6 - Walls

 

        Bernhart sat amongst the hundreds of men laid across Rheinmark’s inner courtyard, nearly all of which were on the brink of death. Though he had been acclaimed as one of Avaria’s greatest warriors, in truth, absolute warfare like what he had seen five days prior was something still completely new to him. After all, Avaria was seldom a kingdom where warfare prospered.

Across the casualties which spanned over a thousand, roughly half of the fifty knights deployed had perished from the dragon’s breath. Being so heavily armored, the knights able to flee the fire in time all survived the brief ambush that followed. Surrounded by the dying, the lightly bruised Bernhart wondered what his fate would have been had Dietrich never allowed him the career of a professional soldier, or a false knight as his peers called him.

To clear his mind, Bernhart rose to his feet and carefully stepped between the bodies of the levymen with the intent to take a walk around the castle and see some scenery beyond the courtyard walls that had enclosed him for the past week. It was the early evening, so he hoped that Count Varen’s guards would be more lax about letting him wander. If he was stopped, he could always use his esteemed name or his closeness to Dietrich as an excuse.

Bernhart’s dream of a peaceful walk, however, was crushed before it could even begin. Just before he passed into the doorway leading inside, two men turned around the interior corner and stopped in his path. Those two men were Count Dietrich and Baron Rudolf of Holzstadt.

“Oh, Bernhart!” the Count exclaimed as his face lit up, “What a joyous surprise.”

“Good day, my Lord,” Bernhart replied as he moved aside for them to pass through, “My apologies for getting in your way.”

“Oh, not at all,” the Count said, “In fact, we may have a job for you.”

Dietrich and Rudolf stepped through the doorway and into the courtyard.

“Have you seen a boy named Luitold here, Bernhart?” Rudolf asked as he scanned the area.

“Seen him, maybe, though I wouldn’t know it,” Bernhart said. “There’s a lot of faces in this courtyard, my Lord.”

Rudolf gave a courteous chuckle as he stepped forward. 

“I suppose I’ll have to go off of my own recognition then,” the baron said, “I used to see him quite often in his younger years. Now, not so much, though I’d be lying if I told you he doesn’t stick out.”

“And why is that, my Lord?”

“Well, he may just be a demon in disguise.”

Bernhart was immediately reminded of the scruffy teenage boy that had fought beside him in the battle. The image of him emerging from the black cloud still gave him discomfort. His body, though already skinny, had become thin and elongated as his skin was replaced with flowing black ink, like he had become a canvas for darkness itself. His bony arms ended with long pointed fingers, more closely resembling the talons of a bleichtouvel than anything human. His face was stripped of its human qualities as well, with eyes like a snake’s and a large lipless mouth lain with rows of pointed teeth, assuming the shape of a permanent twisted smile. The moment the boy took this form, he rapidly clawed at the men surrounding him, his long arms beating the reach of their spears as they met their bloody deaths. It was a sight Bernhart would have rather forgotten, and in the five days he spent in the courtyard he had made an effort not to look at the boy as not to remind himself of him.

“I know just who you’re talking about,” Bernhart said as his face went pale. Thinking back, he wondered if the boy at his side in that battle had truly been a hellish beast the whole time, or if there was something more complicated to the matter. 

Bernhart led the two lords to Luitold, who sat leaning against one of the stone walls with his knees curled to his chest, all on his lonesome. He looked the same as he did before the incident, his young face and dirt-ridden curly brown hair completely intact, as if nothing had ever happened. His eyes were wide and unfocused, suggesting some disturbance in his mind. He didn’t even bother to look at the lords as they approached him.

“Luitold, I presume,” Dietrich said to him as he came near. The boy had no reaction. Dietrich came closer and crouched down beside him before he continued in a kind voice, “I suppose you may not recognize me. I am Dietrich, Count of Isenburg. That is where you live, if you do not know!”

Luitold finally directed his gaze to the Count.

“What do you want from me?” he asked him, hesitantly adding “m’lord” to the end after a moment of silence.

“You see, Luitold, you may not be aware, but you are the reason we won our battle against Alemannia,” the Count said.

Luitold, still stuck in some kind of stupor, simply furrowed his eyebrows and continued his wide-eyed stare in confusion.

“Tell me, Luitold, what do you remember from that day?” the Count asked. Luitold continued his intense and troubled stare. “What did you do in the—”

“The jar,” Luitold replied abruptly, his face easing into a paralyzed fear.

“What happened with the jar?”

“I—I don’t know,” Luitold said, “I feel like I’ve been stuck in a dream, like nothing’s real.”

“I need you to think, Luitold,” Dietrich replied, moving in closer to his face, “You did a good thing. There is nothing to be scared of. We just want to know how you did it.”

“The jar… broke,” Luitold said, “I don’t know what it was, but there was a cloud of smoke and it surrounded me, and inside there were faces that talked to me.”

“And what did they say?”

“They were warning me of something, and then they disappeared.”

“And when the smoke went away, what did you do?”

“I don’t know. I fell.”

“But you attacked the enemy, didn’t you?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Do you remember feeling different, like some kind of monster maybe?”

“I don’t know.”

Dietrich, still squatted down, turned to look up at Rudolf.

“It seems he’s still processing what happened,” he said to the baron.

“Do you think it must have been an accident, my Lord?” Rudolf asked.

“I suppose that’s all that makes sense,” Dietrich said, rising from the ground, “He wouldn’t have known what was in the jar. Even so, this is something we haven’t seen before in our testing. We should take him in, help him help us if you know what I’m getting at.”

“Very well, my Lord,” Rudolf said, “What is the plan, then?”

“I’ll be leaving for Isenburg tomorrow,” Dietrich said, “I would like for you and Luitold to join me, along with Bernhart and the rest of my knights. The remaining knights of Holzstadt should be enough to get your men back home without you.”

“You would like me there as well, my Lord?” Rudolf asked, “For what purpose?”

“The boy needs some connection to his home,” Dietrich replied, “He’ll be away from Holzstadt for quite some time. Maybe you’d be able to connect to him in some way we can’t.”

The Count then began to walk back to the castle’s interior, only to abruptly stop and continue talking with his back to Bernhart.

“And you, Bernhart, you’ll be the boy’s mentor.”

“Mentor?” Bernhart asked, shocked at the proposition. Sure, he had commanded Rudolf’s men in battle to some success, but what did he have to teach to this mine peasant? Bernhart had garnered most of his acclaim from his feats in sport combat. It had only been in these past couple of weeks that he had found himself in true warfare, and already he was expected to have the wisdom to teach.

“Yes, Luitold needs the very best at his side to unlock his true potential,” the Count continued, “If we can recreate what he did against Alemannia, he would become Avaria’s strongest weapon. We could revolutionize our military, make Avaria the revered kingdom it once was.”

Dietrich turned his head over his shoulder to look at Bernhart with only his right eye, seeming to sense his hesitation.

“Do you object, Bernhart?” he asked.

“N—no, my Lord,” Bernhart quickly stammered, “You have given me all I have, and for that I am forever in your debt. I will teach Luitold everything I know.”

“Good,” Dietrich replied coldly, finally leaving the courtyard.

With the Count gone, the baron, the soldier, and the peasant remained in silence as the heavy evening wind blew against their skin. Bernhart stood with his hands at his sides watching Dietrich walk away as Rudolf and Luitold watched from behind, leaning against the stone wall.

“Tell me Bernhart, what do you think of the Count?” Rudolf asked.

Bernhart turned around, surprised at the boldness of the question.

“As I said, I’m greatly indebted to him,” he replied, “He has my loyalty.”

“I get that,” Rudolf said, “He’s the reason you’re not living like Luitold. The reason you live in comfort. But do you like him?”

“Huh?” Bernhart stuttered, “I—”

“Oh, who am I kidding?” Rudolf interjected, “You’re too chivalrous to say the truth the way nobles do. I just want you to think about something, Bernhart. He’ll let you play knight, but will he ever let you be a knight? Would Dietrich ever grant you land?”

“I am fortunate to serve in battle at all,” Bernhart said firmly.

“Don’t you ever feel something unsettling about him?” Rudolf continued, “A certain darkness in his eye?”

“It is not my duty to question my Lord,” Bernhart said after taking a few seconds to think, “I will always remain in his service.”

Rudolf smiled, maybe in amusement, still crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall.

“That’s good,” he said, though Bernhart had trouble reading what he really felt. He wondered why Rudolf would so openly question his superior, especially when Dietrich could revoke his lordship at any moment. There was a certain confidence and ambition he held that Bernhart found difficult to fathom.

The baron straightened up from his leaning position and began to pace forward, turning his attention back to Luitold, who still sat in the grass.

“I’ll come back here tomorrow morning to pick you two up,” he said, “You might get to ride in a carriage, Luitold. Your mother would never believe it!”

Bernhart wondered how closely acquainted Rudolf and Luitold were. Rudolf seemed to be able to recognize him and was acquainted with his mother, but Luitold didn’t appear to reciprocate any of his familiality. He gave the baron no reaction to his comment about the carriage, which seemed especially strange to Bernhart, considering even he had never been given that privilege. 

Rudolf had already left the courtyard, leaving just Bernhart and Luitold in the corner as they looked over the rows of dying men in the grass. With nowhere to go, Bernhart tried to make conversation.

“Well, Luitold, it looks like I’m going to be your mentor,” he said redundantly, briefly looking down at him only to see he was making no attempt at returning his eye contact. Bernhart continued to stand awkwardly, unsure if it was worth it to try talking to the boy any further.

“I just don’t get it,” Luitold finally said, “I didn’t even do anything.”

“After that cloud surrounded you, you don’t remember doing anything else?” Bernhart asked, relieved he had someone to talk to.

“I just saw these ghosts in the dark, and when they disappeared, everyone was dead,” Luitold replied.

“Then maybe what we saw wasn’t you,” Bernhart said, “Perhaps you were possessed, though I’d never seen anything like that before.”

Luitold didn’t say anything else, letting the sound of the wind again prevail in the silence.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Bernhart said, leaving the corner to return to his designated resting spot in the grass.

The sky grew darker, and Bernhart drifted off to sleep, knowing this hellish week at Rheinmark had finally come to an end. What remained unknown, however, was the fate that awaited him back home in Isenburg.