Nattas

Twist of fate

Nothing stinks as rotten as a city, during a tournament. Perhaps it is all those animals, Nattas thought. One would hope, he’d become accustomed to the foulness after being turned into a ‘caravan guard’ for over a month. Living off the saddle, eating in inns and straight up ‘camping’ in the country like outlaws. Even plebs, had it better than him surely. He touched his unshaven face, skin an angry red, cracked and dirty. Storm dared not smell himself.

Some things, you better leave a mystery.

Nothing more humbling than knowing that given a good enough coating, you fit right in with the gutter.

Ah, Riverdor. Hope you catch fire and burn to the ground. Praise be the vile Abrakas.

“That’s a lot of horses,” He commented watching his men clearing a path for them.

“Boss?” Sudi asked not catching his words, face almost white, carrying on him enough dirt to pave a road twice over.

Storm didn’t bother repeating them.

“We should find out where our people are staying. What did that last missive said?”

“A villa, practically next to the jousting field.”

We need better agents, Storm thought.

“Well, I see lots of buildings matching that. Now as for villas, gods help us.” He snorted. “People must be crazy to endure that much noise. Even pay for it! Finest place to settle down in the whole fucking kingdom. Huh! Why, what do you know? Meat market is just right there. Assuming that’s a market. There’s some eccentric coloring on them meats.”

Their two guards had stopped in front of a butcher’s table and seemed to agree with his assessment, given in the form of a tirade. Which of course, wasn’t what they were supposed to be doing.

“I will run ahead and ask around,” Sudi declared tiredly. He’d finally worn him down after so many days. A small punishment for the ordeal he’d put him through.

“No need.” Nattas stopped him. “That’s old Roderick and the tall grinning lad is Sir Ralph, I believe.” He pointed at the unlikely duo crossing the street not ten meters from them. “A solid call will suffice. Put some lung into it though.”

The villa had a nice vined covered gate and the inside yard was shaded and clean at least. One of his guards took his horse to the stable, cleverly built away from the main house. A two storied stony product of civilization, Storm greatly appreciated finally. It was a chore to walk as his damaged leg had locked up and he had to wait for the circulation to catch up. He helped it along patiently knitting the numb flesh with his hand.

Ten minutes after he got off the saddle, he entered the cool interior of the villa. A large room that contained a number of small and bigger tables, the bigger one occupied with what looked like several empty and thank thee Abrakas, at least one unopened bottle of well-mannered folk wine.

And two people of course. The illustrious, though banged up somewhat, heir to the kingdom of Regia and a rosy-faced maid. Storm took a deep breath getting into character and then bowed sharply, despite everything from the neck down protesting.

“Celebrated Lord Alden, may Uher give you years and health in abundance. Preferably after stripping them off your rivals,” He said in one breath.

“Lord Nattas. Welcome,” Lucius replied with a small smile. “Thick on the praise as always. Didn’t know you favored the new Pantheon.”

He didn’t.

“No amount is too much my Lord.”

Storm also believed praising was a skill in need of constant training.

“We are praised sufficiently,” Lucius said. “I didn’t know you were in Riverdor.”

“I wasn’t. I rushed here, when word reached me of the tournament. Unforeseen circumstances delayed me, I’m afraid.”

“Uhm. Something of importance?”

“Yes, my Lord. I believe so,” Nattas stared at the annoying maid. “Fetch me a goblet. A clean one.”

“Go get it yourself,” She replied staring back.

For a moment Nattas was too shocked to process what had transpired. Then his face turned an even darker red.

“How dare you! You lousy—”

Lucius put a heavy hand on his shoulder. Too heavy. “Lord Nattas, I’m sorry. But I have to stop you right there.”

“What?” Nattas flinched and looked at him surprised. “My Lord, I don’t…”

“It’s all right,” Lucius turned towards the wetch, now sporting a satisfied smirk on her provincial face. “Zofia, in the spirit of co-operation. Please bring another goblet from the kitchen.”

“Well, since you asked nicely this time.”

“I did.”

“Okay then.”

Nattas watched her walking away shaking her arse like a cat’s tail and gulped down to get ahold of himself.

“Lord Lucius, your servants are extremely—”

But the young lord interrupted him again. A tick appeared on Storm’s right eye.

“She is not my servant.”

Ah.

That explains this charade.

“Still, whatever her expertise may be my Lord, surely you can find… as a matter of fact I’m… vaguely aware of two reasonable establishments’ right here that will provide you wit—”

Lucius stopped him for the third or fourth time.

“She’s not a whore Lord Nattas. She’s a… potential ally. From the North.”

“An ally?”

The North?

Is this a fuckin’ joke?

He’d more easily believed she was a mermaid at this point. But the young heir was serious.

“Hopefully,” Lucius smiled, as if that fixed anything. “We have to get her out of the city first.”

There’s another piece of the puzzle.

Nattas bowed again. His mind was working overtime to figure out what was going on, but he couldn’t find anything to grasp on.

Nothing else to do but swallow his pride.

Again.

“As you wish my Lord.”

At least the wine and cheeses their ‘ally’ had brought from the kitchen were passable. Furthermore a chair is much more comfortable than a saddle. Small stuff are important too, Nattas thought, turning his attention on the conversation with King Alistair’s firstborn.

“It is probably for the better,” Storm agreed, although he didn’t. Adding, since that was his fucking job “But for the fact, Sir Ralph would have a claim on the kingdom of Kaltha, if he succeeds.”

Over you.

This he didn’t have to say.

Lucius waved his worries away. “A weak claim, anyway it is a matter for another time.”

By that time, it would be too late to dislodge him, Storm thought.

“Who is his opponent?”

“It is not decided yet. A number of surprises happened. Van Oord is out and that weird Prince of Cofols character, somehow gets to fight the young Rik De Weer for the other spot in the final.”

“Gust?”

“He didn’t come.”

For a moment Storm hoped he had dropped dead during the festivities.

No such bloody luck.

Nattas tasted his wine, while collecting his thoughts. “Well the biggest surprise is your excellence not being there of course. Although strangely many expected this Prince to fail as well, your absence easily tops that.”

“Stop with the flattery Lord Nattas. I indulged you for a while but this is getting creepy.”

“Apologies,” Nattas said getting out of character.

“Fuck you. Come on Storm. It’s just the two of us.” Lucius cracked a smile. Storm nodded agreeing, but for the alone part. That wetch was probably eavesdropping. “Anyway, I don’t think it much of a surprise. Injuries happen. Ralph can deliver for Regia. I’m sure.”

“Of course.”

“Tell me about your travel then. What was the problem?”

Nattas sighed.

“An assassin was sent against me. He failed obviously, not for lack of trying, but injured my nephew gravely, I’m afraid. My dead sister’s only child.”

Lucius frowned troubled at the news.

“I’m sorry to hear it. Your sacrifices for Regia are greatly valued.”

Storm was actually moved at the sincerity of his words and it took him a good moment to reply. Young Lucius truly was a cut above everyone else, nigh impossible to find faults in his character.

“I’ll gladly take on our enemies my Lord, but still something feels off.”

“You believe someone tried to prevent you from coming here?”

“That is correct.”

“For what reason?”

“Information. I’m good at finding out secrets,” Lucius nodded agreeing. They knew each other for more than a decade by now and mostly found themselves thinking along the same lines in matters of state. “What is the girl’s story?”

“Well, Free Fetya got into a scuffle with the Lord of Krakenhall,” Lucius explained.

“Isn’t that darn port closed off by now? Ice usually creeps up there fast.”

“I don’t think cold bothers them that much. Anyway, our High King’s Lord of Sea and so forth, is on war footing against the O’ Dargans.”

“Bah! What can you do with more frozen land? More fish?” Nattas wondered out loud.

“They have plenty gold ore too, but precious few months you can work at it. Furs, hunt as well. Man can always find stuff he wants that another man has.”

“So the girl?” Nattas probed, not wanting to comment on the double entendre.

“Our High King couldn’t be bothered to go after the Northmen, not with winter coming, so thought to blackmail the man. Sigurd did,” Nattas narrowed his eyes. “Zofia is his daughter.”

“So, we get to her first,” Nattas puffed hard. “Return her to papa, well… the High King won’t like it much, nor Lord Vanzon.”

“Not if it is done in secret,” Lucius said.

“Your father will have to be informed of this.”

“Aye.”

Nattas glanced towards the shiftily silent girl and lowered his voice to a whisper.

“He might decide to keep her. Best to have a bargaining chip than giving it away.”

Lucius appeared troubled but he kept his tone indifferent. “A matter for a later day. She must get out of here first.”

Nattas nodded in agreement.

“It will be arranged. Now, I think I should see what I can find out before departing, with your permission Sir Lucius.”

“Stay for the games. Rest for a bit. I will play the seriously injured some more. Take my seat near King Antoon,” Lucius offered as Nattas got up. He bowed again deeply, earning a chuckle from the annoying Northern wench.

“I will take my leave immediately,” He said keeping his tone professional. There’s a time and a place one can punish annoying cunts for their insolence and Storm was a very patient man.

The central stand, dubbed ‘royal’ for the event, was not as crowded as the rest, but it held most of the important people present in Riverdor. None more important than Antoon, 2nd of his name, Lord Protector of the Issirs, the Lorians and the Northmen, Foremost King of the three Kingdoms and shield of the Realm; followed by the old Marshal, Albert Van Durren, Lord of Riverdor, his wife lady Lotte and the delectable Princess Elsanne sitting next to her. Sigurd Bach was there also, though Nattas pretended he didn’t see him, as he executed the well-practiced by now deep bow, an unyielding smile plastered on his face.

“Foremost ruler of Kaltha, I’m overwhelmed with joy at your presence.”

Antoon cast him a bored glance.

“Lord Nattas.”

Storm wished him a heavy case of cockrot, maintaining his smile.

“I was tasked, your supreme n’ outmost Excellency, to take Lord Lucius' seat. His injury prevents him from attending.”

“Most unfortunate,” Antoon commented and turned his eyes at the two contenders entering the field below them. Storm grinding his teeth glanced around taking in everyone’s expression and then sat down on one of the empty seats, as close to the royal family as he could, that snake Lord Bach, taking the one next to him.

“My friend,” Sigurd whispered in his most sugary voice. “I didn’t expect you’ll come.”

Hope it wasn’t you that tried to have me killed.

“Sigurd darling. It’s shocking I didn’t see you, my eyes ain’t what they were.”

“We must do our best to keep you Storm. We can’t have more parts of you failing my friend.”

Drink piss and die.

“At least I still have a full head of hair.”

Sigurd frowned the insult cutting him deep. He pulled back on his chair, eyes focused on the two knights getting ready, then changed the subject.

“I hope Sir Lucius makes a full recovery. We were hoping he would grace the final.”

Your king could’ve fooled me.

“Bah, you know how tough these kids are. Ralph will do great anyway.”

“I’m sure he will.”

“Is there a favorite?” Nattas asked pointing at the contenders. He’d fished out a silk handkerchief out of a pocket and wiped the sweat off his forehead. A good amount of dirt as well. He folded it around and used the clean side to wipe the rest of his face. Sigurd had answered him much as he expected him to in the meantime.

“What about the Prince? Why would you let him participate in the first place?”

It took a moment for Sigurd to decide what to tell him. Nattas kept an ear on the royals on his left side but nothing of import was discussed, basically Lord Albert was worried his son may be crippled, which far as Storm was concerned, suited that dumb fuck just fine.

“We put him at the bottom of the list as an unranked knight, he is a Noble after all. This is his fifth bout, he’s been fighting non-stop for two days.”

Impressive.

“Still De Weer is favorite,” Nattas noted.

“Yes.” It came out forced and Storm gave his rival counterpart a side glance. Surely Sigurd preferred the Princess marrying an Issir Lord, he thought. Surely… The Prince stood on his great horse, studded leather armour painted a blinding white with gold metal details, smaller round shield and an open faced helmet showing his Cofol lineage. He turned his head towards the Royal stand and gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, before kicking his legs to start the joust.

“Let’s hope he drops,” Antoon the second, said simply. “I can tolerate the fool no longer.”