Adhemar's POV ***

 

Count Adhemar listened with hungry eagerness as his herald recounted the result of his findings to him. Every now and then, his brows would furrow thoughtfully and he would follow the gesture with a deep sigh. A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes, in that moment, he was like a hound hot on the scent of a prey.

 

“Are you certain of this?” asked the count, tightening his knuckles to keep his excitement contained.

 

“Yes,” Germaine replied, firmly. “I was there myself. The house he claimed to serve denied his allegiance. Duke Gusebe never even heard the name before. The house governor knew of him only by reputation but also denied the house ever having sworn him to their duke.”

 

“Ha!” Count Adhemar scoffed. “And they recognized mine when you mentioned it?”

 

“They were in the stronghold of fear when I mentioned your name,” Germaine replied his eyes lighting up as he did. “I have never seen anything like it. You are treated in high regard, my lord.”

 

“That is alright, Germaine,” said the count, pulling at the overgrown hair about his beard. “Let’s focus on the task at hand. Tell me, why do you think Sir Ulrich lied about serving a house?”

 

“I think that he does not want to swear allegiance to any one house,” said Germaine, “You see how he has the time to fight every tournament? My lord you have been at the battle front of Forheim nearly three years, and a year at Laramere. I think that Sir Ulrich needs the money and fame, but swearing to a house will subject him to the demands of that house.”

 

Count Adhemar bobbed his head. “Working for me has improved your sensibility, Germaine,” he said, “but then, you have had nearly two months on your way back here to think about it. Now, even if you are right about that… wait… what if that is not the only thing Sir Ulrich is hiding?”

 

“What? What do you mean, my count?” asked Germaine, perplexed.

 

“You will go to the places where Sir Ulrich has tendered his patents,” Count Adhemar began, “And you will investigate his ancestry.”

 

“Do you mean that—”

 

“I mean precisely what I said, Germaine,” said Count Adhemar, coldly. “Now, will you begin on my errand or you have other stupid deductions to make?”

 

Germaine gulped loudly. “Right now? I have just arrived from Gelderland!”

 

“Right now, Germaine,” demanded Count Adhemar, “You leave right now. If my hunch proves right, I’d like to clip Sir Ulrich’s wings when he’s in flight.”

 

“You will expose him at a tournament then? There is one at Buddleston three months from now.”

 

“Buddleston is too small a stage for what I have in mind,” said Count Adhemar, cackling. “ Tell the guard at the door to come in.”

 

Germaine bowed timidly and left. A young man in the black armor sworn to the Free Company stepped inside, his sheathed sword at his girdle.

 

He saluted. “My lord, you called for me,” he said.

 

“I want you to fetch me Sir Astor, captain of the army,” ordered Count Adhemar,

 

“Sir Astor is dead,” the lad replied.

 

Count Adhemar froze. “He was with us yesterday.”

 

“He died yesterday.”

 

“How?”

 

“An arrow struck him in the heart, he died immediately.”

 

“Very well,” said Count Adhemar, bobbing. “Back to your post.”

 

The lad saluted and took his leave.

 

Count Adhemar croaked and shuddered. He was losing men, just as much he was taking men. His soul burned with a fiery kind of flame and he rose to his feet.

 

Forhem was renowned for its cold, moist weather, and even at that time rain droplets were still darting around like drunk flies.

 

“It won’t cease, and it won’t fall,” Count Adhemar growled. He stormed past a patrol of officers and went out of the camp, staring at the imposing wall that held he and his men back all this time. The Forhemians defended the walls with their lives, it was either that or they lost their lives anyways.

 

The stone wall ran on side to the cliff and on the other side was unpassable mountain. They would be shot like flies if they even dared to take any of those routes, so how?

 

He looked and noticed a black speck in the sky. Count Adhemar squinted to protect his eyes from the cold rain spraying itself about. He barrel-rolled forward in time to evade the arrow fired at him; the bamboo struck the wet black soil and stood in it. His eyes traced the projectile of the arrow and he saw the archer standing on the wall, tutored by the chief.

 

“You have failed to kill me, but I will not,” he said, turning to his camp. “Prepare to attack!”