Several weeks had passed since the occurrence of that heinous kidnapping, and they had been most busy weeks indeed. By the grace of the Count’s mercy the surviving men and women from Wiffeld were allowed to trudge wearily back to their home, although he had called it a ‘Probation,’, with the condition that those who had been spared would, at any time, act at his beck and call to assist with construction and menial labor.

  It was a much more generous deal than they had been expecting to receive, and twice again what the rebels deserved after participating in a treasonous plot. However, as Niklas saw things without the Elder around to spread his xenophobic ideals or conspiracy theories or stir them to action, Wiffeld would likely pose little more threat going forward.

  Speaking of the late Elder, Niklas’ first official order for the prisoners from Wiffeld had been for them to begin a thorough search for the man’s remains, along with the unfortunate Rochester’s, all along the bottom of the cliffside ravine over which their fatal confrontation had taken place. Their search had lasted for several days but no remains were ever recovered, and so all involved were forced to assume that the bodies of the two men had been made off with by wild animals, or perhaps something worse.

  While Niklas had been organizing his search party, Uldred had retreated to her study to pen a sternly-written letter, a missive which was to be delivered to the Old Keep which the Hunters of Petrice called their home. The fact that such a horrific creature, such as the one she had helped fell two nights prior, had managed to bypass their lines as to make its way so deep into the territory–beyond even the Western villages, as far as just South of Castle Petrice itself–was an alarming and unacceptable breach in the security of the County.

  Their response to her report, which arrived even faster than she had believed birds could normally fly, told a tale of a gruesome event wherein the Hunters had been pushed, and their lines stretched thinly, until their backs had met with the walls of Thuud and the rest of the Western-most villages by a sudden increase in wandering beasts! Her letter had arrived only just after they had finished culling enough of the creatures that their forces had returned to their regular stations. What’s more, despite their tireless efforts, the County at large would yet require to stay alert for more such Monsters that may have snuck past their sentinels in the chaos.

  Immediately after the incident of the kidnapping, Uldred had apparently come to the conclusion that the only way to keep her little husband safe was for her to personally remain glued to his side at all times. Even when he did something as simple as leave his quarters for the washroom he would open his door to find her looming just outside. The whole affair was a truly exhausting and embarrassing one for Niklas, especially since Uldred would overreact when he faced even the most mundane of difficulties, sweeping him off of his feet like a princess and carrying him to his bed if he so much as stubbed his toe upon an uneven stone.

  Eventually, and much to his relief, Nayantara and Thomas managed to convince her that the three of them must patrol across the central mountains in case any more horrid creatures had trudged too deep into their lands. She agreed to the plan, but most begrudgingly, and during their scheduled departure she turned back several times to gaze anxiously upon Niklas before her fellow Hunters finally took matters into their own hands and dragged her bodily out through the gate.

  Finally free to do as he liked, Niklas eagerly threw himself into his work, staying in the dark library until the wee hours of the morning pouring over older books and scrolls, as well as newer parchments and notes which had begun arriving for him every other day. Among them were many documents to be reviewed and contracts to be signed. Niklas rolled his eyes whenever one of his own proposals returned from one of the Lords or Mayors of the Cities and Towns. These were writs which Thomas had delivered to them months ago, but only now that the Moot was finally over and done with were they being seriously considered, signed, and delivered back to Niklas with signature.

  “Insubordinate swines!” He could be heard griping to himself. “Oh, so you agree with me that paved or cobbled roads will improve trade and the delivery of supplies, messages and manpower between settlements… Now that I’m not being exiled for suggesting the very idea!”

  Suddenly, appearing over his shoulder, a tall, thin figure obscured by a ragged hooded cloak leaned down over him. Sticking a single pale, bony finger upward in front of the space where he presumed their mouth lay, they calmly breathed out a low shushing sound. As they did so, a cold tendril of their breath slid down the young Count’s neck and caused the fine hairs on his skin to rise up into goosebumps!

  “Aah, s-sorry.” Was the reply he managed to quietly force out through his gritted teeth before he turned back to focus on his work once more.

  While pouring over several new sheets of parchment that had arrived for him that morning, Niklas’ eyes widened as he came upon a much finer scroll than the others, and it was one whose wax bore the seal of the King upon it as well! He greedily tore apart the seal and allowed his eyes to pour over its contents.

  “Finally..!” He murmured beneath his breath, the corners of his mouth curling into a grin.

  A polite knock from a curled finger-knuckle drew Niklas back to reality. The great library door cracked open and a small stream of light from the outside spilled into the room around the backlit silhouette of the old butler.

  “My Lord, you have a visitor.” Belfort called out from the doorway.

  Niklas’ expression became quizzical as he cocked one eyebrow at the unexpected news. “A visitor? Did I have an appointment that I forgot to attend?”

  “No, my Lord.”

  Niklas grimaced and made to turn back to his work. “Send them away, then. Tell them to come back later with an appointment, I’m much too busy to be interrupted just now.”

  Belfort grinned a little in that moment, but in a nervous, accommodating sort of way which was closer to a grimace than a smile. “...With all due respect, sir, you may wish to meet with this guest, even on such little notice.”

  “Why?” Niklas huffed out, a little indignantly. “Who is it?”

  “My Lord Count!” Salza Lengarsson cried out in a dramatic greeting, raising his thick arms as if he intended to approach Niklas for a full-on hug right there in the center of the drawing room.

  “Lord Lengarsson.” Niklas replied flatly, approaching no closer than the first step inside the door to better avoid the threat of the man’s uncomfortably warm and familiar gesture. “To what do I owe the… pleasure of your company?”

  Seeing that Niklas was in no mood to reciprocate, Lord Lengarsson easily fell back into the armchair behind him, which groaned in complaint under his girth but held firm nonetheless. Propping his feet up on the low table which sat before him, Salza joined his hands together at only the tips of his fingers and pressed his lips together in the classic pose of a man deep in thought. Niklas’ face remained a neutral mask as he faced his guest, although his eyes narrowed and flitted quickly to the feet up on the table and back before he hesitantly took his own seat across from the larger man. Clasped in Niklas’ arms were a stack of assorted papers, parchments, and other such things which he held pressed against his chest. As he lowered into his seat Niklas rapped the stack of documents down atop the table.

  A long moment of silence stretched between the two as they each sat staring the other down. Niklas did his best to remain still and inscrutable, but he could not help but narrow his eyes in suspicion as he gazed upon this most unwelcome guest. Meanwhile, Salza’s lips twitched ever so slightly upwards at the edges, seeming as if he was somehow enjoying this interaction and his amusement was strong enough he was unable to completely conceal it.

  Niklas’ dislike for the man grew steadily larger with every slow second that passed between them.

  Finally, the larger man broke their stalemate. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, my Lord.” he said, straightening his posture then to a proper seated position. “My father guessed that there might be some… lingering tension between our families after our last meeting. He sent me here to smooth things over, get us all back on the same page.”

  Niklas only furrowed his brow, his guest’s words having done nothing but fuel his wariness further. “And, pray tell, what would that entail, exactly?”

  Lord Lengarsson grinned even wider as he raised a single finger in reply, as if to say I’m glad you asked, before he reached his other hand inside of his leather duster. From some unseen inner pocket he retrieved a folded parchment–one which appeared most familiar to the skeptical young Count–which he then placed upon the stack of documents Niklas had already set atop the table.

  “My father, as stubborn as he is, has recently become more willing to revise our former and long-standing agreement with the County of Petrice.” He explained as he unfurled the contract for Niklas to review.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Parties:

  This contract is entered into between the County of Lengar, which is represented by its Lord's Heir Salza Lengarsson, who will hereinafter be referred to as "Lengar," and Count Niklas van der Leigh von Petrice, who will hereinafter referred to as "the Count."

  Purpose:

  Lengar hereby respectfully entreats the generous provision of military aid and related services from the Count with the goal of securing the rightful property of the territory of Lengar that is known as the road of Benedict, which is currently wrongfully situated within and claimed by the territory of the Barony of Otkorn. Once secured for Lengar, the road of Benedict would be available for use by both contracted parties.

  In consideration of the services rendered, Lengar agrees to pay the Count fifty work-horses, thirty-five heads of cattle, twenty milk cows, and fifty pieces of gold per annum for the duration of this contract–

  As the Count’s eyes quickly flitted back and forth over the contents of this contract his eyes grew wider and wider with every pass they made. This time it read, at first glance, as if the thing was a true and fair agreement for both parties which granted proper rewards and benefits to Petrice for their efforts. Besides the fifty-fold increase in the allotted funds, the addition of various draught and harvest animals was an alluring prospect, even for a man as wary as Niklas. He knew how much Petrice needed both income and provisions. The young Count slumped back into his chair after he finished his furious perusal of the document, breathing out a sigh.

  Lord Lengarsson now sat with his chin resting against his laced fingers, now unrepentantly wearing a wide and toothy grin as he drunk in his host’s reaction. With his breath puffing out his cheeks as he slowly exhaled it, Niklas ran a hand over his scalp, his eyes flickering from side to side as he stared into nothing as if he was rereading the contract again within his mind.

  “Well, I must say, my Lord Lengarson, this is indeed a… generous and much improved offer that you have made to Petrice.” He said after he had finally pulled his thoughts together, his tone even and professional, completely freed from its prior wary suspicions

  “It gladdens me to hear it merits your approval! So you’ll sign it then?” Salza asked, his voice giddy with anticipation.

  “I would love to do so,” Niklas replied. “It is just unfortunate that I cannot.” Now it was his turn to break into a mischievous grin. “...At least, not with the factual errors it currently contains.”

  In a blink Lord Lengarsson had leaned forward to scan incredulously over the contract that his steward had so painstakingly concocted. “In which part?” He demanded breathlessly.

  “Oh, yes, this part right here.” Niklas replied, helpfully pointing his finger to a certain line in the middle of the text.

  --the rightful property of the territory of Lengar that is known as the road of Benedict--

  Salza slowly, incrementally raised his head up from where he had nearly been pressing his nose to the sheet before him. When his gaze met Niklas’ then, the young Count, in turn, grinned triumphantly down at him. This was all the more satisfying to him, for it was a feat he could perform very rarely and only in special circumstances such as this. Swiftly, Lord Lengarsson shot to his feet, robbing the young Count of his brief, and yet most enjoyable, moment of vertical advantage.

  “In what way is it false?!” Salza demanded in a haughty, affronted tone, gesticulating wildly as he spoke. “That road has been in dispute since before these three territories even existed!”

  “Aye, but now that is no longer the case.” Niklas patiently explained to him as he retrieved from the stack of documents the same scroll that he had only just received from the King, and broken the seal of, not an hour hence. He gently smoothed it out on the table so that his guest could read its contents freely.

  Lord Lengarsson gracelessly snatched up the full length of that parchment and brought it up close to his eyes so as to be absolutely sure he would not miss a single detail. He read its contents so thoroughly and with such intent focus that his head physically moved as his gaze moved over each line of text. He read it once, paused briefly as if in shock, and then went through the motions of reading it again, and then did it again, and once more after that. Finally, after his fifth consecutive reading of the writ, he threw his head back and laughed!

  “Huh... Heh! Hehhahahaha hah haw!”

  Finally letting loose of the parchment, he allowed it to drop back to the table as he fell back into his chair. He draped himself upon it quite lackadaisically, his demeanor much more casual than how he had held himself before, and for a few moments he did nothing but fill the room with the reverberating guffaws of his deep, heaving belly laugh. Niklas’ earlier suspicions returned as he felt quite put off, having not at all expected such a reaction to his news. He watched with a narrowed gaze as Salza finally chuckled himself to a halt and used his gloved hands to wipe a few mirthful tears from his eyes.

  “While I knew that you desired to take the Road as your own, I can honestly say that neither I, nor my father for that matter, had predicted you would take such a... drastic course of action.” He leaned forward in his seat then, resting his elbows on his knees, as he thoughtfully stroked his smooth chin with one hand. “I suppose that you are prepared for the consequences, then? I doubt that this is a task that even your mighty Countess could handle alone...“

  Niklas frowned, not liking the idea of a man such as this even so much as mentioning his wife. “You let me worry about that.” He replied with a dismissive huff.

  “Hmm.” Salza made a musing noise. “Well, I suppose my business is done here, then. I shall return home at once.”

  “Better you do that.” Niklas replied in a most firm and unfriendly manner, for he did not have any wish to host this man for even a minute longer, much less overnight.

  Lord Lengarsson somehow had the gall to smile back at him, seeming to find Niklas’ blatant snub more amusing than anything else. “Be well, Count, until we meet again.” He said as he lowered himself into a dramatic sweeping bow, before departing out the door and leaving Niklas alone once more.

  “...It will not be long enough.” The unsettled Count replied indignantly, and only to himself.

  “It said what?!” Cried a deep and aged voice.

  The sound of porcelain crashing created a high, sharp contrasting note as a teacup whizzed past the ear of the Lengar heir and struck the ground beside him. Salza did not even so much as flinch at the noise, for he was quite used to weathering such dangers whenever his father was in a mood. He simply knelt motionlessly on one knee, his head lowered dutifully, with the knuckles of one fist planted on the floor while his other hand rested atop his raised knee.

  “You fool! Why did it take you so long to travel to Petrice? I sent you out a tenday ago to deliver that contract!” Count Lengar cried, glaring daggers down at his son.

  It was prudent that the younger Lengar had remained kneeling with his head bowed. “There was a delay: rocks made the mountain pass inaccessible until they were cleared. We were forced to take a detour South to the Road and then turn West to the Castle.”

  What he said was not lie–everything he mentioned had truly occurred–and his story would be backed up by any of the escorts whom he had brought along for the journey. He simply prayed that none of them would be loose-lipped enough to mention the small bender he had enjoyed in Tuk, one which had then laid him low with a vicious hangover on the day he had originally been scheduled to visit Castle Petrice. He had been forced to delay another day while he recovered enough to appear presentable. A small lapse in judgement for which his face was now a mask of nervous guilt.

  “Useless! Imbecile!” The Count spat his invectives towards his son, threateningly waving his cane about as he did so. “I am surrounded by incompetents on all sides!”

  Salza still did not move from where he knelt, and after his rage was vented and his head had cooled slightly, his elderly father fell back into the seat behind his desk, closing his eyes as he breathed out a long last sigh of irritation. When it was done and his eyes opened once more they were sharp, focused, and shone with a steely intelligence– resembling his son’s much more closely than he would ever admit.

  “We still have time to stop this.” He muttered, more speaking to himself than to his heir. “If the King, as you said this document purportedly claims, is sending out an official to certify that the Road of Benedict once and for all belongs to the territory of Petrice, then we must simply… muddy the waters before they arrive.”

  Salza finally looked up at his father, his expression confused. “My Lord..?”

  “Petrice has no standing army to speak of. They have little military strength beyond what the Countess herself wields. If that official arrives at the Road of Benedict and finds it strewn about with Lengarian banners, they would undoubtedly be swayed to rule that the Road is ours by right!”

  Count Lengar’s wizened face was split by a wide and excited grin then, one so vicious that it made his son swallow in trepidation as he gazed upon it. But he, wisely, said nothing.

  “Salza. You are to immediately gather some men and round up as many sellswords you can. Money is no object, of course. Move quickly!”

  “...R-right!” Salza replied, although his wavering voice betrayed his uncertainty.

  The young man hastily turned and marched out of the room, the door of which was opened before him and shut after him by the hand of a dutiful servant. As Count Lengar cackled to himself within his quarters, lost in hazy daydreams of his own greedy ambitions, Lengar the younger disappeared around the far corner of the hall. Now standing as a lone witness to this scene, the servant who manned the door felt a bead of cold sweat roll down his cheek.

  “I must report this news to Baron Otkorn at once..!”