XII. Ophelia

Upon completing his mandatory day of bedrest, Aichlan issued the army to break camp and head for Ophelia. Taryn’s militia had been staying there as hired mercenaries after the capitol withdrew the garrisons in the west, essentially leaving the people to fend for themselves. After a brief march, they arrived at a shuttered little town with hastily built defenses around its meager stonewalls. Nestled in the valley between two mountain ranges, the town had not needed much else by way of defense in the past, and this mentality likely explained why so many stayed behind when the rest of the kingdom had fled to the capitol.

As they approached the city gate, an ornate yet simple one of wrought iron, Aichlan was surprised to be greeted by Lucien and a small retinue of priests and monks. He had not been aware that the man decided to go ahead, but was not entirely surprised. Lucien had ties to most all of Duvachellé’s noble houses, as soon as he heard there were survivors in Ophelia he probably sought to ingratiate himself with them. As he drew closer, Lucien snapped his fingers at one of his attendants and began to look Aichlan over.

“Lucien, this is unexpected.”

The Bishop grabbed Aichlan by the chin and looked him in the eyes. “I’ve heard you struck your head, how are you feeling.”

Aichlan jerked free. “What is this about?”

“Follow my finger.”

Aichlan tracked Lucien’s ringed finger for a single pass before swatting it from his face. “What is the meaning of this nonsense?”

“Humph. Who was his healer?”

“The Cardinal herself attended Your Grace.” One of the Priests chimed in.

Lucien contorted his face in what might be considered approval. “She certainly has a knack for it, if nothing else.”

“My patience has lapsed Lucien.”

The Bishop sighed and held out his hand to an attendant. One of them handed him a small bundle of letters, which he in turn handed off to Aichlan.

“Baron Yung wishes to meet with you; I was looking for any and all pretense to excuse you from attending.”

“Oh?” Aichlan said, surprised by the Bishop’s candor.

“Despite being a peer yourself, your courtly presence is…lacking to say the least. The Baron is not a man known for second chances.”

Aichlan flipped through the letters, they were all invitations and nothing of any consequence. He handed the letters back to the confused attendant and attempted to push past Lucien.

“I’ll remember that.”

Lucien held out his arm, blocking Aichlan’s path. “We are no longer in the barbarous nation of Elves Grandmaster, Duvachellé is a proud nation steeped in tradition, much like your own home land if I recall.”

Aichlan sighed and took a step back to look the Bishop in the eyes. “What are you getting at Lucien?”

“Your position as your father’s son has given you a certain amount of leeway in matters of court, a degree of freedom you shall not find here. Frankly, it has made you arrogant.”

Aichlan looked towards the city, the streets were mostly empty, but those there seemed ready for a parade. They all had the look of money, and there did not appear to be a peasant or laborer among them. Even the most gentrified cities on Silex had peasants; this one seemed to be made entirely of the well-to-do and nobility. The gatemen were poorly disciplined, and decked out in their finest, certainly not soldiers.

“What do you suggest then?” Aichlan relented.

“I suggest you try and recall everything you’ve so conveniently forgotten about proper etiquette in these circles and leave your Pirate and Elf friends behind. They’ve been given permission to make camp at the lake several miles west of here.”

If it were any other situation, he would have told the bishop to fuck off, but Lucien was an expert at weaseling his way through high society circles, and this was in fact his proverbial back yard. Though his insinuations that he merely took advantage of his parentage were beyond insulting, Aichlan decided to postpone the honor duel. He learned everything he knew about interacting with nobility from Garrick, who was a man notorious for not giving a damn. Aichlan reluctantly turned around and flagged down Eth and Órfhlaith.

Aichlan shed his gauntlets and tousled his hair as his second in command ambled over. “There’s a lake just west of here, take the army and hold there until further notice.”

Eth spat the spent butt of a cigar on to the cobblestone. “And what’ll ye be doing?”

“Discussing the resupply and outfit of this Army.” Lucien interjected. “You can’t very well expect to be taken seriously at the capitol looking like a bankrupt mercenary troupe.”

“We got supplies.” Eth grumbled. “That blasted port was loaded with crap.”

“We’ve got a couple crates of raw material perhaps,” Órfhlaith said as she flipped back her considerable locks “but nae nearly enough to outfit an army. Then there’s the matter of food. We’ll be boiling our shoes in about a week or two.”

“Humph. I’m glad at least one of you has some sense.” Lucien stuck out his hand, as his eyes slowly took in the rest of her. “I do not believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting; I am Bishop Lucien Armarandus.”

She held out her hand for him to take. “Órfhlaith Gold-flute, I was speaker for the mining guilds in Rhode.”

“A politician?” Lucien said with obvious surprise. “Do you speak Elysian by chance?”

She waved her hand in a so-so gesture. Aichlan quickly stepped in between the two, the last thing he needed was Lucien attempting to worm his way into the Colby-Nau ranks as well.

“What time does the Baron expect us?”

“Now, the Cardinal is already awaiting us at his manse.” Lucien pushed past Aichlan and took Órfhlaith’s hand again. “I believe it would be advantageous if you were to join us as well. The Grandmaster is not the most politically minded person.”

“Watch it…” Aichlan warned under his breath.

Órfhlaith smiled and removed her hand from his. “You needn’t worry; I was joining ye regardless.”

* * *

A servant brought in coffee and sandwiches at a little after one. Aichlan, Órfhlaith and Lucien sat patiently in the parlor while the Baron discussed business with The Cardinal in his Study. Aichlan sipped his tea as he bounced his knee anxiously. The room was gilded and gaudy like most homes of Aristocracy in the region, flamboyant and overwrought detailing adorned every mantle, post, and wainscott. Multicolored spines of books likely never opened dressed the heavy oak bookcases. Paintings of Elysium's grandeur and dramatic images of myth and legend in chiaroscuro filled every empty wall space.

Aichlan’s attention flitted from paintings of nymphs and demons to the ormolu clock upon the mantle. He was not sure what the Baron could possibly be discussing with Clasissa for so long. The Cardinal was not a trove of knowledge regarding The Order, this army, or anything else for that matter. Beside him, Órfhlaith idly flicked at her earring as she stared impassively out the window to the streets below. The bright autumn sun reflected off her eyes, like topaz set in polished jasper. The crowd had since dispersed to watch the army march to the lake, likely ecstatic about the chance to gawk at the exotic foreigners.

She wore a cream colored, flowing chiton with meandering designs in black along the border, interlaced with gold. He had never really given the woman much thought, but under the soft autumn sunlight, he could see why Lucien was so quick to change his tune about the Colby-Nau joining them.

The doors opened and Clarissa exited with laughter, followed closely by her aides. Her absurd pink hair and too pale skin caught in the sunlight, giving her a rather washed out appearance. Her flowing vestments of deep crimson and trailed behind her as two silent nuns in all white flanked her. Aichlan stood, and was surprised to find Séverin had joined her in their meeting. Clarissa exchanged goodbyes and promised to meet again before bustling past with a genial wave.

Aichlan watched the small procession exit out to the hall with a thousand questions on his tongue, but was ushered into the office before he could ask any of them. An elderly bespectacled man stood to greet them, a pipe clamped between his teeth. He was smartly dressed, though not ostentatiously so, and had a stern but grandfatherly look about him. The room was almost antithetical to his appearance. The desk of mahogany was too large and polished to a blinding shine, busts on pedestals encircled the room, superfluous books and maps adorned the walls and shelves. The furniture was dark and heavy, leather and wood with too much detailing, looking more like show pieces rather than functional furnishings. Aichlan felt sorry for the man’s servants tasked with maintaining it.

“Ah, Grandmaster, hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long. Her Excellency is quite the chatterbox.”

Aichlan smiled nervously, still curious as to what she had spoken about. “Not at all. Thank you for taking the time to meet with us.”

The baron struck a match and lit his pipe before stepping from behind his desk to greet them. “Thank you for taking care of that rat’s nest Port Romance, those howling monstrosities had been roaming rather too close for comfort as of late.”

Aichlan took the Baron’s hand and shook it.

“I am Baron Carl Jung, it is purely a purchased title, but you may refer to me as such for simplicity's sake.

Aichlan attempted a smile; those who earned their titles by wealth were usually the keenest on flaunting it. Despite his insincere attempts at self depreciation, that purchased title meant a great deal to him.

“A Pleasure, I am Grandmaster Aichlan,” he gestured to Órfhlaith. “This is Councilwoman Órfhlaith Gold-Flute of Rhode, and you’ve already met with Bishop Armarandus.”

The baron nodded to his guests. “Do you not have a family name? Or are you just on a first name basis with everyone you come across?”

“Pardon?”

“Lord Aichlan is of the Fey,” Lucien stepped forward and flashed plactating smile. “Many of Aes Sidhe are, and as such lack proper names. His father was General Garrick, Lord of Idir Aibhneacha, if I am pronouncing that correctly.”

Aichlan wondered how the hell Lucien came across that knowledge, and what he meant by ‘lacking proper names’, but held his tongue. Baron Jung appeared to be a stickler for protocol, and had access to supplies he desperately needed.

“Ah yes, I forgot about that little oddity.” He motioned to the seats as he returned to his desk. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

Aichlan silently took a seat. He did not particularly feel up to navigating the convoluted channels of dialogue the nobility was known for, and was seriously debating letting Lucien take over the conversation. It was infinitely more comfortable for him to let a sword do the talking.

“The Cardinal has told me what has happened to The Order and her Lady, High Priestess Renata.”

“Yes, a tragedy.” Aichlan mumbled, still unconvinced that was all they spoke of.

The Baron toked on his pipe as he leaned back in his chair. “I have a son in The Order, a knight, perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

“Perhaps.” Aichlan said warily as he glanced to Lucien.

Lucien either didn’t notice Aichlan’s silent plea, or purposely ignored him, and Aichlan shifted in his chair uncomfortably. The Knights of The Order were over twenty-thousand men strong, scattered across Runandia and Briternica. Even if he did know the Baron’s son, in all likelihood he was dead by now.

“I was headquartered in Nassica,” Aichlan began cautiously, “and while I oversaw their operations, I did not personally meet with each and every soldier.”

“My Vance was in Nassica as well; he was attached to the Temple Guard. You’ve met him, Lucien?”

“Yes, I believe he sought me out when he first arrived.” Lucien said with a forced smile.

“Yes, yes, that sounds like Vance.” The Baron chuckled and took another hit from his pipe. “Poor boy had the misfortune of being the third son; Emily told me we should have stopped at the two.”

“I’m sorry,” Órfhlaith interrupted with a perplexed look on her face. “What does his birth order have to do with anything? I am afraid I am not well versed on human customs.”

“Not to worry,” Lucien said sweetly. “After all, we aren’t familiar with your ways either.”

“Quite, quite.” Baron Jung said as he toked on his pipe. “In Duvachellé, inheritance is divided if there is more than one heir; the eldest gets his father’s estate and title, and the younger gets the lion’s share of his capital or any enterprises he may have owned.”

“Why is that?” Órfhlaith inquired, looking all the more confused.

Jung leaned back and stared into the distance for several moments. “Well, I’m not quite sure. That’s just the way it’s always been. Lucien? Any thoughts?”

“Well, The Book of The Dawn tells us that long ago, families were limited to only one or two children due to scarcity of resources. It was mostly compulsory, but there were harsh penalties if one had more than two. The third child was almost always conscripted into military service or put down if they were unfit. While we don’t have the same constraints on our resources as they did in the time before the collapse, most people still only have around one or two children, with the third son generally joining the armed forces or becoming a monk as I did.”

Órfhlaith scrunched her face in distaste. “That seems a bit harsh don’t you think?”

“They were different times,” Lucien sighed, “but old habits die hard.”

Aichlan shook his head as she turned her questioning gaze to him. “Inheritance is split much in the same way in Aes Sidhe, though we have more options for those who are left out.”

“Yes well, my son has likely perished in this damnable conflict; inheritance is of the least concern.” Baron Jung said with a somber wave of the hand.

“We can’t be certain of that-”

The baron shook his head, silencing Aichlan. “She told me what happened at Nassica, That young Cardinal of yours. Vance is dead. I knew it when you arrived.”

Aichlan lowered his head as the Baron smoked, unsure of how to proceed. He was accustomed to loosing soldiers, but had never had to directly come face to face with a parent or loved one of the deceased. It was always impersonal, a letter or delegating the task to another.

After several moments of tense silence, Lucien cleared his throat and got the conversation rolling again. “Speaking of damnable conflicts, our army makes way to Marquez, and are quite honestly not fit to petition The King in our current state.”

The baron looked to Aichlan’s tattered and stained uniform with a slow nod. “Yes, I can see your point. Unfortunately, we are in short supply ourselves. We’ve got grain ready to rot on their stalks in the fields, and cattle gone feral.”

“What happened to everyone?” Aichlan asked abruptly. “This city should have a population at least ten times as large as what I’ve seen.”

“Laelianus happened.” The baron spat. “As soon as that old fool Dorso went cold, he allowed himself to be waylaid by the cowards that once served him. They demanded more protection, and when he didn’t divert needed troops from the capitol, they demanded sanctuary behind Marquez’s walls.”

“So they just abandoned their lands?” Aichlan asked incredulously.

“For the time being, and when the lords left with their vassals, so followed the peasants. I bet he’s swamped in the piss and shit of the common scum as we speak.”

“But you stayed?” Aichlan asked, choosing to ignore the jab to those that essentially kept the city alive.

“Of course I stayed! We Jung’s have been in Ophelia since before there even was an Ophelia.”

“But the laborers did not.” Órfhlaith clarified.

The Baron nodded. “And Good riddance I say. Fickle lot of vagabonds, one and all.”

She smiled and crossed her legs as she leaned back in her seat. “We have with us three-hundred men and woman that once worked the fields of Rhode, as well as around seventy artisans and laborers who can shore up that pitiful excuse for a wall you have.”

“Rhode? Are you the people who make the kitchen ware?”

She laughed, belying a cunning that twinkled in her jewel like eyes. “Yes, among other things.”

Aichlan sat back, feeling completely out of his element. He was not even sure why he needed to come; between her and Lucien, everything seemed to under control. Either way it was a relief, he would have stormed out with a few choice words long ago if not for them.

“I have personally seen the fruits of their labors, they are quite adept.” Lucien added.

The baron leaned back and stroked his chin as he smoked. “Hmm. And what would you ask of us in return?”

Órfhlaith removed a folded sheet of paper from a pouch on her waist and handed it to the baron. He adjusted his glasses and read over it. Aichlan was surprised she was so prepared for the meeting, and felt even more inadequate.

“This is no trifle madam.” The Baron said as he smacked the paper. “The access to forges can be accommodated, and many of the ladies in town are quite practiced with the loom and sewing needle, but to the livestock and fifteen percent of our yield…”

“The alternative is to allow your crops to die come the first frost, and let it be known that you allowed a Cardinal of The Order leave here without a horse and carriage.”

He stared her down for several tense moments before a smile broke out across his face. Aichlan let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding as Lucien visibly un-puckered beside him.

“We can feed you while you are here and give you supplies to Marquez, but I cannot spare any cattle or pigs.”

“And horses?” she persisted. “We need at least two dozen. That will accommodate The Order and The Grandmaster here.”

Aichlan frowned. Though he knew how to ride, he disliked going into battle on horseback. He much preferred fighting on the ground; it simply felt more natural to him.

“I will give you sixteen, from my own private stables. As for meat, these woods are filled with game, should your men possess the skill to hunt them. I will also supply you with the fabric and leather for uniforms, but I am afraid we have very little by the way of metals.”

Órfhlaith tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the numerous rings and hoops glimmered in the light. “Those mountains, do they have mines?”

“One or two.” The Baron shrugged. “Why? We’ve no one to extract it.”

She smiled again. “Leave that to us. Give us access to the mines and freedom to keep what we extract, and we’ll also take over as towns guard for the duration of our stay.”

“Now hold on a second…” Aichlan whispered.

The baron stood and held out his hand, which Órfhlaith readily shook.

“You, dear Lady, have yourself a deal.”