The issue is that there's a difference between what most people are capable of destroying and what Jewel is capable of destroying.
None of them have any real idea what a change Jewel's power will really have and none of them have seemingly really accounted for it in the context of common warfare and border skirmishes. Seeking to destroy your enemies for most lords is sending them running for the hills and taking their stuff, destroying her enemies for Jewel is turning them and their army into dust in an afternoon.
Seeking to destroy your enemies for most lords is sending them running for the hills and taking their stuff, destroying her enemies for Jewel is turning them and their army into dust in an afternoon.
Not really, no. Pre-modern warfare usually ended when one side run away, with majority of losses coming from the victors running down tbe losers and even then casualties were around 10-20% tops. Furthermore, in most small scale skirmishes neither side would bother with the levies and would instead just use their limited professionals as the fighting force. Lastly, in such conflicts peasants were not usually deliberately targeted, partly due to religious reasons partly due to the fact that the goal was often to claim more land and that required peasants to work on it. Don't get me wrong, such small conflicts were still very much Not Fun for the peasantry caught in them, but they were usually, relatively bloodless.
Not really, no. Pre-modern warfare usually ended when one side run away, with majority of losses coming from the victors running down tbe losers and even then casualties were around 10-20% tops. Furthermore, in most small scale skirmishes neither side would bother with the levies and would instead just use their limited professionals as the fighting force. Lastly, in such conflicts peasants were not usually deliberately targeted, partly due to religious reasons partly due to the fact that the goal was often to claim more land and that required peasants to work on it. Don't get me wrong, such small conflicts were still very much Not Fun for the peasantry caught in them, but they were usually, relatively bloodless.
Except you know, for all the people dying of starvation between soldiers not being there for the harvest and medical care being... not very helpful. And all the people dying of starvation because the soldiers passing through ate a bunch of the food. Battle casualties are a small fraction of the losses attributable to war when food security is fragile on top of everything else.
A war that lasts literally an afternoon can have 100% casualties on both sides and see fewer dead than the same war, with the same armies, lasting the years they usually did.
When imagining the reason for this war, Jewel did not know what she expected.
But it was not this.
After all that he had done to upend her entire world, there was so much to be disappointed in and confused by with the reality of György Thurzó.
For all the ostentatious claims made of his right to the farcical title of low king he was barely taller than her Squire Smithson.
Furthermore, he was not particularly impressive even accounting that he was bereft of arms or armor as a prisoner should be.
He was slight of build in the way that bound chords of twine over bone were, rather than the supple muscles of a knight.
All around, he did not look, smell or sound like a lord befitting to rule over Father or the Count and Countess.
He stank of fear and bone-deep weariness. The kind of exhaustion that its scent lingered even if one slept for days after it had lost its grip in the flesh.
If not for his finer garb, he would not have been at all out of place as a younger headman of one of the villages of Rochford.
Perhaps overwhelmed by new responsibilities, but not entirely bowed by them.
Dark hair, bushy beard, lined face. A considering intelligent eye that despite the dour circumstances lit up at the sight of her.
As they entered through the front gate Jewel could respect how he at least stood straight back as a count should.
Even in defeat he was still afforded the honor of guard here in the courtyard of the fortress he had controlled until just yesterday.
They were likewise unarmed but otherwise allowed armor and to bear his standard and that of the Realm.
His was a curious heraldry, a field of blue and yellow with some great white bird in center. The figure reminded Jewel of a goose. But all in white with lines of black at its eyes.
As their entourage marched into the fortress, the head of their party settled in front of the man who had claimed to be king over them all.
Count Fiebron at the front, standing as György Thurzó's counterpart.
To the count's right, Father towered over all but Jewel herself despite standing back as a counterpart honor guard to those afforded Thurzó.
On the left was Baron Kliatbatrn.
Jewel was settled in a loose coil behind all of them, Father having explicitly asked her to raise her head higher than even his or the count's for the purposes of intimidation.
The rest of the Lords or their chosen representatives marched to encircle and display their banners proudly to Jewel's left and right. As discussed (and vehemently argued) prior in the morning's (significantly expanded) council, they each had taken a specific position as befitted their performance in the battle.
Notably absent from the party was any Wizard but Jaksa the Red, who stood close to Jewel on her right, the Banner of Viznove raised high to catch the near noon sun.
As first among the generals, Fiebron opened the ceremony.
"György Thurzó, General and Lord on this field of the Realm of Blessed Cantor Reborn, the Solar Dynasty Apparent, and her armies on behalf of the Countess Bathory and her allies, I, Count Fiebron of Zehkhedge, am here to accept your surrender in honorable battle and withdrawal of all accusations and lies set against her person and to denounce and refute any claims you make to her lands or any other on their basis."
Thurzó scowled and looked around at all of them. Fixing a particularly hateful glare at Jaksa the Red.
"I acknowledge that you are victors, and for the sake of my men and those I sheltered here in this fortress from the Countess Bathory and her abominable lust for the blood of the innocent I have surrendered in this war. But you will have to drag such lies and false oaths from my corpse with the sorcery of your mistress' favorite accomplice."
He nodded to Jaksa the Red harshly and then spat on the ground.
There was a stiffening among the lords present. But Fiebron did not even move in response, holding fast before he merely shook his head, that puffy mane of white that seemed blown to every wind of the world swaying with the motion.
"Enough of that nonsense, György! You made your play of it, it's plain as days and stars to every other count across the ridgetail valleys what you and the king were trying."
Jewel noted with some confusion that Thurzó was utterly shocked at this, but the shock turned to a shining eyed look as the count continued.
"I rallied to her banner because this was a monumental overstep! Take back your lies and we can send you home to your daughters and son. The war can be over."
György Thurzó just shook his head at that and turned to look Fiebron dead in the eyes, then turned and faced each of the lords in turn.
Father and Kliatbatrn to start but meeting every eye after. Even the least of lord's representatives. Some were mere Knights, or in one case a Footman!
And then he laughed, it was a strange sound.
Ugly in some ways, relieved in others, horrified in more.
He was stinking now with a scent that matched his laugh.
He looked at Fiebron and then finally met Jewel's gaze and chuckled a bit softer before clearing his throat.
"Lies? You think my accusation against that monster in the guise of a Countess was Lies?!"
He shakes his head and laughs again. His voice sounded wrong somehow, like something inside was breaking.
"You all took my word and bond as a lie to claim your lands?"
He whispered softly.
"You want to send me back to my daughters? To my son and family?"
He glared at Jaksa the Red.
His voice rising with a fury Jewel had heard only once before.
"Then tell me where she is! Tell me what that witch did to myMarucha!"
And then the voice turned softer and somehow harsher then the loudest shout.
Hmm, looking at the letters they exchanged, I really don't see any sign that one of the Count's daughters is missing, unless she died a few years ago. Maybe she died while in the Countess's castle? If this is so, it is not surprising that conflict arose between them.
Hmm, looking at the letters they exchanged, I really don't see any sign that one of the Count's daughters is missing, unless she died a few years ago. Maybe she died while in the Countess's castle? If this is so, it is not surprising that conflict arose between them.
Elizabeth Bathory is a historical meme, considering how much everyone involved in her trials stood to gain by getting rid of her. Namely that the Emperor who ordered she be arrested owed her a very very large sum of money, and she controlled the most important parts of Romania and her House was expanding rapidly in wealth and power. The only evidence ever found was obtained either by torture or someone saying they heard someone saw something, and Thurzó's claims of arresting her red handed are known to be false as she was arrested at a dinner with other nobles.
My thought is perhaps the High King is playing a similar game as the original Holy Roman Emperor was, which is use this as an opportunity to break up a growing power bloc n his kingdom as well as annul a huge loan he's otherwise obligated to pay. A simple bit of "banditry" or kidnapping to give enough credence to some common folk rumors about Bathory and Jaska isn't difficult to arrange. Or she actually got sick and Jaska couldn't heal her and it made a bit of a mess.
Alternatively, Countess Bathory here wants to break out and start her own kingdom since she's rich and powerful enough to not need the High King and she has helped steal (or helped run away), or murdered one of Thurzó's daughters to set off the growing powder keg with her in a position to rally her own forces.
Until we learn what's the real source of this we can't really know who is right/wrong here.
In fact, given that the descriptions of her atrocities are considered by some researchers to be simply distorted descriptions of medical procedures (which were downright gruesome at the time), this could be a rather interesting interpretation of the story.
Yeah, I have no idea how exaggerated accounts were compared to actual historical Bathory and it doesn't really matter because we don't know the author chose to use that name. a) Because the fictional Bathory has actually been up to stuff like the historical Bathory was purported to have, or b) Because the fictional Bathory was going to be accused of having done stuff like the historical Bathory was purported to have done or c) Just to make us worry.
Jonathan glared at the Countess Bathory's Wizard. Jaksa the Red stood with a serenely contemplative mood across from their captive of war.
There was not a hint that the Sorcerer was at all bothered by the accusation that had been leveled against him in public earlier. Neither out in the open nor now that the Generals, Jonathan and the Wizard were all here in a closed door council to discuss the details of the official surrender.
The wizard's face bothered Jonathan. It was an expression that Alexander might make when he had stumbled onto an unfamiliar spelling of a familiar word.
Or perhaps when one was trying to recall what they had for lunch a fortnight ago.
It was not the expression one should have when being accused as an accomplice to murder of a fifteen year old lady by her father.
"I must admit to you, Lord Thurzó, that I cannot recall at this time if your daughter was among them."
Jonathan could not quite hold back his gasp. He glanced hard to his fellow vassal and confidant in that viper's nest that was the Kaeketeh court.
Kliatbatrn's jaw clenched hard and then the man turned away from him.
More than enough admission of some knowledge of it.
He turned to Fiebron who shifted and flexed fingers, hands and arms in the familiar half-aborted language of Gryphon Riders in close quarters.
A question to verify.
Jonathan flexed and shifted himself with a denial, unseen movement.
Thurzó shook his head and laughed. "Among them?"
He fixed Jonathan with a hard look and then made three sharp gestures wide and open with his hands.
They would be easily visible from a hundred paces or more.
The sign in Gryphon Cant to verify a flier had been spotted.
Fiebron and Jonathan stared at the man who smiled, although his eyes were now downcast.
A heavy breath whistled from his teeth as a sigh of relief and exhaustion.
"So at least two of you didn't know. Probably most out there in the courtyard don't know? That their Countess is a monster that bathes in the blood of the innocent?"
Jaksa the Red sighed and shook his head, tone that of a Father lecturing a son who had made a particularly stupid mistake.
"She is neither a monster nor does she bathe in the blood. And for the most part those that contribute are hardly what I would call innocent. Ladies of the night, Witches selling false cures, adulterers, vagabonds, peasant girls, unwanted street youth."
He huffed heavily.
"The stories and rumors around my Countess' condition and her treatment in the realm are sensationalized to absurdity. If half of them were true she would have depopulated all of Viznove a decade ago."
Thurzó glared at him.
"And yet you are not certain that my daughter, a lady of noble birth and impeccable virtue is not amongst them?"
Jonathan felt a pit in his stomach growing deeper as he considered Marcisław Kliatbatrn's face. There was no denial there, no surprise, nothing but pained acceptance.
He'd known.
The Wizard spoke smoothly and calmly.
"I can't say I was present for the actual enacting of every ritual, the proper manner of it has been one the Countess Bathory and her handmaidens have been able to perform for well over twenty years now."
Twenty years?!
Jonathan briefly wondered why everyone in the room was staring at him. Then he realized he had spoken that out loud.
"Yes, Lord Rochford, The Countess Bathory has been of ill humor since she was born. Her sight and body were routinely struck by accursed starsent visions that overwhelmed the senses."
The wizard's tone took on a heat that had been absent before.
"Plagued with blinding light and deafening sound, was as she described it. And a feebleness could strike her that was far beyond even a sheltered lady of her birth could expect. I've attended her at her family's request since before my assumption of the mantle of Wizard."
He smiled then, as if in a happy reverie of the past.
"It was my formulation of the very ritual which assures her good health and vigor that saw my start upon the path to my station."
Fiebron fixed Jaksa with a glare that seemed to slide off the Wizard entirely.
"And what, pray tell, is this Sorcerous ritual?"
To which the delighted smile seemed to shine all the more.
The disquietingly dark and slick hair of the Wizard almost seemed to ripple to Jonathan's eyes.
"Why, to trade life and vigor, via the blood of the whole for the illness of the wanting."
Thurzó shook his head at that and pointed at Jaksa.
"She has had her accursed life drawn out longer than it had any right, the witch should have perished before she ever flowered! She Inspired a Sorcerer of blood as a child! Is there any further proof you need that she's a monster? She murders to extend her own life!"
Again Jaksa made that condescending sigh that if it had been directed at Jonathan might have brought him to punch the man. Wizard or no.
"Of all the daft peasant tales and witch words you idiot of a man! None of the feedstock perish from the ritual."
That struck Thurzó still. His eyes suddenly wide.
A bit of a near manic light suddenly shining.
"They live?"
Jaksa the red scowled across the way at their captive.
"Assuming that she was somehow taken by mistake in the last four years? Yes, absolutely. She should be merely woozy and perhaps a bit out of sorts from spending a year or so in the countess' care asleep."
There was a sagging relief and all the strength seemed to go out of their captive. He looked hollow and yet inexcusably happy.
"But assuming she is amongst those the Countess Bathory draws vigor from for her health? Then yes she is fine. Easily returned to you. I presume that producing your missing daughter and giving her to you will suffice for you to withdraw all accusations against the Countess as we have already offered? Since no murder has in fact occurred?"
There was nothing in the near-broken looking man that was György Thurzó. Just a relieved smile and a nod.
Then Jaksa nodded and the Wizard intoned with a voice that struck the air and the stone and deep into the bone and out through the flesh.
"I swear on the blood of my covenant that I shall restore to you the daughter you have lost."
And in that declaration none could deny the truth of that.
They moved out of the chamber, Jonathan staying back as György and Fiebron left, then Jaksa.
He waited till his friend in court, who had briefly seemed to betray his daughter and him was the last to exit. Then he leaned in close and asked the question he most feared the answer too.
"What would happen to the girl if it had been five years since she was taken by the countess?"
Marcisław Kliatbatrn turned and stared at him and there was nothing but a sunken horror in that gaze.
Revelation at last, the Countess drinks a year of lived life from women to extend her own. The vitality of a year of waking work for health and vigor. Going after commonfolk however is technically within her right as Countess in exchange for considering it a replacement of tithes and taxes, as well as Jaska likely ensures they walk away free and healthy. Still monstrous given I doubt many of them are really all that aware or willing to be part of whatever is happening but nonetheless such is the life of a peasant in a feudal society. You don't really have much in the way of rights.
I'm curious as to how much worse we are talking though, given what is known about magic. I'm assuming that Jaska had some… fine tuning to do during his early years to avoid inverting someone's insides to their outsides or something like that?
The whole greater narrative of the story seems to be an aristocratic power struggle. If taken with any degree of realism, those rarely feature true good/bad guys.
The King still backed this without actually investigating it officially like making an inquiry or sending someone to check. Or if he did he didn't tell Thurzó about it except to confirm whatever would get him to March to war, and given that Jaska just blatantly explains the situation without any dissembling I imagine if anyone important had actually demanded an answer from him he'd have told them. This is definitely a ploy from the Kind's side to deal with the Countess one way or the other.
Jewel still slept poorly, but she was invigorated in spite of it with the thought that this morning they were starting the march back to Rochford. It would be a short visit, and it would still be moving with the army initially until they split off after crossing the borders of Viznove.
The air still felt bad in this place.
The stones were grumpy when she noticed a wizard attempting sorcery on them. Although they were not unkind to her, the sense of the ill temper bothered her.
She was glad they would be leaving this angry land for home.
There was the trifling matter that Father and Jewel would not be staying in Rochford longer than a night.
First they needed to travel to Kaeketeh so that Thurzó could be reunited with his daughter and the final terms of the surrender and end of the war could be completed.
After all, the crime would be a proven lie if there had not in fact been a murder and on those grounds Count Thurzó was willing to accept the dishonor of declaring his accusations as false and refusing the accolades offered by the high king in rulership over the other counties it had entitled him too.
But leaving the battlefield and its surroundings was enough for Jewel just now.
Jewel was glad that the man, for how awfully he had overturned her life, had not in fact lost his daughter to some terrible fate by the Countess Bathory.
Father had not elucidated the full nature of the misunderstanding, only that the girl had apparently been taken as a criminal in Kaeketeh three years ago and rumor had eventually led the Count Thurzó to believe there had been a murder.
Jewel found her thoughts drifting to the carrion left in the battlefield, some of them reclaimed by the townsfolk or possibly their families. Others were swallowed down by the Viznove Gryphons, and the rest picked at by vultures and beasts of the wood.
So many dead for what might have been a coveting of her person by one and a case of misunderstanding by another?
It left her feeling as if everything about this was deeply wrong.
But no Father had already assured her that she had been right and honorable in this war.
It was just her childish worry.
She was just being troubled over things that did not matter.
Like with the wheat harvests.
Jewel needed to focus, until they reached the first Village past the borders of Viznove they were still an army on the march, and there were duties for her.
With the battle won and the war, if not quite finished, at least postponed until next year, there was less need for scouting. But with her might shown in full to tens of thousands, there was also no longer a point to hold her back from the responsibilities she and the other fliers had.
On the relaxed, three-day march back to Viznove, it was finally Jewel's turn to guard and assist in the forage.
A duty made all the more important for the losses their Gryphon Riders had suffered in the battle.
And though they had restocked their supply from the granaries of the fortress and buoyed the mood of the Levy, Footmen and Knights with treasures from those that had been kept within, forage was still a vital task on this march back.
There was still the never-ending hunger yawning in the beast that was the army.
Every man needed good supply on this march back and then packs enough of ration or coin to make his way home once the army dispersed in Viznove.
The Generals and Lords were adamant in this, although none saw the need to explain why.
It just was assumed that soldiers within allied borders without proper provisions for their way home was a disaster to avoid most ominously.
So Jewel flew differently than she had on the march to battle.
Instead of staying above the loose pack of a hundred mixed soldiers, she watched ahead and occasionally dipped low to correct their route towards the village she had spied for forage. One that had been avoided on their first march through these lands.
Her charges made their way along the sparse trails that tangled through the surrounding forest and along the wider road.
Among Jewel's foragers were Knights, Footmen, a mounted lord from a Zekhedge demesne to supervise and assist, a captain of the footmen and a trailing gaggle of men and women who would assist in the gathering and securing of the foraged treasure and supply.
Some of the lords frowned upon the practice of having women amongst the foragers but Jewel's particular lord seemed amiable to it.
It might have something to do with the captain's wife being among them but Jewel was not entirely sure if it was this group or another that had been rumored amongst the army.
It would explain why the woman dressed in not-quite-noble finery, riding astride a charger, was talking animatedly to the captain while she led a pack mule loaded up with empty sacks and baskets.
The couple reminded Jewel of how some of the married peddlers that passed through Rochford would talk as they departed from their business in town, either laden with goods, coins or both on their departure.
They seemed in good spirits like those peddlers had been, and it lifted Jewels mood some.
So probably a wife and husband?
Whatever the case, Jewel was happy to simply be able to do something unambiguously productive and good after the turmoil the battle still left her in.
Their supplies were still tight on the return, a few of the Gryphon feed-goats were slaughtered in celebration but a dozen animals were hardly more than a bit of flavor for the thousands of men in the army.
So, forage.
Jewel had seen the village during scouting on their way in almost half a season ago, but it was not included in the first bit of forage.
Oh dear! Some of the men were drifting towards the wrong wood trail!
Filling her coils to near bursting with Wyrmflame, Jewel folded her wings tight and began to sink. Clenching hard to keep her weight strong enough for the dive but light enough she would be able to rise from the dip beneath the tree line after.
It was a rapid rush of foliage, leaves, and the shouted yelp of the wandering levy and footmen.
Her voice pitched just a bit louder than the rush of wind and leaves around her passing.
"Left Path, Sirs."
Her duty done Jewel already was ascending out.
Smooth and gentle through the forest and then with a swelling in her chest and one quick half-stroke of her wings, Jewel was sailing back up and out through a gap in the branches. Once clear of the tree line her wings shot wide and she pushed her flame from them in the manner of the Gryphons.
It was not as strong or as wide, the wake she could manage was far shorter than even the youngest Gryphon whelp.
But wyrmflame reaching out a good half again her span past each wing finger was still more air to push against as she climbed.
And with the rest of her flame lightening her coils even more, it made her ascent almost as rapid as the more junior Gryphon Riders.
With the soldiers in that flank of the approach pulling back in line to make it to the village on time, Jewel nodded proudly.
Without need to dip in to correct anymore she held back as she flew. Staying distant whenever she might give the village a clear line of her.
Father had been adamant that before the men reached the village she should stay back. Then only once they were spotted and well past the edge of the wood she should make a few passes to announce them.
He recommended a similar call to that she had used in Kaeketeh. If not louder if she could manage to make sure to be heard by all.
Jewel was told it was better to lock the foreign villagers in fear then to risk the men having to chase them down and away.
There was mostly no concern that the scattered army that had rallied to Thurzó would be a risk, but just in case stragglers turned to banditry it was best for the foraging teams to not be drawn out and split up.
Ambushes could slay hundreds if allowed to snare their men or otherwise catch them distant from support.
Jewel's duty in the air was to provide warning of just such surprises, as well as aid in humbling the foreigners enough they would part with the supply asked of them.
The smoke from hearths drifted into the air from houses just out of sight at her angle.
The forest below her was familiar and rich with the scent and sounds of Late Grain Turn.
It was peaceful and soothing to fly like such without the worry of battle or the sound of the dying.
On her seventh circuit of the forest borders of the village that peace was broken by the ungrateful screams of the peasants.
It brought back the phantom sense of weight that had lingered after the battle.
However, that was her cue.
Jewel climbed high and breathed deeply.
Filling her throat and lungs with air as she made her way to cross over the village center.
A glance showed that, but for the specific placements of wells, houses, temple and granaries it was much like Father's own village in Rochford.
Same thatch, same simple works.
Same use of rough timbres on some and even cut on others.
Same work in the fields. Mostly the kind that was the very start of tasks that would be in full swing during Debt Season.
Jewel held her breath a moment, feeling her throat clench uncomfortably before she forced herself past it.
Like she had forced past her distress of the cries of the wheat.
It was the same here.
Jewel gave a call announcing herself and the forage.
Her voice echoed off the mountains, left stillness and silence beyond it.
I wonder if Jewel could dance-craft a better solution, where Countess Bathory health is tied to the health of core of her lands, instead of requiring repeated rituals to transfer vitality via blood.
Betty rode along behind the menfolk with only a bit of a shiver to her spine.
That roar had made short work of any resistance or will to flee in the village she was joining the forage on.
She told her acquaintances and family who didn't know the camp town lifestyle of all the lucrative and downright profitable business of being a captain's wife on the campaign.
But if Viznove was going to be in the habit of fielding that absolute beauty of a beast called The Shining Wyrm?
Well then lucrative was just down right inadequate a word for the spoils and riches she and her dear Odolf were going to make every few summers.
She'd long gotten used to the bone shaking chills that a Gryphon Howl brought to a village under forage.
But that beast could roar in a way like nothing else.
Ever since her fourth campaign following Odolf to war she'd been mostly fine with Gryphon howls. She'd married him when he was a footman and against her mother's advice decided to pack up their home on a hand wagon and follow him to the first war he was called to.
At the time Betty freely admitted she had been thinking a lot less with her head than her loins in that particular matter. They had only just been married the day before that muster had been called.
And she'd heard plenty of stories about what happened in the war camps with so called 'war wives' and she'd courted Odolf for two years without him being called before he finally caught on and proposed to her.
But driven by passion or later good sense, Betty was confident it had been the best decision she could have made.
When they had returned heavier in coin and goods then they left and richer one horse and a proper wagon from just the one war, Odolf and her Mother had both been begrudgingly convinced she made the right call.
And after that fruitful year, Betty happily marched out with him in the camp-village to every battle since. And joined him on every forage he was sent on.
Between wars she made a tidy sum peddling in Kaeketeh too. Enough for them to pay the fees for some rooms in the middle district where guilds and lesser nobles stalked the streets like hungry foxes at a hen house.
But all the real silver was in War and picking up after the army.
And when another war flared up, her little family packed up their belongings, closed their account with the owner of their room (these days rooms) and headed off with the camp followers.
First it had been just her on her lonesome following Odolf and making sure his clothes were cared for, then their children each in turn joined along the march.
And it had been a very good life for all of them.
This war alone, she'd already gotten twelve good spears, twenty four intact helms and six sets of solid armor in cloth, leather and metal ring with only a good wash needed to get the blood, piss and shit out of the worst of them.
The heraldry would need to be stripped from some of the garments and she might have to send some of the less commonly worn colors to get their dyes bleached and redone but lords all over Viznove always needed more armor and arms for their levies, footmen or even knights.
Good silver coin in those and it took only a bit of knowing the right laundresses in the cities and towns along the road that are willing to work with a war wife.
Frustrating stigma that was.
But Betty could not blame them, she'd had thought worse of the women who chased the army herself before she came along to be one of them. But even the ones that actually did the less proper things for the unmarried soldiers were far more cordial and nice in their manners than she had expected.
It was by all accounts downright unfair the reputations those girls got for doing a good service for good pay to support the soldiers that marched with them all.
And she knew none among them were cheap with their virtue either.
Half the coin she made tended to flow through those particular hands, and by the gossip of it that silver was half being paid to do not much of anything but hold the barely out of boyhood fresh levy or tired older man and let them shed a tear where none would judge them or tell.
At least not to their faces.
The ladies gossiped plenty amongst themselves and the other womenfolk in the camp.
Oh the stories Betty heard about some of the hardest most frightfully scarred footmen and captains and even once a knight going into a tent for some sporting relief only for it to be them bawling like a babe against a maybe under-dressed bosom until they fell asleep.
It took a few campaigns, but Betty had shed just about every one of her fool girl notions of just what a war wife was even at its most irreputable.
Stars of Fortune Claim her Betty usually had Maszota watch her kids this campaign while she was out here working the forage or picking over the battlefield.
Really, the so-called women of ill-repute were often absolutely amazing with the kids. Especially the older madams that more managed the others then did the business these days.
And besides, Betty as a proper married woman did none of that and still some peasants would put her in the same pen as them. Treat her like she was going to curse them as soon as touch them.
Betty was a proper working woman keeping her family in food and clothes just like them, not her fault they had not caught onto the riches to be made following the army.
But for all the campaigns she had followed Odolf on with their livelihood in tow and kids bouncing along in the march, this one was proving to be the best so far.
Really if you had told that over-gangly girl chasing her freshly married boy of a man to war that a beast right out of legend would be flying ahead of her to pacify a village and nearly single handedly turn the tide of a battle between close to eighty thousand men?
Well, she probably would not even believe you now without having seen it with her own two eyes.
The pale white glare of that thing's strikes had shone stark through the trees where she and the others waited. That was the tensest part of the work of a war wife. When you huddled away from the battle to either flee for the camp or descend on the battle to strip the choicest bits.
But with Lady JewelThe Shining Wyrm on their side?
All those worries were a thing of the past!
Betty never met the beast herself, but the gossip among the soldiers and the men and women of the camp village was the wyrm was the sweetest thing.
And she was certainly gonna thank the lovely dragon wyrm beast lady with all her heart if she ever came by the followers camp.
Seemed maybe something about the camp did not agree with the beast though.
Well that was fine, here Betty was lucky enough to have that power to cover her for the forage on the safe leg of the march home!
Well, it was not exactly luck really, since Odolf had asked that his band get overseen by the wyrm personally. And being the fine captain he was, his lord for the campaign agreed and so he had gotten this whole situation for Betty because he was the sweetest to her like that!
But either wise, Betty was feeling good about how plentiful the silver would be at the end of this campaign. She already had filled up three of her bags and a few baskets with good garments, rough but usable cloth and some of the nicer metal tools available. As well as a few boxes of fine salt and some spices for peddling in the camp.
And of course, as was the required due, she also made sure that a few sacks were filled up on grain or other easy foodstuffs to be handed over to the army cooks on their return.
And then there were the more luxury goods.
Betty herself, with the help of Odolf and his present batch of levies, had secured seven very fine peasant girls.
The fresh flowers were tied up proper with some rough cloth twist bindings. Not proper rope of course, the lass's were hardly going to break free, no point wasting it on them.
The roar of that wonderful dragon had shocked almost the entire village like statues until it was far too late.
Made the whole matter far less bloody, which was always good for the comfort trade with Maszota's tent.
A quick inspection had proven these fine ones would go over well.
"Come on then girls! Don't any of you worry bout a thing, we will only be keeping you for the night and then you can run off home! We're all good ridgetail folk here. None of ya even so much as bruised by us yeah? All your families are safe right?"
A few of them gave hesitant nods, but most were wide eyed and fearful.
There were tears too.
Which of course the peasant girls were not all smiles. Betty could understand, she wouldn't be joyous of things either in their shoes back when she was so young to be worth the bother. But if they were marching with an army through Kaeketeh, she didn't expect they'd do her any better a turn then this given the option.
So it was no concern of her except that they were left unmarked til they settled in camp.
The Lords and the Ladies went to war, and all anyone else could do is make the most of it.
Betty considered the height and fullness of their youngest and the looks of those not under her Odolf's command. It was probably best for them to start walking back to camp now despite the forage still only being half done.
She didn't want to rush them and Maszota was going to owe more than just a day's babysitting for this good a haul.
She gave a tug to the twisted line of cloth that had been tied around their wrists to hold them in a line with her.
"Come along, if none of you girls make a fuss on the way there I can promise you a hot bath, a good meal and five Pfennig for your troubles tonight."
To be fair they were going to get everything but the Pfennig either way. Clean costs more after all.
But that still perked them up a bit which Betty appreciated.
She was going to squeeze Maszota for triple that a head so it was no real loss. And she'd listened to the barter over girls of a similar comeliness earlier in the campaign. Her friend was likely to charge double or more than that herself, quadruple if it was a lord or knight.
Even if she had to pacify the girls with herbs or wine beforehand so they didn't fuss over the boys, that would be plenty of profit going to Mazvota even after Betty's cut.
A lot of them were definitely worth more than a half day watching the kids.
Betty nodded and hollered over to her husband.
"Odolf! I'm full up enough here, be heading back so the girls have time to wash up and get a meal before tonight! Keep an eye on the boys!"
Her husband turned briefly to watch her, nod and smile before turning back to shout at one of the peasants who had started to move out of place when she distracted him.
The shadow of their overwatch passed over all of them then, the girls froze in shock at even the reminder of what circled overhead.
Even though Betty knew that the wyrm was on her side, she still had to shake loose the tremble that had rooted her in place at that first call when the forage had begun.
There were simply no words for the roar of a dragon.
It had struck silent the entire countryside.
And even this brief shade to remind them had frozen the girls and all the villagers.
Betty had to jerk hard on the cloth tying her current prized spoils to bring them back to their senses and get to walking.
"Come on! The sooner we get to camp the sooner this will all be over and you can return home girls."
Betty glanced up to the almost golden looking scales catching the sunlight of the aptly named Shining Wyrm of Viznove.
Then turned to face the road to camp. Burdened Mule and peasant girls in tow.
Yes Betty was certain that with a dragon flying to campaign the wars to come were going to be so very lucrative indeed.
She might even be able to open up a proper shop in a few more campaigns!
Jewel circled overhead, watching the villagers clump up as the Captains and other soldiers secured supply and treasure in the forage.
Some of the women were taken into houses by the men, some of the younger girls and boys were tied up loosely in what looked like bolts of cloth. But no one fought back, no one hurled stones or fired arrows.
She thought that was good?
It was what her duty was supposed to be.
Make sure the forage finishes swiftly and with no need for violence or loss of life.
Father's advice to roar loud and fierce seemed to work very well for that.
She stayed high in the air to watch for signs of ambush or splinters of Thurzó's former army. Or maybe even just regular brigands seeking to exploit the opportunity.
Or even wandering lair spawn or other monsters.
But there was no sign of them. For miles in her sight there was no sight of any danger at all. She wanted to come down and see and smell and hear how this village might differ from the others she had seen.
That however was not her duty today.
A flier in the army needed to be dutiful.
Jewel was the over watch for the foragers, her sight was meant to protect them and from the air was where she could see farthest and intervene fastest if there was danger.
But the woods were bereft of monsters, brigands or anyone who was not a peasant or allied with them. It was in fact still and all but silent except in the very center of the town.
There was some kind of discussion or peddling of business happening between the captain in command of the forage and what she'd guess was the Village (more of a hamlet really) headman.
Jewel recognized those gestures as being heated waving and signs of anger and though she could not hear or smell anything from here to be sure it was not something with deeper malice there was no concern in the captain about an old man bereft of arms and surrounded by levy and fully trained footmen.
The arms of the old man continued to move angrily, the only motion from any of the peasants. The rest mostly huddled together or glanced up at Jewel.
What whiffs of scent drifted into the air this high stank of fear and anger. So pungent it lasted all the way up without being fully dispersed.
But Jewel expected that.
Most people were afraid of her even when she was being perfectly polite.
The anger too made sense.
Peasants always preferred to keep everything to themselves if they could.
Her books were very clear on that and she'd not seen anything to suggest otherwise in father's demesne or her brief journeys beyond.
Still, Jewel wished that the forage could have been a gentler affair.
That she would not be needed to take overwatch at all like this and instead walk down there amongst them.
Perhaps after the matter with the King is settled and Thurzó absolves Countess Bathory of his charges against her, Jewel might travel this way and visit? Surely there might be some business Father has this direction? Jewel would like to apologize and perhaps give some Rochford generosity to win them over?
There was also a subtle and yet implacable sourness to the air all around her that seemed to be present and yet not at all.
But that had been with them since she took wind. Must be something rotting in the highlands maybe?
Hmm, some of the camp followers that had joined the foragers were walking off back to camp already?
Bringing some of the peasant girls with them.
That was odd.
And a bit of a problem as they did not have guards. And Jewel was told to stay with the foragers.
But Father had also told her to think more for herself when she saw a situation that she'd not been explicitly ordered to deal with. For her to take more initiative.
She was technically not required to watch anyone but the Foragers that were officially part of the army.
But she was pretty sure one of the camp followers leaving was the one that looked like a captain's wife.
It would be no good to let anything happen to her.
Jewel pumped her wings to ascend higher. Climbing to get a better view of the little train of figures with donkey and a mildly fine dressed woman on a charger at its head.
High enough to see the road clear to where it met with the patrols of the camp guards.
It was a strain on her eyes from this distance to discern anything too clearly, but when she was sure that the guards had caught up to the little group and was escorting them to the side of the camp with the laundry and hot bath pots, Jewel felt satisfied.
It looked like they were just offering the girls a bath.
That seemed more than fair.
A hot bath was a wonderful gift in compensation for a bit of food and trinkets.
Jewel turned from the camp and descended in lazy circles back closer to the village so she could better discern the actions of the forage.
It looked like they were just about done. Packs were being loaded and some of the less adventurous camp followers were waiting around for the actual footmen and levy to begin marching back.
Jewel turned on the wing and offered them the Flight Cant of clear skies. But the only one to respond was another Gryphon Rider who was circling one of the other hamlets under forage.
The tilt of Gryphon Wings confirmed that he too saw no danger from the air.
Jewel wished that the riders had better eyes.
It was even more limited to try and have a conversation when all you could do was bank and open or close your wings very expansively to communicate. Even when she could see their arm gestures most of the time they could not spot hers.
It made for very one sided conversations.
Jewel glanced down again and sighed into the flurries of the wind.
They were underway now. Moving in a guarded close march along the road, as opposed to the spread out approach they had made.
The loaded pack mules and a few more girls and men from the village in the center.
Jewel supposed that they were going to get baths too, given the hour they were arriving, probably a hot meal from the army cooks as well.
That was probably what the argument was about.
Who would get to go and benefit from the army's hospitality.
Jewel's spirits felt lighter than they had since the battle.
She was sleeping poorly, visions of men dressed in levy cloth maile little different than Rochford's own caught briefly in the white glare of her Wyrmflame haunted her dreams.
The smell of petrichor and lightning mingling in the subtle hint of old dry ashbeds from long burnt out fires.
Whole men, trees and branches caught in sharp contrast against white and then washed away.
But all of that was not the worst, for beneath everything there was something that had been so profoundly present that Jewel had needed days to fully notice what it was.
A terrible, haunting keening yet ran through all of the world.
And now that she had fully acknowledged the wail that had never really fully stopped Jewel could not ignore it.
The world all around her quietly wept.
Soft enough she had not realized the mourning never ended since the battle but now it was undeniable.
A Weird was gone and though Jewel did not feel any less welcome by the stones and earth and trees all around her, they all knew she had done it.
It hurt worse for the lack of malice or even disapproval from the world.
Jewel had smelled hate.
She had smelled fear.
Anger and so much more.
There had never been such a thing felt against her from the world.
The other Wizards and their sorcery had instigated grumbles and even hints of genuine wroth and agitation. But Jewel's memory held none of it directed at herself.
Yet the wind knew that there would never again be whispers spoken by the Weird of Fortress to it.
Although he rarely had before she could feel the dashed hope that he might.
The stones and wood were closer to him than that and they mourned in the dead heartwood of every tree that would never be known to him as timbre and support.
Jewel was surrounded by a silent wailing and she'd not realized it.
It had been days and they were long distant from the place he fell.
But the world mourned for him in spite of the distance and time.
Something had been taken from it.
Yet in spite of how terribly and fully she could feel that it was by her act and hers alone, Jewel could not find a single mote of malice felt against her by anything.
Not among earth or soil.
Nor in the sky.
Not in the rain or water.
The stones had hated Fizzbunches more for disturbing their pain then they felt ill of her for causing it.
Everywhere she could feel the mourning for the one she had killed.
The gaping, sucking void of his absence.
And Jewel knew the world understood she had done it.
But it judged her not for this pain.
It accepted it was her will that took him from them.
Yet they sought no punishment or recompense from her for it.
And that made it so much worse.
It had been four days after the battle and two days on the march and still everything seemed to ache for want of someone that Jewel had not even known existed before the battle.
How could everywhere miss The Weird Veoul of Fortressesthis much?!
And now that she realized what she had felt, Jewel could not find the will to ignore it again.
This morning, instead of coming to breakfast, she had trudged out of her tent and sat down. Curled up with the much diminished herd of goats for griffon feed and stared at the stones and dirt in their pen.
Even the pebbles seemed to almost be crying for him.
Crying and at the same time somehow wishing her well, wishing her comfort.
It made her want to admonish them for their kindness.
But it was like how some village widows acted after the loss of their man or a child. They had eyes red raw with tears and yet they were all smiles for the surviving children and the others in the village.
All smiles and wishing them well even when you could smell and see the hurt and pain so full up inside them they could not stop it from leaking out.
Brimming up in the eyes and seeping out in the sweat.
A pain so deep and awful it could not be contained without breaking its vessel.
And yet they didn't want anyone to worry for their sake.
Didn't want her to worry for them.
Only Jewel had murdered him.
Slain him dead as sure as if she had bitten him in half with her jaws.
Which the pebbles acknowledged of course in their slow sleepy puppy like way, but she certainly must have had her very good reasons and they understood and trusted that she had to have it happen don't worry Jewel.
Don't mind that even the smallest pebbles felt cracked inside for his death. She must have had a good reason for it.
They would make do without.
Like this void in every blade of grass and breath of air was somehow only as inconvenient as a piece of bread she had eaten out of turn.
The pebbles didn't talk, they never really spoke. Jewel had oftentimes wished they would instead of this kind of fuzzy knowing she had of them.
Now she was glad there were not actual words of comfort bubbling up from the little sad stones.
She'd thought the cry had ended shortly after the battle.
If it had been an actual sound it would have.
There was only so quiet and small a sound could become.
But whatever the whispery words of the world were, they had no such limits. The stones did not have breath.
Their voice was not made with a throat.
Their pain could rise as high and spread as thin as anything in the world.
Would Jewel be hearing this pain slowly grow thinner and quieter forever?
Smithson was there now for some reason.
The goats were gone.
The camp was mostly packed up.
"Lady Jewel? Are... are you alright?"
A Weird was gone and Jewel could still hear everything screaming in a very tiny and sharp way for his absence.
How could she be alright?
"Lady Jewel?"
How could she have ever been alright and somehow ignored this?
A hand was on her trembling scales.
When did her hide start quaking like that? Rippling up and down her body in waves like ripples in a pond that somehow never ended.
A large hand that was warm as flesh could be was on her and had somehow stilled the shivers she never even realized were there.
It was warm but at once nothing really at all compared to the heat she could withstand.
What was the flesh of a man compared to the fires of an oven?
Jewel looked up from the weeping pebbles to find her Father.
Whose hand while warm now felt barely any different from ice.
He had pain and fear in his face. Felt for her of course.
Worry and comfort and love too in those eyes and in the scent of him.
But he could not understand this.
He did not know sorcery.
Had never felt the world or the life in it like Jewel had.
She needed to explain but who would know.
A Weird was gone-
"Tsulogothulan... F-father I need to speak to Tsulogothulan"
She saw a wince, a pain there and deepened worry and fear. But he nodded.
"If that will help, I will see that they are fetched for you, we need to set out to scout, but you will walk with the Gryphon caravan today. Speak to the Wizard on the way if it will help."
He paused, his hand still on her scales, feeling warm and full of life and barely different from dead ice.
"But if there is anything I can help you with, come talk with me. Your Father is no stranger to the horror of war."
Then after a ruffle of her mane he was walking off to his duties, to ride Zephyrvam in the watch.
To fill in the gaps in their fliers that Jewel now left probably.
But he had commanded.
Jewel was a Dutiful Daughter.
She would trust him.
But for now she needed to talk to someone who could understand.
Jewel walked with Tsulogothulan as they spoke of the mourning world around them.
"Those that don't know better call it a death curse."
It seemed odd to be so casual about speaking of this here on the road where the goatherds and other pack drivers for the Gryphon caravan could hear.
But if a Weird did not seem concerned with mere men hearing sorcerous secrets then Jewel had little reason to dissuade them.
"And those that know better?"
Tsulogothulan was quiet as they walked and when they spoke there was far less word and voice in them then there was wind in reeds, croak of frogs and the shifting of gloopy mire and slow water.
Maybe a bit of the hum of heavy rain at a distance.
"One day, I will either die or sink so deep into my truth that I will neither speak nor think in any way but my waters and my mud and its reeds and little swimming, flying and crawling things does."
Jewel watched the Weird.
The way they moved, there was a hint of a knee pressing against the robe only every other step or so, despite them ever sliding forward beside Jewel.
There were not really any footprints left behind. But a kind of sodden living moistness in the road where they had been.
And Jewel could hear the chirping of frogs, the sound of strange bird cries and the rattling of dry reeds.
"If I should perish before I find my way fully into my waters I can tell you Uloghai will be in such a terrible wroth and fury the likes of which no living thing not of it could safely pass its skies or step on its earth. And not even Fizzbunches could touch its waters and leave unscathed."
Jewel blinked at that. Then she looked around, feeling the ache of loss but there was nothing like the fury described.
The Weird noticed her craning neck and laughed like a frog. Or perhaps croaked amusedly in a manner resembling a human.
"We are nowhere near the dominion of Veoul, but even if we were, his way is much kinder and more civil than mine. Fortresses are made things, meant for men and like Fizzbunches and Ghergeintat even in its sorrow, I doubt it will turn its hate to anything but an enemy set on siege."
The Weird nodded as if they had convinced themselves.
"Not any more than the anguish of Uloghai at my passing would harm a single tadpole in its waters or a heron in its fog. It's not what I'd want for it. But anyone else? Striding through the waters without me there to care for them? I trust that my bog will drag their corpses deep and pickle every last one of them. Unto a hundred years or more if it can help it. Good send off, that."
Jewel could only stare at her friend.
To want that to happen?
But then what would Jewel wish for her family or Alexander if she had to fall?
Jewel was unsure, she'd never put much thought into it. It was not a musing children were supposed to make.
But still this endless keening pain all around her was something the Weird understood. It made sense to them.
Maybe they knew how to stop it?
"And... how would I make the pain stop? I mean... if it was you, what could I do to ease the suffering of your domain?"
Tsulogothulan tripped to a shuddering and deeply unnerving stop.
Jewel was absolutely certain for most of their march the Weird didn't even have legs.
But somehow the undulating indeterminate mass of slick black which was as likely mud and reeds as it was cloth stumbled.
"Ease the suffering... you'd do that? You could do that?"
That single eye was fixed on Jewel and though they had tripped, stumbled and even stopped now it was as if Jewel was somehow dragging the weird along by their eye.
Jewel for her part nodded hard at the silly question.
"Well of course, if just the rocks and stones and air who barely knew him are so hurt by the loss of Veoul I can't even imagine how much Uloghai Bog would miss you. Is there anything that could help?"
The Weird was silent. Blinking slowly once, twice, pausing still and then three more times. Staring at Jewel in a kind of baffled wonder.
The wake of moistness was getting a bit deeper, more water and muck and speckled with weeds.
Jewel slowly moved their path to the side of the road so that the soldiers would not have an unfortunate surprise.
The Weird for their part kept the position relative to Jewel through the process but did not speak for enough time the sun shifted across the sky.
Finally after Jewel had thought that would be the end of it a quiet, whispery voice rolled free.
It was rounder than any Jewel had ever heard from Tsulogothulan before. So round and soft voweled that the words were not really the same at all. But Jewel had spoken to a Wizard that could only convey meaning in autumn wind and this was so laced in the whispering of sorcery that she practically knew it before she heard it.
"When pa didin't get better we tied him up in fetherflax and painted his brow on with the woad brew. We each zoulthoag and me and little itzy and ma and dama all cried hard and yelled at the smoke and the fog one after 'nother then all together. Just like old witch whithoulga did afore when her son drownded."
There was a shudder and something more like a child's sob then any noise Jewel had ever heard from Tsulogothulan. It was not a boggy sound, it was a human sound.
But somehow so wet and thick in the lung it made Jewel worried for her friend's health. There were bubbles in it popping with the words.
"Then, after we put him under the water with stones on his chest and in his shoes and mouth. And everyone yelled again. He sank deep into the wight water where your na s'posed tae drink, fish or frog around. Even if some the biggest shoals swim there."
There was a nod there and finally the eye turned away. But Jewel could not say what the Weird was actually looking at.
"And then we had a big fire, and drank from a brew with ma and dama and even little itzy. We all talked about pa all night. We cried some bout what he did that was sad now. But more we laughed and we sang a song of him and Zoulthoag danced so hard and fast she fell over and was sick from spinning but Dama told tale of how pa had done just the same afore when he danced first with ma."
There was a shudder then, a wet squelching sound and a clenched eye closing so hard and deep it sank all the way into Tsulogothulan's featureless scythe of a nose.
There was a deeply swollen silence there.
Then the eye emerged from the side looking away from Jewel with an especially wet plop and a black shrouded hand coming up to rub at it.
"If ye-"
There was a wet cough that sounded like bone was coming loose from something meaty and then Tsulogothulan was speaking round but familiar words again.
"If you would drop some stones in memory of me in the waters where I-"
Another disturbingly wet almost tearing sound.
"Where my home once stood. And light a fire for me, speak of me as you knew me with others that... with the other wizards. For a night by the fire with good food and drink. I think that might soothe Uloghai in its sorrow."
Jewel nodded to her friend and turned her attention to the keening in the wind.
To the sobs in the earth.
To the brittle near cracking grief in the stone deep beneath.
Jewel nodded again, harder and with a flame now building in her heart.
She spoke gently.
"If you should perish before finding your way deep into your waters I promise I will. And thank you for telling me my friend."
To which the Weird stared at her. Twisting their head around so the eye which seemed far more red rimmed then Jewel had ever seen it could stare in confusion.
"Thanks for what?"
Jewel flexed her wings and plotted what she would do when they reached camp.
"For showing me what I must do."
She would need to arrange a meeting with Count Thurzó to start.
This section on reflection is a bit too heavy for me to leave you guys in suspense for days, I'm gonna blitz the last bit so we get to the conclusion of this arc and you can all decompress properly.
Father had been concerned when Jewel requested an audience with Count Thurzó.
But when she explained her reasoning he had relented as long as he could attend the audience with her. Which of course Jewel would accept!
He was her Father after all.
Which brought her to the tent that was accommodating the Count and his guard.
It was honestly more comfortable than Jewel or her Father's own tents.
As a count escorted rather than a full prisoner of war he was allowed staff, personal guard and even a weapon.
He marched with a good two hundred footmen and ten knights of Viznove as further escorts around that staff on the march.
And his tent's placement was decided for him and kept surrounded by the rest of the army camp while they were still traveling outside the lands of Viznove.
But he was given luxury, food as the Generals and Lords took it, comforts and baggage from his apartment.
He even had a small library of a dozen books with him!
And his messenger birds, for sending missives abroad (though all were opened and read before he applied his seal).
Writing such a letter was how Jewel found him.
There was a start when she followed her father into the tent, the flaps tickling her scales in passing. Going just midway down her neck just before she was encroaching on polite spacing for a count.
For all its luxury the tent was not very large.
He had a familiar stiffness in his back and the stink of fear that was normal for those not used to Jewel's unexpected presence.
But his eyes still held that bright and shining curiosity she remembered from her first meeting. A sign of courage in how his expression was lighting up even though she could taste his fear under the scents of wonder and even genuine joy.
Jewel was a danger but one he seemed to welcome.
A sign of bravery that was at odds with what the Countess had said of the man.
"Count Thurzó of Árva, I am Lady Jewel of Rochford, and I have a request for your aid in a matter of honor and peace for one of your fallen comrades in arms."
The surprise was muted but still there, he was not expecting her words or perhaps not expecting her eloquence and carefully held timbre of a proper young lady.
"A request? Not a demand, nor a bargaining? Can I refuse?"
He turned to consider Father, who was simply watching. Jewel herself nodded though. Drawing a glance back her way.
As was proper he should have been facing her the entire time. But that was a frustratingly familiar mistake for strangers speaking to her.
"Yes, you may refuse, although I hope you do not. It is no act or task or I should hope even an imposition from you. I merely seek to know a few things."
The count turned his full attention to her, he looked at her lips, ran his eyes over her own, followed the locks of her mane, passed over her cheeks and snout.
Then his assessment apparently complete fixed his gaze to hers and frowned.
"I may yet refuse, although deeds are written as the movers of this world, it is knowledge that can have the greatest danger and the harshest price."
Jewel nodded.
"I can be at peace with this, Count Thurzó. Your refusal will hold no consequence for you or our dealings for peace. I am only my Father's daughter in these matters."
She nodded to Father, which got a raised brow from Thurzó that was also exhaustingly not unexpected.
"Fine then, Lady Jewel of Rochford, ask your question. Given all your courtesy it would be a poor thing to refuse you even that."
Jewel nodded then spoke softly. Respectfully in hopes of soothing some of the yet still keening world around them.
She tried to make her words sound like she remembered mother did in a gentle address to the bereaved.
"Dost thou know from whence the Weird of Fortresses Lord Sorcerer Veoul hailed from? If he yet has a family that cares for him? Of what rights would be expected to set his spirit to peace? He fought well and was an honorable opponent and deserves whatever arrangements are due him."
That seemed to shock the count.
Brow furrowed in thought and tone soft in bewilderment.
"The Lord Sorcerer? Family?"
Jewel nodded again to the question and watched as Thurzó marshaled his thoughts quite visibly before her.
His lips going tight at something he seemed to recollect but all trepidation and fear was going stale around him. The question seemed to have taken all his attention from her.
Finally he closed his eyes and nodded. Then opened them to meet her gaze.
"No family, but he hailed from the provinces of the Free Men south west by sun's reckoning. He held a Demesne there with a castle and a small manor around it. His lands were small but exempt from all tax by the Realm. Paid instead by a service of one campaign per ten years where he would attend at the High King's request. Or station himself to reinforce and repair a fort of the Realm's choosing thrice in that same time."
Jewel nodded but she had never read of these Free Men or their ways. She didn't even know they existed until today.
"And how do they honor their dead in that demesne? Do you know it?"
Another frown and consideration before he stood from his desk and walked over to the little table holding his books and ran his fingers over the leather spines before tilting one free and then lifting it up and to his desk.
Jewel could hardly help herself and craned her neck a bit to look at the pages but was disappointed to find there was no script she was familiar with.
The letters were right but their ordering was entirely wrong.
Disappointing, something else she would have to study.
"Hmmm, Funeral rights, death rights.... Ah here!"
He muttered something equally unintelligible that seemed to flow and flit about almost like the wind of Euewyn's voice. But with an actual throat and tongue instead of rustling leaves and branches.
Thurzó glanced up at her for a moment, asked something Jewel could not understand, then smiled with shining eyes and spoke in legible words.
"My book on them is quite old, but not in fact older than the war mage. But by its word the people of the Free Men's Lands practice a ritual of flowers around the body and then a burial in the ground of their ancestors. Singing of their life and then a pouring of wine upon the ground as a final farewell."
Jewel nodded at that and bowed her head to the count.
Voice soft and gentle.
"Thank you, if you wish to attend I will be holding such a ceremony for the passed Weird of Fortresses tomorrow morning before we break camp. We have no body but the rest seems simple enough. Our Wizards will be attending as he was known to them and as his lord in the battle it is only right to offer you the same."
That again seemed to utterly surprise the Count.
But he nodded hesitantly to her.
"Such would be an honor. A-and it is good of you to seek me out to do this."
Jewel dipped her head again and then withdrew it from the tent, followed by Father.
As she was turning to leave and make what hasty arrangements she could Thurzó's voice still carried well enough to reach her ears.
"Oh that absolute fool of a witch, does she have any idea what she has stumbled on?"
There was a dry chuckle and then the familiar sound of someone applying blotting sand to vellum to prepare for another session of calligraphy. The faint scratch of an inked quill faded as Jewel walked away.
Soon maybe she could bring some peace to the aching pain of the world all around her.
My Liege King Mathias of the honorable royal house Stein,
As in my last letter this missive has been read by the generals of Visnove's army but they permit me to seal it again afterwards. Since my last letter, I can now say I have now both been able to witness the power of the Countess' Wyrm on the battlefield and speak to it in person and learn of its intelligence.
I must beg of you to recall why you took me up in your court and council when you ascended the throne from your brother.
Your words were, "If I could take your eyes and acumen for my own I would in a heartbeat. But since it cannot be so, join me in my council Georgy. The Realm needs your wisdom".
Know it is me in truth as such has never been shared outside of your confidence before.
Recognize my hand in these letters and my scribecraft and be assured it is a match.
I beg of you all these things my king because what I have learned is of vital importance. It can neither wait until I am once more secure in my holdings in Árva nor risk being lost if the Countess should prove treacherous in her mens' promise to me.
The rumors and whispers passed down by our loyal and honorable watchers among the countess' court and lands were woefully inadequate.
She is not merely in possession of a tamed Wyrm of the more familiar feral kind, as fantastic and potent that might be on the battlefield.
But of a creature wholly on par in potential as the legends still told of the Tyrant War.
On the battlefield it struck down the Fortress Weird and War Mage in a single blow of its flame. A blow which, though its target was the Wizard, slayed on the final tally at least eight hundred men in formation as collateral!
The army broke in two more such strikes which drove the remaining wizards in our forces to flee.
The entire army, lords, knights and two experienced war wizards broke and fled like fresh levies against this might!
And this is not the most dangerous aspect of the beast which the countess thinks she commands.
The old hag of a woman may yet look young and hale but her age most assuredly is well advanced to overlook this. For though I've yet to see her behave with the beast, I remember her from the unpleasant times she has attended your court.
She has no idea what she has welcomed into her house.
She cannot possibly understand.
The Wyrm is honorable, intelligent, observant and, most assuredly, will be as independent as any noble.
It is purely by youth alone she is not already commanding all of Viznove instead of accepting the yoke of subordination to a mere provincial baron.
A lord who, I can assure you, is loved and respected by this wyrm as strongly as any daughter would her father.
Our records are sparse on the workings of the Tyrant's domain, spoken mostly in legend, but its age and longevity are not in question.
The Countess has welcomed and acknowledged an immortal into the peerage of the houses.
That role has been accepted by the wyrm.
And worst of all, it is already acquiring allies and backing beyond its 'family's' ancestral ties past the borders of Viznove. As I have already reported to you, the army assailing us was reinforced with sorcery far in excess of any previous reports.
Just this evening I learned that the nascent tyrant is in good standing with the greater circles of wizardry.
Not just with foreigners but in a manner close enough to hold our own war mages in respect and honor them with funeral rights!
To put it plainly for my king, I must advise that no force of arms barring a total rallying of every asset and ally available to the realm in sorcery, military arms and warbeast can be assured to be able to gentle this beast.
And the impossibility of pulling such force from our other borders assures one truth.
We cannot wrest control of Viznove or her Allies from the Countess Bathory.
But there is yet hope my liege king, even if this should be my last missive, know that the Countess has almost assuredly laid out her own doom.
I speak this plainly and without fear even though her very generals will read and report this.
It is already too late for the hag.
Even if you have lied and ensorceled me to believe my daughter's life yet has hope you have already taken your very doom and laid it to your bosom.
Though it may not be in either of our lifetimes, Viznove will pass from her family's grasp. This is assured.
The Tyrant Wyrm will Rise again.
I must advise my king that he make arrangements to have The Realm of Cantor Reborn be allied to this new power and if possible even acting as a liege regent in its nascent era.
Your Ever Loyal Subject, friend and counselor,
György Thurzó of Arva
- A Letter from Count György Thurzó of Árva to High King Mathias Stein of The Realm Cantor Reborn
