Karl Hastenbeck's Story

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Su’da had to admit to himself that the ride to the Capital was not so bad in the end. Granted it was not his home and was to cold by half but he could not help but admire the scenery and vast green landscape that they rode through. His own home, blistering hot at this time of year, could look like a desert if the rains did not come.

They passed at least one other village, their party receiving the bows of peasants who buried their faces in the dirt as the riders passed. Twice they over took marching columns of troops, a reminder that Medreva was at war, and the soldiers shuffled off the road at a bugle from the Kings Steward, glancing resentfully at the passing entourage.

Su’da was shocked at the quality of the soldiers he had time to flick his eyes over as they rode by. They were shabby, poorly armed, and looked down trodden. Once he dropped back to speak with a member of their Medrevan escort.

“You are at war?” He made it a simply question, it was always best if most people assumed he spoke only basic languages other than his own. The young knight looked surprised at the question and for a second Su’da thought he saw a flash of fear in the mans eyes.

“We are.” The Knight confirmed, speaking slowly as he gestured to the west where distant columns of smoke were barely visible. “The Kingdom of Brunswick-Lunebrg has taken the Western provinces.”

“But your King has party?” Su’da pressed the question, completely baffled that the event they rode to would take place with enemy armies trying to batter down the kingdoms gates.

“He has invited your Crown Prince, maybe to try and fortify his position, but he has also asked for peace with our enemies. They send the Iron Duke for talk. You understand?”

Su’da understood and he thanked the Knight before rejoining the Crown Prince. The Iron Duke, he was familiar with the title but not the man. Su’da had met several of his own people returned from mercenary work who had told them about the Duke of Brunswick. It was also rumoured that the Iron Duke retained two of Su’da’s own people in his household troops.

He pushed the matter further back into his mind as they rode into the Castle, Su’da noting with some surprise that their reception was little more than two women. One of them was a Lady Knight, but otherwise there was no one in sight and he felt the touch of a subtle insult that the Medrevans couldn’t do more than this for a man they hoped to make their ally.

He dismounted with the Crown Prince and observed the two women with an impassive face. His own years in the fighting pits made him an excellent judge of soldiers and he was impressed with what he saw in the Lady Knight. She would certainly be a challenge for the Crown Prince but Su’da knew that no amount of practice, nor armour, could substitute for years of experience. If had to kill the woman, he would do so.

The fine features of the two women were not lost on him though, nor on his master he noted as the Crown prince swept a short bow to kiss their hands. Su’da would do no such thing for he did not expect to be even noticed by them beyond a rude stare or two.

“Well, we didn’t get a chance to eat aboard the ship this morning, so breakfast seems like a splendid idea. Lorri and Su’da here are of course free to do as they please.”

The Crown Prince had spoken lightly enough, and he well knew that Su’da was not going to let him out of his sight, especially not in these new surroundings. He bowed his head slightly and spoke in their native tongue, his voice a deep, yet pleasant, rumble.

“Your servant shall stay to protect you, highness.”

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Three Days Ago - Western Borders of the Kingdom of Medreva

The grey walls of Raneis Castle glistened with the dew of the fresh morning, the clouds hugging the mountains that surrounded it so low that the higher towers of the fortress vanished into them, hiding the yellow and blue banners that hung limp in the dead air.

A clatter of chains broke the still morning, a trumpet challenged the sky, and the drawbridge dropped with a crash over the moat newly filled with rain water that poured from the mountains.

Then a thunder of hooves and the Duke of Brunswick rode forth. He was mounted on a great black charger and wore the fire-blackened armour that was his trademark. With him rode over one hundred of his household troops and at their head went his banner, a great square of blue cloth halved, blue with a golden crown on one side, red with a black armoured fist rising from the water and clutching a sword upon the other.

For the Medrevan soldiers who, up until a few months ago, had been siegeing the castle it was an impressive display and he galloped through their camp without sparing them a glance, his contempt for them clear.

He did return the salute of one Medrevan nobleman, gesturing for the man to ride with them as he continued east. The older man, his senior by twenty years, fell in to ride next to him.

“Off to do a bit of dancing, your Grace?” The Medrevan asked with a small grin.

“If by dance you mean tear the balls off your Prince, then yes.” He laughed. “It is not to late to join me and be on the winning side Baron.”

The older man smiled tiredly. “May I have leave to consider your offer until you return my lord?” He asked. Baron Travan Haverty had been charged with holding the Iron Duke at the Western Mountains and his army had crumbled, his fortresses had fallen and now he was but a shadow of his former self.

“Of course Baron, we are enjoying a ceasefire after all are we not?” The Duke spoke lightly but then he turned slightly in his saddle and locked his eyes on the Baron who shivered slightly at the gaze. “But when I return, if we do not have an accord, I will smash your army and put this country to the sword, so think carefully.”

The older man nodded and then curled his horse away from the Brunswick column. He could feel nothing but despair as he watched yellow and blue of Brunswick-Lunberg ride swiftly alongside the armoured fist of the Iron Duke.

He prayed for peace, if it failed, those same banners would ride his men into ruin.

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Two Days Ago - Western provinces, Kingdom of Medreva

The Duke took two quick steps and launched himself into space. His competitor followed suit and the two men struck the water some twenty feet below, both men reappearing on the surface and pulling hard as they raced across towards the small island some two hundred yards from shore. Once an officer, seeking favour with the Duke, had slowed himself to let the Duke win. The Duke repaid him by ordering his execution for he had no need of "bum licking swine".

On this day the young soldier he was racing beat him soundly and the Duke congratulated him heartily when he reached the island with the promise of a purse of gold when they returned to shore. He waved away the mans thanks before diving back into the water and swimming for the mainland where he could see his escort anxiously watching him.

It was their second day in the heart of enemy territory and he had ordered his men to make camp on the edge of a high bluff that afforded excellent protection from any enemy troops. He did not fear an attack, but one did not become the most powerful man in the west by being lazy or foolish.

As he drew closer he saw that a man clad in a white tunic with a blue sword driven into some sort of fruit awaited him, surrounded by heavily armed Brunswick soldiers. He stroked slowly towards them, eyes darting around the scene and at last deciding that the man had, in all likelihood, come alone, he could only wonder why.

His feet hit bottom and he stood, water cascading off his naked body that showed countless battle scars on nearly every inch of it. One in particular that ran from his right shoulder, down across his chest and stomach to end at his left hip. He moved with the grace of a panther as he moved up the beach, unashamed of his nudity, though he did accept a piece of linen to dry himself. The guard who had handed it to him spoke quietly so their visitor could not hear him.

"M'lord. This is Count Nilis Vaunbrun. He has come to surrender." The soldier couldn't resist an amused smile that was mirrored by the Duke. He thanked the soldier and then walked up the beach, wrapping the linen about his waist.

"My dear Count, would you still be interested in surrendering when you learn that I am only passing through on my way to negotiate with Crown Prince, whoever the hell he may be?"

The others eyes grew wide as the Duke approached and he shook his head violently. The Duke was not a tall man, perhaps nine inches over five feet, but his presence and the aura of command that he exuded terrified most men.

"My lord Duke, I only assumed that you were an invading force!"

The Duke looked around in amusement at the encampment and then laughed. "One hundred or so men to conquer Medreva, you do fill me with hope for the coming campaign season."

His laughter stopped abruptly and fury snapped into his eyes. "Bugger off my lord Count, if and when I return with my armies there will be no quarter for you and yours. I have no need of cowards. Get him out of here." These last words were to his men and two of them stepped forward, dragging the stunned Count away to his horse. They tossed him over the saddle and then slapped the beasts rump so that it startled and galloped out of the camp with the Count holding on for dear life.

"Break camp." The Duke ordered, and then to himself, "We have a victory to claim."

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If his lord saw hope in the bearing of the castle staff, Su’da saw something much different. He was older, perhaps wiser, but his age did give him experience in reading the moods of men. What he read here did not fill him with confidence in their proposed allies.

It was true that all of his combat experience came from the fighting pits and he had never stood in a true battle line, but neither had his liege. The reason Sharai produced so many excellent individual warriors was their lack of any serious enemies to threaten their homeland. True, they waged war on the seas from time to time but he was not foolish enough to think that warfare on the high seas was anything like warfare on dry land where trees, even a hill, could hide an entire army. At sea, battle was fluid, quick, with on tricks, but on land, well, it took a different kind of man to wage that kind of war.

Before coming to Medreva he had joined his master in learning all that they could about the distant Kingdom. The reports of the war that was being waged were scarce but it was plainly obvious that the Medrevans had been caught totally unprepared by their enemies. What surprised him most was that there appeared to be no actual cause for war, anywhere, almost as if the war had begun by some accident or trick of the gods.

His mind was still mauling this over as they entered the grand dining hall. It was an impressive space and he could see how it might look wondrous indeed when filled with people and music but today, with only a few people at the long tables, it spoke volumes about the troubles of the Kingdom.

The Crown Prince sat, the lady knight taking up a stance behind him. Su’da moved quickly to stand behind the Crown Prince, facing outwards towards the Lady Knight. He would not sit at this strange table and have both of them with their backs exposed.

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One Day Ago – Western Provinces, Kingdom of Medreva

“There she is…” The Duke spoke quietly as he shielded his eyes from the sun with an armoured hand. In the distance, barely visible amid the haze that promised a hot day, the bulk of Medreva rose into the sky, topped by its formidable looking castle.

“Going to be a brute to siege m’lord.” The Knight who sat easily in his saddle next to the Duke commented, absently slapping at a horsefly that had settled on his leg.

The Duke grunted his agreement then lowered his hand, looking about him at the wealthy towns and lush fields that stretched away from his position on the crest of a high hill. From here the dirt track lazily wound its way down into the river valley, several stone bridges with mills turning slowly above them making for a tranquil scene. There was wealth here and he, like all soldiers, knew that if there was no other reason for fighting wealth would certainly do.

“If they were as good at soldiering as they are at farming we might not have made it this far this fast.” The Duke said aloud, his companion nodding in agreement. “As for that Castle, we’ve both learned that the Medrevans are rather unimaginative defenders though the bastard Prince is rumoured to be a tougher nut to crack.”

The Duke had many qualities but none greater than his ability to remember virtually everything he saw, heard or read. Over the past year he had read much on the leaders of Medreva, their strengths and weaknesses and in a Kingdom so divided over succession he found many a willing nobleman who would tell all in exchange for a purse of desperately needed gold. Medreva was rift with spies, many of them his own, others split between the two Royal Princes and he was sure that surrounding Kingdoms had their fair share as well.

The two horsemen sat in silence for some time until, as the mysterious letter had promised, a small group of horsemen rode from a barn below and up the road towards them. They wore no marks on their shields or armour and their leader wore a close faced helmet despite the rising heat of the day.

When they were within fifty yards the faceless leader curtly ordered his men to stay and then rode on alone. The Duke kicked his own horse forward to meet him and the two riders came together in a little swirl of dust.

“The Iron Duke.” Said the faceless man as he reined to a halt. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“And I have heard much of you, Count Von Trasel, from your younger brother, nothing good of course.” The Duke replied, a wiry smile crossing his face.

“Of that I have no doubt.” Said the other as he pulled the helmet from his head, revealing short cropped black hair and a nose hooked like the beak of some bird of prey. Two piercing green eyes regarded the Duke from beneath a pair of equally black eyebrows. Von Trasel knew of the Iron Duke, few people didn’t, but sitting on his horse, quiet and contained, it was hard to imagine the fury and terror that he had unleashed upon Medreva. Many might guess at the Dukes nature but the Count, who had known him since they were lads, guessed that his childhood friend would have only grown more intense as the years passed.

“Your note suggested you might have a solution to our mutual… Problem.” The Duke said, interrupting the Counts train of thought.

The other nodded and smiled. “Still straight to the point I see. Very well, yes, I have a suggestion.” He pulled a roll parchment from under his chest piece and held it up. “Myself, along with a number of other Nobles, feel that we might come to an accord. We all wish to see the true heir, Prince Elijah, on the throne. Since most of the western territories belong to supporters of the bastard we suggest surrendering those to you in exchange for you promise not to interfere, or continue your campaign, when we depose of the bastard.”

The Duke raised his eyebrows slightly. This was certainly an unexpected turn of events and he held out his hand for the parchment. “You are aware that I ride to negotiate a ceasefire, and possibly an end to the war.”

“Which we both know you have won,” Said the other man bitterly as he handed the paper over. “You negotiate from a position of total strength. Let me salvage what remains of our nation.”

“With you as the Kings most trusted advisor I am sure,” Said the Duke with a hint of sarcasm. The thin smile on the other man’s face told him he was not wrong. “I will consider it. That is the best I will give you under the circumstances.”

The Count nodded and pulled his helmet back on, faceless once again. He regarded the Duke for a long moment through the helmets eye slits and then shook his head sadly. “I regret we ever became enemies Karl, I really do.”

A sardonic smile played across the Dukes lips as he replied, “Join me for dinner tomorrow night then and, for a night, let us be friends once again.”

The Count gave a curt nod and was gone in a spurt of dust and gravel. The Duke of Brunswick watched him go before riding slowly back up the hill towards his waiting men.

Many more friends would lie buried in the earth before this war was over.

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Celeste had woken up in the morning, early morning, as per usual. Her mother and her normally had to be up for most of the day anyways. She got dressed into her simplistic clothing and slipped her shoes on. The morning sun was just starting to rise as she had gotten up and she was walking along the grounds, that were oh so familiar to her. She was used to seeing them all the time, she had grown up here with her mother, and she was a valued member of helping out with the stables with visitors and people going out and coming in. She also had to care for the horses. She could feel a light breeze flow past her as she continued on to the stables.

Soon she had made it to the stables and she saw the same wooden stables, and the familiar smell of horses flooded in and she smiled, she loved being close to the horses. She began to change their hay, so it was clean and fresh. She normally did this on a regular basis and eventually she finished with that, and she hand fed each horses and gave them love and attention, they needed to be cared for and she was exactly the person to do it, her mother had indeed taught her little things to keep the horses happy. Celeste went up to her favourite horse, which was a black beauty and she had the brush and she began to brush the horse's mane and soon the horse nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck tickling her and making her laugh.

After a few hours, her mother came in and over looked her work, and soon began taking each horse out to get the exercise they needed to keep them well prepared for anything that they needed. Her mother had eventually came inside though and the two of them began to talk back and forth, exchanging pleasant conversation between each other. Soon she was told about having the project of running the stables at the manor where the Duke had been staying, she was so thrilled to hear it but she had to keep her composure, considering that she had an image to maintain but she was just so happy to hear that she'd get to do that, she was being trusted with something big and she was smiling brightly. She hugged her mother tightly and then was later told the details, and she'd have to leave soon.

Celeste was so relieved, she not only got something to help her out in future business but she got to see a new area and she got to possibly be near a Duke. Celeste smiled, all those dreams and foolishness that her brain had once been filled with came rushing back in and she sighed. She would at least get to meet a Duke, she already knew that the Duke was probably going after another royalty or something anyways, and she was just a stable-hand anyways, not like that meant too much. She was excited either way though.

When it came time for her to leave, she led the black beauty out of the stall that it was in, She had previously strapped on the saddle and she had put the reins on the horse already and packed a few things, considering she had to run the stables there, she'd be staying over there for a little bit and she smiled, "It's so exciting!" She exclaimed to the horse with a bright smile on her face. Soon enough Celeste had gotten up on the saddle and sat sideways, wasn't proper to sit with a leg on either side whilst wearing a dress. Celeste was soon on her way to the manor where the Duke was and all the people who were staying there, more importantly the horses.

Once she was there and up at the gate she told the guys at the gate who she was and what her purpose was, and from hearing of her coming beforehand they let her in, and she was directed to where the stables were. Celeste soon found them and smiled, she loved horses, and they were always a comforting sight. Celeste got off the horse and led her into the stables and found an empty stall and put the horse there, and looked around and took a deep breath in and smiled.

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He noted the lady knight take a few respectful steps backwards when Su’da took up a defensive position behind him, though honestly, Malik could have sighed. It would be the height of folly for these people to attempt to assassinate him, and he knew the knightly sorts weren’t the kind to bother with something like that. If this Lyanna had any intention of slaying him, she would have challenged him to open-field combat in that quaint little way Merdervans had. As if honor had a place in matters of life and death. Malik had his own code, but it was strange and obscure to most, and it did not treat in too many of the chivalric principles as such.

Honestly, he rather wished his manservant would just eat, but he wasn’t going to demand that—he’d have food sent up later, perhaps, when he settled into his chambers. Until then, he supposed it would be like this. The absence of company was honestly a bit dreary, at least until two new people entered the room.

He recognized both on sight, though he’d only ever met one of them. He’d heard a little rumor that King James of Effemagne was present, but he hadn’t expected to run into him so soon. “Ah, James! It looks like being king agrees with you!” Malik grinned and reached up to slap the man across the back in a friendly gesture. James was a fellow who knew how to have a little fun now and then, something that was doubtless sorely needed in such a chill place as this.

The lady with him was also recognizable. Princess Isabelle Marcot, preceded by her reputation for manipulation and wiles. He glanced back and forth between the two and raised an eyebrow, his smile growing fractionally larger across his face as his eyes glittered with mirth. “And her Highness Isabelle. My, my, it seems that Merderva really is playing host to half the world’s royalty. I do wonder what has possessed you all to come to this little mixer of the high-and-mighty, but of course, I shall not pry.” His tone remained light, jocular, but there was a keen edge to it, as though he didn’t really need to ask to understand. And who did? A castle this big—the number of spies was simply outrageous. It always would be; there was simply no avoiding it. He would never deny having a few well-placed ones of his own, for why should he need to deny that? It was a practice that everyone knew about, and almost everyone used. He revealed some things so that what was kept hidden remained so.

Better to tell a small secret, so that people never went looking for the big one.

“Please, both of you, do join me. I simply must share a meal with such illustrious company.” Malik gestured widely, as if to encompass the otherwise empty table and all the freshened food that sat upon it. If none of the Merdervan royals was interested in holding court over breakfast, he certainly wouldn’t balk at the chance. Not when it was bound to be so much fun.

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Ephraim debated the merits of this for a moment, but the waterfall was far enough away from the border of the Western Provinces that it would not be an issue. Not with the armies still caped where they were. So it was with a subtle nod that he agreed, picking up the pace until Sable matched Wen in stride, a stride which increased until both were galloping rather rapidly over the terrain. He didn’t travel too far ahead, of course—the simple fact of the matter was that a horse bred for war could last longer than one for leisure, but he chose to remain at his friend’s side, his own inborn sense of caution demanding it.

They had not quite yet reached the waterfall when Ephraim spotted something curious in the distance. A rider, from the look of it, pushing his horse far beyond the bounds of safe pace. The animal, as it drew closer, was obviously in a lather, a dangerous state if they had much further to go. The workmanlike quality of the armor and it plainness indicated a sword rider of some kind, and not a member of the nobility, but that did not invalidate the importance of what the person was doing.

“Hold here,” he told Giselle, his station settling over him like a shroud. That was the voice of Ephraim the General, not Ephraim the childhood friend, and he spurred Sable to intercept the rider, holding up a hand to call a halt to the man’s forward progress. “Hold, in the name of Merderva,” he said formally, drawing up when the other did.

“Gods save Merderva,” the man replied, his voice leaden with weight of weariness. “I bring a message for their Highnesses. Please, it is most urgent.” As if for proof, the man fished a folded parchment out of his cloak somewhere.

Ephraim blinked. “That is a title that I hold,” he said mildly, and the messenger did a double-take, scrutinizing him for a moment before he dipped his head in embarrassment. It was the color of his eyes that made him recognizable, he knew, for he did not wear the more ostentatious regalia he was allowed.

“B-begging your pardon, Highness,” the man stammered, reminding him faintly of Lyanna, who was like as not having a rough time of it trying to keep up with the boundless energy and verve of the Shahari prince. Replacing the parchment, he pulled out another, and a light of amusement crept into Ephraim’s eyes. It was good to know he wouldn’t actually brandish a missive for Royal eyes only to just anyone.

The second paper, he took, reading over the words and resisting the urge to curse under his breath. “All right,” he said calmly, handing the paper back. “Carry this same message to my brother Elijah, and let no one else see it, do you understand?” The man nodded, tucking the message away again, and Ephraim dismissed him. Lashing his horse with his reins, the messenger took up a full-tilt gallop again, making a beeline for the palace. Ephraim returned to Giselle, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and the guilt was obviously genuine, “but I must return. I have to make arrangements to house the Iron Duke and his party. It seems my request to treat for peace is to be answered in person, long before I had anticipated.” Perhaps the worthiest of all the things he could be doing with his time, but one he dreaded. The lord he was to treat with was not known for his mercy, and it would take more than a few parties and a pleasant stay in Merderva to forge a treaty between these two nations. Ephraim was going into this at a steep disadvantage, and just for one small moment, he cursed the legacy of his uncle for that. But it was no good berating a dead man for his lack of foresight, and he had too much to do to waste any time in so unworthy a fashion.

“We must head back. I’ll have to host him at one of the manses—we’re running out of room in the royal wing.” He would inform the stablemistress to send whomever she trusted the most to supervise that part of it, and the same for the kitchenmaster, the head maid, and several other people. They were going to have to split castle staff to augment the capabilities of the manse. Perhaps he would have to send Laurent as well, to manage everything else. It was going to be a delicate balancing act, but by the time Duke Hastenback arrived, they would be ready.

They would have to be.

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One week ago – Raneis Castle, Kingdom of Medreva

Count Raymond Van Alstine was alone with his pain. The last thing he could recall was the twisted look of hatred on the face of a Brunswick lancer as the man thrust his lance into the Counts lower back.

He did not remember falling from his horse or how he had come to be blind but with small movements he had been able to touch his face and his fingers told him that he would probably never see again.

The sounds of battle seemed distant now, the screams of the dying and of their killers echoing through the stone valley beneath the silent battlements of Raneis Castle. Those battlements should have been lined with Medrevan troops but instead, as he led his men east across the mountain pass, it was the enemy who had greeted his tired troops with volleys of crossbow bolts that tumbled his elite knights into the mud.

Then their pursuers had caught up and the Count, for one brief moment, had admired the Iron Duke. The man had predicted everything the Medrevans would do and laid his trap with infinite skill and now the Brunswicker led his army against the Counts exhausted troops.

The battle, if it could be called that, was more of a massacre as the Brunswicker troops poured arrows, spears and crossbow bolts into the Medrevan ranks before finally charging across the rocky ground to carry their swords and axes to the survivors.

Some of the Medrevans, led by their Count, had managed to cut their way free and were edging past the fortress when the gates opened and lancers rode to meet them. On tired horses, unable to lift their blood crusted blades, the Medrevans were butchered on the slopes. The Count had held his own for a few moments but then a lancers blade had found his spine and he fell screaming into the blood and shit.

Voices sounded close to him now and he tried to call out, to attract their attention but he need not have bothered, they were looking for him.

“Over here my lord!” Came a shout and suddenly hands were turning him over and he moaned as pan rippled through his body.

The sound of hooves and then the voice that he had come to hate and admire sounded above him. “Get him onto a stretcher and into the Castle. He is worth more to me alive.”

Hands lifted him willingly onto a stretcher of some kind and then he was being carried across the rocky ground, low gasps escaping him every time the stretcher was jarred as one of the men carrying it stumbled.

All around him he could hear the cries of the wounded, the screams of dying horses, and the cry of carrion birds. He wanted to weep but no tears would come.