005 The Nameless

18.13.1623

Faywyn.

LATE autumn—falling leaves of many colours; deep brown, fire-orange, and wine-red, they meander. Flying. They ramble on this, on that, their only chance to wander. Roving. Descending to the forest litter where they would spend the rest of their existence in the hectic, pallid hues of decay, emanating the ancient scent of a ripened earth. Dying.

The Keep was rather quiet, and a thick fog pressed against the horizon like an excluded ghost, shrouding the distant treetops in a cottony blanket of white; a perfect anodyne to the restless spirit. A murky red sunrise flamed the backwood hills of yore in a smoky crimson hue. Fine, pale shards of sunshine sifted through the morning clouds unto the subtle gold parchments littering Lord Aden's favourite table.

James was in a rather fine mood this morning, humming under his breath as he ran his fingers through the red hair of a wide-eyed, pubescent girl seated on his right leg. "What about the tax revenue from the third month?" he asked as the girl-child fiddled with a charcoal nib, examining her rather immature drawings with a vague approximation of a critical eye.

From his vantage point behind her, James stared down at what he assumed to be a stick drawing of a noblewoman; an amused light glinting in the corner of his eyes.

"Its continuation is on the fifth page, My Lord, please refer to the bottom," Robert, the household's steward, said. He wore a simple grey coat with black hoses and his sparse, bleached hair appeared well-groomed, very much unlike Levi's thick, tousled obsidian curls.

"The increase during that period was coincidental, my lord. The farmers' harvests were in surplus, so His Grace raised the tax briefly to deal with the overflow. The following two sessions however were normal hence the difference." Robert said before hesitantly asking "However, is this okay, My Lord? Reducing this session's tax by this much would seriously affect your financial capabilities during the first months of the coming year, especially given our current expenditure."

"Just do as I said. The towns are still reeling from my earlier stunt with the Heras, some leniency on my part should be permitted for the common folk. I can't risk a peasant uprising at a time like this." James dismissed Robert's concerns with a light wave before looking back at the drawings on the table.

"Any progress on the renovation of Keep Mallowston?"

"Yes, The barracks repairs are half-completed. All else though is still being delayed due to a shortage of labour," Robert replied, "I was informed that we might not be able to complete the repairs of even the Keep's Citadel before the first snow starts."

"Fair enough, I did not expect this much anyway. Especially given how many serfs we pulled out of the workforce," James said. "How about the budget I requested?" He asked the steward.

"It's on page seven, My Lord," Robert said as Levi flipped through the small booklet.

"The cost for repairing the Keep's facilities is estimated to come in at around five hundred gold Royals. For the newly formed militia, it is estimated to cost around thirty copper Tehs to train a single man for a month, this includes the daily wage you insisted we pay them for their service and their feeding during the entire training session. Given there are four hundred of them, excluding the fifty that are slotted to join the logistics unit, the training budget for this winter is estimated to come in at an excess of twelve hundred silver Thales.

The steward paused, flipping a page in the bundled scrolls in his hand.

"Equipping the militia to your specifications comes in at around twelve hundred and seventy-five gold Royals. To equip a single arbalist with cuirass/chainmail-and-gambeson, a helmet, a crossbow, a pavise shield, a simple mace, a bullock dagger and five baskets of bolts cost around two hundred and fifty silvers; the cost inflates to forty-two hundred and fifty Thales for the three platoons of fifty archers if the plan to arm a tenth of the platoons with windlass arbalests holds. As for the infantry, their equipment consists of the same armour, a large round shield, a bullock dagger and an iron-tipped pike with the cost-per-individual at around a hundred Thales and the total coming in at three thousand Thales for six platoons.

"The total expenditure including the cost for running the towns and maintaining both keeps, its guards and its servants is sixteen hundred and seventy-five gold Royals. Our reserves are mostly nonexistent since Lord Aden drained most of it in the war effort and the rest was stolen by the traitors during their mutiny, but the meagre income from the iron mine, taxes and the spoils of war from looting Mallowston Keep should come in at approximately two thousand and thirty gold Royals after deducting other essential expenses," the steward said rearranging the bundled scrolls before tucking it in his cloak. James drummed his fingers on the lothwood table in thought for a while before responding.

"Good, anything else I should know?"

"Yes my lord," Robert replied with a nod," the crossbow twine and the fletchers needed for producing the bolts can be made in town but I advise we purchase them from one of the mountain tribes at the foot of the Aiga if we want to meet the time frame you allocated. Also, Ser Justin's team finally recovered the last of the horses that escaped from the Heras' stables. All hundred and twelve animals have been accounted for. The blacksmiths you requested have also relocated along with the majority of their equipment as well. The rest should arrive in a week or so.

"Hmm... OK then, I want you to tally the cost of the twine and fletchers needed. Ser Justin and his band would be tasked with purchasing them from the mountain tribes this week," James said.

"...Ah, I almost forgot. A few more of the captured knights have also agreed to offer their services in exchange for your leniency, My Lord," Robert added.

"Oh? What about Earl Gilbert?" James asked with a crooked brow, the little girl on his lap also looking up curiously.

The steward shook his head.

With an understanding nod, James replied. "You may leave. I'll check in on him later. Also, inform the blacksmiths that I would stop by at the smithy later to check their progress on the task I gave them."

"Yes, my lord."

Watching the steward leave he turned his attention back to the girl on his lap. "Javi? What is this?" he asked peering at the drawings on the table with a perplexed expression.

Lancelot's only child looked back down at the shallow pile of paper on the table before peeking back at him from behind her bangs, her face coloured with embarrassment. Irises, a soft, subtle brown, just like her father's.

"...I'm sorry," she said, fiddling with the charcoal nib in her hands. "I wasted so much paper again. I'll ask Mother to send you another bundle later when we get home."

James chuckled. Although he had inherited memories of them from Levi, it wasn't until a few days ago that James had truly met Lancelot's family. After the incident with Sean, the over-protective viscount hadn't let his family near the Keep once and had even had them sent somewhere else when they decided to attack Mallowston. It was until two days ago that Lancelot decided it was safe enough for them to return.

Gently pinching Javi's nose, James replied, amused. "I am not angry about the papers, just tell me what you were drawing."

"...Really? But you always got angry when I used too much paper and always made me bring more whenever I came over as punishment," Javi murmured, peeking up at him doubtfully.

"Don't think too much, just tell me what you were drawing."

"Are you sure?"

Levi hummed, assenting.

The girl-child looked down towards her stick drawings before looking back at Levi.

"Promise you won't laugh."

"Huh? Of course not. I promise," he replied, barely stifling a chuckle. "On my honour."

"Humph!" Javi pouted, turning away. "Go away! I know you just want to laugh at me."

"I promised on my honour, didn't I? I won't laugh."

"...Okay," Javi relented after a moment of contemplation. "I was trying to draw a portrait of lady Luna," she said, fiddling with her thumbs, a colour of excitement gradually returning to her face. "Mother showed me a painting of her that was made when she was younger. She was so beautiful, just like Mother! I want to be just as beautiful as her when I grow up and marry a valiant Ser just like Father or the lord Duke." The young girl continued animatedly. "That was why I was drawing a picture of her, but, but..."

Looking down at her crude drawings a blush of chagrin stained her face. With a slight chuckle, Levi sorted out the sheets of parchment with charcoal drawings on them.

"You promised not to laugh!"

"I lied."

"You!" Javi exclaimed, aghast, 'You! You honourless git!"

James laughed. "That's not very lady-like, you know."

"Go away, I am not talking to you."

James shook his head, amused as she folded her arms, turning away from him. With a smile, he pulled out some of her earlier drawings. They were not that bad for someone of her age, the only problem was that as she continued her attempts to redraw the image, she got sloppier with each new iteration until the images eventually devolved into mere stick drawings.

"This isn't that bad. This?.. Girl, you are just being lazy!" Levi said in mock outrage, Javi ducking upon hearing his accusing tone. With another amused shake of his head, the earl picked up the charcoal nib she dropped on the table. Pulling out a plain sheet of parchment paper, he scooted to a more comfortable position before he started to draw.

Curious, Javi peeked at the parchment from the corner of her eyes, pouting still. Her curiosity soon prevailed though as she began to earnestly observe Levi draw, avid fascination growing to overwhelm her features. Clean flowing lines manifested, the outline of an effeminate face. A lithe bust and delicate features followed, becoming clearer and more vibrant with each stroke.

James was never an artist. He was quite terrible at visual arts, having his expertise lie more in the realms of memorization and logical analysis. But yet there he sat on Aden's treasured table, shading in realistic features to the image he was drawing. This didn't come to Javi as a surprise, however, as she was aware Levi was beyond capable of such 'minor' feats.

Watching the image gradually come to life, Javi seemed to suddenly remember something.

"Levi," she called.

"Yes?" James replied without looking up.

"Hmm, last night I heard father tell mother there was not enough money to run the town and comfortably maintain the keep when winter comes, so why don't you just take more from the townspeople." The redhead asked, cocking her head to the side, seemingly in a bid to make sense of his actions.

"...Would you care to elaborate, Javi?"

"Well, Mother once said that the people have to pay the tax, just like the lord has to defend his people. So, I don't think you should feel guilty about anything, I'm sure the townsfolk wouldn't mind too much."

"It's nothing like that Javi," James replied, smiling faintly. "The situation of Faywyn and Mallowston has been very unstable lately, Mallowston most especially. All the recent news and the lockdown had heavily agitated the community. If I suddenly increased the tax a lot of people might suffer this winter and would hate me for it. Doing this will help me win some goodwill with the people, and make them more compliant with my recent, and quite possibly future, demands. That is just proper human resource management and the reason why I am the Lord and not your father."

"Are you sure?" The girl asked doubtfully. "Father sometimes calls you a milksop when talking with mother, and when I asked governess Jin what that meant she said it is used to describe a person who is indecisive and lacking in courage."

Silence. Jame's scribbling came to an abrupt halt.

"Oh? Viscount Lancelot said that?"

"...Yes?" Javi replied with a hint of uncertainty. Turning his head from the portrait he was working on, a warm smile appeared on Jame's face.

"Your old man sure loves to court death doesn't he?" he chuckled. "Don't mind him. Also, I'll try to remember this the next time I see him. Thank you for informing me. You are such a sweetheart."

"You are welcome!" Javi replied innocently, her bright smile returning with full intensity. Then she paused, suddenly realizing something.

"But…"

"Hmm?"

"But," Javi said hesitantly, "Father is just twenty-nine years old. I knew he was old, but is he that old?"

"..."

"...Nevermind," Levi sighed, suddenly appearing depressed.

"Okay." Then with a small giggle, the girl-child swiped the now completed drawing from the table. "Woah! so pretty!" she exclaimed, twirling around in the light as she held the picture over her head.

Looking at the drawing even James had to admit his body's mother was a rather fine lady. With perfectly symmetrical features and most probably limpid blue eyes like his, she would have been quite the beauty of her days. Although neither iteration of himself had ever met the woman he had seen quite a few well-preserved paintings in the Keep and had heard descriptions about her countless times which was why he could so easily recreate an accurate approximation of her portrait.

Watching Javi run around the room, holding the picture to the light and giggling made James feel a strange, foreign nostalgia. A memory of schoolchildren running afoul in a field flashed through his mind. The feeling didn't last though as a soft knocking sound at the door roused him from his reverie.

"My Lord, may I come in?" a soft voice called following the knock.

"Oh no! It's Mother!" Javi panicked, racing back to block Levi's mouth with her hand. Sadly, the earl had already replied before she could stop him.

"Come in—"

The door opened and a beautiful woman walked in. The young lady appearing to be in her mid-late-twenties had a face very similar to Javi's. Her eyes were light grey with a silvery tint, and her long wavy hair was auburn, much like her daughter's.

"Good afternoon, Lady Junita. How was your day?" Levi asked, his voice muffled with his lips partially hidden underneath Javi's palm.

"Wonderful, My Lord," the lady replied with a curtsy and soft smile. Although near imperceptible, The right corner of her lips twitched in exasperation. Her left brow rose as she took in the rather questionable scene. Lady Junita stared expressionlessly at her daughter leaning heavily into Jame's chest, her gaze hovering over the sight for a brief second before shifting towards the messy pile of paper littering the absent duke's favourite table.

Seeing this her smile grew visibly wider, and warmer, as she turned back to face her daughter with crescent, smiling eyes.

"Javi dear, won't you greet your mother?"

"Mo-mother," the girl stuttered, collecting herself with a small gulp. Almost subconsciously, she smoothened her dress, adjusted her hair and stood a tad straighter in a bid to, perhaps, appear a little less unladylike.

Levi doubted it was working.

Javi's mother stared blandly at her daughter for a few more seconds before heaving a tired sigh. "I am sorry, My Lord," the lady said, gently rubbing her temples. "I will have a maidservant send some fresh sheets when we get back."

Watching their interaction with a hint of schadenfreude, James almost didn't want to intervene.

"Don't bother. It's nothing," he said plainly with a dismissive wave. "Also, no need to be too harsh on Javi for the mess. She is just a child and will very soon learn to outgrow these little antics of hers." The unruly girl turned slightly to glance at him, a hint of gratitude in her eyes.

Lady Junita stared blankly at Levi, but he returned the gaze with a warm smile. The woman stared at him some more before finally relenting with a resigned sigh. Gently retrieving her daughter's hands, she curtsied once again.

"I came to pick Javi for her afternoon lessons, we'll be taking our leave now, My Lord."

"Take care," James nodded.

"Goodbye, Le... I mean Lord Levi." Javi said, peeking at her mother's poker face before sticking out a tongue on her way out.

Now alone, the earl fell into a rather contemplative mood. Standing from his seat on the table he walked towards the window. There he looked outside the window, at the townspeople busily going about in preparation for the coming winter. As he listened to the sounds of the birds chirping in the distance, his gaze grew contemplative.

***

Windy Fir Woodlands.

Princess Iris had always been aware that Duke was an enigmatic person; no other day could have affirmed this fact better than today. The middle-aged Lord rode his horse ahead with Iris directly behind him as they conversed, her mother, the Queen, trailing slightly behind where she listened in silence.

"...but, he was your uncle?" Iris asked again.

"Yes," Aden repeated without much emotion.

"But―"

"The fool was short-sighted enough to join the rebellion," the duke interrupted without a hint of emotion in his voice, "All he accomplished was presenting to me the perfect excuse to execute him. True, I did mount his head on a pike in the family compound. Alongside his children, wife, consorts and loyal servants as well as their families. But, my father always said, 'give no quarters to traitors', a mantra that served him well until the day he started overlooking small offences in the name of familial relations."

"...You are truly as ruthless as they say," the princess muttered, looking away.

"He murdered my father, his brother," Aden replied calmly. "That's only fair."

Silence.

"...So," Iris finally asked, her tone vaguely morphing to one of awe, "is it true you slaughtered a thousand men during that battle?"

"No. No, I did not, your highness. That was just the exaggerated babbling of some drunken tavern folk. Probably half that number, from the scuffles and executions. Maybe a little less." Aden said. "I am not so sure. I didn't keep count—no sane man would—but I don't believe I killed a thousand men."

Iris' awe grew. The thought of such a slaughter was still mind-numbing. She had seen men killed and she always believed that the numbers were blown out of proportion by the commoners. Killing another is not a trivial matter―even for veterans―hence, it is also easy to simply dismiss such claims entirely. But hearing the estimates from the duke himself, while it was significantly lesser than the rumours, it was still quite terrifying.

"...Your sons must be brave, strong men then, given your exploits," Iris finally said after a brief pause, her expression contemplative.

"My sons? Sean, probably. But Levi? Him? No..." Aden scoffed. "No, he is not. If one day, that she-male decides to leave his study on his own and experience life a little I would throw a feast in celebration. He usually spends all his time buried underneath a mountain of scrolls and tomes. No interest at all in knightly activities, wine or even women. The boy's future worries me at times..."

"Really?" Iris said, surprised. "The son of the legendary Dark Gryphon does not like to wield a blade? How unexpected."

For some odd reason, she found herself slightly disappointed at the news.

Aden continued though, somewhat forlorn now. "The boy loves books though, just like his mother. It's a pity they never truly met, they would have been best friends." The duke fell silent afterwards, now immersed in his thoughts. They continued the journey in silence afterwards with the princess choosing wisely to keep the rest of her questions to herself; Best not to test the gryphon's limits, she thought to herself.

Only the sound of birds and the rustling of rodents in the tree kept them company as the sun slowly crept into the morning sky. Then suddenly, Aden stopped, reining back his horse with a raised fist signalling that they do the same. Baffled, Iris couldn't tell what was wrong, but the duke had yet to fail them so she simply complied and watched. A few tense seconds later, there was a rustling sound and three armed men strode out of the shrubs garbed in brown cloaks. On their faces were oval white wood grain masks, marked only by elegantly carved eyeholes. They had no emblems to mark them, no distinctive features aside from their masks. But their appearance caused Duke Aden's movements to stiffen and a wary expression to appear on his face. Her mother, pale-faced, immediately manoeuvered her steed forward to stop in a vaguely protective gesture beside hers. The princess turned her gaze back to the newcomers, finding their attire vaguely familiar.

"What do you want from us?" Duke Aden asked, clearly recognising them as his hand tightened around his sword's pommel.

"Your Grace," one of the masked men said emotionlessly, "We ask you and their majesties to come with us."

"And why should we do that?" the duke asked again, raising a questioning brow. "Given you know who we are, did you assume we would just comply with such demands?"

Iris nodded inwardly at that. The request was well out of place, especially towards a group of their collective statures, but something felt odd about this encounter. The stranger appeared a little too... calm?

"Lord Aden," the masked man finally after a moment of oppressive silence, surprising Iris with both his words and tone. "We both know any thoughts of resistance would be futile. It would be in your best interest if you simply comply with our demands."

There was another pause. A moment of stillness as the princess awaited the duke's response. She could sense her mother worriedly fidgeting beside her as well, appearing greatly unnerved by the confrontation. Not even the bandits disturbed her as much.

"Who wants to see me then?" The duke sighed, finally lifting his hand from his sword's pommel in a relenting posture. Beside her, Irina exhaled a breath of relief.

"You will find out soon enough." The masked man replied.

Iris felt a sense of bafflement. She turned back towards her mother. The queen's gaze held a glint of recognition, one that was heavily laden with caution and distrust. Iris turned back towards the lead man, once again staring at his face gear. A white mask marked only by pill-shaped eyeholes.

Then it clicked.

"Are they?.." Iris asked a hint of disbelief, then wariness, creeping unto her features.

"Yes, Your Highness," the duke said with a resigned expression. "They are…

"The Nameless."