Chapter 5

 

        Five days after the Battle of Rheinmark, Rudolf still found himself confined within the castle beside his fellow barons. To the shock of everyone, Avaria had somehow claimed victory over Alemannia, leaving them to retreat back into their existing borders. Even after the near week that had passed, the barons still knew nothing of how this battle unfolded. Each and every battle waged by Avaria would be documented by at least one battle herald, a man with the sole purpose of watching the battlefield and reporting its events to the nobility. However, Count Varen had been in very poor shape since Rudolf’s army arrived. His illness seemed to stem from his anxiety for the battle prior to its happening, but even now it had persisted. Until Varen was back in good health, the herald would not be able to tell his report with a complete audience.

Even without a report, however, certain things had been seen first hand by the sheltered barons. Countless men had been brought inside to the castle’s inner courtyard, lain with deep wounds and cuts. Strangely enough, of the bodies they had seen that were already dead, many had no visible damage on them at all. Despite a victory, it was clear the death toll was still very high. In fact, some of the barons theorized that even if Varen was in his normal state, the herald would not have been done counting casualties yet.

Rudolf himself almost began to fear he would never return home at this rate, not even knowing how many of his men were still alive and able to head back to Holzstadt. On that fifth day, however, as he silently sat beside his peers around the conference table, the noblemen were met with an unexpected arrival.

In the doorway stood Count Dietrich, appearing the way he always did, with no knights at his side. Before he said a word, each of his ten barons rose from their seats in a quick and rigid manner and bowed from the waist. Rudolf, whose seat was nearest to the doorway, greeted him.

“Good day, my Lord Count,” he said.

A faint smile appeared on Dietrich’s face as he nodded his head.

“Hello, Rudolf,” he replied casually before shifting his attention to the room as a whole, “Does anyone know the whereabouts of Varen? I hear the herald is waiting for his appearance.”

“He is ill, my Lord,” Rudolf said, being the only baron comfortable enough to reply to him with such speed. The two of them were more acquainted with each other than most of the other barons, though due to circumstances somewhat unfavorable. Since Dietrich was the second generation Count of Isenburg and many of the barons were not the original lords of their baronies either, none of them had directly acquired their land from him, meaning they had little reason to meet with him aside from situations such as this. Even then, their fear and admiration for the Count kept them in line.

“Well then, why don’t we check in on him?” Dietrich said, “You and me, Rudolf.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Rudolf replied.

Rudolf followed the Count’s lead out into the stone brick hallway, lit only by candles strewn across the walls, for a castle as fortified as Rheinmark’s couldn’t afford to leave openings for arrowfire. Having more familiarity with the castle than Dietrich, he guided him to Varen’s bedchamber, where he had been secluded by his staff, only accompanied by a physician that monitored his condition. When they reached the room’s thick wooden door, they found it was protected by two armed guards, and strangely it had been barred on the outside.

“Excuse us, men,” Dietrich said, “We would like to see Lord Varen.”

The two guards exchanged conflicted glances, seeming to be aware they couldn’t refuse Dietrich’s orders while still understanding it presented an ethical dilemma.

“Very well, my Lord,” one of them said. They grabbed the wooden board that prevented the door from opening and gently leaned it against the wall. The simple nature of the locking mechanism suggested it had been made in a rush, probably done only after Varen had gone ill.

Dietrich stood aside and gestured for Rudolf to enter the room first. Though Rudolf didn’t understand why the Count would make such a gesture, he went ahead nonetheless. With the door open, the interior of the bedchamber was revealed. It was incredibly dim, just like the rest of the castle, with lamps hung from the walls. Against the far wall was a large comfortable looking bed in which Count Varen laid. His skin was pale and his dark long hair was a tangled mess.

“Feeling any better, my Lord?” Rudolf asked him.

Varen continued to toss and turn in the bed with his eyes shut, murmuring to himself.

“...all my fault…all dead…my dignity…” he moaned quietly.

“Lord Varen, the battle is won,” Rudolf said, attempting to comfort him out of his stupor, “There is no need for you to continue worrying.”

With no response from Varen, Rudolf turned his head back to Dietrich, only to be met with a distressed stare from him.

“The battle is won?” he said, seemingly confused.

“Why yes,” Rudolf replied, “You weren’t told that, my Lord? Alemannia has already retreated.

Dietrich, at a loss for words, darted his eyes around at the walls with his mouth slightly agape, as if he were searching for the right response. Finally, he seemed to pull himself together and returned his eye contact to Rudolf.

“You know this for sure?” he asked, “Even before the herald has spoken?”

“Well, if they were still after the castle, surely they would have taken it by now if they won, right?”

Dietrich pursed his lips and briefly stared back at the grieving Varen.

“I suppose that makes sense,” he said before gesturing to the Count, “Well, Varen, I would like to hear more about this battle but it seems to me your… mania… has been slowing us down.”

Varen continued to whisper to himself until suddenly his restlessness came to an ease and he stiffened, looking Dietrich in the eye.

“Dietrich,” he said, his face growing more and more disgruntled, “You disgrace this kingdom!”

“We shall tell the herald to report without him,” Dietrich quickly said to Rudolf, “He is clearly mad.”

The two of them left the room. As the wooden door was being shut behind them, Varen continued his deranged speech.

“You took me for a fool, Dietrich, and maybe I was! But that is no longer the me you see today, you damned—”

Rudolf headed back to the conference room, with Dietrich going off to find the herald and call him to the barons immediately. As Rudolf reentered, he informed the barons of what was happening.

“Count Varen has been declared too ill to attend anytime soon,” he told them, “We think that at least with Count Dietrich present, we should be able to hear from the herald.”

“What was he like?” the portly Baron Gebbard asked from across the table as he reached for his silver goblet of wine, “Varen, I mean.”

Of Isengard’s barons, Gebbard was seen as the most vain. There was no moment in his life in which he didn’t indulge in his privileges. Even at this grim meeting he made sure he would be provided with liquor, something no one else had the appetite for. 

“He appears to be truly mad,” Rudolf said, “It seems he’s under the impression that Dietrich has wronged him somehow. When he wasn’t cursing him out he was rolling around in his bed murmuring strange things to himself.”

“What a shame,” the bearded Baron Requis responded, “I suppose he’s maybe grown dull in his old age.”

“One can only imagine,” Rudolf said, “Hopefully at least now we can hear the report.”

About twenty minutes later, Dietrich reappeared, this time with the herald at his side.

“The report shall commence!” he announced, “Herald, please seat yourself at the end of this table.”

The herald was an old man, decorated with a long white beard and a buttoned silver and gold coat over his armor, though it was considerably dirty and possibly hadn’t been taken off since the battle. In his hand was a large leather-bound book which contained all of his written records from every battle he had witnessed.

“I appreciate your hospitality, my Lord,” he said to the Count, his shaky and nasally voice befitting his old appearance, “I was beginning to worry our council would never begin, hoho!”

The barons exchanged glances with each other, evidently surprised by the herald’s eccentricity. Rudolf figured to himself that for one to see so many battles and remain unbothered, he had to be at least a little bit different from the rest.

“Please begin,” Dietrich said impatiently.

“Oh yes, but where to begin!” the herald said as he thumbed through his pages, “So much to cover with such little time, oh hoho!”

The lords continued to stare at him in silence until he finally got to a point of meaningful information.

“You see, there was nothing normal about this battle, my lords,” he said, “In all my years of documentation I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like this, but I suppose I will start from the beginning and tell of the tolls later.”

“Could you explain what exactly was so strange about this battle, herald?” Dietrich asked aggressively.

“Well, that is precisely what I was getting to, my Lord” the herald replied with his tone devoid of any urgency or pressure, “As they say, patience is a virtue.”

Rudolf turned to look at Dietrich and saw a single vein bulging from his temple as he stared at the herald with subtle rage. The old man cleared his throat before continuing.

“Anyhoo, the first notable thing to occur was Varen pulling you all from battle, as I’m sure you all know. This was approximately thirty minutes before Alemannia first emerged over the horizon. In the time between, your knights quickly assumed control over the levies and attempted to boost morale in your absence. Of these knights included Lord Dietrich’s knight Bernhart, who seemed to command an incredible amount of respect not only from his men, but also from his peers.”

The herald then flipped a page in his book and continued, tracing his index finger along the words as he read.

“When Alemannia first appeared, it was quickly realized that their forces were far smaller than ours. While Avaria commanded roughly twenty-seven hundred levymen and just under sixty knights, Alemannia appeared to only have about a thousand men with no visible cavalry. Immediately, this was met with confusion amongst our forces, with some knights, including a man by the name of Canagan, beginning to see the battle as already won.”

Rudolf remembered Sir Canagan as one of Dietrich’s knights, being the one that accompanied Bernhart when they delivered his message to Holzstadt. Dietrich didn’t display any kind of reaction to hearing the knight’s name, continuing with the same intrigued look that had been on his face since the herald began his report. Despite appearing to be attentive, he certainly wasn’t too captivated by what he heard, considering he had his head leaned against his palm in a very casual manner.

“Once Alemmania had drawn near, about two hundred feet away, their marching came to a stop,” the herald continued, “It was then that two large bonfires were lit, one on each side of their infantry. Though the fires were quite close, it seemed that in the commotion of organizing our troops we did not notice the piles of firewood they were lit upon beforehand. Shortly after the first fires were lit, four more rose as well, surrounding our army on all sides. Again, the piles of wood these were lit on were ignored when we saw them before the battle. I fear this could mean one of two things, my lords, those being espionage and treason.”

“And just what do you mean by that?” Baron Gebbard asked as he rose from his seat in anger, nearly spilling his drink, “Are you suggesting one of us is conspiring against the kingdom?”

Before the herald could respond, Dietrich interjected with his own question.

“What purpose did these fires serve, exactly?” he asked. Gebbard reluctantly returned to his seat, knowing he shouldn’t fight for attention with the Count. 

“Well, that brings us to the most shocking part of it all,” the herald said, “I believe these fires were lit to signal a dragon.”

“A dragon? What the hell are you on about?” Gebbard commented, seemingly incapable of listening quietly.

Though the herald’s theory sounded odd at first, Rudolf remembered what Bernhart had told him when they first met. He spoke of rumors that Alemannia had found possession of magic, the same kind of magic that King Willem himself possessed. As unbelievable as it was, maybe the herald was speaking the truth.

“Moments after the fires were lit, a man emerged from the Alemannians and spoke into a horn,” the herald said, “He called for a red dragon, and to our surprise and dismay, a dragon came.”

In that moment, the air itself seemed to be sucked out of the room. Rudolf could feel the panic radiating off of his fellow lords in their shocked silence. It was as if his senses became agitated. The fire of the candles on the walls seemed to burn brighter than normal, irritating his eyes and making him sweat despite being so far away. The other barons displayed similar reactions, their faces becoming redder and more tense.

“Are you serious?” Dietrich asked as now he rose from his seat. His face was strangely animated compared to his usual stoic look.

“The dragon swept down from the skies and rained down fire on our men. If I hadn’t been observing from the back I would have been killed by it, too,” the herald continued, “The dragon’s breath rose higher than a man’s head, consuming everything in its way. After this, our men had no choice but to break formation. Of those who ran, many were killed by the Alemannians, who now took their chance to charge in and stab them amidst the chaos.”

“I was told this was a winning battle,” Dietrich said, “Is this true, herald?”

The old man rubbed his nose and cleared his throat as he flipped to the next page of his book.

“You see, my Lord, of everything I have shared so far, I have not even told you the strangest occurrence of his battle. It was not something I witnessed myself, but every living soldier I asked described it the same way,” he said, “Amongst those who escaped the dragonfire was a boy of Lord Rudolf’s named Luitold Knoll. Witnesses say as he was attacked by an enemy, he found some kind of jar and broke it against the man’s face. When the jar shattered, a dark substance from within grew and enveloped the boy in a cloud of black.”

Knoll, Rudolf thought, Luitold Knoll? It couldn’t be…

“The cloud twisted around him and turned him into what I can only describe as some kind of devil. The witnesses seemed hesitant to go into much detail,” the herald said, maintaining his detached tone, “In this beastly form, he slaughtered everyone around him in a cruel rampage for the duration of a minute. By the time he returned to his human state, Alemannia had already begun to flee.”

Every horrible aspect of the room’s atmosphere only got worse. Rudolf could feel the tension growing as his peers shifted their gazes to him.

“This boy is yours, Rudolf?” Baron Requis asked in an accusatory nature as he leaned in towards him, “Are you raising devils? Are you working with Satan?”

“Haven’t you heard? His barony is cursed!” Gebbard chimed in, “He probably is Satan! It should come as no surprise a monster like that Lue-Todd boy would be born there! He’s probably got a whole army of devils waiting to tear us all to bits the moment we question him!”

Unsure of what to say, Rudolf turned to his lord Dietrich at the end of the table, hoping he would understand the reality of the situation. To his surprise, the Count didn’t seem to be engaged in the drama at all. Instead, he stared down at the table itself with two fingers rested against his eyebrow and his thumb against his cheek. This was accompanied by a bizarre look of wonder in his eyes and a subtle crooked smirk.

“Quiet,” he said faintly. Despite the loudness of the men at the table, they all seemed to hear Dietrich’s quiet command, as they immediately came to a halt in their accusations and looked at him, “All that matters is that that boy is on our side. He won us the battle, am I right, herald?”

“Why yes, that does seem to be the case, my Lord,” he replied.

Dietrich got up from his chair and pushed it in, suggesting he had no further need to hear from this meeting.

“And where is this Luitold Knoll?” he asked the herald.

“He should be in the castle’s inner courtyard along with the rest of the men being tended to,” the herald said, “He fainted shortly after his transformation.”

“Rudolf,” Dietrich called to the baron as he walked away from the table, “Come with me to the courtyard and help me find this boy.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Rudolf replied, leaving the table behind him.

The herald closed his book and slapped his hands on the table.

“Well then, I suppose that concludes this meeting!” he said extravagantly.

“Wait!” Requis blurted out, drawing Rudolf’s attention as he paused in the doorway, “What happened to the dragon?”

Dietrich looked back at Rudolf and put his hand on his upper back, guiding him to move forward.

“Come, Rudolf,” he said quietly, “You already know what happened to the dragon. It was never there to begin with.”