“Murderer!â€
Erik turned to face forward, ignoring the screed from his right. At the woman's raised voice, tinged with urgency, he'd instinctively jerked his head to the side to listen—only to be greeted with a snarl, her face twisted with rage and flushed with indignation.
“A wolf—†He stalked away as quickly as possible, but her words pierced the cacophony of noise from the market's stalls, “—leading a pack of wild dogs!†Fortunately, after a few more steps, her voice was swallowed by the wash of other sounds in the busy street—but the damage had been done. People who had been enraptured by the price of tea a moment before now turned and glared at him, revulsion washing over him in waves as each new section noticed their neighbors to the aft getting angry. Children peeped out from their mothers' skirts, eyes wide with fear—who knew what they'd been told by the fireplace about the grizzled old wolf? Maybe they were afraid he would swallow them whole. The spiked steel plates fastened over his mail reflected their jeering faces back at them, but it seemed to do little good. They must have been too taken up with the plates themselves to notice the portraits, or maybe they were busy looking at his sword and missed themselves entirely.
Erik reached up and pulled his visor over his eyes with a sigh of frustration. Through the grate, bits of the market flashed by in his peripheral vision: swatches of linen dyed with the spices piled up in brass bowls just to their side, piles of fruit and lumps of wool, wooden bowls spun from unlacquered wood—the fruits of the nation he'd been off protecting. In his haste to visit said nation's leader, he'd gone straight from campaign to capital, neglecting to take off his armor; he now recognized this for the mistake it was.
As he neared the castle gates, fortunately, the jeers and vitriol faded off to grumbling, then finally, poisonous stares that he could feel but not see. Despite not understanding the concept of an army, it must have occurred to them that hassling a general in front of his own subordinates would be a poor idea. The guards, to their credit, opened the gates for him on sight, and he barely had to break stride. Once they closed behind him, Erik was left alone inside the yard, hard leather soles drumming a steady rhythm on the slate path as he marched up it toward the castle's front steps. It had been a long time since he'd been in a quiet enough place to hear footsteps—they were swallowed on the battlefield the same way they were in the market, forced out of his perception by screaming men and horses and the ring of steel. The palace was so unusually peaceful compared to a campaign that it was almost unnerving—no matter where he was in the capital, it seemed to have no love for him. As he climbed the steps, more guards took notice of him and a few disappeared, no doubt running to alert the king to his presence.
The castle's doors were shaded by an overhanging roof many yards long, supported by huge stone columns. They would stripe the polished floors this evening, but for now the shade was solid and cold, wisps of cool air seeping in through the chinks in his heavy armor. Erik lifted his visor, glancing around at the familiar columns and the thick walls beyond, their decoration blurred by shadow. Approaching them sharpened the lines and colors, for the moment before the doors were opened to allow him inside.
While the shadows remained as dense as ever, Erik felt the temperature jump as he stepped inside, going from sunlight to torchlight. The doors creaked closed behind him and landed with a heavy thuk, as if they were joints being forced back into a socket. He frowned at the visual, nearly missing the servant striving to keep up with his aggravated pacing.
“Sir? Oh—sir—â€
Erik blinked and turned toward the voice. “Yes?â€
The servant—he was either very young or already a eunuch—began to fidget in place as his eyes dropped to the floor. “Y-You are recommended by o-order of the king, his highness, to wait within this hall to receive an appointment. Milord. Sir.â€
“...an... appointment?â€
“Yes, milord—to speak with the king.â€
Coals of indignation began to hiss in his stomach, heating his blood. “When have I ever needed an appointment to speak with the king?â€
“I-I—er, well—you see, milord, th-the king sent word that a-all visiting... visitors should w-wait to be given an appointment, sir...†how the man had made it this far into the conversation with dry breeches, Erik couldn't fathom. He was trembling by now, and had to swallow between his sentences, working up his nerve to speak. “S-So as a visitor—er—an esteemed guest of the king... um, you would of course be recommended—â€
Erik closed the distance between them with a single stride. “Do you know where the king is right now?â€
“N-No milord, I mean—yes, yes milord.â€
“Good!†He leaned in. “Now—I'm going to go to the king's receiving room and wait for him. You are going to go to find him, and tell him that General Isenghast is here and would like a word with him. The campaign he ordered just ended, and I am here to give him my report on it; I will not wait out in the front room like some peasant coming to ask for a reprieve from the tax collector. Do I make myself clear?â€
The servant merely nodded. Erik jerked forward a span and the man screamed outright, running from the room in a panic. Satisfied, he walked on, this time motioning for the doors to be opened.
Never in his career had he been stopped at the foyer, the same as would happen to any commoner—just thinking back to it made him angrier, and he was still seething as he commanded that the doors to the receiving room be drawn open so that he could go inside. His first order of business was to throw himself and his greasy mail into a fine velvet chair, waiting impatiently for the king to arrive.
Dust from their most recent campaign still clung to his boots, sifting off onto the imported carpet. Normally, Erik would have been careful, but for now it gave him a sort of satisfaction to damage all this finery with his armor. They brought it all back from the northern coast, anyway—by all rights, this chair and that carpet were half his to do with as he saw fit. He'd been the one dragged along on the premise of presenting all three branches of the royal family—but as usual, nothing had gone to the Black Laurel but a measure of gold for his “troubleâ€. Trouble! He'd spent a month steaming and sweating in overwrought silks, drinking hot tea in the middle of the summer with a bunch of thieves and brotheliers, and all they'd deigned to call it was “troubleâ€â€”rendering it somewhat akin to walking down to the kitchen for a plate of bread. Trouble. Trouble, his lily white—
“General?â€
Erik looked up. He'd gotten so lost in old anger that the source of the new had walked in unnoticed, coming over to turn his head like a bird listening to a cat's cry. Ernst straightened his robes and raiment carefully, his curious expression softening as he put himself to rights, until it was one of distracted calm—Erik reasoned from this change that he must be slightly less interesting than a length of translucent silk. “Hello. What brings you to the castle today?â€
“...well, your highness, we've just returned from the jungles to the west. The orcs proved to be a formidable enemy, but we have re-established our borders, and fortified them with—†He paused when the king raised one hand, as if silencing a particularly excited child.
“Lovely. I appreciate your effort, General—â€
“My name is Erik. You know my name. I'm not sure if you've forgotten, highness, but we happen to be related.†While he didn't quite outrank the king, he was no simple officer. All this dismissive behavior was just fuel on a fire that started in the market—the coals of which had been keeping for a while now. “Or have court affairs robbed you of your famed memory?â€
He'd been hoping for anger or at least scorn—but there seemed to be no change in the king's hazy expression. “Of course not, General. My memory is perfect, as always.â€
“Alright. Then you must remember why you sent your armies forth in the first place.â€
“Of course. We were facing an enemy we knew nothing about.â€
“...yes, I suppose you could phrase it that way.†He sighed and began all over again with his report. “We now know something about the orcs, having met them in combat. Our borders are secure, and at present, walls are being built in the olden style along the border, due to the orcs' lack of battering engines. They excel at climbing, however, so the walls are high and straight.†Erik paused for a moment to ensure the king was still listening. “...the villages affected by raids are being rebuilt by local civilians. Crops are late into the fields, but a harvest is still expected this fall.â€
Ernst blinked at him. “A harvest? What do they grow down there, beside the jungle?â€
“Lumber. Cotton. Sugarcane and flax.†He made an expansive motion with one arm, as if gesturing to miles of fields. “Up until the jungle treeline in the west, and the mountains to the south, the land is very flat. A third of it is fallow, but all the rest is farmed, with very little hunting ground.†Finally, he was showing some interest. Erik felt the last of his anger begin to ebb. “The peasants there round up their harvests early, and they arrive at the capital usually just before the first cold spell.â€
For all this, he was rewarded with a nod. Ernst adjusted his crown carefully to make sure it hadn't slid forward too much in the excitement.
“Again, lovely news. A brilliant victory. Give my regards to your lessers.†He paused for a moment as if trying to solve a riddle, then smiled at Erik and asked, “Will that be all, General?â€
“...yes, highness.â€
“Wonderful. I believe you know the way out. Should you have any further concerns, please do not hesitate to make an appointment with the man in the foyer. He will be happy to arrange a time when we can meet.â€
“About him—how long has he had that duty, exactly?â€
“Hmm?â€
“How long have you been making your visitors stand about in the front chamber like they were here to come before you on the throne? When I last left for my campaign, heads of the family were encouraged to call on you—not on some simpering eunuch with a weak bladder.â€
“Oh, has he done that again? The poor man. He just gets so nervous, you know... he can't help it, really.â€
Erik resisted the urge to glare. “No. No, never mind that. How long have you had that rule in place, highness?â€
Ernst blinked. “Oh—since you left, I suppose. It wasn't long after that Herman brought it to my attention, you see, that true men of power place a high value on their time. If someone must wait to see you, obviously you are a powerful figure.†He smiled. “I have to admit, it is a bit tedious, making appointments for everything. But a king should act like a king, of course.â€
“Of course.†Of course this was Herman's doing. The man stood so wholly on ceremony that his heels hadn't touched soil in twenty years. “Did you have any further questions about the campaign?â€
“The what? Oh—no. No, but if I do, I will be sure to send a servant with the word for you.â€
Erik nodded, by now nearly out of words. This was not the king he left to go south, but at present he didn't seem with himself enough to explain. “Then, I will be taking my leave of you.â€
“Lovely. It was a pleasure seeing you, General.†Ernst nodded at him, smiling blankly. His eyes closed as his chin came down, a gesture he couldn't remember the king using before. Something told him it would be useless to ask about it, however. He rose slowly from the chair, following his own dusty footprints out of the receiving room to the foyer.
Fortunately, this time the room was empty, echoing with no sound besides his heavy footfalls on the way out. The army's encampment was just outside the castle walls, and inevitably, his men where working their way through the city by now, bereft of their armor and carrying their small daggers, sampling the comforts of home. Their leader, on the other hand, was already beginning to pine for the open country.
He hated to admit that anything the Golden Laurel said could possibly have sense in it, but they did seem to be right about one thing—none of his branch seemed to belong in a castle. They could and would, if the time came, of course, but Erik for one had no love for the capital, much as it hadn't any for him; it was full of useless people worried about useless things like accumulating fine silks and bathing in scented tinctures. He had no patience for any of it.
With all the growing the capital had done, it was a long, loud walk out to the encampment, one made slightly better by the stream of happy subordinates going in the other direction. Erik didn't begrudge them their time here, wouldn't have been able to even if he tried to work up to it. He couldn't: they had worked hard, fought hard, and then come trudging back home, knowing that they would be welcomed with kicks and curses if they should come through the city walls in uniform. However they wanted to repay themselves for all that was fine with him, especially since they were barely provided a wage over their rations, any way.
Back in his own tent, with a mug of warm ale and no armor or weapons weighing on his frame, he finally had a chance to relax and think about the campaign, now that it was all entirely over. It would likely be largely unknown in the capital, if the way Ernst reacted was any indication. The Black branch would, hopefully, receive some extra coin to hire new recruits, replenish its equipment and horses, and other incidentals, and after a few months, the orcs would figure out how to climb sheer stone, and they would be doing this again. Hopefully, by then, their king would be more interested in the state of his borders than the state of his own wardrobe—but Erik wasn't holding out much hope.
Erik turned to face forward, ignoring the screed from his right. At the woman's raised voice, tinged with urgency, he'd instinctively jerked his head to the side to listen—only to be greeted with a snarl, her face twisted with rage and flushed with indignation.
“A wolf—†He stalked away as quickly as possible, but her words pierced the cacophony of noise from the market's stalls, “—leading a pack of wild dogs!†Fortunately, after a few more steps, her voice was swallowed by the wash of other sounds in the busy street—but the damage had been done. People who had been enraptured by the price of tea a moment before now turned and glared at him, revulsion washing over him in waves as each new section noticed their neighbors to the aft getting angry. Children peeped out from their mothers' skirts, eyes wide with fear—who knew what they'd been told by the fireplace about the grizzled old wolf? Maybe they were afraid he would swallow them whole. The spiked steel plates fastened over his mail reflected their jeering faces back at them, but it seemed to do little good. They must have been too taken up with the plates themselves to notice the portraits, or maybe they were busy looking at his sword and missed themselves entirely.
Erik reached up and pulled his visor over his eyes with a sigh of frustration. Through the grate, bits of the market flashed by in his peripheral vision: swatches of linen dyed with the spices piled up in brass bowls just to their side, piles of fruit and lumps of wool, wooden bowls spun from unlacquered wood—the fruits of the nation he'd been off protecting. In his haste to visit said nation's leader, he'd gone straight from campaign to capital, neglecting to take off his armor; he now recognized this for the mistake it was.
As he neared the castle gates, fortunately, the jeers and vitriol faded off to grumbling, then finally, poisonous stares that he could feel but not see. Despite not understanding the concept of an army, it must have occurred to them that hassling a general in front of his own subordinates would be a poor idea. The guards, to their credit, opened the gates for him on sight, and he barely had to break stride. Once they closed behind him, Erik was left alone inside the yard, hard leather soles drumming a steady rhythm on the slate path as he marched up it toward the castle's front steps. It had been a long time since he'd been in a quiet enough place to hear footsteps—they were swallowed on the battlefield the same way they were in the market, forced out of his perception by screaming men and horses and the ring of steel. The palace was so unusually peaceful compared to a campaign that it was almost unnerving—no matter where he was in the capital, it seemed to have no love for him. As he climbed the steps, more guards took notice of him and a few disappeared, no doubt running to alert the king to his presence.
The castle's doors were shaded by an overhanging roof many yards long, supported by huge stone columns. They would stripe the polished floors this evening, but for now the shade was solid and cold, wisps of cool air seeping in through the chinks in his heavy armor. Erik lifted his visor, glancing around at the familiar columns and the thick walls beyond, their decoration blurred by shadow. Approaching them sharpened the lines and colors, for the moment before the doors were opened to allow him inside.
While the shadows remained as dense as ever, Erik felt the temperature jump as he stepped inside, going from sunlight to torchlight. The doors creaked closed behind him and landed with a heavy thuk, as if they were joints being forced back into a socket. He frowned at the visual, nearly missing the servant striving to keep up with his aggravated pacing.
“Sir? Oh—sir—â€
Erik blinked and turned toward the voice. “Yes?â€
The servant—he was either very young or already a eunuch—began to fidget in place as his eyes dropped to the floor. “Y-You are recommended by o-order of the king, his highness, to wait within this hall to receive an appointment. Milord. Sir.â€
“...an... appointment?â€
“Yes, milord—to speak with the king.â€
Coals of indignation began to hiss in his stomach, heating his blood. “When have I ever needed an appointment to speak with the king?â€
“I-I—er, well—you see, milord, th-the king sent word that a-all visiting... visitors should w-wait to be given an appointment, sir...†how the man had made it this far into the conversation with dry breeches, Erik couldn't fathom. He was trembling by now, and had to swallow between his sentences, working up his nerve to speak. “S-So as a visitor—er—an esteemed guest of the king... um, you would of course be recommended—â€
Erik closed the distance between them with a single stride. “Do you know where the king is right now?â€
“N-No milord, I mean—yes, yes milord.â€
“Good!†He leaned in. “Now—I'm going to go to the king's receiving room and wait for him. You are going to go to find him, and tell him that General Isenghast is here and would like a word with him. The campaign he ordered just ended, and I am here to give him my report on it; I will not wait out in the front room like some peasant coming to ask for a reprieve from the tax collector. Do I make myself clear?â€
The servant merely nodded. Erik jerked forward a span and the man screamed outright, running from the room in a panic. Satisfied, he walked on, this time motioning for the doors to be opened.
Never in his career had he been stopped at the foyer, the same as would happen to any commoner—just thinking back to it made him angrier, and he was still seething as he commanded that the doors to the receiving room be drawn open so that he could go inside. His first order of business was to throw himself and his greasy mail into a fine velvet chair, waiting impatiently for the king to arrive.
Dust from their most recent campaign still clung to his boots, sifting off onto the imported carpet. Normally, Erik would have been careful, but for now it gave him a sort of satisfaction to damage all this finery with his armor. They brought it all back from the northern coast, anyway—by all rights, this chair and that carpet were half his to do with as he saw fit. He'd been the one dragged along on the premise of presenting all three branches of the royal family—but as usual, nothing had gone to the Black Laurel but a measure of gold for his “troubleâ€. Trouble! He'd spent a month steaming and sweating in overwrought silks, drinking hot tea in the middle of the summer with a bunch of thieves and brotheliers, and all they'd deigned to call it was “troubleâ€â€”rendering it somewhat akin to walking down to the kitchen for a plate of bread. Trouble. Trouble, his lily white—
“General?â€
Erik looked up. He'd gotten so lost in old anger that the source of the new had walked in unnoticed, coming over to turn his head like a bird listening to a cat's cry. Ernst straightened his robes and raiment carefully, his curious expression softening as he put himself to rights, until it was one of distracted calm—Erik reasoned from this change that he must be slightly less interesting than a length of translucent silk. “Hello. What brings you to the castle today?â€
“...well, your highness, we've just returned from the jungles to the west. The orcs proved to be a formidable enemy, but we have re-established our borders, and fortified them with—†He paused when the king raised one hand, as if silencing a particularly excited child.
“Lovely. I appreciate your effort, General—â€
“My name is Erik. You know my name. I'm not sure if you've forgotten, highness, but we happen to be related.†While he didn't quite outrank the king, he was no simple officer. All this dismissive behavior was just fuel on a fire that started in the market—the coals of which had been keeping for a while now. “Or have court affairs robbed you of your famed memory?â€
He'd been hoping for anger or at least scorn—but there seemed to be no change in the king's hazy expression. “Of course not, General. My memory is perfect, as always.â€
“Alright. Then you must remember why you sent your armies forth in the first place.â€
“Of course. We were facing an enemy we knew nothing about.â€
“...yes, I suppose you could phrase it that way.†He sighed and began all over again with his report. “We now know something about the orcs, having met them in combat. Our borders are secure, and at present, walls are being built in the olden style along the border, due to the orcs' lack of battering engines. They excel at climbing, however, so the walls are high and straight.†Erik paused for a moment to ensure the king was still listening. “...the villages affected by raids are being rebuilt by local civilians. Crops are late into the fields, but a harvest is still expected this fall.â€
Ernst blinked at him. “A harvest? What do they grow down there, beside the jungle?â€
“Lumber. Cotton. Sugarcane and flax.†He made an expansive motion with one arm, as if gesturing to miles of fields. “Up until the jungle treeline in the west, and the mountains to the south, the land is very flat. A third of it is fallow, but all the rest is farmed, with very little hunting ground.†Finally, he was showing some interest. Erik felt the last of his anger begin to ebb. “The peasants there round up their harvests early, and they arrive at the capital usually just before the first cold spell.â€
For all this, he was rewarded with a nod. Ernst adjusted his crown carefully to make sure it hadn't slid forward too much in the excitement.
“Again, lovely news. A brilliant victory. Give my regards to your lessers.†He paused for a moment as if trying to solve a riddle, then smiled at Erik and asked, “Will that be all, General?â€
“...yes, highness.â€
“Wonderful. I believe you know the way out. Should you have any further concerns, please do not hesitate to make an appointment with the man in the foyer. He will be happy to arrange a time when we can meet.â€
“About him—how long has he had that duty, exactly?â€
“Hmm?â€
“How long have you been making your visitors stand about in the front chamber like they were here to come before you on the throne? When I last left for my campaign, heads of the family were encouraged to call on you—not on some simpering eunuch with a weak bladder.â€
“Oh, has he done that again? The poor man. He just gets so nervous, you know... he can't help it, really.â€
Erik resisted the urge to glare. “No. No, never mind that. How long have you had that rule in place, highness?â€
Ernst blinked. “Oh—since you left, I suppose. It wasn't long after that Herman brought it to my attention, you see, that true men of power place a high value on their time. If someone must wait to see you, obviously you are a powerful figure.†He smiled. “I have to admit, it is a bit tedious, making appointments for everything. But a king should act like a king, of course.â€
“Of course.†Of course this was Herman's doing. The man stood so wholly on ceremony that his heels hadn't touched soil in twenty years. “Did you have any further questions about the campaign?â€
“The what? Oh—no. No, but if I do, I will be sure to send a servant with the word for you.â€
Erik nodded, by now nearly out of words. This was not the king he left to go south, but at present he didn't seem with himself enough to explain. “Then, I will be taking my leave of you.â€
“Lovely. It was a pleasure seeing you, General.†Ernst nodded at him, smiling blankly. His eyes closed as his chin came down, a gesture he couldn't remember the king using before. Something told him it would be useless to ask about it, however. He rose slowly from the chair, following his own dusty footprints out of the receiving room to the foyer.
Fortunately, this time the room was empty, echoing with no sound besides his heavy footfalls on the way out. The army's encampment was just outside the castle walls, and inevitably, his men where working their way through the city by now, bereft of their armor and carrying their small daggers, sampling the comforts of home. Their leader, on the other hand, was already beginning to pine for the open country.
He hated to admit that anything the Golden Laurel said could possibly have sense in it, but they did seem to be right about one thing—none of his branch seemed to belong in a castle. They could and would, if the time came, of course, but Erik for one had no love for the capital, much as it hadn't any for him; it was full of useless people worried about useless things like accumulating fine silks and bathing in scented tinctures. He had no patience for any of it.
With all the growing the capital had done, it was a long, loud walk out to the encampment, one made slightly better by the stream of happy subordinates going in the other direction. Erik didn't begrudge them their time here, wouldn't have been able to even if he tried to work up to it. He couldn't: they had worked hard, fought hard, and then come trudging back home, knowing that they would be welcomed with kicks and curses if they should come through the city walls in uniform. However they wanted to repay themselves for all that was fine with him, especially since they were barely provided a wage over their rations, any way.
Back in his own tent, with a mug of warm ale and no armor or weapons weighing on his frame, he finally had a chance to relax and think about the campaign, now that it was all entirely over. It would likely be largely unknown in the capital, if the way Ernst reacted was any indication. The Black branch would, hopefully, receive some extra coin to hire new recruits, replenish its equipment and horses, and other incidentals, and after a few months, the orcs would figure out how to climb sheer stone, and they would be doing this again. Hopefully, by then, their king would be more interested in the state of his borders than the state of his own wardrobe—but Erik wasn't holding out much hope.