Good morning! Or, well, it's morning as I publish this. I have had two requests for a map to accompany Dusk, and I've actually been working on one in my spare time - it's barebones, and not incredibly decorated, but it should suffice once I finish it. I understand the need for a cartographic aid, given the sheer size of the story's world, so I will be publishing that on my DeviantArt as soon as I can. To those of you who asked for it, thank you for bringing the problem to my attention! I will do what I can to help you out.
I also apologize for the long delay for this chapter. I intend to cut down on the time I spend planning out the next one some, and hopefully get it out within a week, tops.
Stallhart was small, and hardly a castle. The keep, visible from the northern road, was little more than a wooden tower with a few outbuildings, a barracks, lodging and its own well. It had its own wall, encompassed by the main wall that surrounded the town, and a few towers for garrisoning archers in the case of a battle. The town itself was not visible yet, as the keep sat on a hill overlooking it and could be seen from a short distance away.
"It's not much, but it's actually better than a lot of the little keeps in the Rush," Ezra Stellmeier said, grinning as he saw the keep towers rising in the distance. "Welcome to Stallhart."
"I wasn't expecting much, not like a giant castle or anything," Matt said. Ezra Stellmeier rode to his right, and Sora to his left, his escorts to the town. They were followed by two of Sora's own handpicked servants, young ladies who had been trained in housekeeping at the Ditch. Stellmeier was one of Leon's trusted sergeants, and had seen action during the Caullon rebellion before he had settled down in the Ditch and sworn himself to the stronghold's service. He seemed like a genial man, well-humored and kind despite his rather gruff appearance and the scar on his forehead.
"Were you not expecting something this mean?" Stellmeier asked, teasing him.
Matt rushed to defend himself. "No, I'm not complaining or nothing."
"It looks cozy," interjected Sora, studying the town with interest.
"That's one way to put it," Stellmeier said. "I've been here before, if only briefly. It's a little dirty, and hardly the most comfortable place, but it's better than the open ground, or a tent. Walls are pretty sturdy, too."
"Where will we be staying?"asked Sora out of curiosity.
"Lord's and lady's quarters, of course. It's hardly noble, but much nicer than most of the houses," Stellmeier said.
"How many people?" Matt asked.
"Close to five hundred civilians, and about a hundred and fifty combatants. The men I've brought will boost that to two hundred, a number you may very well need."
"You think so?"
"I know so," Stellmeier said. "There's a special dichotomy here, one I'll explain to you once we get there." Matt and Sora exchanged nervous looks when he refused to extrapolate any further, and remained silent for the rest of their journey.
Ten minutes later they had entered the wooden gate of the town and proceeded towards the keep, watched warily by a small crowd of farmers and townsfolk going about their business. The soldiers here were rather motley; in contrast to the soldiers of Ais Kleisardathos or even the Ditch, these appeared downright pitiful. Their armor appeared to be cured leather and thick cloth, a far cry from the chainmail and steel plate of the great armies, and any headgear was limited to a felt cap, a hood or, if lucky, an iron pot helm. Their boots and pants were ragged and worn, and their gloves and gauntlets were torn and rusty. Most of them carried an iron spear and a worn shield, and a few carried rusty axes or weathered crossbows. All in all they were a sorry lot for soldiers.
The people weren't much better, either; most of them were dressed in ragged shawls and moth-eaten cloaks, with dirty shirts and pants. Some didn't even wear shoes; a fair number of them went barefoot, dragging their feet through the mud. A few of them smiled at the convoy as it passed through the center of town; most of them went about their business, heedless of the horsemen. A couple glanced up from their work, blinked sullenly, and returned to their work without a word.
"A bit of a dull place, isn't it?"
Riley Eston, the attache diplomat sent by Leon, rode up alongside Matt as they passed through the town square and into the keep, which was separated from the town but its own gate. She was a fair young woman, slender and tall and proud-looking, but Matt wasn't certain if he could trust her. She seemed like the treacherous type, the opportunist who would seize the first advantage they could get their hands on. He would withhold judgment for now, but he only answered Riley with a token reply, preferring to avoid engaging in heavy conversation with her, out of fear of letting something important slip.
Matt had been very paranoid ever since leaving the Ditch. Even with Sora by his side, he was incredibly nervous about marching out to his new occupation. Living in a castle was one thing; owning it was an entirely different, and far more intimidating, matter. The fact that he had to be the ward of an entire county, and almost a thousand people too, had kept him up at night ever since they had departed. He couldn't trust anybody, either; especially in a time of war, anyone could be the enemy. None of the people who rode with him, especially the important and politically significant, could be completely trusted. The only person he truly felt comfortable with was Sora.
"The keep is separate from the rest of the town to prevent it from falling during a siege or assault," Stellmeier explained as they passed into its yard. A few chickens pecked around in the dirt and some soldiers were standing guard at various doors, but otherwise it was deserted.
"What would happen to the town in that case?" Sora asked, out of pure curiosity.
"Well, the lord and his forces would barricade the entrance, and the town, well...would be in enemy hands. Temporarily of course," Stellmeier replied, chuckling nervously. "Anyone left outside the keep would likely meet a rather...unpleasant...fate."
Sora blanched and did not ask any other questions. Even to Matt, that seemed a little unnecessarily gruesome. Was it normal, that kind of strategy?
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that, of course," Riley said, attempting to lighten the mood.
"I'd prefer it do so, to be honest," someone else interjected. A voice from behind called attention and Matt turned around to see who it was. A lanky brown-haired young man, dressed in plain attire and wearing thick glasses, smiled gaily at him.
"A warmonger in our ranks?" Stellmeier asked, turning his head to see the newcomer.
"Timothy DeVyrs...er, war correspondent," the man introduced himself excitedly, riding up towards Matt and Sora. "That's...kinda how I get my money. Not the most appreciable occupation, no," he admitted.
"A journalist, then?" Matt asked.
"In a sense. I actually live on Earth, but I've come here to document the fighting for Earth media. Apparently it's a fascinating topic for a lot of people," he explained.
"So you're here to stir up trouble?" asked Stellmeier, cocking his head.
"Of course not!" Timothy shook his head furiously. "I don't stir up trouble, I just report on it!"
"That's what all folk like you say. Rubberneckers," Stellmeier mumbled, spitting into the dirt to mark his point. Timothy DeVyrs fell silent as quickly as he had spoken up, and fell back to his place in line. Matt felt some sympathy for him, but didn't trust him, either; his true intentions remained nebulous.
They dismounted and allowed the stable boys to take care of the horses; the entire party proceeded into the keep, led by Matt and Stellmeier.
The keep itself was similar to the rest of the town; dirty, dim, and old. The timbers of the walls were worn (not rotting, but not far from doing so), the windows were dirty and grimy, the floors were tainted with mud and straw, and the air was thick with sulphurous smoke and the smells of humanity mingling with farm animals. A few servants bustled from place to place, dressed in ragged clothing and carrying baskets or pails. None of them paid any heed to the newcomers.
"Barracks has plenty of space for you. Get your men settled in," Stellmeier ordered the sergeant of the soldiers, who barked a few orders and sent his company off packing. Stellmeier led Matt deeper into the castle, with Sora, Timothy, Riley, and a couple others following close behind.
"You were told about Lord Steadwin, presumably?" asked Stellmeier as they ascended a stairwell to the upper floors of the keep.
"Er...I was…" Matt replied, suddenly remembering the young lord.
Avery Steadwin, only fifteen, was technically the liege lord of Stallhart and its surrounding lands. His father - Lord Steadwin - was slain during the slaughter at Thellden, an event Leon was narrowly able to escape. Seeing as he was the heir of the late lord, Avery would technically step into power as long as he was of age; currently, however, he was too young. Back in the Ditch, Leon had made the argument that the older, more experienced Matt would make a better lord until Avery came of age, and could perhaps even stand as an example for the youth. Matt, on the other hand, was hesitant to meet the young Steadwin, certain that the youth would be belligerent and stubborn during their meeting. Stellmeier had explicitly warned him so; in describing his character, comparisons to a bull had come up often.
"He won't be pleased to see you, that's for sure. But once he realizes that you're in command, he'll stand by you. He might just argue about it. A lot of…"
Stellmeier did not finish his sentence and continued leading the group up. Timothy and the other members of the party departed at the second floor, and only Matt, Sora, and Riley were left to continue up to the third floor, the top of the keep. As the diplomatic attaché for Stallhart, Eston was the only one of the party who had an obligation to stay with Matt.
"He'll be in here. He spends a lot of time in the map room," Stellmeier said, leading them to a plain, heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway. Matt prepared for the worst, steeling himself against any possible trouble he may receive. Thrusting the door open, Stellmeier exposed two stewards, as well as the young Avery Steadwin.
"Lord Cook," Avery greeted him, his jaw setting immediately. "It is a pleasure to receive you."
Matt was momentarily taken aback, both at the professional greeting and his tone of voice. Cold as it was, that tone was neither callous nor hostile; perhaps Avery knew his place and knew he had to stand down, albeit unwillingly.
"And it's a pleasure to, ah, be received," Matt replied hastily. Dumbass. Why'd you say that?
"Of course." Avery nodded slightly. His eyes locked onto Matt as if they were honing in on a target, and suddenly he felt very nervous. Even at the age of fifteen, Avery Steadwin was bulky and broad-shouldered, with a thick, powerful neck and a sharp jaw. He looked more man than boy, and would certainly be able to beat Matt into submission should such a course of events be required.
"I apologize, I'm new here-"
"Of course you are. I've been told everything already, Lord Cook," Avery said, the last two words stinking of subtle malice. Avery was setting the stage for confrontation, just as Matt had been expecting. Any plans for a productive partnership were quickly being destroyed. He shouldn't have said what he did, anyway; he kept saying stupid things that only served as fodder for Avery's belligerent attitude.
"I figured you were," Matt replied, his initially warm demeanor frosting. "You realize now that you will be taking orders from me, correct?"
"I do realize this," Avery said. He said nothing about following said orders, which prompted Matt to continue.
"And you are aware that you must follow said orders, correct?"
"I am," Avery stated clearly.
"Then you-"
"Do not presume to treat me like a child," Avery interrupted. "I know my place, even if it is an insulting place to be set in."
Matt was taken aback. He had been thrown into a unique situation and he wasn't sure how to deal with this sort of character. Avery Steadwin crossed his arms, challenging his superior to do something about his insubordinate activity. Realizing Sora and the others were still standing behind him, silently, Matt felt pressed to act aggressively and throw his weight around. But he couldn't bring himself to do that, not yet.
"I apologize," he said, regretting it almost immediately. He could see the anger and confusion on Avery's face, and knew he had made a mistake. Instead of continuing, however, Avery surprised Matt once more, shaking his head and moving for the door.
"If you wish to take your place as lord of Stallhart, then do so. This room now belongs to you. Farewell, Lord Cook," he said, failing to make eye contact with his superior as he left. Riley Eston, looking rather befuddled and uncomfortable, stepped aside as he left, and there was a painful silence for a moment as Matt clenched his fists and began regretting his poor decisions and responses.
"Why'd you let him leave?" Stellmeier asked, looking about as bemused as the poor diplomat was.
"I...didn't know how to stop him," Matt confessed, throwing his hands in the air.
"You tell him to stop. Simple," Stellmeier said, smirking.
"I didn't have control of the situation," Matt admitted.
"That much is clear. I warned you, though, he's a bull in human skin," Stellmeier said, chuckling at his own analogy.
"I realized that by now. I apologize for all that-"
"You'll be able to find him later and maybe wrangle him in," said Stellmeier. "At least he didn't outright deny you, that's something,"
"Something." Matt wasn't quite inclined to agree entirely.
"We'll get you all set up, for now," Stellmeier said as they left the map room, now empty. The servants filed out after them, choosing to follow Matt instead of Avery; that was some small comfort. It was clear they understood who was in charge now.
"How large are our quarters?" Matt inquired as they made their way down the hall.
"Fairly big. They're up here on the top floor, and you've got your own library. With that and the map room together, it's quite a bit for you to study in," Stellmeier said.
"Where does...Avery stay?" Matt asked, hesitating before he accidentally referred to him as lord.
"He has his own luxury barracks on the first floor. He spends a lot of time out at Roanshire and Skagway, I'm told," Stellmeier said.
"Which are?"
"The villages of your fiefdom. Seventy-five villagers each, with twenty soldiers assigned to each. They produce enough food to feed the entire fiefdom, and they produce peat and wood too. You'll have to take good care of both, although Avery is likely to take those matters into hand," Stellmeier explained. Matt quickly found himself frightened of the notion of logistics and economics; it was difficult enough to take command of the military without having to deal with money or administration. He felt his stomach tighten into a ball as Stellmeier delved into details about finances and trade while showing them around their quarters.
"These aren't half bad, Matt," Sora commented, snapping him out of his daydreams. He mumbled something to the affirmative as Stellmeier wrapped up his tour.
"Well, I'll leave you all to it," he said. "We've all got business to get to, and I'll make sure to send Miss Valdez up."
"Who is she?" Sora asked.
"The head of servants. She'll take yours under her wing, and make sure they work hard too. Presumably you've got orders in mind for her?"
"Of...of course." Sora appeared bemused. Stellmeier bid his farewell and left the two of them in their private quarters, leaving the door just barely ajar.
"I did not handle Avery well," Matt admitted once the sergeant had gone.
"I would've done worse," said Sora.
"I appreciate you trying to help," Matt said, "but the damage is done."
"You don't know that," Sora said, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and massaging his neck to calm him.
"What'll he think of me now?" Matt argued. "I look weak, and he knows that I buckle easily under pressure. He'll use that to his advantage."
"Sweetheart, I think you're overthinking it," Sora assuaged him, kissing him lightly on his scruffy cheek. "Avery's just a kid. So are you," she teased.
"I'm not a kid anymore. Kids don't get castles. Kids don't get to lead wars," Matt rebuffed her, steaming. Sora let go as he pushed her away, and he began to pace anxiously.
"I think you could've done far worse," she said, watching him pace.
"I suppose that's true. I just...need to be able to communicate better with him. And others. This is new, and honestly, it's-"
"Frightening?" she finished for him.
"Very," he confessed, sighing deeply and sitting down in a nearby chair. "I don't know what I'm going to do." By the look on Sora's face, he could tell that she had little advice to give him; she looked quite helpless, unable to fix his situation and unable to provide any support beyond the emotional kind.
The door flew open and in stepped a stranger. Matt sat up, as if a lightning bolt had rushed through him, and he immediately fixed his eyes on the stranger.
"Pleasure to meet you, my Lord," she greeted him, in a not quite amicable but certainly not hostile tone. She flashed a slight smile at both of them, and curtsied towards Sora. When neither of them spoke, she hesitated before speaking again.
"My...name is Lana Valdez. Your stewardess and head of servants. Sergeant St-"
"Ah, he said he would be sending you up," Sora jumped in when Matt would not speak. "Happy to meet you!"
"Likewise! I hope you are pleased with your quarters so far?" Lana asked, bowing once more before Sora. It was halfhearted, Matt noticed, and she resumed her standing position quickly. Sora appeared uncertain about how to act, so she coughed awkwardly and smiled.
"Very much so! I certainly-"
"Lord Cook, the Sergeant has requested to see you again. I apologize for his immediacy, but he requested you and I had to relay his words. If you would, please?"
Lana Valdez smiled at him and there was something in that smile that made Matt uncomfortable. She was clearly trying to worm her way into him to get something; what that something was, he wasn't sure. He didn't trust her at all, even less so than any of the others who had accompanied him. The war correspondent, as foreign as he was, seemed blithe and naive; this woman appeared calculating and cold, even though her demeanor was warm and welcoming. Matt could see it in her eyes, and did not bid her farewell as he left her with Sora.
Matt met Stellmeier back downstairs in the entry hall, the pitiful, smoky little anteroom that he had a feeling he would become very familiar with.
One servant was relighting some of the candles held in their sconces, but other than the two of them the room was empty. Stellmeier waited by the door, greeting Matt as he arrived.
"There's someone else I need you to meet. He's a bit of a...figure in Stallhart, so I'm told," Stellmeier said as he opened the main door that admitted them into the keep yard. A few spearmen were drilling over by the barracks, and one of Sora's servant girls was drawing water from the well, but otherwise the yard was abandoned too. The entire town was rather quiet, just like the Ditch had been.
"You said this was urgent," Matt said.
"It sort of is. You need to know him if you're going to rule over this town," Stellmeier explained, leading him down to the keep's gate. "He's a religious figure-"
"Christ," Matt swore.
"No, not Christ, although we got one of those here, too. He's a different kind of pastor, and his flock is far less appealing, at least to me," Stellmeier extrapolated. They went down into the town and Stellmeier led Matt down one of the side alleys, which ended with a rather dismal, squat wooden building with a strange symbol mounted on the roof and unusual words carved into the door.
"Herobrinists," sighed Stellmeier.
"I've met him," Matt said, remembering the tranquil, hospitable man with the white eyes who had sat down to tea with him so long ago. That one night with Rykar had seemed so surreal back then; now, compared to the other events that Matt had experienced, it was positively normal, nothing out of the ordinary. Herobrine was pretty much an acquaintance.
"I know who he is too. Anyone with even remote proximity to Lord Walker knows who he is," Stellmeier explained. "But those who don't either dismiss him as a myth or worship him as a god. These people are the latter." He sounded not at all happy to be anywhere near them.
"It's a temple?"
"That's it. And a fair number of these bumpkins come here to pray, so you might need to meet Mr. Delwin Saythe," Stellmeier said, opening the door slowly.
"Their pastor, yes?"
"In a sense. They call him corruptor, as if corruption is something to revere. Hush now, until he meets us," ordered Stellmeier, and the two fell silent as they entered the dingy interior.
It was a small building, holding only four rows of pews and a pitifully small, undecorated speaking podium. Strange carvings decorated the walls, all of them schizophrenic and beleaguering in design, and there was some mess of a sculpture at the far back of the pulpit. The sculpture was clearly molded out of fired clay, but it had no form or shape to it beyond looking remotely human. Two white eyes had been painted on the vague space where a head might be, and Matt realized it was meant to represent Herobrine, despite its lack of figure or any sort of artistic quality.
The building was also empty, and strikingly abandoned; dust had gathered on the pews in most places, and the air was thick with the smell of tallow and mildew. Smoke rose from the pitiful candles burning in their sconces along the walls. The single window on the left side of the building was grimy and coated with dirt, providing very little natural light.
"What the hell is this place?" Matt asked, scrunching his nose to shield against the stink of mold and mildew pervading his nostrils.
"Chaos, is what it is. Saythe can explain it better. You'd be surprised how many people come here. I think he'll be in the back or in the basement, either one. Come," Stellmeier ordered.
He led Matt deeper into the dark building, past the pulpit and into a back hallway that was barely wide enough for them to walk in. A few rooms adjoined the hall, but none of them had doors, and they were all bare except for what appeared to be crude earthen benches and stools.
They found the corruptor in the basement of the temple, scribbling something on parchment. As menacing as his title was, Delwin Saythe was a particularly pleasant man; well-dressed, quite clean, and well-groomed, he looked quite out of place in the dingy, reeking basement.
"Lord Cook," he greeted Matt, smiling as he shook the hands of both men. "I have heard news of you. It's a pleasure to have a liege back again...dear Lord Steadwin, cut down so coldly-"
"Lord Cook has a bit of business with you, Saythe. Let's make it quick," warned Stellmeier. He clearly made no effort to hide his disdain for the man and his practices. Saythe appeared hardly bothered by the sergeant's cold attitude, and happily offered Matt a stool to sit on while they spoke. His office was nothing more than an 8x8 cube cut out of the earth, lit only by a single small candle that did little to dispel the darkness of the basement.
"Many of the people in this region have no religion they pay service to," Saythe explained. "They are atheist, as you'd call them. I am proud to serve the people of Stallhart if they wish to come and seek a greater entity to place their faith in." He ignored Stellmeier's snort of disapproval.
"What exactly...do you worship?" Matt asked. "I mean...explain how-"
"It's quite different from most religions, I assure you. I am at least a little knowledgeable about Terran religion...Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Hinduism, Scientology...but Herobrinism is quite different from all of those. More archaic, perhaps."
"In what way?" Matt demanded more.
"All religions have a form they follow, correct? Herobrinism has no correct form; we worship chaos and disorder, and at the same time we worship fate and the course of time. All those who pray at this temple believe that every event in life is preordained and that whatever happens, happens, for whatever reason it may," Saythe explained carefully. "For example, what do you think led you here?"
"We led ourselves here," Stellmeier said haughtily, but went ignored.
"Are you saying...that you think that fate led me here?" guessed Matt.
"In a sense. You were guided here by the whims of fate, which decides every action and event in our world. You may leave this very moment, if fate decides that for you. And if you do not leave, well, then fate has ordained that you stay here," Saythe said. He laughed heartily when Matt remained on his stool, mulling the philosophy over.
"See? You stay," Saythe said, smiling gaily at Matt.
"So...you just believe in letting things happen?"
"What will happen, happen. That is chaos, and yet at the same time it is order. In our eyes chaos is correct, the rightful state of the Earth," Saythe said.
"It makes no sense." Stellmeier's scoff, once again, was ignored. He left the room after that, finished listening to Saythe's explanations.
"It doesn't work for everybody. Only those who place their faith in fate and the course of time will come to understand," Saythe said, barely batting an eyelash at the sergeant's departure.
"And how does Herobrine fit into this?" asked Matt .
"He is the timeless one, the only one whom time does not affect," Saythe summarized, quite succinctly.
"That is...peculiar." Matt failed to think of anything else to say.
"You do not have to agree with me, for certain," the corruptor chuckled. "I only want you to be enlightened. And that you are. Whether or not you adhere to our believes, that is up to you. But there is much to be learned from our ways, things greater than what you know."
"Can I count on you to be by my side if I need your assistance?" Matt blurted out. He realized how blunt his question was, but he was tired of hearing Saythe speak, and didn't want to dance around the question. The corruptor paused for a moment, taken aback, but recovered surprisingly quickly.
"Of course, my Lord..." he promised. "I serve the town and its people, and by extension it's liege. I cannot guarantee anything, seeing as fate has decided its own course...but I will do what I can, should I be called." He placed his hand on his heart as some sort of token gesture.
"That's all I needed to hear," Matt said, pleased with the answer. It was enough, even if most of it had been lip service.
"It was a pleasure speaking to you, then. Perhaps again?" Saythe suggested as Matt rose.
"Perhaps." No promises there. He shook the corruptor's hand and left quite quickly, barely returning the man's smile.
"Lord Cook, remember, if you require any spiritual or theological guidance...look no further than my humble abode," Saythe called after him as he left the dank confines of the basement.
"Of course." Matt didn't intend to, really; why would he?
Saythe hardly seemed dangerous, but he definitely came off as crazy. A little too crazy, maybe. Not someone Matt wanted to be involved with, for sure. He hoped he wouldn't have to deal with the corruptor again later.
VVVVV
The quarters of Stallhart were far from being a mansion, but they were comfortable and warm and relatively clean. As soon as Matt had left, Sora had begun inspecting them along with Lana, ensuring everything was in place and that any dirty spots were marked for cleaning.
"I maintain a very strict order around here," Lana had proclaimed proudly a few minutes after her arrival.
"Do you now?" asked Sora. Lana had been talking almost non-stop since Matt had left, and she was repeating various points ad nauseam.
"There can be no slacking. Laziness begets more laziness, my mother always used to say, and I cannot allow any laziness, not in my house," she declared, almost haughtily. She was certainly proud of her strict rules; Sora was a little concerned about how vigorously she might enforce them. She was withholding judgment, for now.
"That is true," she said, if only to please her.
"Oh, I'm glad you agree," Lana piped cheerily, smiling as she did. The smile seemed forced and unnatural, like much of her personality traits. "Too many people nowadays slack off and let their standards slide."
You aren't even that old. How would you know about people "nowadays"? Sora thought. She grimaced as she stood up and surveyed the quarters once more.
"I think the room looks pretty good," she decided.
"There are some things that stand out. The carpets are filthy, the fireplace needs to be de-ashed, and the books need to be sorted. I need to clean the windows, too, or more appropriately a servant needs to clean the windows," Lana said, frowning as she made her list. "You have your own servants, correct?"
"I...yes, I was assigned some-"
"Good, we do need more hands around here. I will set them to their tasks," quipped Lana, already making for the door.
"Er...they are my servants," Sora reminded her quickly.
"Oh, of course! That's why they'll be working in your quarters. It seems appropriate." Lana strode out of the room without further ado.
Control freak, Sora thought. At least that was her first impression; Sora had been under the belief she would be directing her own servants, and the stewardess would simply be there to assist. Lana Valdez was already taking control and Sora did not particularly like that; her personality, too, was concerning.
She's not what she seems. She kisses ass well, I'm sure...we'll have to find out, Sora thought.
Lana returned quite quickly with three servants, including Sora's own, in tow. Sora waited to see what she would say.
"The room is not up to standards, as I told you. Look at this! You can even see the dirt, damnit," Lana swore. It was clear that she had been berating them as she had brought them up the stairs.
"It's not that bad-"
"It's not up to my standards," Lana snapped. "And it will become so. I want it cleaned, and the fireplace needs to be de-ashed too," she ordered. One of the servants, the one who had not come with Sora, went to her work immediately. The other two girls stood in place, uncertain of what to do.
"N-not all at once," Sora intervened, realizing that Lana's desire for control was taking hold. "We can take our time…"
"I don't wish to do that. I appreciate your concerns, Lady Cook, but I would also appreciate you leaving the housekeeping to me," Lana said, hiding a pinch of disdain behind a layer of false pleasantry.
Sora's servants, Sarah Lancaster and Yu Jin Kim, were waiting in place meekly, silent as Lana barked orders to them. Both Sarah and Yu Jin were the quiet type, soft of speech and rather complacent. Refugees of war, they had been picked up from a homeless shelter and trained in handmaidenry, then handed off to Sora when she required personal servants for Stallhart. Although she did not know either of them too well, she had grown somewhat attached to them and was not comfortable with Lana having complete control over their affairs.
"You two can dust. I want you to get into every corner, too. Your lady demands perfection, or damn near close to it-"
"That is untrue," Sora gritted her teeth. Lana turned to her, clearly displeased.
"Pardon me-"
"I do not demand perfection, I only wish for cleanliness. You do not need to do that much work," said Sora, speaking to both the stewardess and her servants. The latter looked positively confused, torn between two different superiors. When Lana would not budge, Sora knew she had to continue.
"As lady of the house-"
"Fine, fine, as you say," Lana acquiesced, admitting defeat. "Do as she says. But I am the one who keeps this place in working order, do not forget that." She left in a huff, shaking her head and muttering under her breath. Sora knew she was not taking this lightly, for whatever reason. Her personality was definitely not appealing at all. One of the ladies, Yu Jin, cleared her throat to speak up.
"Lady Valdez said-"
"Nevermind what she said. I have the last word here," Sora rebuked her quickly.
"Apologies, my lady." Yu Jin bowed her head meekly.
"You don't need to apologize," Sora promised, becoming angry at Lana. "You have done nothing wrong." She placed a gentle hand on Yu Jin's shoulder as a little show of support. It resonated with her and she smiled at Sora, wordlessly thanking her.
"Attend to what matters you must. I will speak to Lan-Lady Valdez," Sora said, leaving her quarters to the servants. She knew where to find the stewardess.
She had recovered somewhat but she was still steaming. As stewardess, she was unable to directly circumvent any of Sora's rules or regulations, but she would certainly try to get her way through craft and deceit.
"I have run this household a certain way for an entire decade, Lady Cook," Lana complained as soon as Sora had broached the topic to her. "Lord Steadwin loved me and thought that I was running everything perfectly."
"I do not think that," said Sora . That much should be quite obvious.
"Tell me your grievances, then," Lana huffed, placing her hands on her hips. A clear sign of defiance; Sora did not appreciate it.
"Your methods are harsh-"
"Kindness begets laziness, as well!" declared Lana. "Do you not realize that?"
"I think that's a gross generalization. You think that being strict and harsh all the time will produce perfect results?" Sora asked.
"Given time, yes. If they have no leeway, they will not try to get out of their work for fear of punishment. And thus, they work harder. Does it not make sense?" Lana inquired.
"Not to me," Sora sneered, shaking her head.
"It made sense to my lord-"
"And he is dead," said Sora. That make Lana halt for a minute. "That doesn't matter anymore. You need to change," Sora told her.
"Do I now?" Lana grew more belligerent. Sora knew she had to force Lana to stand down, or appear weak before a potential opponent.
"You will. Or Lord Cook will hear about this. If you aren't moved by me, perhaps you'll be moved by him," Sora said. That was the ace, her trump card. Lana's will broke after that; her hands fell to her sides, and the fight left her eyes. At least temporarily.
"I will try and be gentler. So long as you allow me to continue handling household chores and manage inventories, I acquiesce to you," Lana said. There was not a single hint of sincerity in her sentence, but Sora was not apt to press any further. She didn't want to beget conflict on her first night at Stallhart; enough had been done already. She needed friends, not enemies.
"Thank you. That is all I ask," Sora promised. Lana said nothing more after that, and Sora was prompted to leave, tired of trying to wrangle with the stewardess. In due time, perhaps, she would become more friendly.
There was no real reason to trust her, though; not yet.
She would report this to Matt and hopefully he would be able to do something about it. If anybody had power over Stallhart, it was him now. Or at least she hoped it was him.
She had to tell Matt that evening; hopefully he wouldn't be long in coming. After the servants had cleaned her quarters and departed, Sora reposed on the bed and dug into one of the few books on the shelves, a tome about flora and fauna of the region. It was incredibly boring, but it was better than waiting for some amount of time for him to return.
Before dark he was back, rather tired and glum but happy to see Sora again. They embraced, kissed, and then Sora decided to talk to him. She had waited long enough.
"She's a potential problem," Sora warned after she finished telling Matt about Lana's behavior.
"I think you're over exaggerating, to be honest," Matt replied, his voice haggard and weary.
"You weren't here, though. You didn't say the way she treated-"
"She's just a stewardess. You can order her to stand you, you are the one in charge," Matt reminded her gently.
"I suppose so," she reluctantly agreed. It wasn't that easy, of course, not to her.
"If you really need me to step in, I can do so. But I'm going to have a lot on my plate," Matt said, stripping his garments off and depositing them in a ragged pile by the foot of the bed. Only two of the six candles in the room burned as the sun began to set on the horizon, leaving the room rather dim.
"I just need to watch her. I'm worried about her," Sora said.
"Like I said, you're the one in charge. What's the worst that she can do? If you wanna fire her, fire her," Matt said dismissively.
"I don't think that's the solution," Sora scoffed.
"Maybe. Maybe not," he said. It was clear he didn't want to pursue the matter any further, so she gave up. Both of them needed sleep, anyway.
Goodnights were said, candles were extinguished, and darkness swallowed the unfamiliar quarters. They slept restlessly, but they were finally at a place they could perhaps call home.
VVVVV
Milltown had grown quieter and quieter as the population slowly withered away. The current estimates were five hundred soldiers and less than 5,000 people left; each day, about a dozen perished from skirmishes, disease, malnutrition, or accidents. Some left, too, although most had nowhere to go.
The situation had always been desperate, but there appeared to be no upside. Despite holding onto the city and pushing the invaders back, the defending force was now more worse off thanks to the creeping cold and urgently low supplies. It would perhaps be another month, maybe two, before they could no longer hold onto Milltown, and that was barring another enemy assault.
Most of the council members had died or fled, leaving James Kleiner and his captains in charge of the city. Sergeants Shen and the engineer Cobb had been elevated to the positions of field commander, and one of the district tavern keepers was now running economic and social affairs. They were a paltry bunch, and hardly educated in administrative affairs, but it was better than nothing. They had nobody else equipped for the task.
Looking out upon the barren, ashen wasteland from the walls, Kleiner felt a morbid sense of terminus and realized there was no longer any living thing on the other side of the river. The pigmen didn't really live; they were monsters, half-dead creatures of twisted origin. Even the great beasts were not truly alive, powered by some dark force. He was constantly reminded that he, and his forces, were the only bastion standing between the living and the dead. Milltown was the fortress, and it was under siege.
"Any engagements today?" he asked Shen, who was following him as he walked the parapets back to the tower to return to the ground.
"Two," Shen reported. "Some rabids attacked a scouting party on this side, but they were easily taken care of. No casualties."
Rabids were human, but barely; driven insane either by desperation or by hunger, or diseased out of their mind, they were only dangerous in large groups. A few would come up to the city walls and bang on them from time to time, screaming and howling, but they would leave quickly and would not prove to be more trouble. It was uncommon for rabids to actually be a threat, given that not many remained.
"What else?"
"Some skeletons on the east bank," Shen said. "We lost one of our foragers to an arrow but several of the enemy were dispatched. Hand to hand, too." He sounded almost proud of that fact.
"Acceptable loss," Kleiner acquiesced. He had seen far worse in the past few months. The total wipe of an entire squad of thirty sentries had been the worst incident since the actual attack on the city. He couldn't afford casualties of that magnitude.
"Food levels are low, of course-"
"I'm well aware of that. Is the situation urgent?" Kleiner asked, interrupting Shen.
"Well, no…"
"Then we should be alright. For now." He knew they needed food soon, and plenty of it. It didn't have to be fancy or tasteful; only edible. What they had was of poor quality, and dwindling fast.
The city was deserted as they walked through it. Exiting the tower, they stepped out onto an ash-dusted street dotted with pieces of scattered debris, as well as a few bones. Most residential neighborhoods had been abandoned, either because they were uninhabitable after the siege or cholera had ravaged them. There was one person setting up their vegetable stand on the street, but it was a pitiful little place; nothing but a few cabbages, a dirty tomato and some shriveled carrots were on display. The man sat on a wooden crate and counted some coins in his hand, counting the same stack of coppers over and over again. He would have no business that day.
They passed by one of the markets and found only six people examining wares within, and only a dozen vendors keeping their shops open. It was a desolate place, where ash was piling in the corners and on top of the tents, and little merchandise could be found. Kleiner felt a stab of pain as he realized how many livelihoods had been simply destroyed by this conflict, and realized time was running out for Milltown. He couldn't hold this fortress for long; the vegetable vendor would run out of produce, the grain cellars would run dry, and there would be no more roots, tubers or abandoned supply caches to scavenge. That would be judgment day.
But it hadn't come yet. Not yet. He still had time.
"Find Cobb for me. I need him," Kleiner ordered Shen as they entered the council plaza. Only two guards stood on duty outside the council chambers, which had become the default center of government for Milltown. One of the walls was collapsing after bombardment by enemy siege engines, and most windows had been shattered, but the building still stood. It was some sort of castle for Kleiner to conduct his grim affairs from.
Part of the roof was missing, too; on the west side of the chambers, the roof and most of the wall had collapsed after a bomb had hit it directly, doing irreparable damage. Dim sunlight filtered through the dusty interior of the near-abandoned chambers, illuminating the unlit, menacing corridors that branched off into the depths of the structure. Only the storerooms and some administrative halls were being used; the rest of the chambers were abandoned, left to disrepair and ruin. Only the great brazier at the centre of the entry chamber was lit daily, and the other candles were ignored unless necessary.
The bench where the council members had once sat was empty and gathering dust; no longer in use, it was simply a relic of somewhat better times. Only one councilman remained, and he was on the edge of death. The others had fled or died; three from disease, and one slain during the siege. They were naught but a memory now.
Kleiner proceeded to his office, which had once been used as a storage area, and sat down to look over the maps and reports provided to him. The Illyushechka were the linchpin holding the city together; time after time they managed to repulse enemy attacks without casualties, using their light magic against the dark forces of his opponent. It was a match made out of a miracle. Without them, victory would have been impossible. And now they formed the captains of his scouting parties, the ones who engaged the enemy when foraging and foraying. Every report on his desk praised their abilities in combat and regarded them as saviors of the city; Kleiner read through all of them and felt some vague sense of hope, something he rarely felt.
Cobb came a few minutes after he finished filing through his papers, followed by Badger. Malnutrition and war had taken its toll on the old sergeant, but he still smiled at Kleiner as he entered, showing rotting, browned teeth as he did so. He was a prickly old bastard, but loyal and steadfast and, best of all, dependable.
Badger grinned again as he motioned Cobb into the office. "Delivered him right to yer door, m'lord."
"Thank you, Badger," said Kleiner.
"I'll be go-"
"Not yet. Stay until we're finished. It will not be long," Kleiner promised. Badger fell silent and waited outside the door patiently.
"I need the western wall repaired. You think you can do that for me?" Kleiner asked.
"That's an awful big task, m'lord…"
"How awful big?" Kleiner pursed his lips. Only an incredibly expensive cost would deter him from this.
"The materials we need for that just don't exist...unless we salvage some buildings and maybe a part of the existing wall. We ain't got enough timber or rope to put it together, beggin' m'lord's pardon," said Cobb, twiddling his thumbs as he laid out the grim details.
"Mhm. Alright, then we will do that," Kleiner said, ignoring the potential hazards of such a project.
"That's a mighty undertaking-"
"I will give my own men to you," Kleiner said.
"What's the reasoning behind that, beg m'lord's pardon?" Cobb asked, biting his thumb now. He had a habit of playing with his fingers when he was bored or anxious, Kleiner had noticed. It was an interesting personality tick.
"We have to guard and fortify the area down by the mills heavily since the wall was brought down," Kleiner explained. "If we can bring it back up we won't need nearly as many sentries and we can free up a fair amount of manpower." He pulled a few sheaves of paper out of his drawers and showed them to Cobb, outlining his own calculations and logic.
"At least, that was my reasoning," Kleiner added as Cobb briefly studied the writings.
"That is fair, m'lord, but it will not be a quick endeavour," Cobb warned.
"How long do you give it?" Kleiner asked.
"About two months...I can rush it a little," Cobb said, briefly calculating in his head.
"Do it, then," Kleiner told him, shoving the sheaves back into the desk.
"It may be dangerous-"
"Do it." Kleiner had no patience for any sort of hazards or obstacles. He wanted this done. He knew it had to be.
"Of...of course, m'lord. I'll draft plans…"
"Be quick about it. I'll ensure that my men are available for you should you require their services," Kleiner told him. Cobb had nothing else to say and bowed, saluting him as he rose. He muttered under his breath about "hazardous" and "foolhardy" while hurrying out of the office. Kleiner would pay him no mind; he was a smart man, and loyal as well. He would do as commanded, and would succeed at it for certain. Kleiner sat up and brought his hands around to massage his lower back, feeling pain gnawing away at his hips as he rose.
"I'm growing old, Badger," he complained, wincing as he worked out the muscle knots.
"You tell me that, m'lord, as if I were a spring chicken," chuckled Badger, stepping fully into his liege's office.
"Damn you," Kleiner grinned, "how are you still alive?"
Badger shrugged. "Good luck, I s'pose." He returned the grin, albeit with fewer teeth.
"You old bastard," Kleiner continued to swear at him.
"I managed."
"I'm surprised we're all still alive, to be frank," admitted Kleiner.
"Thanks to you, m'lord."
"And all of you. Every single last one of you fuckers who remain here. You do realize that none of us are going to leave this city alive, right?" Kleiner asked, shifting the conversation. There was an immediate moment of silence after that. Kleiner noticed Badger's facade sink, and his jaw set as he considered the question.
"I am aware of that. Have been for some time," Badger finally admitted after a few seconds. He grimaced afterwards, and bowed his head a bit.
"The grim truth, eh?" Kleiner asked.
"The grimmest. I'd like to say I've seen worse in my long life, but...well…"
"Heh. I want to say that too. Damn it all," Kleiner swore, feeling the pain return in his back. He sat down again, eager for the comfort of the chair. He was growing old, and the constant fighting and tension was doing little to aid his situation.
"I'm exhausted, Badger." He grimaced and pursing his lips as he edged back into the seat.
"You must know how I feel, then," Badger joked. He had not taken a seat, even though one was available to him. He appeared almost uncomfortable now, his foot tapping anxiously.
"I wish things had gone differently," Kleiner mused, going off on his own tangent. "I almost wish I had never gotten Elias Kastner killed. It was my hand, my hand that held the flank back...and let him get overwhelmed. If he were still alive...he would be leading…"
"You're a murderer and a coward," said Badger. It was like an icy knife to Kleiner's heart; so blunt, so accusatory, but so true. He had never wanted to come to terms with what he was, how much of a coward and worm he had been back when Kastner had still had power. The arguments and debates they'd use to have, the plotting, the hatred...
"I know that." Kleiner bit his lip.
"Or were. You might be still a murderer, but I don't believe you're a coward, m'lord," Badger corrected himself quickly. It was somewhat of a relief to hear that.
"That depends on who you ask," Kleiner said. "I realize what I've done."
"There's no point in reflecting on the past. Forget about it," Badger told him, knowing that Kleiner was becoming frustrated.
"You're right," Kleiner agreed. He stopped thinking about it almost instantly; he could shut it off, if only for a little while, but the past continued to haunt him.
"The present is already troubling enough. I'm exhausted, Badger. I get the feeling that I'm going to die," Kleiner admitted.
"All of us will. You said so yourself," Badger reminded him. Silence followed, and quite a morbid one at that. It was the silence of dark contemplation between two old men whose clocks were ticking down.
"You are excused," Kleiner said, shattering the icy quiet. "Thank you for the brief moment." He had had enough. He needed rest.
"Twas nothing, m'lord." Badger bowed as he left hastily. His tone of voice indicated it had been anything but.
Hardly a casual conversation, but two old men watching each other's clocks slowly tick down. Second by second, minute by minute. Day by day.
