Vanian Year 1104

 

Schönau did not have a library. 

 

Libraries were expensive, and even small ones can be worth as much as the castles they were built in. There were many reasons as to why, but mostly because books themselves cost a fortune. Most books were handwritten copies of originals, and it was an incredibly labour intensive job, and scribes can take months - even years - to copy a single manuscript. Not to mention the amount of parchment and ink that would be used, and have to be paid for.

 

Furthermore, scribes themselves were rare. They had to be proficient in both reading and writing, and in some cases multi-lingual in order to translate accurately. Training scribes took time and coin, and only the most erudite courts could afford and be interested in such a thing. No, most scribes were trained by religious institutions - monasteries and abbeys, or in the Holy City itself. And that meant the cultists could regulate which books circulate the continent, and set their own prices. 

 

Lastly, books were easily damaged. Excessive moisture can damage parchment, even without rain. So can they easily burn. As such, a library must be well cared for and regulated, and that meant hiring a permanent caretaker. Books also fade over time, and that meant every few years or decades, they had to be replaced or copied - and that meant the caretaker had to be proficient in reading and writing. They also had to be utterly loyal to the family, due to the sheer wealth hidden within a library.

 

With all these expenses, a library had more value in being a statement of wealth rather than a true centre of learning. After all, only the most affluent people could boast having hundreds of tomes and scrolls lining their shelves. Perhaps they would allow guests to admire it, but most certainly not touch the shelves themselves. After all, who would allow just anybody to handle such priceless artefacts?

 

For a poorer house like the Schönaus, the only books they could afford were ledgers and family chronicles. And maybe a few journals by previous lords. All of which the lords of the house took care of personally. Some lords even groom their second sons and daughters to be bookkeepers.

 

For many noble families, their family chronicle may as well be the single most precious object in their household. It was a family heirloom passed down through the generations, their house’s entire history written on paper. The more volumes a chronicle has, the older the house was - and more prestigious as well. The Schönaus only had one volume.

 

But Marianne was getting carried away. 

 

Castle Schönau did not have a library. Instead, books were kept in the lord’s solar at the upper storey of the keep. When she was younger, Marianne would be taught decorum by Governess Kayla in the dining room, but her most fond memories were of sitting on her father’s lap in his solar as he went through his ledgers with her.

 

Traditionally, a noble daughter’s only duty was to be a suitable bride, and thus diplomatic training was of utmost importance. But her father, after seeing her interest in his work, began to personally teach her how to manage their holdings. 

 

Marianne picked out the heavy tomes from the bookshelves before setting them down on the table in the middle of the room.

 

“Markusz,” she called, “Could you open the windows?”

 

The akıncı did so, and the cool autumn air immediately poured into the stifling room. As she pulled out a chair to sit down, Marianne noticed Markusz doing the same.

 

“Are you here to stave off the tedium of this castle?” she asked as opened a ledger, “Where is Hirzyk?”

 

“Hirzyk is hunting with Jadwiga, leydim,” Markusz glanced out the window at the wheatfields abound, “Perhaps he would bring back a hare for dinner.”

 

“Hare?” Marianne’s lips curved, “He will find no hares here, I’m afraid. They are pests, as far as our farmers are concerned, and we hunt them regularly.”

 

“Then perhaps your people will thank him when he returns with one,” he laughed, “Where is the lord? Is this not his study?”

 

“My lord father is inspecting his holdings,” she answered, “Lady Margareta is working… and Marie is with my brother and the governess. It will be just us today, I’m afraid.”

 

“You call the lady Dame,” Markusz leaned back, “I may be quite ignorant in Reicher tongue, but is that not for nobles only?”

 

“Yes,” Marianne admitted, “For propriety’s sake, I should call her Frau. But I owe her family a great debt, and this little breach of decorum means nothing compared to that.”

 

“Her son, yes?” he tapped the table, “Everyone in Grenzmark had heard stories of her son’s valour. Heroes of Vania should be remembered, so that those who come after us would always honour their forefathers who had sacrificed everything so that they could live.”

 

“Indeed, which is why I…” Marianne froze, her eyes catching a most inconsequential number on the page.

 

An inconsequential number on its own, but when drawn on a plane with the rest… Marianne immediately pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and scribbled it down. The House of Schönau was an agrarian house, meaning that most of their income came from taxes levied from the exporting of wheat and other produce. 

 

Most of the people living in the Schönau domain were farmers, or had ties to the industry. Since their land was sparsely populated, and their constituents were concentrated in small farming villages, they could accurately survey the amount of families that they lorded over, and the number of members in each family. As such, they taxed their vassals in wheat, not coin - and with their surveys, allowed those families to keep enough wheat to survive until the next harvest. 

 

These massive amounts of wheat were then threshed and grounded into grain in windmills, before being stored in granaries. The Schönaus then send a portion to the crown in taxes, before signing contracts with other buyers such as merchant caravans and neighbouring lords. It was these contracts that were the mainstay of their income, and a portion of the earned coin was given back to their vassals so they could pay for their livelihoods.

 

This system kept their people happy, and it allowed them to store both grain and coin in the case of a bad harvest or dry season. 

 

So why was it that they had lost more coin than they had earned, last harvest? And from the trend, the same would repeat this this season. In fact, their coffers have been bleeding coin for the last few years.

 

“Leydim?” Markusz asked, “Is something wrong?”

 

“Do you know how to count?”

 

“Count, yes. Arithmetic, no,” he answered, “I was a shepherd, and that means I had to make sure there were the right number of sheep in my flock.”

 

Marianne stood up and hastily opened all the ledgers dating to the past three decades, to have an accurate standard from before the war. 

 

“Look here, Markusz,” she pointed at two different cells, “We earn most of our coin in harvest seasons - early summer, and late fall. After that, we lose coin because we reinvest in our holdings.”

 

Markusz sharp eyes scanned the pages, before lighting up, “I see, leydim.”

 

“This is from the ten-seventy,” she said, “Take this parchment and copy these numbers in rank and file. The harvest season, the sources of income, and the expenses.”

 

“I simply have to duplicate, then,” he nodded, “You can rely on me.”

 

As Markusz took the ledger with records from the 1070, she busied herself with the 1080 and 1090 ledgers. It took them several hours to compile all their financial records, but despite her sore fingers and cramped wrist, Marianne did not stop to take a break. By the time she raised her head, she was surprised to see that the sky was already orange-red, at the eve of evenfall.  

 

Marianne nearly wiped her face with her hand, before realising her fingers were terribly ink-stained. How unbecoming of her. 

 

“My lady,” Markusz placed his quill in the inkhorn, “I have completed your task.”

 

In the time that she had compiled two decades of records, he had compiled half of that. Well, Marianne would not hold it against him - Markusz was a soldier, after all, and a shepherd before that. The fact that he could even write was admirable in itself.

 

“Thank you,” she took his manuscript, “Can you close the windows?”

 

“Of course, leydim.”

 

As Marianne pushed the ledgers to the side and laid out their manuscripts beside each other, Markusz closed the windows before walking over to her side of the table before leaning over her shoulder. Ignoring his breach of conduct, Marianne busied herself with scouring their records for a trend - and what she found was just as horrifying as it was perplexing.

 

Ever since the war began in 1077, their income has been decreasing. This wasn’t strange, they were at war after all. In the first few years, their income was stable - which could be attributed to the crown’s personal wealth floating the war effort. A few years later, the capital began buying their grain at a low price, in addition to the grain tax - and thus the amount of grain they could sell to other parties decreased. From here, Reichenau’s armies must’ve been raised.

 

Then, four years into the war, they stopped selling grain to merchant caravans altogether, and the amount of grain they sold to the capital increased. Marianne couldn’t make anything of it.

 

“Markusz,” she decided to ask, “Look here, what do you make of this?”

 

The akıncı pulled out the chair next to her and sat down, before mulling over her question.

 

“When Kazimierz receives a call to arms by the pashas,” he finally said, “Trade with foreign caravans is also forbidden to retain resources for the war. Perhaps your kingdom did something similar.”

 

Marianne mulled over his words, before finding the trade ledger and flipping it open. It only took her a moment to confirm Markusz’s words - the caravans they traded with sold in the neighbouring realms of Remscheid and Schwerin. It made sense; once the crown forbade trading with foreign realms, they were forced to sell to the capital directly, at an artificially lower price.

 

To balance this, the amount of coin they reinvested into their holdings decreased until it hit a stable number which Marianne took to be the bare minimum. After all, their peasants didn’t personally earn any coin - all the wealth they had was distributed from the House of Schönau itself. In a sense, the Schönaus bought grain from their farmers before selling at an inflated price.

 

Marianne idly wondered if that made them more merchants than nobles.

 

This new arrangement carried on for several more years, leaving their house barely earning a profit. Until seven years ago, when they stopped selling to the capital altogether, and the grain tax was increased drastically. There was only one possible reason; the royal family was bankrupt, and were forcibly increasing the grain tax in order to keep the kingdom’s armies on the field.

 

For so long the war had been raging with no apparent effects in the hinterlands of Reichenau - for it all seemed life still went as it always had. But a closer look at the finances revealed the terrifying truth - Reichenau was a walking corpse, barely held together and fighting thanks to the sacrifices of its nobles and lords.

 

Reichenau was, after all, the Solar Alliance’s frontline with the demons - the eyes of the entire continent were on them - and if there was one thing that Reichers were known for, it was their pride. The kingdom would never reveal even the slightest hint of weakness to either their enemy, or their allies.

 

Even if that meant letting itself rot from inside.

 

Marianne slowly leaned back in disbelief. 

 

The House of Schönau was already scraping the bottom of the barrel, and it must be far from the only house doing so. She finally understood why the Montmollins were so bedevilled with their own appearance - they had spent the past decade hiding the truth from the entire continent, and even successfully doing so. To let the facade slip now… it would be utterly disastrous.

 

But what about the House of Schönau? What about all of the kingdom’s vassal lords? The Montmollins could support the war effort for so long with the help of its bannermen, but what about the bannermen themselves? 

 

Seven years without any revenue - it should be enough to make the House of Schönau collapse. But a brief glance at the ledger confirmed that they were still paying their vassals the bare minimum. Perhaps they could bleed their coffers for a year, maybe even two, but for nearly an entire decade? Marianne could laugh.

 

She leaned forward and perused the records again with single thought; how was her father keeping their house afloat?

 

The divine, it seemed, was to be found in the details.

 

Four years ago, there was a new source of revenue introduced - vassal taxes. The issue was, the Schönaus did not tax their vassals in coin.

 

Then what was this? 

 

Unease built up inside of her. Lord Landolf was a dutiful man, as loyal to the crown as he was to his family. Alas, there was a traitorous thought within her that suggested her father was not as honest a man she always believed he was.

 

“Markusz,” she murmured, “Review all the records from four… six years ago. Search for any discrepancy.”

 

“Leydim,” he looked over a page before flipping back, “From the spring of ten-eighty-seven, the amount of grain harvested was reduced.”

 

“Let me see…” Marianne shifted the ledger over, and confirmed his words.

 

The year of 1087 was a dry season, she remembered. The earth was baked solid and crops wilted in their fields. Every day was sweltering, and Marianne distinctly remembered begging her mother to bring her a nearby river. In the end, her mother relented, and allowed Lady Karla to bring her down there. It was a humorous memory, for it seemed every person in their town had the same idea. In the end, they spent the entire day in the water with all the townsfolk - and Marianne had caught such a terrible chill the next morning that her mother was left equal amounts furious and worried.

 

However, her father has also reported an equally bad harvest for the year after - as well as for the next three of which she was away from home. Which meant her father used the drought of 1087 to renew the usual amount of grain they levied from their farmers, assuring that the crown wouldn’t realise anything was afoot.

 

Marianne palmed her face before cradling her head in despair, resting her elbows on the table. There was no other possibility; her father was selling grain against the law in order to keep their house afloat. And even then, they were still losing more coin than they were earning - which meant this measure was only a desperate attempt to delay their downfall.

 

“Men can do strange things when they are desperate, my lady,” Markusz attempted to comfort her, “This is nothing strange. Your father had your family’s best interests in mind at all times, I am certain.”

 

“It’s… it’s faithless,” she rued, “This… from a man who had always taught me to be dutiful.”

 

“Duty is a virtue, my lady,” Markusz said quietly, “And it is all well that you hold it in your heart. But you must learn that virtues are not kindred things. Have you ever considered that your lord father was simply more dutiful to his family than he was to his liege?”

 

That… Sir Lucien has something similar, she recalled. Something about honour. A thought struck her like a flash of lightning - her father had allowed her to look at the ledgers. He must’ve known that she would’ve realised something was amiss, did he plan for this all along? Why? What lesson did he expect her to learn?

 

That not all virtue was virtuous?

 

Or simply to test her competency?

 

Marianne reviewed the books again to check how much longer would their coffers last with the rate of their loss. After some mental arithmetic, she came to the conclusion that their coffers could still last another three years. Three years for the war to end.

 

“I must speak to my father of this,” she murmured, “But it appears he truly saved our house.”

 

“Is that so?” Markusz leaned back.

 

Marianne nodded, “Our house can stay afloat for three more years. The war is ending soon, and I expect it should be over in a little after a year.”

 

Markusz barked out a laugh, “Did the divines tell you that? Some miracle perhaps? Or have I misjudged your intelligence?”

 

Marianne froze, stunned by the man’s words. What did he mean? The Demon King was dead, and once the news spreads to his armies, they will retreat and the lands they conquered could be reclaimed.

 

“Well, I mustn't be too harsh,” he said, “You have lived your entire life under the shadow of the Demon King. You must think him the root of all evil.”

 

“...Pardon?”

 

“Leydim, how would you react if the King of Reichenau was assassinated, here and now?”

 

“...I would be outraged.”

 

“Would the kingdom surrender to the demons?”

 

“N-No, of course not!” she denied, “We are fighting for the continuation of our realm!”

 

“The First Prince would take the crown and continue his father’s fight, am I correct?”

 

“That’s… right.”

 

Markusz leaned back, raising an eyebrow, “Even if Reichenau does surrender, would the Solar Alliance? We fight on three fronts, the Kingdom of Schwerin against the plague-bearers in the north, the Kingdom of Reichenau against the knife-eared and horned-heads in the west, and the Victorians against the dragon-kin and stout-beards in the south. They most certainly won’t surrender, why would the demons?”

 

“...”

 

“My lady, a good strategist must know how to place themselves in their enemy’s boots,” he continued, “So? You are a demon general, and your king was assassinated. How would you react? I can only think of three reactions.”

 

“First, you raise the bi-coloured flag and surrender, or retreat,” he said, “This is the most unlikely option - because for this to happen it means you have no vested interest in continuing the war other than the order of your king.”

 

“But instead the case?” she tried, “The Demon King is the fulcrum of the invasion. He unified the demon continent and ordered them to invade Vania.”

 

“And how do you know that?” Markusz challenged, “We know nothing of the demons except the name of their continent, and the name of their alliance. Leydim, you know more of the demons than any of us, I will not deny, but how can you be so certain of what you claim?”

 

Marianne… did not know. Even after digging through the deepest recesses of her memory, she could not ascertain why she believed so heartedly that the Demon King unified Gehenna. The only thing she could recall… was sitting at her mother’s feet listening to her tales of the evil demons that have come to take their home… and the Demon King that led them to their shores.

 

Had… had she really unconsciously believed the mere bed-tales her mother always told her to be true?

 

“I… cannot be certain,” she admitted, slumping in her seat.

 

She had completely abandoned looking proper before her guest, Marianne lamented, but she couldn’t find it within herself to try.

 

“Five races,” Markusz mused, “Hundreds of thousands are demons in dozens of armies. And if what you claim is correct, ships filled with settlers sent to our shores to populate our lands. Can a single demon truly accomplish that, if those he was ordering are not willing?”

 

“No,” she whispered.

 

“Second reaction,” he continued, “Would be indifference. We do not know how demons view their king, but we can consider that they are utterly detached from him. After all, they have spent nearly two decades on foreign shores. It is likely that the Demon King’s successor will take his place, and the war will continue.”

 

“And the worst reaction, would be outrage. If the demons truly loved their king, then his death would make him a martyr.”

 

Marianne released a grievous sigh, and Markusz quietened. She understood what he said most clearly - it was likely that their good intentions had just accomplished the direct opposite, and made the war worse. 

 

“So the only thing we may have done, other than make a fool of ourselves… is boost the morale of our people and soldiers?”

 

“It is a terrible truth, but I fear you may be right, my lady.”

 

There was a knock on the door, making her jump in her seat. As she hastily tidied up the table and stacked the books atop one another, Markusz stood up and opened the door.

 

“My lady, dinner has been prepared in the dining hall,” the servant said, “Your family is waiting.”

 

“I will be there in a moment, thank you.” she sighed, “Markusz, I must have you swear this conversation to absolute secrecy.”

 

The akıncı knelt abruptly, “Upon me, leydim. May the divines take my soul should I ever speak a word, even to those I hold dear.”

 

Her eyes widened. The divines were not to be taken lightly, for they were proud beings who would never let their names be tarnished. Invoking them in an oath was considered the epitome of faith, and extremely foolhardy. Not only because you may never know if you may break it at unawares, but also because you may never know how the divines would react. Nevertheless, Marianne was utterly grateful.

 

Markusz helped her place all the books back onto the shelves while Marianne hastily folded up her papers and stuffed them down her dress, before making their way downstairs. Her father, mother, and brother were already at the table, along with Hirzyk. And to her surprise, Marie and her mother were there too, though Margareta looked wholly uncomfortable sitting at the table. 

 

Lady Karla was standing near the door, and upon seeing her the governess sent her a most deathly glare. Marianne winced, it seems her old tutor still hasn’t forgiven her foolhardy actions - and now, Marianne could confidently say she shared her sentiments. She wasn’t sure if she was able to forgive herself either.

 

After they sat down, the table wasted no time before digging into the food. 

 

“A raven arrived from the capital,” father mentioned between bites, “The Crown will not pardon you.”

 

“A shame,” Hirzyk commented while feeding Jadwiga, “But unfortunately expected.”

 

“So, what will you do?” her father asked.

 

“What… will I do?” Marianne furrowed her brows in thought.

 

What did he mean? Was she not expected to remain in Schönau? Wasn’t that the duty her father expected of her?

 

Duty, what was her duty?

 

“I wish to go to Grenzmark, father,” she said.

 

The noisy clattering of silverware reached her ears, and Marianne glanced over to see Margareta hastily collected her fork off her plate. Next to her, Marianne’s mother held her cutlery in a deathly grip, though her lips remained pressed together.

 

Lord Landolf smiled thinly, “Why?”

 

“I will be of no use here,” she reasoned, “And I still wish to serve the realm to the best of my ability. I have recently come to the understanding of my own shallowness, and I believe witnessing the war firsthand would do well for me.”

 

“Even if you are forbidden from entering the royal demesne,” her mother rasped, “Why must you go to such a dangerous place, Maria?”

 

“Because it is far away from here,” Marianne insisted, “You must disinherit me, father. And send me away to somewhere I cannot make trouble. Only then will your name be cleared, and our house’s tarnish be cleaned.”

 

“Maria!” mother put down her cutlery, “You are not our house’s tarnish! We have never considered you-”

 

“But I am, mother,” she pleaded, “As long as I remain here, I will only be a burden. Even if you do not disown me, at least send me away so you can vindicate yourselves in the eyes of the realm!”

 

The entire table was silent, and only then did Marianne realise she had stood up. Slowly lowering herself back to her seat, she dared not meet any of their gazes.

 

“Maria,” Lord Landolf said quietly, “What had you found out in my solar?”

 

Marianne resisted flinching, forcing herself into a veneer of calm as she took out the papers she had stowed away. After taking them, her father unfolded them and took a single glance before putting them away in his coat.

 

“Very well,” he finally said.

 

“Dear-” her mother cried.

 

He swiftly silenced her with a raised hand, “I will send you away, but I will not disinherit you. Nor will I send you to Grenzmark.”

 

“T-Then…?”

 

“I will send you to your granduncle, in Nordenstein.”

 

“Granduncle?” Marianne realised she did not know much about her family.

 

“I will allow you to read our family chronicle,” her father said, “In any case, Nordenstein is on the frontlines of the war, just as you wished. However, it would do well for my conscience should you be in the safe hands of family.”

 

“Nordenstein is in northern Schwerin,” Markusz said, “Kurt Jan Pasha commands the Kazimierzi banners there. How about you, Lady Margareta, what will you do?”

 

“If the lord permits it,” Margareta said quietly, “Then I would wish to remain here.”

 

“I permit it,” Lord Landolf said gruffly.

 

“Are you leaving, Miss Marie?” Marie asked with wide eyes.

 

“I am, Fräulein,” she answered, “But I will return here to visit from time to time, so you will still see much of me.”

 

“Hmm,” Marie scrunched her face cutely, “Alright!”

 

Marianne noticed Hirzyk and Markusz coming to an unspoken agreement from the corner of her eye, before Hirzyk opened his mouth.

 

“My lord, I would wish to send a raven to Grenzmark to notify our master of such; Markusz and I will escort the Lady Marianne to Nordenstein and join Kurt Pasha’s kolordu.”

 

“Then it is decided,” her father nodded, “Maria, I will have a squadron of guardsmen assigned to you. Pack all your belongings as soon as possible, you must reach Nordenstein before winter sets in.”

 

“Understood, father.”

 

As they polished off their dinner in silence, Marianne reassured herself of her actions. This was, after all, the very least she could do. For if there was something she knew, it was that she had a duty.

 

A duty to serve her family to the best of her ability.