Von Bolstedt staggered into the daylight after the family breakfast had introduced him to the few other guests at the inn, as well as the whole Zech bloodline.

The warm, pleasant sun did nothing to help his headache, but at least his stomach had settled enough to not make slight movement drive the bile from his body.

“So, Holzer,” he addressed the huntsman who went side by side with him, “you work for the Count of Diesdorf?” Von Bolstedt took care to regard his surroundings, the half timbered houses of this developed part of the township mostly clean, already humming with the activity of craftsmen and some few merchants. They provided ample contrast with the outlying parts they’d passed through on their way to the ‘Black Boar’, outside the walls that kept the town proper safe. Diesdorf was built from the timber that was felled here, sawn here and sold in Altdorf and further afield. The nobleman wagered that the whole township and the surrounding farmland housed maybe a thousand people, likely fewer.

“The Count’s a good man, really. Fair enough to us, respects the townsfolk’s rights, doesn’t demand much from the outlyers. Suppose the money the timber fetches is good enough for his likin’. Not sure I’d say the same about his sons though.”

They were headed for the stables the Zechs had rented or otherwise acquired for use by their patrons, a bit further toward the tall wooden wall that gave the town itself its shape.

The street they took had been fairly empty but for a few maids, still, Holzer looked over his shoulder in a fashion that betrayed no lack of comfort. The huntsman, Adebar had surmised, held little fear for noblemen.

“Eldest one, Gutrecht, proper mean streak that one. Should see ‘is poor dogs. Whips ‘em bloody before every hunt. Been gone for a while though, Taal bless.”

The mention of the dogs seemed to visibly anger Ludolf to no degree, bringing a certain wrothful lustre to his features.

“What of the other ones?” If the eldest one was this bad then Adebar was truly interested in what manner the other, usually less controlled, scions deviated from the peasant’s wishful thinking.

“Second one’s a lecher, got kicked out of town for a while, probably stuffed ‘im into some Order or the other. Bernhard’s the third one, ‘e’s not so bad actually. Captain in his Majesty’s army, last I ‘eard.” They entered the small yard in front of the stables, finding the carriage and horse ready for the journey.. Holzer looked around a last time, before continuing.

“The fourth one is the one I’d say you, Herr, need to ‘ave a gander at. Reibert.”

He began leading his mare to the carriage, preparing for the journey homewards.

“And what exactly is wrong with this Reibert?”

Holzer climbed atop his wagon and sat down bereft of all grace. The hunter’s grey eyes showed a great deal of mirth, though the man’s upper lip didn’t err from its stony, neutral position right underneath that reddish mustache.

“Oh, ‘es just mad. A loonie, really. And, not that you’d ‘eard it from me, good old Reibert is the one that slaughtered poor old Gerda and cut her skin so often, they only knew it was ‘er because she’d gone missing that night.”

Seemingly oblivious to Adebar’s surely visible paleness of flesh, Holzer took his leave, rousing the mare to drag the wagon along.

“I ‘ope Sigmar loves you as much as you love ‘im, Herr von Bolstedt. Farewell!”

Von Bolstedt had barely recovered from the revelation who exactly these peasants wanted him to take down, wandering, unconsciously, onto the marketplace of Diesdorf, when he spied his erstwhile nemesis, the upstart merchant’s son, Erwin Schlosser. Even worse, he was in company. He stood by a small well, a simple bronzen statue depicting the Man-God himself, the heads of slain Orcs at his feet spouting clear water to feed the basin beneath. With him stood a young woman, shapely, with a beautiful curtain of hazelnut brown hair running down her shoulders.

“Well, who have we here but the Saint himself!” Schlosser’s words dripped with childish poison. Worse, they forced von Bolstedt to acknowledge him and, even worse, his female bystander had raised her eyes to meet Adebar’s own. Shallya’s doves, she was gorgeous!

He tore himself from idle admiration, his hand went to his rapier. If this merchant boy thought he was safe from the law because the Count was a temperate man, Adebar was of a mind to reintroduce some respect into his burgher-bones.

Before he could issue his challenge however, the striking beauty opened her mouth.

“So you’re the one that is intent to finally rid us of my idiot brother. I will admit Erwin here did not have you cut such a good shape.” She extended a hand.

Adebar’s mind hurtled around three corners, while automated etiquette saw him bowing deeply, placing a single, well-measured kiss on the young Lady’s ring finger.

This was no mere peasant, by way of her words, and, if what she said meant what he thought, she was none other than the daughter of the Count himself!

“Adebar Emmerich von Bolstedt, at your service,” he introduced himself, noting with some satisfaction the sheer envy writ large on Schlosser’s face.

Looking back,the young Lady seemed to have noticed as well, giving her own, coy, smile.

“A gentleman. Von Bolstedt of Altdorf, I assume?”

Adebar confirmed her assertion with a curt nod and few words. Best not to even speak of the Hermdorf branch, who so presumptuously called themselves ‘von Bolstedt-Wurtbad’, as to hide their lowly fortune.

“May I gain the favour of knowing your name too, my Lady? I am afraid I was unprepared to meet such cultured company in this wayward place.”

Her next words bore the tone of scolding, but her features spoke of indulgent understanding.

“You should not assume that only the high bloodlines of the cities know of base education, Herr von Bolstedt. I am Emilia von Diesdorf-Narn. No doubt you have heard of my father.” Adebar’s schooled eye detected a faint note of annoyance at the mention of her father. Ah, private disagreements. The discontent daughter-routine.

“The Count, of course. A benevolent ruler, from what one hears.” Seeing his suspicions of a certain distaste for her father confirmed by a darkening of her features, he continued in another direction. “Of course he is not the reason for my being here.”

“Indeed, Erwin here tells me you claim to be sent by Sigmar himself. He also says that he believes you to be ‘a lying bastard-blue-blood, out for free drink and attention’, if I remember his phrasing correctly.” The merchant froze up for a second, before trying to show von Bolstedt his most stoic face. “So, is it true? Did the Lord Sigmar himself send you to finally end my dear Reibert’s life, and lift his stain from my family?”

He focussed back on Lady Emilia, her green, mysterious eyes enigmatic and unreadable.

“I have sworn to find the murderer of Gerda Vollsweg and bring him to justice.” He breathed into his chest, improving his undoubtedly flawless stature even further, hand resting on the hilt of his rapier. His eyes went up to the rendering of the Man-God himself. He needed to keep himself from smiling, imagining how much he must’ve sounded like a folk-tale hero. “Whoever he may be.”

When he looked back to Lady Emilia, his heart sank into his trousers. She was utterly unimpressed, looking thoughtful in the way he’d only ever seen his own sister, when she considered whether to have her maid fired or whipped. A bead of sweat formed on his brow, his slowly subsiding headache seemed to hit him with a full swing once more.

Then, she gave a curt, but relieving, smile. “You are a fascinating man, von Bolstedt. My father is hosting a hunt tomorrow, followed by a competition. I believe that, should holy Sigmar truly favour you, you surely won’t find much harm in a little fencing for sport?”

Fencing? Well, it seemed like he’d already won then. They didn’t dawdle away their time in Altdorf for nothing, after all. Many a dandy burgher had tasted his steel. Many Tileans too, and some of his friends too. And, he thought bitterly, his brother.

“It would be an honour to attend, my Lady.”

Emilia von Diesdorf-Narn held her smile, inclining her head.

“Good. Erwin here will be in attendance too. Maybe you two gentlemen could resolve your differences then? My brothers always seem so much more agreeable when settling their scores with blank blades, not that I would understand much of such things.”

Adebar gave her a winning smile, before gazing over at Schlosser. He’d grown red, his knuckles white around the grip of his foil.

“With pleasure.”