An old Hag singing amidst the wolf-fishes

You should fear the lake witch’s wishes

 

Old Lakelords saying

Circa 70 NC

 

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Lord Ton Van Calcar

The sides of a coin

Part I

-Not a gathering of fools-

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“Where is it from?” Lord Ton Van Calcar asked his Shield Roger Blenk. A sturdy, but older man of almost sixty years that had served his father before him. An old Knight, Sir Blenk stood at almost six feet, a tall man even in his later years.

“Baron Darvot,” Sir Blenk replied, white bushy brows meeting at his wrinkled forehead in an angry frown. The Baron of Brownfort, a minor lord under the Lord of Pascor hadn’t made the journey. There was always trouble brewing near the big lake, which was what the locals called the ‘Canlita Sea’. “There are brigands roaming his lands, up to Picker’s River banks, coming from Anorum.”

Witch’s swollen tit, Ton cursed and unfurled the message. He paused to give a nod to the Lord of Tollor, Daan Hoff, then bowed his head fully to the High King himself popping out of the small crowd of Issir officials near them. Lord Van Durren was there and Lord Est Ravn, looking like a priest of Uher, but with more jewelry and weapons on.

“Ah, the Seawolf guy,” Antoon said seeing him. “Is it like a shark thing remind me Lord…?”

Fucking cretin.

“Wolffish, your highness and its Lord Van Calcar of Pascor,” Van Calcar rustled, plastering a smile on his face. He was the lesser dressed of the participants. His plain leather armor looking pedestrian as even the Lord Est Ravn had a fine polished cuirass under his pious priestly garbs. The Hydra on it hideous.

“Ah,” Antoon said with a wave of his hand. “I always mix you Lakelords up. Good of you to show up Lord Van Calcar,” he added and Ton attempted to smile along with the other Lords, but he failed and it came out a grotesque grimace.

He waited for the High King of Kaltha to move away, taking most of the Lords with him and lowered his eyes on his scroll.

“There’s word making the rounds the king lost the First Foot in Raoz and cost the Van Durrens’ both Lord Joep and Sir Robert. Badum is in uproar at the news,” Sir Blenk said keeping his voice low.

Ton nodded and read the scroll.

“Darvot says he chased them, but they run into Regia,” he sighed. “With the Legion here it’s no wonder they are emboldened. Does Lord Holt not have men to oust them from his lands?”

“It’s more that Sovya don’t much care milord,” Sir Blenk replied. “So even if he does, they’ll just sneak up there. Then you have to ask Lesia for permission and with them it’s like talking to a wall, without all the excitement.”

“Bah,” Ton grunted and crashed the scroll into his fist. “Here comes the ‘Crab’ again,” they both eyed the Lord of Tollor approach. “Lord Hoff,” he said giving him his arm. “I’ve sent a missive. Hoped to catch you at Tollor. We made part of the journey on ship.”

“Why,” Lord Hoff said faking surprise. He was ten years older than Ton, who had his thirtieth named year that summer. “I wasn’t aware you had ships to spare, Lord Van Calcar.”

“We fish, we travel and we fuck in them,” Ton deadpanned. “Your men had been hunting in my spot of the woods again, Lord Hoff,” he added and Lord Hoff frowned, his white hair cut short, but thinning.

“The ‘Skirt’ is Tollor’s woods, my friend,” the older Lord said.

Suck mud through the nose.

‘Naossis Skirt Forest’ was a large rich woodland that hugged the Great White Mountain Range north of the Canlita Sea. It was shared between Tollor and Pascor the two large Issir Cities built at the banks of the massive saltwater lake.

“Not near the Serene River it isn’t,” Ton corrected him grinding his teeth.

“Hah, nobody hunts that far, Lord Van Calcar. More wolves than game over there,” Lord Hoff argued.

“Yet, they had.”

“Let us agree to disagree on it.”

A loud trumpet interrupted their staring contest and they both turned to watch the Lorian Kings coming down the main street towards Riverdor’s large keep.

 

 

In order to solve the problem of three kings attending, Lord Van Durren installed three narrow and long tables into his throne room creating a square that was missing a side. The old hall, not suited for even lesser events, was packed thus with people. The High King and Kaltha were seated in the middle table with Regia on the left and Lesia on the right, the latter decided by a coin flip. With so many lords present, knights, squires and dignitaries, Riverdor’s square was cordoned, with soldiers guarding the streets leading to the Purple District and the Market for the better part of a month.

The large Keep quickly run out of rooms to house everyone attending and every bit of space was utilized. Cooks and servants were thrown out of the kitchens and their quarters, personnel was kept to a bare minimum and halls were converted to sleeping quarters for the Kings Guard. It was chaos. The High King and King Davenport stayed in the Keep and the city, though on different wings and several lords rented villas at the nearby Purple District, but for some Issirs that had property there already. Lord Van Durren housed a number of them in his estate.

King Alistair decided to sleep in the Legion’s camp, one of three built near the city. The First Legion had one near the river, the First Cohort of the Second Legion had another near the Riverdor Castle and the Second Foot had a third located behind the north walls of the city proper.

It would take the Kings three days to meet for the first time. The meeting set for early morning, but starting just before the afternoon, since it was impossible to notify everyone in time and frankly no one was certain where everyone was staying. High King Antoon Eikenaar, the second Antoon to take the Wyvern Throne, the other being the first King that had succeeded Reinut the Great at the distant 38 NC, now in the twelfth year of his reign had spoken first.

He started welcoming the Lords and the two Kings in Riverdor being rather cordial according to some accounts, or bitter according to others. Before he had the time to finish his opening speech a missive arrived from distant Krakenhall via Midlanor informing him that the Jarl’s forces were sieging Rockfort.

It was the first days of the third month of winter of 190 as counted with the New Calendar and the Conference of Lords had begun.

 

 

“What did he say?” Lord of Tollor Daan Hoff asked him, apparently the Lakelords should sit side by side, thought Ton sourly.

“The Jarl is laying siege at Rockfort,” he said, watching the Lorian kings exchange a look across their tables while the High King was glaring at everyone. Not surprise though, Van Calcar thought. That son of a frog knew!

“He’ll never take it,” Lord Hoff murmured, while several lords pointed the obvious, none louder than the elderly Van Durren, who squinted his eyes on his wrinkled face, while looking right and left on the Issirs table.

“Lord Bart Crull is here, isn’t he? Ah, there you are lad. Why aren’t you helping Lord Vanzon?”

The Lord of Eaglesnest glared at his colleagues. “I can’t move away from the Montfoot, the Jarl has soldiers stationed across the river. We can see their fires burning. I’ve been fighting this war alone!”

“I didn’t know Kaltha was at war with the North,” King Davenport commented, looking fresh in his white, silver and gold doublet.

“You know now, are you going to help?” Lord Crull snapped and the venerable Lord Lennox casted an austere stare on him.

“I didn’t know my king as well,” Lord Hoff said addressing King Antoon, like the weasel that he was. “We thought this was a raid?”

“It started as one,” Antoon replied. “Probably escalated.”

Murmurs were heard from all the tables, with the elderly Lord Holt of Asturia standing up and admonishing Lord Bart Crull without even looking at him.

“Had he not nailed the Jarl’s son head over his dinner table, this could’ve stayed a raid!”

Lord Crull didn’t appear too rattled though despite the rebuke.

“Haha! Close enough Lord Holt. I have it placed over the entrance to my main hall. Though I’m afraid the birds have picked it clean by now.”

“Bah!” Lord Holt threw his arms in the air frustrated and dropped down on his seat.

And people call me uncouth, Ton thought watching the Lords throwing the blame around, the High King watching, King Davenport’s face blank and his eyes on scrolls an aide standing over his shoulders was giving him. King Alistair, who hadn’t talked much yet had a permanent pained scowl on his face, as if he was suffering from constipation in his old age, or he was livid.

Knowing Alistair, the latter was more probable, Ton thought.

 

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“It is a problem,” Antoon finally said cutting through the loud discussions. “But not a big one. The state of affairs in Raoz is of more importance. The Khan controls the coast for now.”

“What does this mean?” King Davenport asked calmly.

“Measures are taken to remedy the situation,” Antoon explained to the older man, not saying much though, as Lord Lennox pointed out.

“Will the High King expound on the matter?” The old general asked.

“Soon we shall have two ports open there,” Antoon replied with a smug smirk that didn’t convince anyone. “Sir Rick?” The High King asked and Ton looked at the knight of Scaldingport, who was present there in his father’s stead. The fact Lord Ruud couldn’t travel not as surprising as the realization the man was actually still alive.

“My father couldn’t regrettably make the long journey,” Sir Rik De Weer said reading from a scroll he had open in his hands.

Nor did the old goat trusted you to recite his words from memory, Ton thought with a leer of his own.

“It’s not that much longer than Alden and he went there in the fall to marry your sister,” Antoon observed with a grimace.

“Traveling in winter is not easy,” Sir Rick argued. “King Antoon.”

“Yet, we’ve hardly had a bit of rain,” Antoon insisted. “We pray for his health of course. Sir Rick.”

“Gratitude my king,” Sir Rik hissed. The knight was missing an eye and while he had covered the wound with a leather patch, it made him appear unsavory. Ton respected a man who could take a spear in the face and live long enough to have a laugh about it. “Scaldingport has landed on Eplas, near the Endless Dunes.”

“Is that in the Great Desert?” Lord Lennox asked.

“The place is called Devil’s Cove general Lennox.”

“Can transports moor there, lad?” Lord Lennox queried. “Can you supply them? Are there ships enough to make the attempt?”

“There will be no need,” King Antoon intervened. “Another port shall soon be available. Lord Est Ravn, if you be so kind.”

Oh fuck this guy, Ton thought eyeing the Lord of Midlanor standing up and pointing at a map two aides had opened up for him. The map wouldn’t stay put though folding on its upper portion and a third aide came forward, plus the Lord’s son Sir Marc who stood up in his orange and black garbs and helped them out.

“When something resists,” Lord Anker crackled, keeping the annoyance from his face. “Keep working on it and it will yield. Be it horse, woman or people. Uher shall not abandon the faithful to be devoured by the beasts of yesteryear. It shall help us smite them to smithereens afore that!”

Witch’s tits!

Just get out what ye got to say without the gospel, we aren’t in a blasted temple for crying out loud!

 

 

Seeing that everyone wanted to question Lord Anker’s plan for a campaign on Eplas, so soon after the resounding defeat at Raoz, King Antoon ordered a recess and the lords agreed to meet in a day’s time. It was two days after that the meeting resumed, or four according to other sources of the time and by the time it did, more details about the war in the North started pouring in. Lord Crull got informed by his people back in Krakenhall. The High King learned more details from the port city of Pastelor, who had dispatched some of the cavalry gathering there to Krakenhall despite being winter season. The Duchy of Sovya probably informed King Davenport at the same time Lucius first missive came through in almost a year, since the Duchy controlled Kas and could read his mail.

The famed but presumed lost Heir to the kingdom of Regia informed his worrying father that in order to fulfil his mission, he was going to have ‘to slay the Kraken’. The confusing though prophetic turn of phrase, leaked out despite valiant efforts not to allow the knowledge to spread. With so many people of import so close to each other, everyone was spying on everyone else.

This ‘closeness’ led to some funny occurrences or outright embarrassing, depending the side one looks at it, as Lord Van Durren’s young niece Lady Aafke running away with one of the Lakelords in the chaos that would soon turn into a violent confrontation. The man in question, the cunning Lord of Pascor, of Brownfort and the Wolffish Isles, Lord Ton Van Calcar. It must be noted of course that the almost twice her age lord wasn’t as infamous at the time.

 

 

Ton looked at the girl Sir Blenk had found in his quarters. Granted being so close to the kitchens and on the first floor, just about anyone could have sneaked in, but the Issir lass was pleasant to the eye at least. Eyes the dainty green of young leaves and her skin unblemished and dark as coal, her blood unmixed.

“Unhand me!” The lass protested and Sir Blenk glanced at him, while he got his boots off of his feet. Ton believed a man should be able to do a couple of things by himself. Servants needed feeding also and he didn’t favor spending that much for that.

“Who are you?” Ton said casually and crooked his mouth. “What are you doing in my quarters?”

“I’m Aafke Van Durren,” the lass replied with a glare. “I didn’t know it was your room. This is my uncle’s castle! Who are you?”

Ton frowned and scratched the stubble on his cheek with a gloved finger.

“I’m the Lord of Pascor,” he finally said. “Lady Aafke, what are you doing here?”

“Oh shite,” Aafke cursed unladylike and stared at the much taller than her Sir Blenk. “Can I leave? This is the wrong room.”

“I suggest you answer the Lord, Lady Aafke,” Sir Blenk cautioned her. “He doesn’t appreciate an insult.”

Aafke turned around. “What are you to do? Feed me to your fish?”

“You are not leaving this room,” Ton told her simply and lowered his back on his bed fully dressed but without his boots, his head resting on a hard hay pillow.

“Fine, I’ll talk,” Aafke puffed out exasperated. “My uncle wants me to marry my first cousin Janos… Lord Janos of Badum I guess now.”

“They voted for him?” Ton asked. “Isn’t he your age Sir Blenk?”

“A bit younger milord,” the old Shield replied. “But not by much. Decent knight for a time.”

“Luthos favored him in his later years by wiping out the competition,” Lord Ton commented cynically, looking at the pretty lass. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” Aafke replied. “Didn’t you hear me, he’s my cousin! Old as dirt, I ain’t marrying him! What are we Imperials? This is sick! Right?” She asked hopefully looking at them.

Witch’s tits on her, was all Ton could think listening to her words. For such a young lass.

“Milord?” Sir Blenk asked, sounding a little concerned.

“Mmm,” Ton hummed eyeing the increasingly more worried girl.

“We should return her to Lord Van Durren,” Sir Blenk cautioned and Ton pushed himself up putting his feet on the rough and cold stone floor.

Fucking cretins the lot of them.

“You are not leaving this room,” he repeated and looked at the panicking girl. “Unless you do as I say.”

Whatever gets trapped in the net belongs to the man brandishing it.

It’s his food.

The Witch’s wishes.

“What if I don’t? I don’t know what that means my lord.”

“Don’t pretend you’re stupid now. It means ye cut yer hair for starters, wear my squire’s garbs. Thin lad like ye, but with no tits.”

“I’m not cutting my hair!” Aafke snapped, her white mane impressive, it reached the lower part of her back. Her cheeks turned the color of her red gown at his scrutiny.

“How else to get her out of here and to our ship, Sir Blenk?” Ton asked his Shield and he frowned. “We might have to remove her womanly bits—”

“Hand me a darn scissor!” Aafke grunted, more angry than scared and Ton stood back with a smile. She raised a thin brow seeing him grinning. “Do you have a woman Lord Calcar?” Aafke asked.

“It’s Van Calcar, my family is as old as yours Lady Aafke,” Ton grunted, his blood boiling and she chuckled, while Sir Blenk rolled his eyes at the foolishness of younger noble people.

“I know,” she said still grinning, pearly teeth contrasting to the dark red natural color of her lips. “But I wanted to piss you off for being a cretin.”

That was how long it had taken her, to stop being afraid of him.

It was right darn impressive.

Ah, Lord Ton Van Calcar thought fascinated and even Sir Blenk cracked a rare smile and the man hadn’t done that since his father had died.

But sometimes you get a fish with sharp teeth in there.

A flesh-eater.

A Wolffish.

Those you do well to return to the brackish waters or keep as yer partner.

If they’ll have you.

 

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This time even King Davenport appears troubled, thought Ton looking about him for anyone looking his way, but no one suspected a thing apparently.

“There’s a rumor spreading,” Sir Blenk whispered in his ear, the murmurs of the Lords present at the tables covering his voice. Making it appear drowned as if coming out of the swamps waters. “The Bloody Tiger might be working with the Jarl.”

The air smelled of rotten leaves and foul mud.

Lord Van Calcar stopped chewing on the roasted chicken’s leg. He dropped it on his plate and wiped his hands with a towel.

“In what way?”

“People have talked of a Legion marching away from Rockfort,” the loyal hand whispered.

What?

The legion was here in Riverdor.

Then again there was another in Lesia now apparently.

“Marching where?” Ton asked and turned his eyes on the King of Regia, the bald ruler looking ancient, but as hard as old rocks routed at the bottom of the big lake.

Impossible to dislodge.

“West,” Sir Blenk rustled and King Alistair turned his silver and blue eyes on him, the beast behind them snarling menacingly.

This wasn’t a simple gathering of fools after all.

An old Hag singing amidst the wolf-fishes, Ton thought a shiver running down his spine, just as the High King stood up to speak.

You should fear the lake witch’s wishes.

 

 

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