39. Uninvited Guests (3)
When Hepin the Lion went down hard on his rear, Doyle — who had been seated at the table enjoying the show — abruptly burst out laughing.
"Haha—! What a shame!"
He wet his throat with liquor and nodded. "Honestly, even I think this went a bit too far. There are limits to how lightly you can take an opponent."
Judging by his tone and expression, he had clearly expected Hepin's little ruse not to land.
...This bastard gets more infuriating by the minute.
"Sir Killian. Get that man out of here."
"Yes, my lord."
Sir Killian spared neither me nor Dionea so much as a glance. He simply hauled the half-conscious Hepin out of the hall, exactly as ordered.
"Dame Eselda. Your turn now."
The middle-aged knight, who had stood there in silence, gave no reply. She simply strode forward, step by measured step.
"The honor is mine. I am Eselda Hotten, knight in service to Count Tristan."
"...The honor is mine as well, to meet a knight of such renown."
"Your husband was a fine commander. Had fortune favored him, his name would have been left in the histories."
A condolence out of nowhere. Dame Eselda looked, at a glance, to be far removed from the sort to deal in empty courtesies, and Dionea's face filled with faint puzzlement.
"You knew my husband?"
"Of course, my lady. We fought seven battles side by side — you may as well call us comrades."
Dionea nodded without a word, though suspicion still crowded her face. "...I see. I thank you for the kind words, but after what has just happened, I find it difficult to reminisce about my husband with you."
"That was not why I said it."
The grim-visaged knight's expression hardly shifted at all. "I will come to the point. Count Tristan has taken an interest in the future of Longville."
At the abrupt, no-preamble bombshell, Dionea glanced back at her retainers in open disarray.
I held her gaze in silence, and Dionea gave a small cough before squaring her shoulders and pushing back. "I don't know what you mean. If this is about the contract, then as you just witnessed—"
"This is about inheritance, not contracts, my lady."
"...Inheritance?"
"From what we've established in Muntingham, Baron Malory has no children, no siblings, no cousins. Is that correct?"
While Dame Eselda spoke, I hurried over to Beldin and whispered. "Beldin."
"Sir Phoenix?"
"Go get the law codex."
"The... codex?"
"The one covering the kingdom's inheritance laws. Right now."
"...Oh."
While the young scribe slipped quietly out of the hall, Dionea nodded heavily. "As far as I know, that's correct."
"When no heir exists within the bloodline, a lordless fief reverts to the liege who granted it. Are you aware of this?"
"Is... that so."
Dionea swept her gaze across the retainers as if she couldn't believe it, and the herald Tollami stepped forward, his face rigid. "It's true such a provision exists. But to discuss inheritance so freely when the Baron's death hasn't even been confirmed — it's preposterous."
"Heh heh. The old man runs his mouth again."
Doyle, smirking, toyed with his cup as he went on. "Think calmly, all of you. Baron Malory vanished in mountains where Anupads roam in packs. To confirm his death, you would have to comb through beast droppings across half the wilds."
"...H-how dare you—!"
Tollami's wrinkled face flooded crimson. But in the end, he could not bring himself to act. The other retainers were no different.
Then again, Doyle was a count's son, and something about him seemed shrewd — a troublesome man to cross. No doubt they feared that sparring with him would only see them tangled up in whatever he intended.
...Not that those were the real reasons. They were simply afraid, every last one of them. One look at how they wilted before Dame Eselda told you as much.
An insult implying their lord was now monster droppings would boil anyone's blood — even by Kim Seung-soo's ordinary standards. And these men who called themselves his retainers swallowed it whole? Had they no fire left at all?
I shot a sidelong glance at Chester, the master-at-arms, whose fists were trembling, and murmured under my breath. "You're just going to stand there?"
"...What would you have me do, sir? He's a noble, and I'm a mere soldier."
"You've still got pride, haven't you? That piece of—"
"Pride protects nothing."
Ugh. Suffocating.
I swallowed a sigh and turned to the codex Beldin had brought back. It was comically enormous and thick, like a college textbook, but its bookmarks were immaculately kept, and I found the section on inheritance law in no time.
"You needn't waste the effort, Sir Phoenix. There'll be no 'crude, low-rent swindle' twisting the letter of the law."
"...Nothing grates on me more than falling for the same trick twice. I'm merely taking precautions."
"Ha. Meticulous, aren't you? Hardly befitting a knight."
Doyle, his face wreathed in scorn, folded his arms and turned back to Dionea. "Upon a lord's passing, the spouse or an appointed retainer may govern in their stead until a lawful successor is found within the family. But if five hundred days pass in that state, a new lord must be found — even one who is neither family nor kin."
What Doyle had just recited matched, word for word, the passage I was still skimming.
"Those five hundred days will be an eternity of hell, my lady. A staggering fortune must be poured into repaying the debts, and even should that succeed — five hundred days from now, no, four hundred eighty or so — you would have to step down from the seat of power. How cruel an ordeal that would be!"
"...A family member unknown to me might yet appear."
"Of course. That could happen."
For all the cups he had put away, Doyle's eyes remained razor-sharp. He had shelved the street-thug manner for the moment, donning the mask of a heartfelt adviser. "But why should you be the one to endure all of that, my lady?"
"As Baron Malory's wife, I—"
"Oh — please, my lady."
Doyle sighed and rapped the table as though in pity. "There isn't a soul in Marva who doesn't know your husband was no prize of a husband. Even I have heard the stories many times over — a man who couldn't provide for his own household, yet beat his wife at the slightest provocation."
Dionea had no answer for him. She only pressed her lips shut and clutched the hem of her dress.
"And you would sacrifice yourself for such a man? Answer me, my lady. Has your husband ever once made you laugh?"
Now Dionea squeezed her eyes shut as well. Doyle took a long pull of his drink, wet his lips, and lowered his voice. "Proceed with the inheritance at once, and I will strike from your debt all of the interest and half the principal. Go and find your happiness, my lady."
I had been listening quietly; now I shut the codex with nothing to show for it and stepped forward. "'Go and find your happiness'? Pretty words — but what you actually mean is that she abandons her land and still repays half of that colossal sum. Am I wrong?"
"Sir Phoenix fixates on something entirely different from what I do."
Doyle shrugged, rocking back on his heels. "Why twist a merciful offer — forgiveness of half a mountainous debt — into something so ugly?"
"Let's be honest here. Mercy isn't what you're after."
"...Ho. And what is that supposed to mean?"
"You spend the gold to buy five hundred days of time — and on top of that, you preempt the risk of some unforeseen heir appearing and having the fief seized out from under you. Isn't that it?"
Doyle smiled without a word and held out both palms. "I suppose one could see it that way. I respect your opinion, sir. But I would ask you to appreciate that this is an offer made with the lady's circumstances in mind."
"'Her circumstances in mind'? What exactly is that supposed to mean?"
"The lady has a very attractive option available, you see."
An attractive option?
Toward Dionea, whose eyes were still closed, Doyle spoke in something close to a whisper. "Return to Nordenshire, my lady."
Nordenshire? What is this now?
As I frowned in silence, the scribe Beldin rose on tiptoe and breathed into my ear. "It's where the lady's birth family resides."
"...Birth family?"
"The Bennetts — an influential count's house in the north."
"A count's house? First I'm hearing of it."
"They're on terribly bad terms with the lady. She came to Longville practically cast off."
Doyle pressed on with his pitch. "Count Jaylee passed away this spring. Count Shay has since become the new lord of Nordenshire."
"Which means the cousin who doted on you is waiting for you back home. A man like Count Shay would gladly settle a trifling little debt like yours."
When Dionea's silence stretched on, Doyle — watching her all the while — licked his lower lip. "They say the Perth River in winter is beautiful beyond words. I've heard that watching the frozen river wind between snow-covered mountains makes every trouble in the world seem small."
"You must have seen it yourself as a girl, my lady?"
"I—"
Dionea opened her eyes slowly. Her deep-green irises, steeped in the firelight, had turned a heavy scarlet. "I hated the snow."
"...Mm. I see. Then—"
"I'm no longer that Dionea. Not Dionea Bennett."
She was delicate, and she was strong. A sense of duty — or guilt — that to anyone else might have been nothing at all, Dionea shouldered like a crushing weight. "I have a duty to protect this land and this family."
The smile froze on Doyle's lips.
"I'm sorry, Lord Doyle. I cannot accept your offer."
At Dionea's flat refusal, Doyle spat a soundless curse. "Ahem. Your kindness is well spoken of, my lady, but I never imagined you could be this... stubborn."
He heaved a deep sigh and looked over at the Nudein tribesmen who had been holding their breath at the edge of the hall. "So. It seems we must resort to this after all."
At Doyle's gaze, the faces of the two Nudein elders lit up.
"Deloto."
"Yes, my lord. We have been waiting."
One of the elders turned to Atlante and gave her a look. When she showed no reaction whatsoever, the elder called Deloto's face twisted in fury.
"Atilia!"
At the curt bark, Atlante flicked a glance my way and clenched her jaw. Then she upended a burlap sack over one of the hall's tables and spilled out what was inside.
Thud.
A pair of rotting heads. Troll heads — hunted in the forest below Graduil not long ago...
"What is this?"
Dionea wrinkled her brow against the vile stench and asked, and Atlante spoke with obvious reluctance. "Trophies from the Grand Hunt."
"...The Grand Hunt is over."
"You can see the state they're in. These trolls were taken two weeks ago — trophies gained during the Grand Hunt's period."
Dionea went still, as if something had dawned on her. Then she spoke with deliberate care. "...Is there any proof they weren't simply bought from elsewhere?"
"There is no proof."
"I see. Then, regrettable as it is—"
"Instead... there is a witness."
Atlante turned quietly to me. I had been glancing back and forth between her and Doyle, and only then did I catch on. "Atilia — you..."
"I'm sorry, Nix. I never meant to deceive you."
"No — then why? Why any of this?"
A somber light rose in Atlante's amber eyes. "For a Nudein to become a lord — it's impossible."
"...The talk of the clan settling down? Was it all a lie?"
"No. Only... a fief this small, this crowded, could never take in our whole clan—"
Elder Deloto's roar cut her off mid-sentence. "Atilia! Qiam baelmik!"
"Feqot antizr!"
Atlante scowled and snapped back, and words none of us could understand volleyed between them a few times. Before long, Deloto's face had gone scarlet; he fished a pendant out from inside his collar, and as he clutched it and growled something low, Atlante's mouth snapped shut, her fists clenched white.
"...Atilia?"
Jaw tight, she finally looked around the room, then bowed her head. "Forgive me, my lady. And you, my lord. I have made an unseemly display, though it was not my intent."
Atlante steadied her breathing for a moment, then went on. "Those trolls were found on the slopes of Graduil. Left be, they would have brought harm to Longville sooner or later."
The amber eyes came to rest on me. "Sir Phoenix here will vouch for it. He was with me at the time."
After hers, every other gaze in the hall converged on me as well. As I choked down a hollow laugh, she whispered to me. "Answer them, Nix. Quickly."
"Atilia."
"If you give the answer for us, we gain the right to buy a manor near Muntingham."
I looked her dead in the eye. Eyes brimming over with desperation. In the end, I nodded. "...Yes. I am the witness."
Atlante closed her eyes.
Glancing at the retainers, who still hadn't grasped what was happening, I gave a bitter smile. "Those trolls — they are indeed the ones caught below the slopes of Graduil."
The words were barely out of my mouth before the steward Editha spoke up. "My lady, the territory can no longer afford to pay out bounties—"
"We have no need of money."
The one who cut Editha short was the Nudein elder Deloto. "Only grant us the points."
"...Uh, r-right."
As Beldin glanced around uncertainly, Deloto looked up at Dionea and put real force into his voice. "We are not asking a favor, my lady. We are making a rightful demand."
"...A 'rightful demand,' you say?"
"Yes. To keep the peace of Longville, our Al Kadari clan lost as many as ten warriors. Demanding recompense for them is nothing less than our right."
Dionea's gaze came to me, but I had nothing to say. Atlante and I had struck a bargain, and I had helped her win the Grand Hunt. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect it to unfold like this — but their claim was legitimate all the same.
With not just me but the retainers too struck silent, Deloto turned to Doyle and bowed his head. "My lord. Those sworn to Count Tristan are going back on their word and moving to commit an injustice. Will you merely stand and watch?"
At Deloto's question, Doyle put on an expression of pained regret. "Of course not. Should injustice be done within your lands, my father would gladly roll up his sleeves and step in himself. You have my word."
"Thank you, my lord. This debt of gratitude we will surely repay one day."
Dionea, catching the sharp implication buried inside the threadbare little performance, turned to Beldin. "...What happens if that Nudein warrior is granted the points, Beldin?"
"One moment — one moment, if you please, my lady."
The scribe Beldin drew the score sheet from inside his coat, and promptly groaned. "That brings them to 867 points."
"And their standing?"
"...First place."
"Oh."
As Dionea pressed a hand to her brow, Elder Deloto beamed from ear to ear. "Atilia."
"Qiam tha."
Atlante, who had stood silent until now, opened her eyes slowly and pointed at Doyle. "...As champion of the Grand Hunt, I name Lord Doyle Mullin as adopted son and heir to Baron Malory."
The herald Tollami, finally catching up to what was happening, let out a piercing shriek. "This — this is madness! Utter nonsense!"
As the other retainers joined the uproar, Elder Deloto curled his lip. "Ha! We passed over the Nudein folk you so despise and named a fine young lord instead — what more could you possibly want!"
"A count's son becoming a baron's adopted heir? Unthinkable!"
"Hah! The conditions Baron Malory laid down while he lived say nothing whatsoever against it. Will you start inventing objections now, after the fact!"
"For Lord Doyle to become the Baron's adopted son means to become the Baroness's adopted son as well — does that make a shred of sense?"
"And why wouldn't it?"
"Lord Doyle is five-and-twenty this year! He is two years the lady's senior!"
"So what? Is that so unheard of among the noble houses of Milanol?"
Amid the shouting match, Doyle exploded into laughter. "Hahaha—!"
Only when the hall had quieted after his long peals of laughter did he rise abruptly from his seat. "A new castle, and on top of that, a young and beautiful mother besides. Heh. Somehow it almost brings a tear."
"How fun. A joyful occasion, truly."
The laughter — mournful, somehow — vanished in an instant. Doyle looked at Dionea with a face frozen cold.
"I'd say this is quite enough."
"Leave for Nordenshire, or take me as your son. That is the whole of the choice before you, my lady."
Doyle's icy gaze raked across the retainers. "No — wait. There is a third choice."
"...A third choice?"
Doyle's eyes snapped to Beldin, who had echoed the words before he could stop himself. "Being trampled into the dirt by the army that arrives in half a month's time."
"An army? What do you mean—"
"Twenty knights will come at the head of a thousand soldiers and more. The savage destruction mages come as a bonus."
Leaving the frozen crowd behind him, Doyle turned on his heel, his coat flaring. "We're off, Dame Eselda. They'll need time to scheme among themselves."
As Doyle and Dame Eselda left the hall, the Nudein elders filed out after them.
"Nix..."
"Atilia."
At my conflicted expression, Atlante gave a bitter smile. It lasted only a moment; biting her lower lip white, she dragged her feet after the others.
No sooner had the uninvited guests gone than the troll heads rolled off the table and thudded to the floor. What followed was a dreadful silence.
I let out a quiet sigh.
...This is so fucked up. Seriously.