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Chapter 4: Cash or Kinship?
🕑 Added 2024-12-02 05:48:13 +0000 UTCWillem, Dirk, and the van Brugh’s majordomo rode horses across the road. It was an opportunity to see and understand this land better than he could’ve inside that stuffy stone fortress. Looking back, it was quite the imposing structure—it stood atop a hill not far from a valley, where there were several other fortifications built to receive invaders. This territory was highly fortified. According to the maps Willem had reached, this barony bordered land simply labelled ‘Avaria’ in every document and map. It was a hostile nation, apparently. Information was scarce.
“Does moving faster spark any interest, young lord?” Dirk suggested to Willem. “It’s freezing.”
“Is it?” Willem studied Dirk, who was shivering. “I feel fine. Perhaps your childlike physique is holding you back.”
“What?” Dirk’s question embodied confusion, then he continued indignantly, “You have aura. Your body is always in the best shape it can be, unlike the rest of us.”
Willem removed his puffy overshirt and tossed it at Dirk. The man caught it, nearly falling off his horse to do so, and looked at it in confusion.
“There. Wear that.” Willem felt the cold wind drifting through his thin undershirt, but as Dirk said, the cold didn’t seem to affect his warmth at all. “I want to look around, I haven’t ridden a horse in ages, and we don’t want to frighten the zoo by moving too quickly.” He looked back to the escort behind them.
Lennard had sent a tremendously large entourage of knights to follow Willem, and the majordomo stuck near them. It certainly didn’t feel like this group was sent for their safety—rather, Lennard was probably concerned Willem would run off. It made a certain sense… and if this place was dangerous, those men could keep them safe. He couldn’t complain too much.
“Thank you,” Dirk spoke uneasily, putting the shirt on. When he was done, he studied Willem with some concern. “Do you really mean to go through with this disinheritance, young lord?”
The shirt was far too large for Dirk, and Willem laughed through his nose in amusement. “I never lie, Dirk. You’ll never hear a falsehood from my lips. Maybe a joke, but I try to make those obvious for the simpletons among us.”
Dirk seemed skeptical of that claim about his honesty, but continued, “Because if we go into that building…” he pointed ahead, where what looked like an outhouse stood on an elevated platform. “You’ll meet the magistrate assigned by the king’s Cabinet. Members of the Cabinet wields the authority of the king. Getting a decree from a magistrate overturned is as difficult as wrestling an ogre.”
Willem turned his head back, and then retrieved the paper bearing Lennard’s signature. He reread the contract once more, doing undue diligence. “Dirk…” He looked at the man. “You’ve read the number, right?”
“I have.” Dirk nodded. “A little over six thousand gold coins. That could pay my salary for eighty years.”
“Yes. In silver coins, seventy-two thousand. Assuming the one-to-twelve exchange ratio I read about stays true, that is.” Willem inhaled. “It’s all liquid. Not tied up in real estate, not reliant on someone’s death—just hard currency. And you’re wondering if I got the bad deal?”
Dirk saw his point, but felt the need to argue his own. “This barony is massive, young lord—I doubt I need to remind you. Far to the south, there’s the summer palace. Deeper in the valley, there’s the Eaglefort. On the eastern coast, you’ve the small port of Geldirn. All of them belong to your father—all of them with over a hundred of the best knights in the kingdom sworn to their service.” Willem looked south, to the heart of the kingdom. “Not even the four grand duchies can claim to have better soldiers than House van Brugh. You’d forfeit your right to any of that.”
“I’ve read this is one of the most active haunts for man-eating beasts.” Willem looked around.
“None a match for an aura user,” Dirk argued. “But yes. Griffons and rocs plague the mountains. There’s at least one lich of the thirty your father failed to kill in the Grand Crusade, ten years ago. Giants and ogres sometimes—”
“And the lord of those places has to fight those things, right?” Willem shook his head. “He has to maintain these knights sworn in his service, has to collect taxes from the people, has to take orders from whoever in the hierarchy outranks him? And worst of all—has to defend against invading nations?”
“…there’s quite a bit of downtime, as you’ve seen,” Dirk pointed out. “And you fight for the glory and honor of the king.”
Willem laughed. “Would you like to die for some king you’ve never seen?”
Dirk looked back to the knights in a panic, but fortunately none seemed to have heard. “People have died for saying less.”
“Well, that proves my point.” Willem shrugged. “I keep the name, get an exorbitant payout, and I’m freed of all responsibility to fight.”
“The responsibility, perhaps, but not the reason to. Avaria is a cruel master,” Dirk continued quietly. “They worship an eight-headed god, sacrifice people to the ice, and maintain entire cities of slaves.”
Willem looked curious. “How do you sacrifice to the ice? Icicle to the throat?”
“They shackle people into basins filled with water, then leave them overnight to freeze.” Dirk shook his head. “I’m told they collect bodies for shrines in this manner. They’re attempting to make the world colder so that they might thrive.”
“You’re saying the Avarians are responsible for global cooling?” Willem laughed heartily.
“It’s no laughing matter! Their shrines are emitting an energy into the air that makes the birds g—"
“I’ve read all the horror stories about their shrines. The accounts seem dreadfully biased, but I will say they don’t sound like the most pleasant culture.” Willem looked at the fortresses, at the vast patrols of footmen and cavalrymen. “Still, I think I can better serve the world elsewhere.”
“You’re an aura user of the famed House van Brugh. You’d be a welcome addition to any household around the whole kingdom.” Dirk exhaled, his breath leaving mist in the air. “It’s just unusual.”
“Who got far in life being usual?” Willem asked pointedly.
They stopped at the stairs leading up to the elevated platform. Willem dismounted just as Dirk did, then led his horse to a nearby post meant for keeping their mounts safe. Willem tied a terrible tie, and then Dirk fixed it when he’d turned away.
“Small door,” Willem noted, walking up the stairs. “Is it a booth of some kind? Do we talk through a horn?”
“You’ve never been?” Dirk joined Willem walking up the stairs. “We’re on the roof, now—that cabinet leads inside.”
Willem looked perplexed, but he tried the doors of the cabinet. He looked greatly confused when the space within seemed infinitely larger than what the cabinet should support. He looked around the back, then at Dirk, questioningly.
“What? It’s only a portal,” Dirk said like Willem was acting foolish.
“Right.” Willem looked ahead, deciding this was beyond his understanding. He merely walked inside.
***
“So, why the name Cabinet?” Willem asked the man leading him downward.
After passing through the cabinet, they arrived at the top step of a spiral stairway. Willem was near-certain that this was the inside of the building that the cabinet had been placed atop. Now, he followed his escort to meet the magistrate, passing by lamps who glowed with the light of magic.
The young man in clothes ill-suited for this cold place looked at Willem strangely. “Are you genuinely asking?”
“Did I sound sarcastic? Yes,” Willem answered.
“Ah, well…” The man adjusted his collar uneasily. “Some centuries ago, King Carolus put out the Decree of the Repossession of the Royal Cabinet. It mandated that any mage taking permanent or semi-permanent residency within the kingdom was a part of his personal cabinet.”
“…meaning?” Willem pressed.
The man laughed, more out of nervousness than any genuine amusement. “…to be part of the cabinet is to be the king’s direct subject, and thus under his direct authority. It was a power grab, plain and simple. But the guildmaster of the then-named Arcane Association chose to rename his organization to ‘Royal Cabinet,’ and blatantly ignored the king’s orders. Most mages flocked to the organization, loathing the idea of surrendering freedom. After near a decade of standoff, in which war felt inevitable… King Carolus eventually died.”
“Ah. The old, ‘wait for them to die’ strategy.” Willem nodded. “I’ve done that a few times myself.”
The man looked mortified, casting glances at Willem. Perhaps if Willem could actually be self-conscious, he’d realize the man thought he was talking about Baron Tielman.
“But Dirk said the Cabinet actually does have the king’s authority.” Willem looked over. “What’s changed?”
“These days…” The man shook his head. “It’s less of a joke. The decree that caused all this was overturned, but it didn’t matter. The affront to the crown’s authority was already made. Successive kings were more energetic, and successive guildmasters markedly less so. Now, our organization genuinely does serve the crown.” He sighed. “It’s impossible to learn magic in peace without being in the Royal Cabinet.”
They reached the end of the long spiral stairway. His escort beckoned him.
“In here?”
“Indeed,” the man dipped his head. “I’ll wait here for your departure.”
Willem didn’t hesitate in pushing through the door. Awaiting him was an office. Just as with the cabinet, this place seemed impossible to fit into the space that it resided within. The place was bright and sparkly, and housed a great deal of books and strange creatures in jars.
At the end of the room, there was a desk. A bald woman sat behind it, wearing elaborate clothes that seemed impractical. The feather collar, in particular, looked like it’d get stuck on doors. Across from her were two chairs—one held Hans, while the other sat empty.
“Brother,” Hans greeted. “Lennard sent me here to watch, make sure you actually signed the document. I never much liked taking orders, especially not from dull people like our eldest.”
“No, indeed,” the magistrate said.
“But I did want to talk to you,” Hans finished, then looked at her. “Could you allow us a moment of privacy?”
The magistrate sighed as if it was annoying. She held her hands near her ears, and light gleamed around them. She pulled her ears free of her head, opened a drawer, and tossed them in before recklessly slamming it shut. Thereafter she retrieved two metal balls, slotting them into place where her ears had been.
“What’s with the circus act?” Willem pointed as she began to write on paper, showing an attitude of complete disinterest.
“Our dear magistrate prefers grand displays of magic over walking a few feet away to give us privacy.” Hans smiled at him. “But speaking of acts… what’re you planning, here?”
“Fire exit, seems like,” Willem said. “Get out before everything burns down.”
Hans laughed. “Sure, sure. But…” He looked back, studying the magistrate. “As you know, I’ve always had good relations with the Cabinet. And we both know that Lennard is dumb as rocks. I’ve been calling him the Goldrain Knight six, seven years now, and he doesn’t realize it was a joke at his expense. He still proudly shouts it every chance he gets. But you? You’re smart, Willem. People walk in fear of you, just like they do father. You’re a better swordsman than he was at your age. Me? I’m younger than you—I’m no obstacle.” He held his arms out. “You see it, right? The possibilities.”
“If you’re no obstacle, why are you chatting instead of watching me confirm the damn contract?” Willem walked forward, shaking his head. “Honestly, you people…”
“All I’m saying is, I’m on your side,” Hans insisted. “Whatever comes.”
Willem tapped the magistrate’s desk to get her attention, and she popped her ears back into her head. “All done?”
“All done,” Willem confirmed. “Ready to confirm the disinheritance.”
***
“Yeah, I watched him do it.” Hans played with the armrest of the chair he sat in, Lennard across from him with a metal goblet. “First, though, I baited him. Tried to act like I was on his side, so that maybe he’d tell me his plans. But it was all nonsense. Like I said, I’m your side, Lennard.”
Lennard drank some of the wine. “Really?”
“Of course,” Hans insisted, releasing the ponytail on his head so his hair splayed out. “People walk in fear of you, just like they do father. You’re better than he was at your age. Me? I’m younger than you. I’m no—”
“No, he really did it? No words, no theatrics?” Lennard cut a hand through the air. “Just like that? Disinherited?”
Hans popped his knuckles. “Yep. The magistrate has the papers.”
“What in the name of the goddess is he doing?” Lennard swirled his wine, staring into it. “Is Avaria coming? Does he know something we don’t?”
“Avaria’s been quiet after dad’s Grand Crusade. They don’t have the slaves to fight us, not anymore.” Hans shrugged. “Even with dad down, they couldn’t break the border. A civil war might do it… and Willem is leaving. Maybe he’ll get someone else to help him.”
“But he’s going to Gent,” Lennard said in disbelief. “House van der Duyn’s military is just terrible. Count Ventura died to a griffon—can you even believe that?”
“Their aura’s weak. No martial background, either. Maybe Willem intends to offer his services.” Hans shrugged. “Still, if you’re worried about trouble… maybe I could stop him from taking the agreed payment.”
“No. Absolutely not,” Lennard set his goblet down forcefully, and wine splashed over. “If you make an agreement, you keep it. He gets his coin. That document he signed makes any claim he has to anything in House van Brugh worthless.”
“It is a lot of coin…” Hans said tactfully. “Mother helped saved that over many years.”
“Have you ever seen father cheat someone?” Lennard looked over. “Ever seen him go back on his word?”
“I’ve seen him get cheated plenty,” Hans pointed out.
“And he endured, overcame.” Lennard drank wine. “Willem’s a demon. A beast. A brute. Paying him that much to go away? It’s a fine deal. Just a fine deal.”
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Comments
Josiah Henderson
I'm glad to see this story again :)
