017 -To hold a j̗̅̃ͦ͢u̝͓̺̹̹s͈̯͈̒̓ͯͦͫ̚t̛͐ trial

-What's a little extortion between two nobles-

[29.02.1624]

Towleigh.

Timel Lone had scarcely drifted into slumber when a loud knocking assailed his chamber door, jolting him awake. Annoyed, he rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes. "Who disturbs my rest?" he grumbled.

"'Tis I, My Lord! Tavish!" came the urgent voice of his steward. "Forgive the intrusion, but dire tidings require your ear!"

Lone sighed heavily, reaching for his robe as he swung his legs from the bed. His wife stirred beneath the covers, grumbling at the disturbance as he rose to his feet. Opening the door, he found Tavish standing before him, breathless and fraught with worry.

"What news do you bring, Tavish?" he inquired, his brow furrowing.

"My Lord, trouble brews outside our walls," the steward replied, his voice trembling.

"What is it? Speak! Your vagueness annoys me."

"An army encroaches upon your domain, My Lord, bearing the standard of House von Grifenburg."

A knot of dread formed in the count's gut. "Lord Aden?" he asked, his complexion paling. "Summon the captain of the guard and convene in the courtyard with all haste," Timel commanded, swiftly donning proper attire.

"What ails you, my dear?" his wife queried, stirring from her slumber.

"I know not," the man muttered in response. "Somehow, the duke's presence looms at our borders with an armed host."

"Lord Aden?" the countess exclaimed, now fully awake. "For what reason?"

"I cannot fathom," Lone grumbled. "Heed not my words, my love." With that, he hurried from the chamber. As he traversed the halls toward the courtyard, the murmurs of guards and servants echoed in a dissonant chorus of fear and confusion. Upon reaching the courtyard, the captain of the guard awaited him, his countenance grim.

"My Lord," the captain greeted.

"What news doth you bring?" the count inquired, wasting no time.

"The Earl of Faywyn has sent an emissary inviting you to parley, My Lord."

"The Earl?" Timel queried, puzzled.

"Aye, My Lord," the captain confirmed. "It seems Lord Levi has taken the reins of governance in his father's stead."

There were myriad grievances with that revelation, Timel reckoned. "And what purpose brings him hither?" he asked, perplexed. "Should he not be ensconced at Faywyn attending to his lordly duties?"

"...The earl accuses you of collusion with Count Hera in a bid to usurp his father's lands, My Lord," the captain explained. "He claims to hold the count and his kin in custody, alleging their confession and testimony against you."

"What folly is this?" Timel exclaimed, a dark cloud gathering over his features. "Summon my steed!"

"Aye, My Lord."

…

As Lord Timel approached, he couldn't help but note the formidable array of forces mustered by the earl for this charade. Rows of armoured men bearing the von Grifenburg crest—a rampant gryphon—filled the expanse before the forest's edge. To the left, a host of mounted knights stood at the ready; their martial bearing revealing seasoned veterans. On the right, a phalanx of crossbowmen bearing pavises formed a formidable line, while in the centre, infantrymen brandished towering pikes, their iron tips gleaming menacingly in the morning sun. The silent assembly sent shivers down the count's spine; so orderly they were that an inattentive glance might easily dismiss the looming danger.

Timel exhaled deeply as he approached the waiting army, accompanied by a retinue of his most trusted knights. Grimly, he acknowledged his defeat in this skirmish of wits with the earl; he had been compelled to relinquish his position of authority. A minor setback, perhaps, but a setback nonetheless.

"What seeks you, lad?" the count goaded, hoping to provoke a reaction. The earl merely offered a condescending smile in response, his gaze unwavering.

"Feigning ignorance, are we now?" Levi asked, smiling still. "I am astounded by your audacity to collude with Josh in a plot to seize my house's lands, only to feign innocence afore me."

"Your words are baseless lies," Lord Timel countered. "Empty accusations, I deem them."

The earl leaned forward, a glint of malice in his eye. "Do you dare impugn my honour—my family's honour? My father's honour?—to absolve thyself of guilt?" he demanded, producing a bundle of papers from his garb. "I possess missives that attest to your complicity with the Heras in their schemes," he declared, brandishing the documents. "Letters detailing thy plots to overthrow us and lay claim to mine House's lands."

"Such falsehoods!" Timel protested, his heart sinking as he grasped the gravity of the situation. "I have received no such missives!"

"Is this not your seal upon a letter consenting to wed thy daughter, Lizra, to Earl Gilbert upon the count's return from Norcastle?" The earl extracted a missive from the bundle. "Did you not agree to a dowry of territory? What lands save mine own could Josh offer?"

Timel blanched at the sight of the letter he had dispatched to Earl Gilbert in winter, now in the earl's possession. "This is preposterous," he declared. "Beyond the marriage pact, these correspondences are manifestly forged. Never have I conspired with Count Josh against his grace; such treachery I dare not contemplate!"

The earl fixed him with a steely gaze before turning to his attendant. "Bring them forth,"

"As you command, My Lord," the man replied, riding off.

The count remained silent, his gaze locked in a battle of wills with the younger man before him. Moments later, the knight returned with two bound figures in tow; Count Hera and his heir, Gilbert.

"Josh," Earl Levi addressed the count, turning to face him, "did you confess to me your crimes aforetime? Do you stand you by your accusation in the presence of the accused?"

A pregnant pause followed. "...Aye. Aye, My Lord."

"Lies!" Timel snarled, drawing his blade. The bannermen of von Grifenburg and his men mirrored his action, but the earl simply regarded him with an icy stare.

"...Are you resolved to slay a witness to conceal your treachery, Lord Timel?" Levi queried.

"This is no witness, boy!" Timel spat. "I shall not be coerced," he asserted firmly. "I have committed no wrong, and I shall not suffer for crimes I did not commit."

The earl's smile faded, replaced by a glacial expression of wrath. "Don't be foolish," he warned. "I have extended unto you a chance for reparation, yet you have chosen defiance. Should I depart this field unsatisfied, you shall rue this day, Lord Timel. Mark my words."

Silence.

"...What do you want, you foul wretch?" the count spat.

"I demand restitution for the injuries suffered and resources expended in quelling the rebellious Heras," the earl declared. "This encompasses the loss of a substantial grain reserve a week prior to their attempted assault, a quantity of black powder, and other necessities, as well as forty-seven thousand gold Royals in lost, stolen, or damaged valuables. Everything is duly documented in this scroll." With a flourish, he tossed the parchment to the count.

"This is preposterous!" Timel exclaimed. "I can scarcely fulfil such demands!"

"I do not insist upon immediate payment," the earl responded, his tone retaining a semblance of magnanimity. "I am cognizant of your circumstances, tainted though they may be by disloyalty. Therefore, I extend an opportunity for restitution to be made in instalments. However, I require a form of assurance; collateral, if you will. Your heir, Lars, shall serve as my squire until the debt is discharged."

Timel's expression darkened. "And what do you insinuate, boy?"

"He shall reside within my domain, afforded excellent accommodations, sustenance, and a weekly stipend for personal use," the earl elucidated. "He shall be treated as an esteemed guest and allowed to return home upon the fulfilment of your debt. I trust this leniency suffices?"

The count lapsed into a brooding silence before abruptly turning to depart. "I shall not forget this affront," he declared as he stalked away, met only with the earl's chilly smile.

"You mustn't," Levi retorted.

 

***

Later that night.

Faywyn.

Reamus sat at a board aloofly overseeing the lively alehouse. Within, the air was thick with the fragrance of ale and roasting meats. The main chamber was dominated by a grand stone hearth, where a fierce fire blazed, casting warmth and illumination upon the patrons gathered about it. The walls were bedecked with assorted adornments: pelts of beasts, trophies of the hunt, and rudimentary paintings. The furnishings, tables, and chairs were rudimentary yet robust, crafted of rough-hewn timber, and filled with groups of folk engaged in animated discourse. Behind the bar, the innkeeper presided over the revelry, dispensing ale and wine from ample barrels and serving up steaming, hearty meals to the clientele. The kitchen beyond buzzed with activity, as cooks toiled over cauldrons and spits, preparing stews, roasts, and other victuals over an open flame. A minstrel occupied one corner of the alehouse, his lively tunes interweaving with the chatter and mirth of the patrons. Amidst the revelry, a young couple, flushed with excitement, danced to the rhythm of the music, spurred on by a cluster of onlookers.

The ambience within the tavern was one of fellowship and festivity; vibrant.

It grated upon Reamus' senses.

A fellow entered, scanning the room briefly before making a direct path for the table of the brigand lord. "Well?" Reamus inquired, his words muffled by the tankard of ale he raised to his lips.

"The duke is absent," Outhor disclosed. "Likewise his son. The little bastard is off on some quest for retribution to the south. He shan't return for several days at the least."

"...A pity," Reamus lamented. "I had hoped at least one of them would be present to accept the first of my many offerings in person."

"A pity indeed."