Chapter 16 16: the Bretonian threat

I would appreciate it if you could post reviews about what you think of the story so far. ------------------------------- Working for the rich—those who just sought amusement—was the real business. The nobles fought to find someone with the right knowledge to guarantee them a successful hunt, so they could brag to their friends and rivals about how brave they were for killing a few beastmen. I didn't care about keeping my mouth shut, as long as they paid me well to take them to the best hunting spots—safe places where they could puff up their egos and boast about their victories. The hunt lasted nearly another month, and although my job was simple, something in the air told me it all had an expiration date. And, to my dismay, the Margrave eventually decided to call off the hunt, claiming that thousands of beastmen had been taken down by the noble forces involved in the event. The makeshift marketplace that had formed around the needs of the nobles began to disperse once word spread that the Margrave was withdrawing his troops. That meant most of the security in the area was also leaving. The soldiers were moved toward Osburg to prevent any kind of retaliation from the beastmen after the Margrave's protection disappeared. It was a heavy blow for those who arrived late—surprisingly, some of the biggest players had shown up in the final weeks of the hunt. Mostly nobles with deep pockets who had no issue paying for my services, knowing that every hunt I guided ended in success. In several of them, we even managed to take down minotaurs, which gave them even greater prestige. This job was much easier when the rich brought well-armed escorts with them. All I had to do was stick to my routine: survey the land, recommend the best spots, and keep hidden. Then, I let the noble take all the glory while I got paid for each successful hunt. I could see the satisfaction on their faces as their egos swelled—and my coin purse did too. Speaking of money, I managed to fill a medium chest with about seven hundred gold crowns. I'd earned even more than that, but I started spending nearly as fast as I earned it. A better saddle, a fine dwarven dagger, paying a professional tailor to help improve my camouflage gear, properly adjusting the cloth for my horse... And, well, I finally bought that dwarven arquebus I had my eye on. But when I practiced firing it for the first time, I nearly went deaf. Clearly, that thing was probably the number one cause of ruined eardrums. Using it required at least some kind of hearing protection. And well, if your ears are blocked, you can't hear orders. So the poor bastards who have to use those things probably go deaf within a few months, if they're lucky. Despite the pain, the arquebus had its appeal. The accuracy was impressive, but the vibration and blast were a curse. There was no way to use it effectively in the middle of combat unless you were ready for the side effects. The hunt continued, and while the nobles enjoyed their luxurious banquets, I stayed away from those feasts. I couldn't join in the grand celebrations, but that didn't mean I couldn't eat well. The cooks working for the nobles, although focused on preparing the finest dishes for them, also sold leftovers to those who could afford them—people like me, still in the camp. So, I went to them and bought some decent food. It wasn't as refined as what they served at the banquets, but it was still tasty... if you could detect any flavor under the explosion of spices covering everything. I tried pigeon stuffed with mushrooms, drenched in garlic butter. The meat was juicy, and the garlic gave it a deep, satisfying flavor that I enjoyed. There was also Reik river fish soup, thick and seasoned with pepper. The taste was intense, and while I wasn't fond of excessive spices, it was still edible. One of the most common dishes was venison and boar marinated in mushroom sauce and salt, then roasted and coated in a layer of spices that formed a black crust. It was flavorful, but the sheer amount of seasoning ruined the true taste of the meat, which could've been much more enjoyable if not drowned in condiments. Even if it wasn't what I had hoped for, I spent a good portion of my earnings on that food. I didn't want to go back to eating potatoes, carrots, and banquet scraps. At least during those days, I ate well—and so did my mare, who, with all the constant exercise, needed to be fed carrots, apples, and wheat grain regularly to stay in shape for the outings. However, when we returned to Helmgart, I couldn't help but feel a bit of sorrow at having to go back to servant work, obeying orders after having enjoyed so much freedom... especially knowing I had a decent stash of gold saved up. Joachim was a man of his word, at least in that regard. I never had to clean the latrines again, nor shovel horse shit. But many of my duties were replaced with simpler tasks, like frequently serving wine or carrying the standard when the Margrave administered justice in the city. Life, although calmer, became more rigid and at times monotonous. Still, I'd earned a bit of respect—and some freedom—in the process. During training, I stood out more and more, since I didn't have to waste energy on hours of hard labor moving things or cleaning filth. Despite the long hours standing next to the Margrave's family, I always showed up full of energy. And as expected, I regularly wiped the floor with both the old and new pages who had arrived. I used the fear they had of me, taking full advantage of my greater height compared to the rest. That edge gave me a dominant position, and I didn't hesitate to use it, being rough when necessary. Another duty that changed was that I was now allowed to attend the private balls held at the fortress—though only as a cupbearer. I didn't participate in the dancing or conversations, but my presence was essential, serving a horde of nobles who drank wine as if tomorrow didn't exist. I could hear all kinds of nonsense, from comments about how ridiculous a piece of clothing looked to darker, subtler talk—like when someone mentioned emptying a vial into another's cup and waiting to see what happened. I also noticed how certain one-night hunters moved between the circles, looking for new prey or boasting shamelessly about past conquests. One evening, while I was acting as cupbearer at the family dinner, serving the noble members of the fortress lord's kin, one of the Margrave's brothers was chewing a piece of meat noisily. "You know... Reinhardt, I spoke with the captain of the border guard today, and he told me..." He took a sip of wine, not losing his composure. "He said there was a skirmish with the Bretonnians... we lost twelve men and have no idea how many we killed," he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "More wine," he added, showing little concern for the matter. I walked slowly over to him, bowed slightly, and refilled his cup, hoping what followed would be more sensible. The Margrave waited in silence until I had poured the wine for his brother before speaking. "Oh... just like that, business as usual. By Sigmar, you bastard, at least stop stuffing your face while delivering this kind of news! How long ago was the skirmish... and why haven't I been informed yet?" the Margrave snapped, slamming his fist on the table, causing the cups to rattle. His brother, with little more than a shrug, seemed indifferent to the reaction. "Last night. One of the patrols guarding the border was chasing a group of bandits operating in the area and got attacked by a group of Bretonnian knights and their men-at-arms. A handful of survivors made it back after the fight. So, what do you plan to do?" he asked. "We're going to punish those bastards where it hurts. We'll strike hard, then ask for a conversation with the Duke of Montfort. But first, we'll put a few of his knights to the sword," said the Margrave, his voice colder and harder than I'd ever heard it before. The room remained tense as the meal continued, the Margrave with clenched fists, visibly furious at the news. The atmosphere in the hall shifted. He tried to return to eating, but eventually set his utensils down and stood up with an impatient gesture. "Cupbearer, with me. I'm going to need a lot to drink," he said, still visibly seething. I followed him, carrying the wine jug in my hands. Through the winding hallways of the fortress, I accompanied him in silence, listening to him curse the Bretonnians over and over. Every word out of his mouth was soaked in fury, and it was clear the recent skirmish had shaken him more than he was willing to admit. We arrived at a chamber filled with maps, and the Margrave placed his cup on a table. He signaled for me to serve him. As I poured, he began to sift through map after map, looking for the right one. It seemed he was scanning for places where Bretonnians had camps—abandoned or possibly taken over by orcs. Every location he pointed at became a marked target for vengeance, and his eyes gleamed with the thirst for retribution. "Albrecht... want to take part?" the Margrave asked, turning to me after deciding where to strike. "If you'll allow me, I've got a few toys I want to try out—courtesy of our friend from the mountains," I said as I refilled his cup. "I was planning to wait until you turned eleven, but to hell with formality. Fine. From now on, you're a squire. I'll be sending some of my knights there. Your job will be to serve them and help with their armor, horses, weapons, and food. And if you behave yourself, you might get close enough to observe—or even try out that dwarven gun you bought. With luck, you'll drop one of those dogs," said the Margrave, taking the jug from my hands and signaling me to leave. I left the chamber rather pleased, knowing I'd get to leave the fortress once more. Polishing armor, making sure swords were properly oiled—it was far better than spending the whole day watching nobles play their little social games while I served as a glorified wine boy. That night, I prepared all the gear I'd need for the hunt. Winter was approaching fast, and I knew my old camouflage wouldn't be worth much. I'd have to make a new one, which meant looking for fresh pigments—a headache, for sure. But what I did have for certain was my dwarven spear and arquebus, along with the black powder vials I'd acquired, which could prove useful in the hunt. With any luck, I'd bring something down. In the months following the big hunt, I managed—using beeswax and some cloth—to craft a type of earplug. It would probably let me fire the arquebus without going deaf. Definitely a meaningful improvement, even if I wasn't sure it would work perfectly.