Book 6: Chapter 5 |
Roanne
The “Old Oak” guesthouse
“THAT’S IT,” KURT VON HARTHA sighed with relief as the door closed behind Sigurd, and he found himself alone with his comrade-in-arms and right-hand man, Georg von Linz.
The latter was ten years older than Kurt, and his grumpy demeanor had earned him the nickname “the Hedgehog.” He was the oldest member of their unit, and also the most experienced. That is, of course, if you don’t count the hejdelf Lorin, who served the young stryker Leo von Grimm, one of Kurt’s quintet. Georg and Lorin, by the way, were often at loggerheads with one another. Sometimes it got so bad that the two of them wouldn’t speak to one another for days afterward.
“I’ve already told you that I don’t like this idea,” grumbled Georg von Linz.
“Yes, I remember,” said the captain of the “Savages” with a nod at the three fat bags lying on his table.
“But we made this decision together, and most importantly, we’ve received our advance.”
Georg just snorted contemptuously in response. And that despite the fact that his constant complaining about the dearth of money had long ago begun to grate on Kurt and everyone else in the unit.
“I voted for a campaign in the north,” Georg objected stubbornly. “We could’ve helped Sharptooth put things in order in Northland, then headed to the borders of the Svartvald with him. Instead of that, we’ve signed up for an extremely dangerous adventure with this little boy. I can feel it in my bones — he’s sending us off to be slaughtered. You remember what happened to the heads of our guild when they got involved in that little adventure with Conrad?”
“How would you have negotiated with the Twilighters?” Kurt snickered in reply. “Or have you forgotten how they escorted us out of Vintervald?”
“Well, they sent one of their own people,” countered Georg.
“It was an unofficial offer,” Kurt shook his head. “They wanted to hire us to use us and kick us out like street mutts. And believe me — they wouldn’t let us anywhere within a day’s march of the Svartvald.”
“But this little boy — “ Georg tried to object, but Kurt cut him off.
“This “little boy,” as you call him, has distinguished himself on the frontier and won a Silver Wing, and then somehow come out victorious in a Great Trial — one that killed Piers Butler, if you remember. I tried to dissuade him from that little adventure, of course... But most importantly — this kid has become an avant. All that, in the space of one year!”
“We still need to see just what kind of “avant” he really is,” grumbled Georg.
“Believe me, I’d love to watch him fight,” chuckled Kurt. “I’ve known Sigurd since we were little snot-nosed kids, learning to touch the Power under the Diamond Guild. He was the best in our class, until those Ice Priest bastards took him. And you know what he told me? The Margrave de Valier beats him in their training duels nine times out of ten. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. You understand what I’m getting at?”
Georg’s reply demonstrated why he fully deserved his nickname. His “needles” went up with a quiet scoff as he wrinkled his face, looking every bit like a hedgehog that had just been poked with a stick.
“I don’t believe that fairy bastard Lorin,” he said drily. “That hejdelf feeds us tall tales about the aurings, who probably never existed in the first place. Or do you expect me to believe that some little boy is really the descendant of some line of fairy-tale mages that could chop a continent in half? It’s nonsense...”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” Kurt smiled as he stood up from his table, signaling that the discussion was over. Then he said: “It’s a done deal, anyway. Prepare our people. We move out in two days.”
* * *
Herouxville
The “Fox Den”
“They’re beautiful!” Valerie exclaimed excitedly.
She and Verena were standing on a balcony, looking down enraptured at the massive horses that were being delivered to Max that day.
The size of the animals alone was awe-inspiring. They were almost seven feet tall, and amidst the people walking to and fro among them they looked like mountains. Their thick, dark fur glistened black and dark brown in the sun.
Their powerful legs were the size of tree trunks, and they made deep impressions in the ground, while their thick, dark manes and tails fluttered gently with every motion. The eyes of these giants were dark and deep, and bespoke a deep inner feeling of calm and intelligence. Despite their size, however, the horses moved with surprising grace, like dancers, masters of the art of combining balance and power.
Valerie had heard from one of the servants that Max spent a very long time examining every detail of the dozen horses. And now he was examining them again, looking for all the world like an experienced groom. Even the people who had delivered the horses were watching his movements with an admiration bordering on awe. It all gave the impression that her brother could see right through each of the horses as he examined them.
“Württemberg mistrals,” said Verena.
Valerie heard a note of price in Max’s cousin’s voice as she spoke, and turned to look at her pensively. Meanwhile, Verena — still engrossed in watching the horses — continued:
“This species was bred in the Duchy of Württemberg, in western Astland. The great-grandfather of the previous King, Conrad V, loved horses, and he put a lot of effort into making this breed develop into what it is today. Mistrals were the pride of the royal family.”
As Verena spoke, Valerie couldn’t shake the feeling that this cousin of Max’s had somehow taken part in raising horses like these. And in general, this girl had a striking amount of knowledge at her disposal. It seemed like she knew almost everything about everything. Mind you, that wasn’t surprising. No girl that Valerie knew had ever read as many books as Verena had.
Max’s castle had a pretty extensive library, which he was constantly filling with new volumes, spending a pretty penny in the process. And whenever Valerie couldn’t find Verena in her quarters, she knew that nine times out of ten she could be found in the library. Actually, even as they stood there on the balcony, Verena was holding a small volume, some sort of boring philosophical tract.
Valerie couldn’t help remembering the first few days after she moved into Max’s castle, and how coldly she had treated Verena at first. For a while, the Viscountess suspected that Max and Verena weren’t cousins at all, and that there might be some kind of intimate relationship between the two of them. She even shared this suspicion with her aunt, but the latter calmed her down by reminding her that Max never did anything on a whim, and that he was scrupulously careful with his reputation.
A year earlier, a statement like that would have surprised Valerie; after all, her father’s bastard had never been known for his sense of honor, and his reputation had been a decidedly bad one. Now, though, she couldn’t help but agree with her aunt. The Max of two years ago and the Max of today, she concluded, were two completely different people.
Nevertheless, the Duchess du Bellay asked Valerie to keep an eye on Max’s cousin, and she took her aunt’s request very seriously.
But the longer she lived in Max’s castle, the more convinced she became that there was no romantic connection between Verena and Max. Quite the contrary, in fact — her brother always treated his distant cousin with marked tact and respect. And she always replied to him in kind. That said, Valerie did occasionally catch Verena casting a sad glance at her brother. She obviously wasn’t totally indifferent to Max, but that was a far cry from anything that might give cause to suspect any sort of unbecoming behavior on her part.
Gradually, the Viscountess came to feel at home in the castle, and on her aunt’s advice she started making attempts to bring the management of Max’s household into her remit. Verena, by the way, seemed totally indifferent to this. She had never displayed even a hint of any similar impulse. In fact, she was careful to behave as a guest at all times.
On more than one occasion, Valerie noticed that she had a tendency to forget about Verena’s origins. Verena acted like a true aristocrat, and it seemed perfectly natural when she did so. The Viscountess also noticed the respect with which Max’s valet Bertrand always treated her. As if she were the daughter of a count or something, rather than that of a merchant.
Valerie could find only one explanation for such behavior: old Bertrand, who after all had once been the personal attendant of Max’s late mother, was paying as much respect as possible to her relative out of a sense of nostalgia.
As for the management of the household... Slowly but surely, as Valerie became familiar with the inner workings of life in the castle, she realized that everything functioned very smoothly on its own, like a well-made clock, and that her intervention would only mess things up. Bertrand and Marc (Max’s butler) knew their jobs very well. So she decided not to interfere with them as they carried out their assigned tasks. The only thing she saw fit to change was the castle’s furniture. The current furnishings were far too outdated. There would need to be a lot of changes in this regard before receptions for high-society guests could be considered.
After explaining all the advantages of such an overhaul to her brother, she got his approval, as well as a promise to give her the money that her plan would require.
As soon as Valerie got to work, however, some strange things started happening in the castle. For example, the first thing the Viscountess did was order the servants to take all the old furniture up to the attic. Including all the old-fashioned vases, bronze statues, chairs, pictures, and other decorations. Valerie also invited several master upholsterers to bring samples of the latest fashions in wall and furniture coverings, as well as embroidery for new curtains, canopies, pillows, and blankets.
So one can imagine her surprise when the next morning, she found everything back in its former place. All the things that had been squirreled away in the attic were back in their places, as if no one had touched them at all.
An interrogation of the footmen, the butler, and Max’s valet yielded nothing. They all just shrugged; none of them had any idea. Each of them assumed Valerie must have ordered things brought back to where they used to be.
In the end, Valerie simply ordered the footmen to move everything back up to the attic again, and warned them that they would be punished if they brought all the old junk back downstairs without her permission.
And the hubbub began anew the next morning. At first, Valerie didn’t even realize what was going on. That is, until she saw a bronze statuette of a rearing horse on her table — a statue that she distinctly remembered the servants packing into boxes the evening before.
The Viscountess launched another investigation, which turned out every bit as fruitless as the first one. All the servants just shrugged worriedly and exchanged strange looks with one another. This behavior seemed a little suspicious to Valerie. It was as if they knew exactly what was going on, but didn’t want to say.
This convinced Valerie to change her approach. She ordered all the old junk loaded onto wagons, to be carted off for sale. But to her surprise, this turned out to be impossible. It was soon discovered that all the wagons had mysteriously broken in one way or another. By that point, Valerie was angry and tired, so she decided they would simply try the same thing the next day. In preparation for the attempt, she ordered all the carts repaired.
But alas — she wasn’t fated to get much rest that night. Toward midnight, Valerie awoke to the sound of a strong wind opening all the windows in her bedroom and a fire that suddenly and mysteriously burst into life in her fireplace. She wanted to summon her maid, but she didn’t have a chance. She suddenly felt exhausted, and collapsed back down onto her pillow. Before losing consciousness, Valerie heard the sound of happy, mirthful voices, speaking a language that she wasn’t familiar with.
She woke up late the next morning, tired and bedraggled. The entire night had been filled with strange dreams, in which she was constantly unloading wagons full of all Max’s old junk and putting everything back in its place. When she finally opened her eyes and saw the same damned bronze horse on her table, she wasn’t even surprised anymore.
Valerie didn’t make any more attempts at redecorating for the next several days. She just kept an eye on the furniture. And... Well, it was a miracle! Nothing happened. Everything was the same as it had always been. The only person Valerie shared her fears with was her new maid. She, in turn, told the Viscountess that she had heard the older servants talking about seeing ghosts in the castle.
All the residents of the Fox Den were convinced that Valerie’s attempt to dispose of the old stuff in the castle had incurred the wrath of the resident ghosts. Which, of course, explained why they had started causing trouble and trying to scare her.
Of course, the Viscountess’ reaction to the maid’s story was skeptical, to say the least. She was convinced that there was some sort of conspiracy afoot, which would come to an end only when the guilty parties were punished. So for a little while, Valerie stopped working on anything related to redecorating, and pretended that she was no longer interested in pursuing the idea. At the same time, she was keeping her ear to the ground.
Valerie was not only very smart, but also very patient and firm in her resolve. She was willing to put up with a long confrontation if necessary; but as strange as it may seem, the problem went away on its own after a chat with her brother.
Max himself came to inquire why his sister still hadn’t made any changes in the castle. At first, Valerie didn’t want to tell him, but he realized that she was hiding something and eventually he got it out of her.
Valerie thought Max would laugh in her face, but instead his reaction shook her to the depths of her soul. It all happened in his office. After his sister’s halting story about the strange happenings in the castle, Max frowned, stood up from his chair, and shouted several menacing-sounding words in some unfamiliar language into the empty space of his office; then, speaking Vestonian once again, he assured Valerie that from then on, no ghosts would be interfering with her work.
As the puzzled, deeply-affected young woman walked out of the office, she suddenly realized that the strange language her brother had spoken to the “ghosts” was the same one she had heard in her dreams during that terrifying night. And sure enough, from that day on the otherworldly forces left Valerie alone; within a few days, she was hard at work on updating the interior decorations of the castle.
As she watched Max from the balcony, she couldn’t help but smile. The last year and change had seen a dizzying uptick in her quality of life and her position in society. From time to time, Valerie still caught herself thinking that everything happening around her must be a dream. After all, it hadn’t been all that long since she’d headed off to Abbeville on her uncle’s orders to go fetch some unknown, despised bastard. Now she was living in his castle. And that bastard was not only a margrave — he had somehow turned into one of the most powerful combat mages on the whole continent.
Valerie remembered the joy and excitement that seized her when she saw Émile the Toad’s lifeless body collapsed onto the floor. Oh! Max was amazing that evening! He was like one of the knights of old in the songs of the ancient bards. Valerie knew at that moment that she needed to stay by his side. And he didn’t disappoint her. She was living with him, and she would never, ever return to the care of her horrible old uncle.
Valerie tried her best not to think about the war that Max was heading off to. She was certain that he’d survive it. Or at least she convinced herself that she was certain. Now that all the horrors of living in her uncle’s house, and the threat of someday having to marry that monster Émile, were finally behind her... Well, she didn’t really want to go back to thinking about anything bad. And anyway, Max had a rare talent — he always managed to come through things without a scratch. Think about it — even ghosts fell into line at his command!
Valerie glanced over at Verena again. She followed the young woman’s gaze. Verena was also watching Max. For just a moment, something flashed across her eyes, so briefly it was hardly noticeable. It was the expression of someone filled with sadness and longing, of someone concealing an unconfessed love. There was no doubt about it. That look only passed across the eyes of people who were full of invisible grief for a love that was powerful, but fated never to be.
In a way, the Viscountess felt bad for Verena. So foolish... Sighing over a man for whom she could never be a match. And not just because of their shared ancestry (which was a factor, of course, despite the fact that they were only distantly related). Max was the Margrave de Valier, a combat mage at the rank of avant. A brilliant future at court was undoubtedly in the cards for him. Only a young woman from a noble, influential family would do as a wife; the daughter of some bankrupt merchant had no hope at all. And among nobles, marriage wasn’t a matter of love anyway. It was a means to strengthen the family line. After all, Valerie no longer had any doubt that sooner or later, Max would reclaim everything their father had lost. And he would reclaim the leadership of their house. Because he was the only one worthy of doing so.
“I hope these horses will help my brother on his campaign,” nodded Valerie. “And that he comes home victorious.”
“I’ll pray to the Most Luminous Mother for it,” whispered Verena quietly.
“Me too,” said Valerie, before adding: “He’s got a lot of business to take care of in the capital. Her Grace the Duchess du Bellay is already in negotiations with the most noble houses of Vestonia, trying to arrange a suitable marriage for Max.”
Having said this, Valerie kept a close eye on Verena to see how she would react. And Valerie couldn’t help but envy the young woman’s composure. More than at any other time, these were the moments when she most resembled an aristocrat — one of the most exalted pedigree. Not a single muscle moved on her face.
“My cousin is worthy of the very best match,” said Verena in an even tone of voice.
“Indeed,” nodded Valerie.
She understood that her words would hurt Verena, but on the other hand, life was hard. The head of the family had to think about the future of their house above all else. And an alliance with another powerful, influential noble line would strengthen its position. Love... Well, the head of the family line couldn’t afford the luxury of choosing his partner based on love.
Suddenly, the girls heard a loud whinnying from one of the horses, accompanied by screams from the people on the ground to their right. They both turned their heads and saw a column of armed riders clatter through the gates of the castle, followed by a train of carts. It could only be the unit of mercenaries her brother had hired; Max had received word that they were coming just a few days before.
Sigurd was riding at the head of the column on his horse; next to him rode a red-haired warrior in stryker armor. He looked to be about forty, maybe forty-five, but he was certainly dashing. Sky-blue eyes, aristocratic features, a proud posture — Valerie found herself staring at the man, who seemed to positively radiate a sense of inner strength and endurance. An instant later, the rider — apparently having sensed someone paying attention to him — raised his head. Their eyes met.
Valerie felt herself blush. Her first instinct was to avert her eyes, but she quickly pulled herself together, thrust her chin up a little higher into the air, and maintained eye contact with the stranger. He just smiled, with a slight bow of the head.
Ignoring this insolent greeting, Valerie snorted contemptuously and turned away. She was immediately struck by the deathly pallor on Verena’s face. With wide eyes, her friend was staring spellbound at the approaching column; as they came closer, it became clear that she was looking specifically at the banner, flapping in the breeze at the end of a long shaft whose opposite end was gripped firmly in the hands of one of the soldiers. On a field of light gray, it displayed a black heart, surrounded by a ring of fiery blades.