Chapter 48

Jean-Pierre was having a terrible day, and it was not even noon.

“‘Join the revolution’, you said,” he complained to his old friend. “‘You’ll get good food and wine. Loot from mansions,’ even.”

Claude carefully chewed on his rock-hard piece of jerky. “No pain, no gain.”

“We’ve had a lot of pain for no damned gain,” Jean-Pierre hissed, pulling on his increasingly ragged sleeve to make a point. “Look around you! We’re a band of failed marauders, at best.”

“Marauders wouldn’t have these.” Claude lifted the large breechloader from his lap with a broad grin. The shiny new gun contrasted sharply with his missing teeth and dirty shirt.

“And how many times did we get to use them, hmm?”

“...Once.”

“While running away from a fucking knight.”

“Well, yes.”

“He killed Étienne and Nicolas.”

“They knew what they signed up for.”

Jean-Pierre scoffed and drank a sip of the disgusting liquor someone had distilled in the field using a captured officer’s samovar, two musket barrels, and a looted cavalry breastplate. The men called it Liberty Water. It sure as hell didn’t taste like it.

“Get up, boys, we’ve got orders,” the Captain shouted through the camp. A chorus of grumbling erupted from all sides, but after an hour of concerted effort, all important things were packed up.

“I wonder where we’re going this time. Looks like we’re marching south.”

“I couldn’t care less at this point, Claude. I just want to go home.”

“Go home and do what? Keep building the shitty road, eating a single bowl of slimy gruel a day?”

“I could buy my father’s farm back with this,” Jean-Pierre said, showing off the only interesting piece of loot he had claimed so far, a shiny golden medal.

“Bullshit. They’ll just take it from you and put you back to work.”

As much as Jean-Pierre hated to admit it, Claude was right. The farm was gone, the best chance of ever getting it back would be to get this ‘revolution’ over with. But that seemed like a tall ask at this point.

They had gotten word from the North, where the revolutionaries had not only captured the king, but also most of his court. Here in the South, things were looking decidedly different. The dukes were fighting like cornered dogs, throwing everything they had at the people’s hastily assembled regiments. Jean-Pierre had heard terrible things – boys as young as ten fitted with pikes, women used as shields. It fit everything he knew about aristocrats, so it wasn’t hard to believe.

“Eh, what’s that?” Claude suddenly piped up.

Jean-Pierre followed his pointing finger to the next hill. It looked like…

“That’s another battalion,” he realized with a racing heart. “We’ll probably join up with them.”

“...We’re going into a real battle, aren’t we?” Claude asked, face suddenly a few shades whiter.

Jean-Pierre said nothing.

= = = = =

Arnold von Hohenfels, son and heir of the Margrave of Hohenfels, was having a terrible day, and it was not even noon.

Ever since the news from Francia had arrived, a veil of anger and anxiety had settled over the academy grounds. Even the Hohenfels refectory was hard to stomach for his senses, so he had his food delivered to his suite. He found himself joined by the only person who exuded eagerness rather than worry – his cousin.

“–and then we should cross the mountains at Aubremont to join forces with the Duke of–”

“We are not going to war, Fritz.”

“I know, I know. But it is fun to plan for, right?”

While Arne privately disagreed, he did not mind Friedrich spending his energy on hypothetical scenarios instead of causing trouble outside. Especially now that Arne himself was mostly confined to his chambers, the library, and Professor Nowak’s office.

“So, what do you think Uncle Arnold will do?” Friedrich finally asked once his capacity to plan had run dry.

Arne sighed. “The question is more what Mother will do. I suspect we will get a letter before long, detailing exactly whom to talk to and whom to avoid.”

“You’re avoiding the topic,” Friedrich stated bluntly.

“Well, of course,” Arne sighed. “If I tell you what I suspect he will do, you will take it as a matter of fact. Then you’ll tell Sieglinde, who will tell her friends, who will tell the entire academy.”

While Friedrich quietly sulked over his lamb cutlets, Arne leaned back and took a sip of his wine. He missed beer – the silklings called it a drink for peasants, but they had never tasted the divine brew coming out of Soltach’s monastery.

Things would become very hectic very soon. While he refused to entertain Friedrich’s curiosity, Arne had a pretty good idea what was going to happen. The Emperor would call to arms, and Father would most likely extort concessions from him, perhaps even dukedom. Then, Hohenfels’ knights would ride to the West for the first time in centuries.

Lisa would lead them, most likely. Distinguishing herself even more, which would in turn further Arne’s dream of not being the heir anymore. That, however, left the question of what to do about the Khanate. ‘Maybe Father will pull me out of the academy and back on the saddle of my warhorse,’ Arne hoped against hope.

Loud, repeated knocking on the door ripped him out of his pleasant daydreams.

“What is it? Oh, good morning, Uncle Hartmut!”

“I hope you’re done eating,” the Castellan of Hohenfels Hall said urgently. “The Adelar has just docked at the harbor.”

Arne physically flinched. “Pardon?”

“Lady Elisabeth will arrive at the gates soon. You should prepare.”

‘She’s way too early!’

Friedrich was similarly flabbergasted, so Arne slapped his shoulder. “Uniform. Now. We need to be at the gates five minutes ago.”

They turned up at the gates just as a convoy of carriages rounded the corner up ahead. The rapidly gathering onlookers’ attention, however, fell on the cavalry squadron leading them.

The massive Eastern warhorses looked like giants next to the common animals pulling the carts. They were clad in ceremonial armor, nostrils steaming with barely restrained power. The first riders bore large banners, the red eagle of Hohenfels announcing the arrival of Lady Paladin Elisabeth.

Friedrich bellowed an order, and the provisional House Guard arranged itself behind Arne, who was doing his best to ignore the waves of awe and curiosity sweeping over the grand plaza.

Upon reaching the gates, the ranks of the knights split apart to reveal the Paladin on her own warhorse, a mountain of muscle called Berengar. She very deliberately passed the gates on horseback, then dismounted in one practiced movement, cavalry saber rattling on her hip. A brief, unladylike bow, perfectly measured to deliver just enough deference and just enough pride.

“Prince Arnold.”

“Lady Paladin,” he bowed back.

Then, her neutral mien lightened, and she gave him a brief smile. “I brought a surprise. Armin?”

One of the knights waiting outside climbed off his horse and disappeared behind the carriages. Moments later, he returned, leading warhorses on each hand.

“Hadumar!” Arne immediately recognized his own warhorse, no less in stature than Lisa’s. Beside him was Wulfgar, Friedrich’s battle-crazed beast of a mount.

“Come, join me,” Lisa said, mounting back up. Arne took Hadumar’s reins with barely restrained excitement and swung himself into the saddle. The familiar discomfort reminded him of many hours riding through the steppes, hunter and hunted at the same time. He could feel his horse’s muted aura pulse with reciprocal content.

“You too, Friedrich,” she added, though there was a bit of steel in her voice and aura, something that the man in question immediately noticed. His face lost a few shades of color, but his poise remained impeccable as he climbed on his steed.

The powerful horses carried them to Hohenfels Hall much faster than the crowd could keep up, lifting a great weight from Arne’s mind. They rode a few loops around the dormitory to give themselves and the horses a few moments of peace, then brought them to the stables.

Arne briefly considered the logistics involved in feeding the warhorses of an entire cavalry squadron at the academy. Hadumar alone devoured the feed of a dozen common horses, and Wulfgar needed even more…

‘Though I suppose Father has bigger things to worry about right now.’

And in case the logistics failed, they could just go out on a hunt.

“Young Lady– No, Princess Elisabeth,” the Castellan greeted upon them entering Hohenfels Hall. “It is good to see you again.”

“Likewise, Lord Hartmut,” Lisa returned. “Let us have a chat later. For now, I need to talk to my brother and cousin, in private.”

“As you wish.”

“Oh, and see that the present is delivered to us once it arrives,” she added. Lord Hartmut nodded with a smile. Amusement. Content.

‘I wonder what else she brought. It seems like Uncle knows what it is already.’

Arne did not have to wonder for long. Just as they settled down in his suite’s lounge, the Castellan reappeared with a bundle of black fur in his arms. He set it down on the floor and it unfurled into a small, four-legged creature with a wagging tail, black as tar.

Lord Hartmut closed the door again, leaving Arne to process the ‘present’. “...A dog?”

“Indeed,” Lisa grinned, her earlier poise replaced by the older sister he much preferred. “A Karpathian boarhound. I bought him in Vargyas. He is yours now.” Joy. Pride.

“Thank you,” he said, not quite sure what to do. He settled on patting the puppy’s head, which it thankfully allowed after sniffing his hand. “A hunting breed?”

“Yes. As the name implies, bred for boar hunting.”

“So he’ll get bigger.”

“Much bigger.”

“Is he…”

“He should be ready now,” Lisa preened. “I fed him well on the journey.”

Arne immediately took a hunting knife from a drawer, then paused. “Does he have a name already?”

“Not yet.”

“All right.” Arne considered that briefly, then pulled the sharp blade across his palm and offered it to the dog. “You are Raban.”

As the young dog licked up the blood, Arne felt his magic churn. A small part of it left his body through the wound, and soon, Raban had consumed enough. A shudder went through the dog’s body as its own magic ignited, binding it to Arne forevermore.

“Well done,” Lisa praised. “That was fast.”

A small wave of envy reminded Arne that Friedrich was still around.

‘He’s waiting for his own present, isn’t he?’

Lisa had come to the same conclusion, and gave him a blank look. He immediately shrank back, aura spiking with panic.

“I have something for you as well, Fritz. Stand up.”

Reluctance. Fear. Regret.

“Stand. Up.”

He did. Lisa walked closer at a leisurely pace, and Arne could see his cousin’s nostrils flare in horror.

“You absolute fool,” she said, voice and aura tinged with disappointment.

Her fist impacted his solar plexus, and he crumpled to the ground unconscious, blood trickling out of his mouth.

Lady Paladin Elisabeth von Hohenfels turned her head towards her younger brother.

“Let’s have a long talk, Arne.”