesh, he knew. Even that, however, was not what was really troubling him, for that was a burden all Swordmasters had to bear, the risk they all had to calculate. No. His real trouble was what lied ahead because of it.
It had been, in the end, for the good of the Order. If the young noble met with success in his attack, Everard wanted – no, he needed – the Order to be there. Not only would it be impossible to achieve victory without them, he believed, but he also needed such a victory to be his decision. And if Etienne failed, he needed his Knights to bring the brat back alive or die as martyrs around him. Either way, word would soon reach Erich Schur and his conclavist army. He had made sure. Holding Etienne any longer would have provided a fantastic excuse for that mercenary drunk to come and gallantly save the young noble from the clutches of the Order and the dissident Fredrik alike.
The question of course, was Fredrik. He had stalled Schur’s involvement, and, through the Order, he was either involved in the victory or tried to prevent another noble’s death – that was how he hoped the young King would see it too. The question was, should he deliver the message himself, ensure that this is how his decision was interpreted? It was the clever move, the long game move. But…
He snickered, annoyed, of half a mind to go after them and join the fight himself. That brat was a self-absorbed idiot like the worst of them but at least he had the urge to get things done and done right. And the truth was, Everard had grown tired of the same old games, the games all Orders had to play, the dances and smiles with entitled people; the Conclave, the Nobles, the Church, the whole falling lot was too self-involved to pay any attention to the big picture, to the real problems and the real enemies. Half their energy was spent on galas, the other half in keeping up with ridiculous etiquette and bargaining, while lands were being lost to Nords, Spires were attacking and Dweghom paraded around the Kingdoms as if they owed them.
Oh, yes, he was getting really tired with the whole falling lot. The good of the Order had to come first.
Choice
Get something done – The Order cannot be served if it is the Order no longer. Risking Fredrik’s disfavor, Everard will do what his Order is supposed to do: battle outside threats. Everard will join Etienne’s attack.
The Battle of Nordstepped Lands
“What kind of stupid name is that?”
Everard was furious, of course. Expected. But Etienne had a way of ignoring the fury of seasoned men, didn’t he? He had a way of ignoring the fury of reason, if Erich had anything to say about it. It was why he had been the perfect candidate to send here – and it had worked like a charm.
“It is inspiring and challenging,” the youth replied, completely oblivious to the fire dancing in the Swordmaster’s eyes. “And it underlines our failure to secure our own lands, our failure to keep those Nords from our soil. OUR soil. OUR failure, Swordmaster. As men and women of the Kingdoms.”
“Had one King, one duke, one bloody baron called for us, boy..!” the Swordmaster fumed but the boy simply interrupted him, wielding the oblivious superiority of pampered noble youth everywhere.
“The Companions and myself were not invited by anyone, Swordmaster. We simply did what was right. And here we are. Here you are.”
Erich almost laughed. Almost. What stopped him was not the boy’s words – obviously. What stopped him was that they gave the Swordmaster pause. And that ambushed him.
“Well,” he said, “I on the other hand was invited.”
“To bring me back, no doubt,” Etienne said and then blurted out: “even though you practically sent me here in the first place. Wasn’t that nice for you, Master Schur?”
“Enough.”
Even Etienne thought twice before challenging a Swordmaster with that tone. Schur, on the other hand, seemed to have had no intention to bicker in the first place, taking out his flask and taking a good, long gulp instead. Everard looked at them both, before looking at the camp around them. He then picked up a parchment, eyes dashing through the numbers of the report.
“This is all we have then?” he asked, turning to Erich.
“Aye,” he shrugged, after he took a sip from his flask. “Reckoned if I brought more the locals were bound to get a bit fidgety, if you know what I mean, and invitations be damned, eh? Still, I’d say we’re safe enough, lest they risk moving their bulk out of the city. They can see we’re not… locals, no doubt, and Fredrik’s bound to bring more.”
“We’re not waiting for Fredrik,” Everard declared.
Erich raised an eyebrow, ignoring the wide, excited eyes of the youth next to him, as did the Swordmaster. Everard was looking straight into Schur’s eyes weighing him.
“Bait and sneak?” Erich asked after a moment.
“Bait and smash,” the Swordmaster replied. “I don’t think you’ve seen Swordbrothers in action, General. We are not much for sneaking.”
“And the bait is…?”
Everard smiled.
Danger, the little voice said inside Erich’s head – and it was not the booze. This man was dangerous, his instinct told him, and that danger went far beyond his prowess in battle. There were things at play here. Things he didn’t understand and which, usually, he considered above his paygrade. Things with Orders, Kings and his the Chamberlain. Something inside shifted uncomfortably, a feeling that he was being played – though he could not be sure if it was by Fredrik, the Swordmaster or his own boss. And on top of everything, he had to bring Etienne back. Alive, preferably.
He hated that feeling.
“If we’re going to do this,” he said, carefully, trying to calm the storm of anger rising inside him, “if we’re going to attack the city…”
Choice
“…then I’ll be the bait.” – Erich will try to provoke the Nords to come out of the walls.