---

 

Sir Gust De Weer

She could be yours

---

---

 

 

Jan cursed, lips split where he’d backhanded him; teeth all bloody and came at him again. Gust blocked with his blade, absorbed the force, letting the man approach and head-butted him brutally when he did, the pointy top of his helm landing on the nose-guard. It bend backwards, breaking Jan’s nose and sent him staggering back all dazed. Gust followed it with a downward slash that the stunned man barely pushed away with his sword.

Sir Gust came back without giving him time to breathe, not that he could with his windpipes drowned in blood, caught the flat of his blade and sent it away. Jan opened his mouth to yield, but Gust would have none of that, so he kicked him savagely in the chest and dropped him flat on his back. He walked over him slowly, breathing heavy through his closed helm, and his whole body drenched in sweat under the scorching plate armour he had on.

“Milord!” One of his guards pleaded and Gust turned to see who it was, spotted Mael standing right next to the scared man, hint of a leer on his mouth and frowned. He lowered his sword, rage slowly seeping away.

“Are you finished?” Mael asked, holding a set of the same grey robes he wore in his hands.

Gust took another breath, glanced at the unconscious Jan under him and nodded. The Disciple of Tyeus walked to him, stopped at arm’s length, not to repeat Jan’s mistake and tossed the robes of his Order to him.

“Put them on. Hide the blade and lose the helmet,” Mael said casually, as if reading from a list. “We have visitors.”

 

---

 

“Who is it?” Gust asked twenty minutes later, as they were walking towards Scaldingport’s Castle, the grey robes of his Order hiding his armour.

“One of Lord Bach’s creatures. Primus Molders,” His man replied.

“They came to complain?”

“Your father doesn’t know. He hasn’t admitted him yet,” Mael said, voice neutral.

“When did he arrive?” Gust asked surprised.

“Two days ago,” Mael saw his stare and shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t know, till today.”

 

---

 

Lord Ruud De Weer decked in his blue velvet and chainmail shirt, was talking with a short, but bountiful servant girl. He stopped when they entered and send her away with a swat at her plump buttocks.

“Nothing surer to shrivel a man’s cock,” Lord Ruud started, his voice grating to Gust’s ears. “But a couple of entitled warrior monks…” He made air quotes on the word monk, a smirk on his rucked face. “Bursting into his fuckin’ hall. Right Son?”

“Good Morning father,” Gust murmured through his teeth. “I hope your cock recovers.”

“Hmm. It did, when I made you. Still haven’t decided though, if it was worth the bother,” Lord Ruud spat, glaring at a stoic Mael that wisely kept his mouth shut. “I take it you have word on our visitor?”

“Keeping a messenger from the King waiting…” Gust sighed. “I understand we don’t like the goat-fucker, but still… shouldn’t we listen to what he has to say? You know, for diplomacy’s sake?”

Lord Ruud narrowed his eyes, not liking his tone.

“It’s insulting,” He finally snarled after a hateful stare. “What are we to get? Hmm? Aye, he needs us now. First Foot is crossing to Rida, another coming down from Midlanor soon to join them. He needs our men. Spears and swords to fight for him.”

“We can work with that.”

“Bah, what a bunch of crap! Work with what? With whom? A lackey?” His father sat back on his throne, his eyes drifting towards the Crows feasting on his leftovers, the table a mess. “We’ve talked about this. The decision has been made.”

“You said, he is one of Lord Bach’s men,” Gust tried another way.

“I didn’t,” Lord Ruud’s glare at Mael enough to kill a lesser man. “But do finish yer thought son.”

“It is unusual, is my meaning,” Gust explained. “What did uncle Mikkel say on the matter?”

“My brother went to Issir’s Eagle. Hasn’t sent word since. Also strikes me as peculiar, now that you mentioned it.”

“Could it be, it’s not official business?” Gust probed and his father scratched his thin beard with his fingers thoughtfully for a time.

“A conspiracy?” He offered.

“I wouldn’t know.” Gust replied, his answer honest.

“Lord Bach wants our help to overthrow the mad King?” Lord Ruud said, tasting the words in his mouth. “Hmm, I wouldn’t put that cock sucking idiot above it,” He smiled, decision made. “Let us receive the fool and son, ye need to sport a limp. Help me sell this.”

 

---

---

 

Lord Molders seemed well rested and not particularly bothered with being put on ice for two straight days.

“Lord De Weer,” The Primus bowed his head. “Sir Gust.”

“Lord Molders,” Lord Ruud started, a pained look on his face. “I must apologize for keeping you waiting. It was our best room in this humble old Castle. I hope that dining and drinking on my coin has mellowed your stay somewhat. Unfortunately, grave trouble has befallen my family, as you well know.”

“It was no bother, my Lord. I hope your son makes a good recovery,” Primus Molders had a strained smile on his lips.

“He won’t,” His father deadpanned. “He lost an eye. It’s gone. Rotted away too fast for my crows to have a go at it. I wouldn’t call him blind, but I’m just glad he’s a boy. He can, kind of work around it, right? It would have been a harder sell, if it was my daughter. Though I suppose some would shag a one-eyed maiden. Hah!” He chuckled at that, no one else finding his words amusing, or joining.

“The High King knows we can’t help at this time,” Gust said, breaking the awkward silence that followed.

“Exactly, this fool got run over by a boar, he can barely walk,” His father chipped in. “And I’m with one foot in the grave. Now, I’d take that sword of mine and lead our troops tomorrow, don’t be mistaken. But I just don’t think it’s prudent.”

“My Lords,” Primus Molders said, keeping his emotions hidden. Gust could clearly see the man wasn’t buying, what they were selling. “I’m here on behalf of Lord Sigurd.”

Gust glanced at his father and saw the look on his face.

Was he right? Was there a plot afoot?

“Is the King uninformed of your visit, Primus Molders?” Lord Ruud asked.

“I wouldn’t know. I came straight from Castalor.” The man replied, without answering.

“Why not use a bird? We have many. Look at ‘em over there, they are eating at my fuckin’ table!”

The Primus kept his eyes on his father.

“What I have to share is sensitive, Lord De Weer. It would be unwise to leave a trail,” He said, keeping his voice neutral. Gust decided, he didn’t like him at all.

Too blasted sneaky.

Men like him liked to attack a man from behind.

He respected their cunning, but still despised them.

“Is Lord Bach sleeping with the High Queen?” His father joked, giving them the time to think on it some more. “I wouldn’t blame the man. In fact I readily admit on having a thought or two about her myself. Never acted on the matter though. More fool me, I suppose.”

“The Queen of Kaltha’s honor is not in question,” Primus Molders murmured, trying to keep his tempers checked. “Lord Sigurd believes it would be unwise for Scaldingport to remain neutral in this conflict.”

Lord Ruud stooped on his throne and stared at him, his voice serious.

“We’re not neutral. We follow the King’s rule. We just can’t help right at this time. Son, am I speaking in the old tongue?”

“No father, I understand you perfectly.” Gust droned in turn.

“The High King’s army will protect Rida,” Primus Molders said. “Enough lords back him and Regia has ordered the Legion to move towards the coast.”

“Raoz isn’t just Rida,” Lord Ruud corrected him. “And since so many lords help the king, why strip Scaldingport from its men and force my firstborn, who is still recovering by the way, risk his neck?”

“Lord Sigurd, understands your grievances—” Primus Molders started, but couldn’t finish.

“Lord Sigurd, is not my king!” Lord Ruud snapped angrily.

Molders gulped down, a little paler in the face, but he bravely pushed on.

A man that couldn’t go back empty handed, Gust thought.

“He understands the De Weers have been wronged unwittingly, hoped for a remedy to all our problems.” Molders said.

“Bah! Unwittingly he says!” He father snarled. “Next, you’ll tell us, he wanted us to win the tourney in Riverdor. Hmm? As if we don’t know, what his preferences are. As if we are fools, to be taken advantage of. Lying to a lord is punished by death in my lands, Primus Molders.” He ended his words with a stern warning.

“What is the remedy?” Gust asked raising his voice to cut through the man’s shock at his father’s words.

Molders took a deep breath, desperately trying to collect himself. Not easy with his father glaring at him, murder in his eyes.

“Save the Princess,” The man said, licking his dry lips once. “The army will hold the forts, as the Khan would never attack from the southern Merchant Path, or from the North and Altarin. Prince has taken the Princess, either at Hi Yil Castle, or Eikenport. Since Prince Radin claimed he was from Jade Lake, then it must be Eikenport.”

“You want us to attack Eikenport? From the sea?” Gust asked stunned.

“Lord Sigurd believes a daring thrust from land, would help both Kaltha and the Princess.”

“Isn’t the Princess, a part of Kaltha as well?” He father asked, remarkably calm, after his outburst.

“Princess Elsanne was given to the Khanate, under false pretenses,” Primus Molders explained. “We simply couldn’t refuse the demand at the time.”

That wasn’t how Gust knew things had gone, but still…

“Save the Princess,” Gust said, a smirk on his mouth.

“Save the Princess,” Primus Molders repeated, staring at him meaningfully.

“You want us to campaign down the Merchant Path, through the fuckin’ desert, while the army rests in Raoz?” His father growled, not pleased at all, at the prospect.

“There’s nothing there,” Primus Moldelrs insisted, keeping his eyes on Gust, who felt the excitement building up. The cunning man playing on it. “Put the Cofols that took your brother’s eye to the sword. Claim the Princess of Kaltha as prize of your conquest. Lord Sigurd didn’t want you earning her hand Sir Gust, you have that correct. That’s the truth and he was in the wrong for it,” Molders continued probably mixing in truth and lies equally. “Whatever the past may be, we are here in the present. Take her back, Sir Gust. And she’ll be yours by the ancient Issir rites and lawfully in the eyes of Gods and men. A great reward for anyone, my Lord.”

She could be yours, was his meaning, Gust thought. The likelihood of another shot at the young beauty, while still uncertain, good enough to make the prospect of success thrilling. He could almost taste her in his mouth.

Lord Ruud sat back on his seat, a frown on his wrinkled face. His black eyes calculating. Gust knew how his father’s mind worked and wasn’t surprised when he next talked.

“We want a dowry, if we succeed,” His father said. “Will the king agree?”

“Lord Sigurd will ensure he does, if you succeed, my Lord.” The man replied quickly. “Accept responsibility, if he doesn’t.”

Not the King.

Did it matter?

Gust didn’t think so. It made things, more interesting for sure. The prize though… it was always her. There’s the blasted road, as his father always said. It may be narrow, it may be long, but eventually a road will take you, where you want to go.

“A dowry of our choosing.” His father added leering, his mind following the same thread.

Primus Molders narrowed his eyes.

“What would that be, my Lord?”

Gust looked at his father and the old man appeared genuinely pleased for the first time in years. His frequent sexual escapades excluded of course.

“Lord Sigurd will have to put his sign on it,” Lord Ruud replied. “I would prefer the King’s, but I can wait for that. Tell your precious Lord Sigurd, Scaldingport will help, if he agrees to help us in turn.”

Primus Molders pretended to think about it for a time.

They all knew it was all a show.

He couldn’t go back empty handed.

 

 

So eventually Lord Bach’s man gave in.