Chapter 20

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The wooden, iron-clad wheels of the cannon carriage were slowing things down, and I had to hold back the squires who were rushing into the fray. I stared dumbly out the window as neat little houses with orange roofs crept by, people going about their business. It was as if we were not going to war.

The conversation with the policeman of Eskenborg evoked a sense of deja vu - he listened to me carefully, asked me to wait until he called back a fellow Gravsteinian, and then regretfully said that everything was right. And he, too, suddenly had urgent business to attend to. I couldn't even swear properly in astonishment. This is the police. They are governed by federal laws. They are notified of an offense, a threat to public order, finally! And what? A finger in the face instead of help?

Suppressing the urge to throw the phone out the window, I tapped my fingers on the helmet on my lap, trying to calm down. There, I calmed down. The noise of the wheels behind me, now on the tarmac, now on the stones of the towns we pass through, the radio playing something local, a singer singing. What to do now?

What lay ahead was no great mystery - all the barons had been brought together, and I was blocked. If it hadn't been for an over-active Leser, we would have been under siege until it was over. I could guess who had set it up. Why, again, I know. Well, it's clear now. I should have taken Fritz to the torture chamber when I had the chance, though I was a fool. I mean, not as a substitute for the playful hottie, but as a natural victim. All right, everybody's smart in hindsight. What to do? If the Knights hadn't gone bust, I'd assemble a squad of police, write them out an order to sort it out - they wouldn't go anywhere. They'd comply. Or is that out of their hands? I hadn't slept the night before, and my mind was a muddle. Where were my eighteen years and days of student binge drinking?

"Approaching, Sir Baron."

"Eggie, I remember there was an observation deck here."

"And now there is. Shall we go there?"

"Before attacking, it's a good idea to find out what's going on in the enemy camp."

"Got it!"

The Eskenborgians looked at our motorcade of three cars plus a vintage cannon quite favorably. A policeman who met us on the way nodded in agreement when asked if he was aware of the coup being prepared and, with a polite smile, assured us that everything was proceeding as it should and that measures would be taken. Then he turned to an elderly woman and began to explain something to her in a friendly and detailed manner.

No, I will never understand the locals after all.

I remembered a saying from school: "A crown for the bold, a scepter for the brave, a throne for those who say 'I will take it and I will not give it back'". - They don't make a coup to take it all back. They have plenty of examples in history, but why... even my knights ran away! Damn them.

Actually, I used to have my suspicions about Eggie - just vague ones. But this kind of fun was out of his league. But I knew exactly who could do it. I wish I knew how many men they had. We've got some locked up in Gravstein's cellars, but they must have some in hand. And I'm with a cannon. Loaded. Hope the cannonball will not fall out from the jolt. Shit, I'm not thinking... thinking what?

The observation deck was now packed with the morning's active children. Luckily, there was no waiting in line; a few older tourists, clearly recognizing me, parted the way, pulling the little ones aside. I handed my helmet to the squire and, after a respectful toss of a coin, ignoring the enthusiastic chirping of the two girls who were pushing each other away from the nearby binoculars, I surveyed the coming battlefield.

Eskenborg Castle was rebuilt at the beginning of the last century. While Gravstein, in the hands of its barons, was quietly dilapidated and falling apart, here, in the county capital, the castle bought back from its owners served as a museum and main attraction. Everything was repaired and painted, a beautiful garden was laid out around it, and arbors, pavilions, and galleries were built. The restoration was European-beautiful and Eskeland-appropriate - one side was decorated with rough castle walls, and the other had a typical palace façade with wide windows and balconies overlooking the square... Unfortunately, the entrance from the Dark Middle Ages was on the first-floor level, and one had to go up by the bridge over the moat, which is now a flower-filled valley. Very picturesque, the bridge was still a fairly secure barrier.

"It's going to be hard to storm, Yor Grace... there are at least thirty people in the yard!"

Smartass, justifying his nickname, rushed to the sweet shop, bought a queue from three very happy kids, and was now pushing away the other squires, commenting on what he had seen. I peered out the windows that were visible from here and found nothing in them, and finally looked at the front of the castle.

In this direction, i.e. from the city and the palace front, there was a more convenient entrance, several doors, information boards, large window openings just off the ground... and also some sort of cordon. The familiar figures of crossbowmen, a few halberdiers, a minibus with a whole bunch of horns on the roof, and sentries by the bars, though rather relaxed, were now strolling around the spacious courtyard, where large-scale popular festivities and fairs were periodically held, with a patrol in armor. This direction was sealed off tightly.

No, nothing difficult for the police, but they're self-effacing, aren't they? A couple is standing off to the side, watching the shooters and doing nothing. And we can't get through from the yard.

Once again, I looked at the "fortress" part of the building.

"Eggie, any plans for the castle?"

"Of course, here."

I squinted one eye at the clipboard and began to guess where the prisoners might be. In my place, they would be in the basement, but here...

"Which rooms in the castle are the most historic?"

"These are the windows from the front façade, along the large balcony. There's the former knight's hall, where traditionally all state-level ceremonies are held."

I could see the balcony itself, but I couldn't see into the windows from here. But it was clear that they would not let us in from the front door. The back porch, on the other hand, had to be approached and somehow got through the locked doors. At the end of a hundred yards of the bridge, there was a blank door with openings above it. And there's no telling how many people are waiting inside. But not many. So that's our way in...

After chasing away the tourists who were trying to have a selfie in front of a gun attached to the car and refusing to fire the cannon for the public's entertainment (no, not even for money... man, get the hell out of here... yes, fellow countrymen, but we've got business here... Go to hell. It's loaded! And you thought. We had a war here... and good luck to you... No, don't help...) we took the same slow drive down the same streets. Five minutes and there it was, the back door of the castle. So, what next? What did I come here for, I ask you?

"Sir Baron, what are we going to do?"

I'm not the only one who has such thoughts, I suppose. Capturing a castle with a squad of seven men!

This end of the bridge rested on a miniature semblance of a barbican. It must have once been a serious gate tower, closing the bridge passage, but time has seriously battered the structure, leaving something of a massive pergola. Tourists would simply walk through it to pay at a nearby cashier's desk and climb the three steps inside to reach a straight bridge. For us, though, those three steps were... our cannon and carriage weigh almost a ton! I started to look at the bridge itself, figuring it out, when suddenly something flashed through the loophole. The sound of an arrow striking the stones was dry and unserious and made everyone stand still for a moment before we all ran for cover in one fell swoop.

"They are shooting, Sir Baron."

"I see it!" I looked out from behind the pillar. It was impossible to see whether they were aiming at us or not. So they are.

I took another look around the inside of the barbican, the steps. There was certainly a wheelchair lift on one side. This is Europe. But the cannon obviously wouldn't go up it. We'll have to think of something. At least there was no turnstile!

My tense thoughts were distracted by the beeping of the buttons being pressed.

"Eggie, what are you doing?"

Von Schnitze Jr. looked away, frowned perplexedly, then explained cheerfully:

"This is an automatic ticket office, Sir Baron. Very handy, I worked here last year, and freelancers get a discount." He picked up the card with the picture on it. "I knew it would come in handy!"

"Eggie, what the hell are the tickets?! We're having an assault!"

"But Sir Baron, this is a museum, isn't it?" There was the sincerest incomprehension in his eyes. Waving my hand, I turned to Fisk. The guard regarded the steps with doubt.

"Shall we drag it in?"

With a perfectly international gesture of scratching the back of his head, the big man looked down at the cannon.

"Wouldn't it be easier to knock it out by hand? There's a crowbar in the car, and I have an axe."

"Eggie, is the door sturdy?"

"Authentic to the sixteenth century. The carvings were restored according to sketches of the..."

"So we won't."

"Er... Excuse me, Sir Baron, do you want to shoot the door off with a cannon?"

"Yes. We can only enter the castle from here. There's no time to get a ladder."

I was expecting cries of historical value, of that very restored carving, but once again, I was surprised:

"Then you have to shoot at the head level... mine. That's where the bolt is inside."

"Thank you, we'll take that into account. Did you hear that, Erdar?"

The guard poked his head out cautiously, took one look at the work site, and immediately hid back. The arrow still clangs on the wall and flails away towards the cash register. They're watching, bastards!

"Lift it - well, half a minute, if we're together. Roll to the middle of the bridge, or better yet, the second third, or we won't hit it - another minute. Take aim. Fire. At least two minutes, Your Grace."

"Two loopholes, two shooters, ten seconds each to load-aim-fire. Twenty arrows in that time they're sure to fire."

"And what's left of us will be cleaned up by those in the square. They've probably been informed, haven't they?" Norman nodded judiciously.

"You have a minute! Or better yet, faster. Smartass, my shield over here!"

"Alexander, are you sure?"

"Yes, Eggie... it's either now or in five minutes we'll be clamped down and shot from afar. Elil, where's the shield? Get it over here now!"

"What for?"

"Don't slow down! I'll walk around in my armor and shield, let them unload their toys on me while you get this thing into a direct line of shot."

"Madness!"

"Idiocy!"

"Sir Baron, it is better to find another way..."

"Quiet! Sha, I said! If the guards are still here, it means they haven't finished inside. And if it's not finished, it can be thwarted."

"I'm with you!"

"There's only one shield. Or did I miss it and have one of you taken yours? Soldiers... run!"

The fat man, looking at me with wide eyes, jerked sharply and wiggled his way to the car. I stared melancholically at a trilingual notice hanging over the closed window: The museum is closed today, due to preparations for the ceremony. You had to have access to this place to pull this off... Well, that's one more clue for the prime suspect.

The squires unhooked the cannon from the wall and rolled it inside. Dan and Alex were already trying on Smartass's "reward" spear as a lever, Sato was making some sort of block out of the tow rope, and I wasn't looking. The men have a job, a necessary and arduous one. They have to lift a load of a tonne to a height of half a meter in a minute, and then move it fifty steps further on an unknowingly strong, boardwalk. I shouldn't do that though, the Esks wouldn't do anything bad, so the bridge would be able to withstand the carriage wheels.

Work as usual, though, for me.

And here I was thinking - what's the point of such a shield? Well, it turns out to be quite functional...

"Right, the siege version! That's why it's heavy..."

Not listening to the whispers behind me, I slipped my helmet on, regretting for the first time that I hadn't brought full battledress armor from the armory.

"Erdar, give me your axe. I'll use it to cut down the doors. Are you ready?"

"Ready." After a moment's silence, the guard added with feeling: "And so help us, God!"

"What, you don't think I can do it?" I looked around, adjusted my helmet, and threatened, "If you don't knock the door down with the first shot, I'll fire you!"

Proper staff motivation is our everything. Well, God is with us!

No jumping out. I had almost ninety kilograms on me along with the metal shield, and I stepped slowly and with dignity onto the bridge. I wanted very much to be shouted to stop, threatened, and generally wasted the time the guys behind me needed, but after I had walked a few meters, the invisible shooters struck at the same time.

Both of them missed!

Damn, that's scary...

I was typing a measured step, trying not to sway, occasionally banging my axe on the shield, which rumbled, well, just very expressively. There must have been some ordinary people sitting behind the door. They were also uncomfortable with the approaching figure, and they had never shot a man either. But where could we all go? The first arrow struck the shield when I was about a third of the way through.

In fact, I barely felt the impact, just a jolt, but I pretended to recoil. I stopped, "pretended to pull myself together," and moved on.

The effect I wanted was achieved. The shooters had seen the cannon too. Something had gone wrong with the squires, it had rattled back, and now they were slowly raising the cannon in five languages, but the invulnerable iron figure walking across the bridge must have seemed much more dangerous to the shooters. The arrows clattered more often... or time shrank... some too heavy shield, and some too light greaves... and the helmet, you could pierce it with your finger... not in the legs, I can't stand up... why are they taking so long?!

The shield dropped too low, and the arrow hit the shoulder pad tangentially and went off to the side. I was already standing at the door, horrified to know that something had to be done next. And what exactly, to chop?

"...dy! ...ir Bar... dy!" My head was buzzing, and another arrow struck my helmet, skewering it. Slowly, smoothly and with a rumbling sound, I lowered myself to the joyful shouts from the loophole, and covered myself with the shield. What a fool... They will fire at me now! They might miss...

Rumbling in my head, rumbling behind me, rumbling and crackling beside me - get up, you bastard! It's not over yet!

I shoved the shield away, thinking I wouldn't need it anymore, but I couldn't get up. Anyway, the squires were already rushing past, shrieking, trying to get into the castle first. That's right. It's a fine thing to be a hero in front of your superiors. I am a fool, but they are good. He staggered around the door, which lay on the floor. The others, smashed to splinters, were scattered evenly across the hall.

Is that a cannonball? It's not a cannonball. It's bloody buckshot!

From behind a neighboring column, there was a sudden resentment:

"Are you out of your fucking mind? Firing guns at honest Esks?!"

"Stay there, you bastard, or I'll shoot you out of a cannon!"

"I'm sitting, I'm sitting... why are you yelling..."

"Er... Ugh!" It kept rattling in my ears. "Senior guardsman Fisk!"

"Yes, Sir Baron!"

"Report!"

"All good, bro!"

"What?"

Erdar stopped doubling and swaying, merging into a steady silhouette.

"It's all right, I say."

Yeah, I misheard then.

"Shooters?"

"Tied up!"

"Let's move on. Eggie, show the way... but don't get ahead of me!"

The corridors were empty, the sun shining through the windows, making dust particles sparkle in the air. The boys were quiet, huddled behind me.

"Turn... right... here to the left door... watch out for the step... watch out!"

"Kusthiv! Kushiv! Fight!"

"Gravstein! Fight!"

Before I realized it, the youths were already rushing towards the same adventurous boys in conspicuous boots. I was just beginning to get up the nerve to follow them when suddenly someone very large jumped out from the side and pushed me to a particularly imposing door.

A helmet is a must for a museum visit: instead of breaking my head against the jamb, I just slammed against it, flew a little farther, wiggled my legs again, and collapsed on all fours. There was a shot behind me, another, a cry of "away, you peasants!"; while I was getting up from the floor, the doors slammed shut with a clatter, and the bolt rattled.

"Welcome! You're probably right on time."

Well.

The guys were lured out by the attack, and I just got pushed in. I see.

Left foot... right... damn, my head is buzzing.

Straightening up, I looked around.

This must be the knight's hall. It's nothing special. My place is just as good. Armour along the walls, models of weapons, racks of scrap metal, portieres à la tapestry, a flag of Eskenland over a large fireplace in the "roast a whole sheep" model. There were eight people lined up along the right wall - four old men, and two women. Elepar and one other couldn't be described as anything other than boys. Barons of Eskenland. Random rulers of their own land.

Von Welleschwarm was lying in the middle of the hall on the floor, his head on Esk's lap, his hands clutching a bloody rag to his side. My steward stood lost beside him. Ewald, however, was only wounded, and like all the other barons, he stared at the entrants, but unlike those at the door, the old man groaned softly and despairingly.

At the door, a big man, a real giant in dapper boots, and with a gun in his hand smiling cheerfully, held me at gunpoint. This sucks. Armor and swords weren't going to cut it against a gun.

"Baron Elig von Kusthiv?"

The big man chuckled, bowing mockingly, then waved his weapon in a hint. I had to throw the axe to the floor. On the left, by the fireplace, stood the Twelfth Baron with a pistol in his hand. Yes, of course. If it was in Eskenland, who could be the main villain here?

"Gott dag, Monsieur du Shorey."

"Bonjour, my dear friend. Decided to pay us a visit at last?"

"I heard that all the barons were here, but for some reason, I wasn't invited. I came to see who was so rude."

"Yes, I arranged it. You weren't expecting that?"

"Let me think: first, a "very clever man, a real scientist" explains to von Windifrush that it is his duty to go to war on me, which he then blabbers on about, slightly over drinking - sorry, Elepar, you have no ability to drink, and when drunk you willingly chatter on any subject. Then some well-wisher sends von Welleschwarm some papers explaining his rights, provoking an attack on Gravstein - he showed them to me himself. At the same time, someone mentions an ancient tale of tribute the Norwegians took from the Esks on a LARP forum - Eggie did some digging at my request and found confirmation that the message was sent from our places. Someone from the same address initiated a check by the Equal Rights Foundation - a copy of the denunciation I found in the documents left by the commission. Then again, some very knowledgeable person in the history of the region digs up the right of "judgment by word of mouth" and sends the brute von Kusthiv to amuse himself while hardly a dozen people remember this custom. That is not counting the case when under false pretenses I was handed security plans of a French museum whose freelance expert is a historian I know. Did I expect it to be someone else's plan? No, of course not, no way!"

"Well, guilty as charged, Your Honour! You have cleverly avoided all the traps. But you're still too late! Since you did not appear in due time, the Council of the Barons of Esks has chosen a worthy candidate to replace Mr. van Eske, who has publicly renounced his right to the throne."

"Renounced?" I looked at Esk, who lowered his eyes.

"The bastard shot Ewald and threatened that if we didn't comply, he would finish him off by right of a duel for the senior's seat."

"I see. So you've decided to annex Eskenland to France after all? You'd think someone would risk claiming the land."

"Yes, they won't risk it. The Fifth Republic is not the First Empire, cowards and conciliators rule now, but I will set a precedent, and one day the time will come when it will come in handy!"

"You'll be torn to hell."

"And that will be a good thing - a legitimate ruler has been overthrown by a bunch of adventurers, isn't that an excuse for a great power to intervene? Whatever happens, it will all be to my advantage! There is one last formality left - I shall now ask those present who are prepared to challenge my right, and when the general rejection has been entered in the minutes, I shall become the official chief of Eskenland!"

"Actually, I have more rights. And that title would suit me better."

"I don't take you, Alexander, into account."

My back went cold. It had been a long, long time since I had negotiated under gunpoint, and I would have lived just as long without it. But what could I do?

"So, a duel? Do you think you have a chance?"

"Against you? Not in the slightest. However, it's very simple - the Truth of Esks says that the challenger must be able to fight."

I had already realized, but before I could do anything, the barrel of the gun came down:

A blunt, heavy blow to the thigh, a twinge in my leg, and the indignant shouts of the barons. Not that it hurt that much, but my leg went numb for some reason, and I couldn't hold it upright, so I had to grab onto the mantelpiece. My snarl was ignored by du Shorey:

"According to the Truth, whose authenticity is questionable, the right to the throne passes to the eldest of the barons when a legally elected chieftain is abdicated or banished. I am third in seniority in Eskenland. I own a castle. This one I just win. I have defeated both you and Ewald - all conditions are met."

"You didn't win. You just shot!" Ask looked angry and defiant, but Ewald, breathing heavily, suddenly raised his hand and stopped the boy from jumping up.

"That's how it usually goes. Then, of course, the chroniclers draw a beautiful legend, but in reality: bang! - and you're on top! The main thing is to keep up the formalities. The legitimacy of the transfer of power, my dear friend, is very important. That's right! It so happens that you can't speak out because of your battle wounds. But I can! And finally, after a thousand attempts, it is I, Olivier du Shorey, who will annex this juridical misunderstanding to my beautiful country! Vive la France!"

My leg buckled, and I clenched my jaw and leaned against the mantel. I just couldn't fall now. Du Shorey was saying something, and I looked around, knowing that time was short. Esk? No, these three are in the middle of the hall, held at gunpoint by both conspirators. Elepar? Not either, the two young barons sniffing sullenly but staring at the Frenchman, and there was no time to attract their attention. The three old men were willing to take the risk. Esks did not like what was going on, just lacked something to start acting... I caught a glimpse of the Baroness... damn, what was her name? Egilbert had spoken of her once, not bad at all. She looked alternately at everyone, unlike the other woman, who stared angrily at von Kusthiv. Stepping over again and almost collapsing to the floor from the pain in my numb leg, I hissed. Then, no longer paying attention to the not considering me as an opponent du Shorey, I stared intensely into the eyes of the woman. There is contact! Her gaze went away but came back. With just my mouth, I whispered, "Di. Stract."

And tilted his head slightly towards von Kusthiv.

Di. Stract.

The woman slowly lowered her eyelids, stood with her eyes closed, and then - I respect that! - she took in her breath and shrieked frantically!

The hall was large enough, but that heartbreaking shriek that made friends and foes alike jump up and down urged action.

"Elig, calm her down!"

The brute moved towards the concentrated shrieking baroness, swinging his weapon as he did so, du Shorey distractedly pointing it at the indignant Egilbert.

Дальше все было очень быстро - вот француз, подняв пистолет, что-то говорит дернувшемуся было Элепару, вот, получив пощечину, отлетает к стене баронесса, вот, собравшись с духом и заранее выпучив глаза, я переношу вес на здоровую ногу, подхватываю с каминной полки подсвечник, вот я шагаю, и от пятки до плеча меня пробивает вспышкой боли в ноге, но уже начавший разворачиваться дю Шорей опаздывает..

Hit!

The hand holding the gun crunched pleasantly and I struck again, dislodging the weapon.

Hit!

From the bottom up, across the skinny, intelligent face. The historian managed to recoil, but still, he was thrown to the side and tangled in his own feet, and flopped to the floor.

Shoot!

And at once there was a multivoiced shriek!

I turned around - the occasion was given, and the trio of old men hung on von Kusthiv's right arm, twisting the gun. Both ladies clung to the left. The young baron naturally gnawed at his leg above the knee. The enraged Esks tore at the traitor like a pack of wolves at an unreasonable bull. The point was put by Elepar. In three leaps he leaped up with a shout 'Motchi suk!' and with the necessary speed, he kicked the traitor in the forehead. The traitor was thrown against the wall with the rest of the Eskenland nobility, and he was not allowed to get up, hitting him with everything he had at hand or simply kicking him - without any experience, but from the heart!

I was only distracted for a few seconds, but du Shorey was already fumbling, trying to get up... No, not standing up-the bastard was crawling towards the gun lying by the balcony door!

He crawled, and I limped - the same speed, only I had allies: Esk on all fours slipped past the desperately whimpering du Shorey and didn't take it - pushed his weapon out somewhere in the distance.

We met at the balcony door.

Turns out it's not just in the movies - a mighty blow from the bottom up, and the victim flies through the glass to the outside. Yeah, well, we're double the weight difference, and I'm pissed off. That bastard made my holiday look like a medieval action movie!

Gently opening the second doorframe, I limped outside. What if he was going to run away? The courtyard was full of his men. But the tenacious Frenchman paid me no mind; he fell onto the stone railing with his stomach, staring down in disbelief. I stood beside him and snorted.

People came out into the square dressed in national dress and carrying clubs in their hands. Many, very many people. Not dozens, but hundreds, thousands, and further down the street more could be seen, getting out of cars and coming out of alleys, wearing strange hats, merging into one stream to the clatter of wooden shoes as they walked towards Eskenborg. The pennants of my knights were flying above the dark sea of hats and velvet waistcoats and white-stained shirts as Sir Ulfric muttered a turgid tone into a megaphone, directing them, and the most imposing figures, apparently mayors of other towns, kusthiv men around Sir Erryn. A handful of bushmen stood with their hands raised to the side, under the watchful eye of the police; no one paid any attention to them, though.

The Frenchman, looking around wildly, recoiled and staggered off to the side.

"What, Olivier, don't you like it? What about the ideals you hold dear? You know, like the free will of the people and all that crap?"

For some reason, he did not support my tone. With a hiss, he straightened up and looked back at the barons who had followed us out onto the balcony and were clearly very angry:

"I am the lawful ruler! You must obey!"

"Explain it to them." I limped towards the retreating historian. Either to punch him in the face or to throw him down. Du Shorey was retreating, looking around. "By the way, what makes you think I am incapable of fighting?"

"I will be supported by a great country!"

"Egilbert, what do the books say about who we can turn to for help?"

"Practically all of Europe, Baron! If you remember, I told you - we were conquered by almost everyone sooner or later. Except for France!"

"Well, my dearest. Will your beautiful homeland hold its own against all of Europe?"

The conspirator looked around wildly, the transition from triumph to fall too quickly. A pair of barons awkwardly but enthusiastically twisted Du Shorey's arms, throwing him to his knees, but he, head cocked, yelled, trying to sting one last time:

"Perhaps not me, but still, by right of victory, the ruler of Eskenland is now an outsider! Always! Always!"

We were interrupted by the crack of the door finally collapsing:

"Norman! Where are you? There's a wounded man!"

"I'm coming! Dan, downstairs now, get the first aid kit from the car!"

"Erdy, help me drag this carcass away. Now, Mr. Ewald, it will be all right."

The squires went about their business in a jiffy. My school! Only Smartass looked out onto the balcony, thumbing his thumb in admiration, and Sato, sword in hand, who methodically looked around for opponents, nodded and disappeared.

Esk stood nearby, frowning. Couldn't he see the people he was going to rule from the cozy rooms of the castle? All right, I'd worked with my fists. Now I'd have to use my tongue.

"Esks! Listen to me!" Ulfric duplicated the command into the microphone, and the human sea below was instantly silent. So, what am I going to tell them? I had to cough thoughtfully, lean on the railing and start improvising:

"I am Alexander Mogila von Gravstein, the eldest of the Barons of Eskenland. This morning I learned of an impending coup - Baron von Hunedip had tricked the council into the meeting and threatened to force the election of him as leader of our people! The traitor's plans have been foiled!"

The silence was not so much intimidating as puzzling. I was listened to carefully and taken note of. Everyone here seemed to know that I was now the rightful challenger... Something had to be done about it. And quickly, before they think of something themselves.

"So, because of the wounds suffered in the battles for our country's freedom," I had to raise my bloodied hand defiantly. "I am weak and cannot personally sit on the throne, so as the eldest of the Barons I pass this right to a worthy one." The crowd below was unaccustomedly silent. People were watching us attentively. Yes, this is not good. We must do everything properly. But what was the right thing to do? I held up my hand again and waited until everyone behind me was silent before I began: "People of Eskenland. You have come here bearing arms, ready to defend your freedom. The traitor is defeated. It is time to decide how we will live our lives. Now and here I ask you, is this challenger to your heart's content?" Turning around, I grabbed the boy by the shoulder and pulled him close. "He is an esk of an old, renowned lineage, and the belief that he will rule intelligently and fairly cannot be challenged."

The silence of the crowd became astonished. Once again, amazed at the locals' ability to express everything without words, I opened my mouth, but behind me, du Shorey shouted furiously:

"Once a renunciate, he cannot become a pretender again! His power will be false! It is in Truth!"

The sound of a blunt blow made me cringe, aye, the tried-and-true ones, but it was a good point. So what to do?

"Fisk, two knives here quickly."

"Alexander, what are you going to do? Dueling won't help here!"

I was silent, not listening and concentrating on not leaning too much on my wounded leg... Yeah, something like that popped into my head, but it was too late to remember. All right, I would improvise.

"Esk, have you given up on being a duke?" I asked in a low voice, looking the boy in the eye. He shook his head, thinking for a moment. "He shook his head for a moment and said all right. Then repeat after me."

The guard held out two knives. A dagger, long, deliberately rough, sharp. And a Swiss Army folding knife. Esk ignored the gloomy look. He did as he was told.

Taking the dagger and grinning in advance, I stopped leaning on the railing and straightened up. Esk was already holding his toy, the blade open. I don't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't for me to put the blade to his throat. He didn't even flinch, though, just lifted his chin more arrogantly. When I was sure everyone was listening, I started, nice and steady:

"My friend Esk! There is no grudge or revenge between us. My home is your home. My strength is your strength. Your enemies are my enemies. You are my brother." So, what now? Oh, yeah... when I put the dagger away, I turn to the square and speak clearly: "Before heaven and men, I declare: this man is my brother!" Leaning over to Elegard-Esco-Elise and the rest, I embraced him, whispering in his ear: "Now repeat it, and don't you dare laugh, you aristocratic mug!"

The heir to an ancient family name's upbringing was on point - his lips twitched, but he never smiled. That was all right. Now, the important thing was that, after waiting for him to finish speaking, I stepped back demonstratively, trying not to make a face, and put my hand on Esk's shoulder:

"I, the rightful claimant to the throne, say - here is my brother. Here is your future Duke. Is he dear to your heart, Esks?!"

And the crowd finally responded! The shriek of the agreement was deafening. People were shouting self-complacently, waving their hats and sticks, raising their fists, and shrieking, shrieking, shrieking!

"It seems to be a sign that they don't dislike you too much. Egilbert, what's the next step? Come on, get your cue card going! Quickly, but so that no one protests!"

I wasn't going to stay a legitimate claimant to the throne one minute longer than necessary. The old man chewed his lip, arched his eyebrows, and moved his ears but finally had to agree:

"Although... There is a certain strangeness to the rite, but on occasion, even Christian rulers have resorted to similar measures. For example, the coronation of Egebad the Merciful from the year thousand and three hundred and second bears some resemblance. Apparently..."

"Great, so it's all according to the rules!" I froze, trying to gather my thoughts. "Come on, right now, a short but proper ceremony. So no one can get a rise out of it. Got it? We'll do the full one later... but it can't get any fuller than that, everyone who was interested is already here. Get on with it!"

The old man came out, raised his hand, and began to say something. I was just distracted, trying unsuccessfully to step over so that it hurt less so that after a few unpleasant seconds I came back to reality at the words:

"Let whoever knows the reason why this worthy man cannot rule over the Esk people say so!"

"And will be silenced forever, having been tortured beforehand! Von Schnitze, the people agreed, and the order was - quickly!"

The old man indignantly mimicked something with his eyes but obeyed. The ceremony was performed in record time. Hell, it took me longer to get accepted as a pioneer than it did Esk as a Duke! I suppose it would have been right, like all the other barons, to kneel, or at least bow at the waist like the people in the square, but all I could do was stand upright and clutch at some stick and try not to grind my teeth too loudly. The only two thoughts left were a frantic attempt to remember what large blood vessels ran in the spot where the new hole in my skin had appeared and regret the chance I'd lost. Damn, I was so hoping to bargain for the correct baronial vote. I had such plans for this vote... This ain't chump change from tourists. This is real politics! All right, now I'm going to push the brotherhood thing.

At last, it was over. A flushed Esk was surrounded by an instantaneous crowd. Some people came up and said something in excited voices, many bowed to Esk, and some looked warily at me. There was a cough behind me, and I turned my head.

Sir Erraine and Sir Ulfric looked at me proudly, clearly expecting praise for what they had done. But fuck you, you quiet bloody men!

"So what was it? What were you doing the whole time we were fighting?"

The knights looked at each other in surprise and then reported back:

"You said someone is trying to seize power, which means you have to mobilize up the people, and so we have been gathering clubs of dancers."

"Dancers?!"

"The traditional staff dance. You see, sir Baron, since the invaders forbade the Esks from wielding weapons and practicing martial arts, we created our special martial system! The staff dance!"

"Yes, I remember. If anything grabs the club and go dancing."

"Exactly! According to the model statutes of a national dance club, we must first gather all members, hold a vote, and only when..."

"That's it. I got it, don't go on. Out, go congratulate the man. First official election ever, after all..."

The knights, bowing with dignity, set off to express their allegiance. Elepar, who could work his head so well, remained close by. He coughing embarrassedly, rubbing the blue bump on his forehead, and squinting to the side, came towards me.

"You know, Alexander, it's good that the ceremony is shortened. After all, the first real coronation of a ruler in so many centuries must take place in the presence of some of the necessary regalia." He coughed again and continued decisively: "I... er... have a confession to make."

Right. I quickly guessed what it was and suppressed the urge to cover my eyes with my palm. Elepar did realize something in the grimace that broke out and began to make embarrassed excuses:

"You see, I am, after all, a professional electronic engineer. And those alarm plans you pulled out... they were detailed enough... it wasn't hard to tamper with, everyone in the museum was looking at you. I realize I may have compromised your plans, but you have to understand, I took an oath!"

"Where's the real Chalice, rogue?"

"It's at my house now. But I'll give it back!"

Still, I couldn't help myself and covered my eyes for a moment. Then I remembered what I'd been doing, sincerely believing that the Chalice was in its proper place, and for a few seconds, I fought the urge to go get a fighting candelabra and add bumps to one big, frostbitten head. Oh, those romantics!

"When should I bring it back? I think the relic should be displayed in time for the official ceremony for all to see. It's sure to make things better!"

I looked around. Aske was already saying something from the balcony to his people, but I could barely hear the words from the corridor. At last, the proudly straightened boy was covered by the backs of the barons who surrounded the new lord.

"Yes, I think it would work out much better with the Chalice. Come, Elepar, let's discuss... ah, shit!"

"I'll help... come on, here we go..."

"Thank you. It's good to have a friendly shoulder to lean on. OK, it's a long way to go. Let's adjust a few plans, shall we?"

And so we limped towards the exit.

My leg hurt like hell.

And it's getting darker... too early... bloody leg...

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The ritual is partly mentioned in the Balkan chronicles, but there was no full description. Apparently, quite a grey area of antiquity.

By the way, did you notice a subtlety? The man would have asked "to your soul's content", but von Gravstein would have asked, "to your heart's content".

Yeah, that's sad. He has no soul, then?

A monster - soulless, but with a warm, sincere heart... so sad.

I get it!!!! That's why he needs the Holy Chalice!

from the comments on YouTube

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