Gerald finally took the host's seat in the Lord's hall of Ard Keep. It was the third day since his arrival. He'd spend the first day in the ancestral chambers and being officially named the Viscount of the Tellus territory. The second day had been a minor celebration for his arrival and inheritance of the title.
Today was the day of judgment for him, though. It was the day he truly carried the weight. In the hall with him were most of his aides; Arthur accompanied by several officials carrying stacks of parchments, Robard in his plate armor still, Renard standing proud to his left, and Uncle Rudolf standing closely to his right.
"Alright, don't be shy, Arthur. I'm ready for the brunt of it. How's our treasury?" Gerald said with a hint of irony.
Arthur wore his most helpless expression. Though Gerald could tell that the man was far beyond that. He'd already accepted it. "Yes, Viscount," Arthur said. "Our yearly income stands at 40 thousand gold coins. While our expenditure on the army alone is 35 thousand. The house spends another 10 thousand gold as general upkeep for the territory and the castle."
"So just a shortage of 5 thousand," Gerald nodded. The upkeep of the house was quite low, which explained the rundown roads outside of the castle and the hopeless streets within it. "That doesn't sound too bad." Then he looked at his old minister who met his eye with a defeated expression.
"And the treasury now contains only 8 thousand gold coins," Arthur continued with an exasperated sigh.
"What?!" Gerald almost jumped out of his seat. "How is that possible? The house can only sustain itself for another year?"
Arthur nodded with his head low.
Gerald rubbed his forehead and managed to calm himself down. "Tell me, Arthur, is the house in debt?"
Arthur raised his head and shook it enthusiastically. "No, my lord," he said. "Your father sold most of the family's property in the Royal Capital and also sold a mine in the southern pass, all so that he wouldn't indebt the house." Arthur then gave Renard an unsightly stare. He'd probably already understood that the short man was related to their enemies to the north. The Duke had offered loans to Gerald's father several times, which the former Viscount strived to avoid.
Gerald nodded and there was a moment of silence which was interrupted by the last person Gerald wanted speaking, Renard.
"Your lordship," Renard said bowing his back slightly, which Gerald took as flattery before the swindle. "I'm sure Duke Malfi wouldn't hesitate to loan the Tellus family some gold to weather—"
"And who are you to advise the Viscount on matters of the house?" Arthur interrupted him with a hint of fury and was about to continue when he, too, was interrupted by Gerald.
"Arthur," Gerald said unwillingly. "Renard will be my minister of the left. And you my minister of the right." It was quite abrupt. Gerald meant it that way. He didn't want his court to dwell on the matter. He'd already done that during his journey from the Duke's territory.
"But, your lordship, the territory can—"
"Arthur! My word is final," Gerald said decisively. "The house will receive no loans, though," he said as he stared down Renard. "Now, back to the matters of the house."
Arthur looked at Gerald dubiously for a moment, then seemed to regain his composure. "Yes, my lord. Uhm… there is some good news that I haven't reported yet."
"Go ahead then."
"Our granaries are full," Arthur said with a forced smile. It seemed that Gerald's decision was still weighing on him. "In fact, the reason the income of the house has weakened is because of the lack of trade. The bandits have all but eliminated trade from the south. The merchants that came from the south both paid tolls for passage to the north and paid good coin for our grain. Now that there are no merchants, the grain sits in our granaries without much use. A good portion is used to feed the idle in the castle, especially those who've escaped the clutches of the bandits from the outlying villages and hamlets. We've also allocated a small portion of the house's reserves for the refugees who stay around the outskirts of the castle."
"How many people does the territory have?" Gerald asked.
"If we only count the subjects that are under the house's direct authority, then . . ." Arthur exchanged some parchments with his aides.
"Wait a moment. What do you mean by under our direct authority?" Gerald perked up.
This time Robard, the head knight and also the only knight, stepped forward. Gerald had heard that there was another knight that perished with his father and brother in the unfortunate battle. "Your lordship," the middle-aged knight said, his face solemn and eyes slightly ashamed. "The bandits infest the territory from every direction."
"That's right," Gerald said, nodding. "I've seen the supposed 'hegemons' of the north on my way here. Tell me about them."
Robard nodded. "The bandits divide themselves into seven powers. Each major direction has two bandit groups that control it except the south. The south is controlled by the largest bandit group of them all. It is headed by a former mercenary named Robben Luwin. They call themselves 'the Silver crew'."
"Former mercenary?" Gerald raised a brow. "Do we have many mercenaries in the Tellus basin?"
"In the past, we did, my lord," Robard replied. "When the merchants still visited the territory, the mercenaries thrived. Right now, only two bands remain. Robben Luwin and his mercenaries-turned-bandits, and a mercenary band called the Red Rain band. It is worth mentioning that the Red Rain band and the Robben Luwin are at odds. There has been a lasting enmity between them. But the Silver crew has established itself well in the south, so the Red Rain band fails to do much to it. There have been a few skirmishes but nothing more."
Gerald found himself deep in thought. He had come up with a few methods for handling the bandits on his way home. But it turned out that the lands were more infested with them than he'd expected. It was no wonder his father struggled and failed to rid the basin from them. "How many men does each bandit crew have?" he asked Robard.
The head knight cleared his throat then answered, "Each of the bandit crews has around a thousand men. That is only if we consider the six crews to the north, east, and west. The Silver crew, however, has over two thousand men. Unfortunately, that's not the only issue. The Silver crew, as I've mentioned before, is mostly made of former mercenaries. Their ranks are bolstered by many ranked Warriors which makes them both superior in quantity and quality in comparison to the other crews."
"And we have . . . ?" Gerald cocked his head, looking at Robard.
"Five thousand men, my lord. One thousand are the garrison of the castle, and the other four thousand are a standing army ready to receive your commands."
"I'm guessing quality isn't on our side here," Gerald chuckled. "Go ahead, tell me."
Robard looked a little embarrassed before saying, "we have two Sky Warriors, including me, and we have a total of 50 Earth Warriors at your command."
Gerald was genuinely surprised. They had two Sky Warriors? Maybe Robard had counted Uncle Rudolf. But did he even know that Uncle Rudolf was a Sky Warrior? He decided to ask. "Who's the other Sky Warrior aside from you?"
"It's old Han, the commander of the garrison. You've met him, my lord, during the celebration yesterday," Robard explained.
"Oh, yes. That's true," Gerald remembered an old man with grey hair and a sturdy constitution that he'd met during the humble feast they had the day before. He'd come to congratulate him but stayed to himself most of the time. It had seemed that the old man wasn't fond of talking.
Gerald was already starting to balance his plans as he sat and his aides waited. He then coughed a little then spoke. "Alright. I need to think. Arthur, send me all that you have about the population and the refugees under the house's authority, and also the expected population of the outlying villages that aren't under our control. Send the parchments to my study. We'll have another meeting tomorrow after I've been through these details. This assembly is over."
ß--------------------------------------------------à
Gasper walked ahead of the procession of peasants that was heading to Ard. Beside him was the old man who he'd fought in the forest. The sun was mild above them on their second day of walking. Gasper had expected to make it back to Ard much earlier. But the stragglers of this procession delayed the short journey. Now he expected that they'd make it into the range of Ard castle by nightfall.
"Is it true?" the old man said. "What you said about the Viscount."
Gasper's eyes dropped to his feet in defeat and he nodded. Then he turned to the old man and asked, "Did you serve under him?"
"I did. For ten years," the old man said. "He was a good man. How did it happen?"
"Fighting bandits," Gasper's mood turned sour with every question. It was like someone was poking his wounds. Every question awakened a memory of that battle; of his failure.
The old man seemed to notice and eyed Gasper thoughtfully for a moment. "You were there?" the old man asked.
"Yes," Gasper raised his head and met the old man's eyes. "How did you know?"
The old man wore a sad smile. "Because," he pointed at Gasper's face. "That's exactly how I looked after my squad was wiped out in battle."
Gasper was surprised for a moment then he snorted. "We do seem to share the same miseries," he said as he looked over the straggling peasants behind them.
"That we do," the old man chuckled. "You'll learn to live with it."
Before Gasper could answer, there was a yell from behind. Then there were collective shouts and screams from the villagers. Gasper looked towards the yelling peasants and found them pointing at the horizon behind them. "Dogs be damned. He's come," Gasper ran to the back of the procession.
He saw three horses racing towards them from afar. It seemed that the bandit who pushed him towards the peasants the day before had informed Red Dog of their findings. They probably didn't know that he was with the peasants now. But they would soon. Each horse had two men on it. The bandits had made use of the two horses that pulled their wagon along with Red Dog's horse. That made six of them riding towards the procession.
They were charging towards Gasper's twenty peasants. Of which, almost ten were women and children. The other ten were a mix of old and young men with improvised weapons and no knowledge of combat.
The old man came beside him and eyed the incoming riders. "And what do we do now?" he gritted his teeth. "We don't want them riding us down or we'll be done for."
Gasper eyed the old man's injured sword hand. "Will you be able to fight with that, old man?"
"I will manage," the old man grumbled. Then he eyed the trembling peasants. "The problem are these poor fellows who followed me all the way out here. I can't let them die after all this."
"They won't," Gasper said decisively. "Form up!" he yelled. "All those with pitchforks and spears, form a line here. Quickly."
There was a noise of movement among the hesitating peasants until the old man glowered at them, then they started moving according to Gasper's commands. About nine men, old and young, formed into a line of long weapons at the back of the procession. "You take our left flank, old man," Gasper said. "I will take the right flank. Just slow them down and don't die. I'll get to you once I'm done with my side."
The riders were almost upon them when Gasper got to his position. The women and children were told to run ahead so that they wouldn't get mixed up in the fighting.
Apparently, the riders hadn't expected the peasants to form a defensive line, because they almost charged into the wooden spears of the trembling villagers. However, Gasper saw two of the horses swerve around the defensive line, one headed for his side and the other headed towards the old man's side. He caught sight of Red Dog on the horse headed for the old man.
The third horse rider, however, looked to be having a hard time controlling the horse. He was too late swerving his horse, and then there was a moment of pale realization on his face before the horse charged into the line of peasants with a crash. The horse was skewered and the peasants blown back. The two riders on the horse were thrown into the thick of the peasants. That was the last Gasper saw of them before he had to handle his own problems.
The horse charging towards him had two bandits, one in the back brandishing a spear and the other brandishing a short sword. Gasper churned the Warrior energy within him in preparation for a short battle. He trotted towards the incoming horse. When the riders were almost upon him, he crouched and buried his feet in the ground, then he swung his sword parallel to the ground as the rider's weapons missed him. His sword cleaved halfway through the horse's front legs, and his shoulders painfully received the brunt of the horse's slow charge.
The horse dived into the ground as the bandits were thrown off. Gasper sped towards the one with the short sword, while a young peasant ran towards the bandit with the spear who was still trying to get his bearings.
When Gasper got to the bandit, the latter had already balanced his rusty short sword and was prepared for him. "It's you! I knew Red Dog was right about you. Come to your death, traitor trash," the bandit glowered.
"A dead man shouldn't talk," Gasper said, as he leapt with a slash. He put all his strength into the swing. He had to finish this fight quickly and help the others.
The bandit blocked with his short sword. There was a Clang as the swords met, and the bandit was pushed back, his sword arm blown wide. It took a moment for him to notice that his rusty short sword had cracked from the collision. But Gasper wouldn't waste that moment. He stepped closer to the bandit and delivered a heavy kick to the his stomach.
The bandit bent forward and vomited, his sword dropping. "Damn it. This strength. You're a Warrior?"
"At least you're not a complete fool," Gasper snorted as he delivered a slash to the bandit's neck. The latter fell to the ground, his blood pouring and his body motionless.
Gasper turned towards the other bandit on this side. He was squaring off against the peasant. They both held spears. The peasant's was more of a sharpened stake and he was surely having the worst of the fight.
Gasper quickly joined their fight. He approached the tall bandit who leveled his spear towards him, apparently recognizing the threat Gasper was. The bandit eyed his fallen comrade behind Gasper for a moment then his eyes turned serious.
This one didn't speak as Gasper charged towards him. The bandit ignored the confused peasant and thrust his spear towards Gasper. The spearhead whizzed past Gasper's side as he sidestepped it. The bandit tried to perform a sweep and cut Gasper with the spear's blade. But Gasper stepped closer to the spear and grabbed the shaft. He raised his sword as he traced the shaft back to its holder. Then he delivered a strike with all he had towards the bandit's wrist.
There was a scream and splash of blood as the hand abandoned its wrist. The bandit fell on his ass, screaming his throat out and holding his handless wrist. He didn't have the time to scream too much before Gasper stepped forward and delivered the silencing strike.
Gasper turned towards the rest of the peasants. He heard the shouts and desperate yells that he'd ignored during his combat. In the middle, it seemed that one of the two riders who'd charged into the peasants' line had died. The other had somehow slipped out of the villagers' encirclement and was being pursued by most of them as he parried a thrust here and blocked a strike there. Gasper let the peasants handle that one as he shot a look towards the left flank where Red Dog charged with the other bandit.
Red Dog and his partner had been dismounted, but not without price, evident from the two peasant bodies lying beside the kneeling horse. One bandit was hardly keeping himself alive against three peasants who surrounded him, while Red dog was facing off against the old man. The old man was taking a step back at every clash.
Gasper had covered half the distance there when the old man fell back and Red Dog prepared to move in and deliver the final strike. "By the seven seas, old man. Can't you hold for a few moments," Gasper muttered. He then picked up a fallen spear, stretched his arm back and threw it with all he had towards Red Dog.
It buried itself about a yard away from Red Dog who was startled by the flying spear.
"Damn it," Gasper grumbled as he sped towards them. "I was never good at throwing a javelin, let alone a spear."
Gasper's spear had achieved its purpose, however, as Red Dog ignored the fallen old man and turned towards him. "Ah, look who it is," Red Dog laughed. "The god damned Gasper."
Gasper snorted. "Look who it is," he said. "The man I wish to gut the most."
Red Dog's face turned from smiling to vicious as he leveled his long sword towards Gasper. "You betrayed us, pretty boy," he said in a thick voice. "You have no loyalty. And you'll pay for it."
Gasper circled the bandit lieutenant carefully as he spoke. "I prefer not to have brigands preach to me about loyalty and honor."
Red Dog chuckled as he delivered a quick sweep which Gasper shrugged off with his sword. "And were you not a brigand yourself, pretty boy? Ashamed of it now, are ye?"
"Enough talk," Gasper leaped forward with a thrust and Red Dog sidestepped it. The Bandit lieutenant then stretched a leg forward and crouched, trying to deliver a low sweep.
Chance
Gasper used the fact that he'd been underestimated and focused his Warrior strength on his legs then leapt forward against the sweep which he flew over. He landed an inch from the surprised bandit lieutenant who scrambled to get back his footing. Gasper let him get back up and then crouched himself, delivering a low sweep that wasn't unlike Red Dog's, aside from the fact that Gasper's connected perfectly.
Red Dog yelled out as the blade dug into his right knee then he lost his balance again and tilted. Gasper sprung up and moved in on his reeling opponent, swinging his sword at full breadth and slashing Red Dog's defenseless gut. The sword dug through Red Dog's skin and dipped its tip inside his gut, unsealing it from side to side.
The red-haired bandit grabbed his abdomen but failed to prevent his guts from falling out. Then he knelt down, unbelieving as he watched his bloody innards abandoning his body with wide eyes.
Gasper swept the field with his eyes. The other two bandits had fallen to the numerous peasants, though it hadn't come without its sacrifices. He then looked back at the dying bandit lieutenant. "I've been waiting to do that," he gestured towards Red Dog's fallen guts. Red Dog had made his life worse than hell in the bandit camp. He'd threatened to cut Gasper's guts open on several occasions, which led to Gasper wishing to have this opportunity for while. "I didn't think it would be so soon," Gasper said.
He then met Red Dog's eyes who tried feebly to glare back at him. Gasper's face was ice and his eyes merciless. "You think I'm going to end your misery?" he said, his voice without emotion. "I don't think so. I've always thought you should take it slow." Then he stepped away from the dying dog, and trotted back to the mostly injured peasants.