Chapter 78

Gerald read through the last few pages of his brother's journal with quick eyes. It was still about his brother doubts of trespassers and his unstable relationship with his father. Gerald flipped to the last page of the journal and read the last of it.

'Father has finally spoken to me. Today, he was oddly lively. When I first saw him, he met me with an odd gaze that sent shivers through my marrow. Perhaps I imagined it. I'm not certain of anything, considering how fast things are changing in this keep. Father is often asking Robard about the soldiers which seems to be striking the knight, and not just me, as peculiarly new. At the end of today's assembly he told me something. "Worry not, son. You will get your wish soon enough." I don't know what he meant, but it evoked anticipation within me in all honesty. I wonder what father has got planned. Perhaps he intends to let go of my siblings, or even move to wipe out the bandits in the basin? Either one would be very satisfactory for me. It would be a step forward, which is all the Viscounty needs right now."

Gerald shook his head and snorted. It was neither, brother.

There was a knock on the door of his bedchamber. He rose from his bed with a frown. Ordinarily, he didn't go to his study this early. It was odd that someone would knock on his door so soon after dawn break. "Who is it?"

"It's me, my lord," Frederick's voice came from outside. "Master Arthur has sent me. A messenger has arrived, from Count Westwell."

Gerald was alarmed. He hadn't expected Westwell to react so soon. He wondered what word this messenger would bring. Would Westwell have so little shame that he would demand the return of his thieves?

He dressed himself and strode out of his chambers and towards the Lord's Hall.

There, he found his aides waiting, along with a short man wearing the Westwell colors, bright blue behind a thick forearm gripping a spinning spear of water.

Gerald moved up to his seat, his two ministers standing on either side of him, and Robard taking his place two steps below.

The messenger bowed to him and spoke without any pleasantries. "My lord, Alaric Westwell, has sent word with me for your lordship. May I speak my lord's grievance?"

"Speak," Gerald waved his hand.

"My lord demands that you send back his envoys unharmed. A knight, four representatives, and a small escort of guards were sent to your lands to commence an amicable relationship between the two Houses, and my lord has not heard from them since then."

Gerald held the snort stuck in his throat back and nodded with feigned sympathy. He gestured towards the messenger. "You have been through a few days' travel on the road and haven't even rested upon arrival. I imagine that the Count's envoys are very important to him. I understand such feelings as I too have some subordinates that I would abhor to lose. Yet, it is unfortunate that your envoys never arrived. As you might have seen, the south of my territory is going through some . . . tensions. Some brigands have split off from one of the crews I defeated, and they're now roaming the southern mountains of my territory and terrorizing my people. They've already murdered many of my subjects. Perhaps your lord's envoys were unfortunate enough to cross roads with them?"

The messenger paled for a moment, which assured Gerald that he was aware of the truth of these 'envoys', since he had mentioned that the bandits were roaming the mountains. Georjay had been sent to the southern mountains to prospect for ore, and according to what Gerald had just said, it was very likely that the group had already come across the bandits.

The short man in proud blue gulped then cleared his throat. "My lo—Your lordship," he took a breath. "The envoys of the Count were sent with an escort of guards. It is unlikely that they would succumb to mere thieves." He stared at Gerald with piercing eyes, perhaps awaiting any signs of a lie.

Gerald smiled and shrugged. "Unfortunately, numbers are forever the pain of valor. I'm certain that the Count's subordinates are men of courage, but no matter what, it is nigh impossible for any escort to survive the onslaught of three hundred desperate bandits. These men prowling in my territory have already lost all hope of breathing the fresh air of the plains. I doubt they would hesitate before attacking any lord's colors."

The messenger was struck silent for a while. "Three hundred?" he asked with disbelief.

Gerald's smile turned wry. "Well, you must be aware that my territory has been home to thousands of bandits. Only of late have I begun to remove them, but it was inevitable that some would escape my grasp. However, I promise you that my retribution will be swift." Gerald's tone and expression turned fierce as he took to his feet. "They shall curse the day they decided to infest these lands and harm both my subjects and my guests. That much is for certain."

The messenger was silenced again. He nodded, though obviously still a bit dubious. "Then I shall ride home and deliver your reply to the Count, your lordship."

Gerald nodded back. "May safety be your companion."

The messenger bowed. "Thank you, my lord."

As Westwell's messenger left, Gerald noticed a burning glance from his left. Renard was apparently mystified. Gerald didn’t like that the Duke's rat was aware of this passing scheme of his, as he usually kept such things hidden from his pretend minister. But he didn't worry about him spreading the truth. As the Duke's hand here, he would be a fool to do anything that would risk conflict for the Viscounty when trade had just begun to flow again.

..

.

After dusk, Gerald was in his study with Frederick, sorting through what remained unchecked of his family's written history. These last remnants were accounts hard to decipher or ones that had nearly succumbed to the test of time.

He heard a knock on the door. There was no one out there to receive whoever had come. So he glanced at Frederick who was seated on the ground. The latter got to his feet and went outside. A moment and he returned. "It's Master Renard, my lord."

Gerald frowned. When had Renard brought any good news—or demands—for him? "Let him in," he muttered.

Renard came in with a smile. A real one, Gerald believed; which was odd.

The minister bowed and said, "greetings, my lord."

"Renard, I almost began to miss you, having not seen you for a whole afternoon," Gerald chuckled.

"It is my honor that you would care that much for me, my lord."

Gerald's eyes sharpened. Too much empty courtesy. He didn't like it. He felt a slap soon to be delivered.

And he was right. The truth of Renard's smile soon became clear as he spoke. "The Duke has sent word, my lord." A gloating smile.

"All trade is his," Gerald sneered. "What else may he need?"

"Only what is reasonable, my lord," Renard said, still smiling. In Gerald's eyes, the gloating smile was more of a vicious sneer that only he could possibly see. "As you may know, my lord," the minister continued. "The Duke has been rebuilding the roads that begin past the northern pass and trail towards the north in his territory. He expects you to do the same with the roads of the Viscounty, since it would make the journey of any merchant less demanding and quite a bitshorter.

Gerald snorted and shook his head. "And why would I bother with that? I gain nothing from it. That is the Duke's gold and not mine."

"My lord," Renard's smile widened. "You mistook my intention. The Duke didn't command me to negotiate with you. This time, it is not by my own volition that I come here. These are the Duke's commands. You know more than I do why they must be followed."

Gerald rubbed his knuckles. At times like these, he wondered if he ought to give his bald minister a scar or two, specially when the latter was smiling so widely at his misery. Patience, Gerald, he told himself. Nothing ever remains the same. Neither would he remain the same. The day would come when he could see the Duke eye to eye without having to concede to his demands; perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow, perhaps not any time soon, but he would rather die than sit in his keep for eternity and wait for the Duke to send him his commands.

He took a breath and eyed Renard. "And where would the gold for the road come from?"

"Ah," Renard raised his brows, feigning surprise. "I have not thought of that, my lord. I doubt the Duke has, either. I suppose it is a matter for you to think about."

Gerald got to his feet, glowering at the short man. "So you want me to pay for the Duke's trade route too?" he growled. "Has he no shame? Does my wealth compare to a tenth of his?"

"Oh," Renard shook his head with a sad smile. "Such words, my lord. They would hurt the Duke to hear. He has after all been very kind to you and your sister. Have you not been his guests for fourteen years? Has he shown any shameful behavior towards you? Your sister is destined to be his son's wife, instead of being forced to be a lowly mistress, for example. Now that would be a shame, don't you think, my lord? But it wouldn't be a shame for the Duke's House, no. I'm certain, however, that the Duke would never do such a thing. He would never humiliate his guests and his friends."

Gerald nodded slowly and turned around. That pinch in his chest, was it what his father often felt? This fury, was it what his brother always felt? When will you come home, sister? He opened the window and gazed north, the thick clouds barring his vision from seeing sky.

"My lord—"

"Out with you," Gerald said.

"But—"

"Leave. Now." He didn't need to see or hear this rat anymore. He needed to comply with the Duke's demands though. He had little choice in the matter.

"Very well, my lord. I shall take my leave and await your wise decision."

Gerald heard the door being shut, then it was opened again after a moment.

"Should I come in my lord," Frederick's voice came from behind him.

Gerald waved him out, and the lad complied and left in silence.

ß-----------------------------------------à

Alaric Westwell was in his hall when his minister arrived.

"My lord, the messenger has returned."

"Bring him to me," Alaric said, wondering what the new Viscount's response was.

A few moments and the messenger entered. "My lord." He bowed, his short stature making his head closer to the ground than most.

"Out with it," Alaric said. "What did he say?"

"Nothing, my lord," the messenger shook his head reluctantly. "He claims that he never knew of their presence. Apparently some prowling bandits have been roaming the southern mountains of his territory and that's why his men are scouring the south and guarding the pass."

"Bandits?" Alaric frowned. What was that boy thinking? "And you believe him?" He eyed his messenger. The man had served his House for more than a decade, and he wasn't easy to fool.

"I'm not certain, my lord," the messenger shook his head. "Three hundred strong, he says. Supposedly, they have split off from one of the crews he's defeated. He suggests that our men might have fell to an ambush by those bandits. He seemed quite determined to wipe them out."

Alaric snorted. "As if I'd believe that damned boy. He returns from his exile and the Viscounty suddenly seems to be getting to its feet. He won't be easy to handle, but he's a fool if he thinks he can contend with me." He grew silent. Soon enough, when this matter is past, he would attempt to search for mines in the basin again. He would know then whether the boy was fooling him or not. Time would tell in the end, as it always did.

But now he had to handle the loss of a seasoned knight and that mine-sniffing foreigner. He'd had high hopes for the latter. The lack of iron in his territory was driving his treasury to the edge. Whether it was buying iron or arms, neither was cheap because of the pure weight that a merchant had carry while journeying. He mostly had to sign agreements with other lords who would fulfill his needs, and those lords never failed to procure benefits from his constant need for arms.

Regardless, his wars for expansion would never cease, not while he had this chance. The Royal Capital was like a sleeping beast now, but it wouldn't always be. No one knew when one of the Princes would inherit the Kingdom, but there was no doubt that whoever inherits would begin by establishing his authority. And Alaric needed to have all the lands he coveted before that happened.