“So, what do you think?” Asked the old seamstress, her wizened face glowing with smug satisfaction. Niklas did not immediately reply, and his mouth could only hang open in stunned silence as he looked upon this most devilishly tempting creation. “Of course this is but a work-in-progress,” she continued. "but in its current state you can at least gain a measure of its full potential.”

  “This is yet unfinished?” Niklas gasped out, looking back at her incredulously. “As it stands, I have never seen anything of its like, even while I was a student in the Capital!”

  Hearing that, the old woman grinned mischievously back at him . “Why, my Lord, this will yet become a most formidable weapon, like what the Sword of Avalon was to King Pendragon!”

  Niklas turned back to marvel upon her creation once more, and gulped audibly as he did so. I don’t know if my poor heart will survive this…

  As he began to depart with the remainder of his forces back towards the border of his territory, Salza did not quite know how to feel. For yes, it was now truly his territory. On the one hand, after the death of his father, he was the new Lord Count. He had left the area three mornings ago as Lengarsson, but now he returned as Lengar. However, on the other hand, he had lost his father. The man had certainly not been a father he had particularly loved or cherished, if he was to be truthful to himself, but he was his father nonetheless. It was strange knowing that he was no longer here. The late Count Lengar had been an existence which, as he was growing up, had drawn both awe and fear from him in equal measures. Even when Salza had approached manhood and found himself suddenly towering above the man, who had begun to grow more feeble with age, his father still seemed as stout and unwavering as a stone wall.

  Salza then peeked back over his shoulder to glance upon the bloody rubble that same stone wall had been reduced to, which now resided within a large wooden crate pulled along upon a poor little donkey-wagon, which had been generously provided by the Countess.

  Tis’ a fitting end for such a hoarding penny-pincher. Salza mused to himself, unable to stifle a chuckle of dark humor at his Father’s fate. Maybe watching this scene from the afterlife will teach him some small lesson in humility…

  Regardless, Salza was now well aware that with his Father now gone, it fell upon him to step up. In his first act as the new Count of Lengar, he had done something that his greedy father never would have agreed to: Salza had provided the ransom payments for all of the remaining sellswords under his charge, from his own coffers.

  It was incredible to witness how, even on the heels of a resounding defeat, those rough mercenary men now marched with more motivation and admiration than they had when approaching what they had been assured would be a sure-fire victory. Despite circumstances which should have been dour and dispiriting, Salza grinned as confidence filled his wide belly with the same heady, invigorating warmth as a swallow of fine, strong liquor.

  …This whole ‘Count’ business? Yeah, I think I can do this just fine.

  Meanwhile, the men and women of Petrice watched the Lengarians depart with sharp and suspicious gazes, as if they expected their defeated foes to turn on their heels and attack again with redoubled vigor. That was the measure they had taken of their neighbor’s character over the years they had lived under the yoke of the late Count. They only allowed themselves to relax their tense muscles and take in deep breaths of relief once the majority of the sellsword army had disappeared beyond the distant treeline as they marched North, returning back to the hold of Lengar.

  Only one set of eyes had not trailed warily after their departing foes: Uldred’s were entirely preoccupied with staring down at her own boots. Her mind was lost in a storm of frantic thoughts as she grappled with the news of terrifying threat which the new Count of Lengar had delivered to her just before his departure. He had held onto this fatal information like a poisoned blade concealed in his sleeve, waiting until her guard was lowered to most courteously share it, thereby jabbing the metaphorical knife between her ribs and twisting it in the most cruel and painful manner..

  “I thank you for your kind and civil hospitality and understanding, especially during this unfortunate set of circumstances.” Salza had said as he offered her a firm handshake which she had begrudgingly returned to oblige him.

  He had then clambered up onto the back of his horse once again, fully seating himself before he turned and met her eyes once more, a wily Cheshire grin now splitting his face, immediately setting the Countess’ nerves on edge.

  “Oh, by the way, I suppose as I am now a Lord, I will be meeting your esteemed self and your husband at the upcoming Founding’s Day Ball, my Lady. Do pass along my fondest regards to him, and let him know how I am looking forward to the event!

  As Uldred’s mind was caught up in replaying the memory of that horrifying moment, several of the nearby soldiers looked at their Lady with concerned expressions. Her violet eyes were cloudy and unfocused, her face was even more pale than normal, and her trembling body had broken out into a cold sweat all over.

  I… had forgotten. No, I had forcefully cast the information from my mind under the pretense that the matter of the Road required all of my focus. She thought to herself, her mood grim. I mean… dancing and speeches? Guests of Honor? It is too alien for me to wrap my mind around.

  Suddenly, her growing anxieties were cut through by a single intrusive thought, one which she would normally have shaken from her mind out of embarrassment. However, this time, it was a welcome thought which she clung to desperately for comfort and support.

  …I should go see Niklas! He will know what to do.

  “Achoo!”

  Niklas abruptly sneezed into the crook of his arm.

  “It must be all of the dust from Uldred’s room.” He muttered to himself as he watched the billowing gray cloud which flowed unendingly out from the portal leading into the Countess’ abode.

  Masking themselves as best as they could manage, with cloths over their mouths and glass goggles across their eyes—and with a duster and a spade apiece in either arm—the servants had taken one last forlorn look at the Count over their shoulders.

  “Wish us luck.” Belfort had said grimly, just before the two trudged inside of the decrepit cavern, with the same demeanor as condemned men.

  Chaotic sounds of movement, clanging, shouting, and clattering now echoed out from within that long-neglected space, as if the two servants were engaged in a fierce battle against some kind of monstrous beast rather than simply cleaning.

  Silently shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the situation, Niklas then turned and departed down the hall, past the staircase which led down to the first floor landing, and across to the next hallway. There lay the room wherein the old and experienced seamstress toiled away at her own labours. But as he approached the doorway to her room, he began to hear even more discordant sounds and frenzied shouting. For a moment the small Count wondered if he had accidentally made a loop-de-loop through the halls and arrived back at the Countess’ quarters which he had just left, but when he peered within the door he realized the truth: which was simply that every servant in the Castle had gone completely mad at the same time.

  “No, no, do it again! Take that out, and pull it tighter this time, missy!”

  The unlucky soul who was being ordered about was a familiar freckled girl with long, curly hair. She worked frantically upon some swath of fabric with a pair of sewing needles as the old bird from the Capital barked at her from the other side of their shared worktable.

  Poor Finona! Niklas knew not when the young woman had arrived at the Castle, but evidently she had been found by the seamstress before anyone else noticed her presence, and she had thereby been forcibly conscripted into her work.

  “Really,” Chided the old woman, shaking her head exasperatedly. “when I had heard that a Village Elder had arrived, I was expecting her to be a woman of some experience.”

  “I’m trying!” Finona nearly wept in reply as her metal instruments danced about precariously.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Then Finona glanced up enough to notice Niklas where he stood in the doorway. Never has a human soul witnessed a precious and pleading look, writ upon even the smallest and most adorable creature’s face, that could compare to the teary-eyed, hopeful expression which the young Elder showed him in that moment. Niklas sighed in defeat and rubbed the back of his head before wandering over to the table where the two of them sat, which had been layered over with many haphazard bolts of cloth and spools of thread.

  “Are you bullying my yeoman?” Niklas asked the old woman with narrowed eyes.

  She, unfazed by his stern tone, haughtily raised her nose into the air as she tutted back: “I am simply teaching this poor girl skills she should have already possessed at this stage in her life, and benefitting from the extra set of hands in the process.”

  The two of them both looked over at Finona now; her curly hair was in a disheveled state which matched her frazzled demeanor, as she continued in her meagre attempts at sewing.

  “This is the least of what she should know if she is to be married soon.” Declared the old woman, even as she appeared entirely unimpressed by the young woman’s efforts.

  Finona’s head shot up in surprise. “M-m-married?!” She sputtered.

  “Keep sewing!” Commanded the seamstress, cowing Finona back into her work. “And yes, you’re already well past the age when you should have been married.”

  “But I only c-came of age a half a year ago!” Finona stammered out while she obediently worked.

  The old lady wrinkled her nose in displeasure. “In that case, you should be six months married by now.”

  Niklas wore a flat expression, which went entirely unnoticed by the two women as they chattered back and forth over their work. As a man who was married but a month after he came of age, I feel as though it happened much too early. He wanted to say this in reply to the crone, but he wisely held his tongue, for he did not wish for her to send any of her grandmotherly wrath in his direction instead.

  As if sensing his unspoken retort, the old seamstress suddenly turned over her shoulder to look up at the Count with eyes like daggers, making Niklas startle. “My Lord, does the Countess really not have any ladies-in-waiting about the Castle?” She asked him, her tone incredulous.

  “Madam, we only just hired our second servant a few months ago.” Niklas slowly responded in a wry tone.

  Finona giggled a bit at his dry retort, while the old woman folded her arms, looking quite put out by the news. “Hmm...“ She grumbled to herself, deep in thought. “Then... you will take this one with you.” She commanded, gesturing a hand towards Finona, whose eyes grew wide with shock and terror.

  “W-w-what?!” The young Elder cried, finally daring to abandon her handiwork as she shot up to her feet.

  “Her Ladyship will require at least one extra set of hands to put on the majority of the dresses I have drawn so far, and this one ought to visit someplace a bit more... civilized to better her chances of meeting someone nice.”

  Finona once again shot a dewy-eyed, desperate glance up at Niklas, but this time he was rubbing at his chin, clearly intrigued by the idea. “Yes... I see how that could work.” He replied. “Finona, congratulations. You have passed your interview with flying colors, and you are now Lady-in-Waiting to the Countess of Petrice!”

  Finona’s mouth fell agape as her fate was sealed. “I... but! But-! But I-”

  “-Now, ladies, I apologize but I really must be going.” Declared the Count, decisively turning to leave. “Madam, I trust you will properly prepare the Elder here for her coming duties? Yes? Wonderful! Goodbye.”

  Niklas then swiftly departed, allowing the door to swing shut behind him, leaving the two women alone once more. Finona stood frozen in place, shaking like a rabbit caught in a snare, her hand still raised as if to pull him back into the room.

  “What are you standing about for? Sit down and get back to work!” The old woman grumbled up at her.

  After a few days had passed and the members of the Petrician force had disbanded back towards their various homes, Uldred found herself crossing the portcullis into the courtyard of Castle Petrice after her final violent excursion to claim the Road of Benedict. It was a strange feeling, knowing the seemingly never-ending, back-and-forth conflict she had repeated for years was at its end. Her force had even readied themselves for one last Otkornian offensive to emerge out of the southern woods, but none ever came. They found no sign of any men present in the surrounding area, or even traces of a camp within the woods. Whether this was done at the Baron’s orders or decided by his men-at-arms own personal discretion, nonetheless, as soon as the Otkornian forces had laid eyes upon the Petrician banner they had immediately retreated back to their lands. Now, with this final potential obstruction gone, all that remained for Petrice to claim the Road was for them to await the arrival of the King’s Servant and to sign on the dotted line. It was an ironically anti-climactic ending to a long and bloody feud.

  As the Countess traipsed across the courtyard towards the entrance of the Castle, she found that she could not help but beam with a childishly smug look of satisfaction.

  I did it… I really won! Uldred mused to herself as she raised her nose proudly into the air. I beat Otkorn and Lengar both. We get to keep the Road! She thought triumphantly, ignoring the fact that she had neither desired that most hotly-contested stretch of dirt, nor had she thought herself as one of the players vying for it in the first place.

  She even hummed a little victory tune to herself as she ascended the nine stone stairs to the doorway inside in only two great steps, as was her habit. So distracted was she by her thoughts that she did not sense the watchful eyes which followed her all path from the Castle’s upper stories. Her joy lent her usual heavy footfalls a paradoxical light and bouncy quality as she walked. The sounds of her approach echoed down the stone halls as she excitedly closed in upon her true final reward: the massive, welcoming and familiar pile of worn sheets and ratty cushions that lay upon her own bed. After her valiant efforts, she was fully intent on losing herself within their embrace for the remainder of the day… and perhaps even the next as well.

  It was not until she reached the grand staircase leading up to the second story of the Castle that Uldred finally became aware that something was amiss, as she became aware of the presence of several shadowy individuals who had poorly hidden themselves about the large room, watching her with unknown and suspicious intentions. She pretended not to notice them, as she was unsure of who they were or what they sought. If they were dangerous they would likely reveal themselves on their own, and especially in this moment she was quite confident in her ability to defeat them.

  As she made her way down the hallway towards her quarters their eyes followed her, their figures coalescing around the entrance to the hall so that they could spy after her as she went. Now fully on her guard, Uldred spun fully around in order to return the unknown watchers' gaze with her own even as she continued retreating with a backstep down the hall and towards the open doorway to her room.

  Wait… the ‘open’ doorway to my room? She realized with a start.

  Whirling about on her heel once more, Uldred’s stomach sank so low and fast in her dread that she felt that she might vomit then and there, for the massive old door was indeed ajar, revealing the interior of her bedroom with a single glance. Inside, bright, blinding sunlight streamed in through the panes of the window, now unobstructed by grime. The dunes of worn, moth-eaten garments that had once lay strewn across every inch of her abode were gone, revealing a floor that had not been seen by any living creature in decades. Her things, her countless and piles of things, which were so numerous and had been tangled together so long she could not even recall their contents, had been entirely discarded. And to top it all off, even the color of its four previously safe and familiar walls had changed—or perhaps, they now revealed the color they had always been under their layers of accumulated dust and cobwebs.

  From afar Niklas winced as he watched his wife spin about and marched through that fateful doorway, but even as several long, fearful moments passed he heard nothing emanating from inside. He worriedly glanced over at Hemsley, who was hiding with Finona behind the corner opposite him, and the other man returned a look filled with the same concern.

  Was the transformation, perhaps, too great a shock for her to bear? Has she fainted, or gone into a shocked stupor? He thought to himself.

  As his anxiety reached a crescendo he began to move around the corner, opening his mouth to call out for her. “Ul-”

  “-NIKLAS!”

  What bellowed out from the entrance to Uldred’s quarters then was a terrible, guttural roar, one so loud and deep that the portraits and decorations about the hallway rattled as the force of it shook the thick stone walls of the ancient Castle!

  Niklas immediately turned about-face then, his look of concern now replaced with one of hardened determination. “Run!” He commanded to Hemsley, Finona, and the old seamstress, who all scattered from their hiding spots towards their pre-planned positions.

  A huge, menacing and dark form crashed out through the portal to the room which was once her sanctum, scattering the wood of the doorframe about her in a rain of debris, her wide shoulders having peeled it from the stone like parchment. Her figure was hunched over in an animalistic pose, and her eyes appeared as if they were glowing red with some unknown demonic power. Niklas took a deep breath, and then stepped out from behind the corner where he had been hiding, emerging into the open to stand in the center of the hallway. The ferocious, enraged beast that was his beautiful wife began to bound towards him, and she was angrier than he had ever seen her before. The whites of her eyes were aglow with swollen red veins, and her clenched teeth dripped with drool as she growled towards her prey with killing intent!

  Niklas calmly shook his head. It’s unfortunate that she really has lost her mind, just as Belfort predicted... Then he stretched his hands out to either side, as if beckoning her to approach him, shouting out a cry of his own, though his was more to rouse his own nerves than anything else.

  “Come at me then, I am ready for you!”