Chapter 25: Chapter 25: News from the war front

Adhemar's POV ***

 

Count Adhemar left the stands pleased with himself. He was glad Sir Ulrich won because, he wanted to beat him again, over and over again. If that was the only thing he could beat the knight at, then, so be it.

 

Was it the only thing he could beat the knight at?

 

He had seen lady Jocelyn at the stands herself. And from what he knew of her, she was no fan of jousting, it was he who even educated her on the rules of scoring the last time they’d met.

 

She didn’t come for the love of the game, did she?

 

Count Adhemar urged his horse through the crowd, not minding to hiss or make any sound whatsoever to get people out of the way. Those that got angry bowed immediately when they saw who it was. Fear, it always kept them in their place.

 

He tied the horse to a pile outside his tent and stepped inside. There was a man in full armor standing inside the tent when Count Adhemar stepped in.

 

“Sir Astor,” said Count Adhemar, chuckling at the man. “Brother.”

 

Sir Astor fell to his knees and bowed before Count Adhemar. “My count!” he said with military alertness.

 

“Rise, Sir Astor,” said Count Adhemar, taking a seat. “What is the news from the war front?”

 

“Our troops are currently stationed outside the walls of Laramere, but we cannot go through them my count,” Sir Astor said.

 

The hair on his head had traces of sand and mud. His face was filled with scratches, traces of blood and the same black mud that stuck to his hair. A lion with the front right leg raised was drawn on the front of Sir Astor’s armor. Although this lion differed from other lions in that it had a skull for a head.

 

“Laramere refused to open their gates for us to pass through?” asked Count Adhemar.

 

“Yes,” said Sir Astor, “one of the captains killed a couple of villagers on the outskirts of the fort. Word spread and their overlord wouldn’t let us through.”

 

“One quick question,” said Count Adhemar, quietly. “Is Laramere doing this because they’re scared we would hurt them, or because they are trying to deter us?”

 

“They’re aware that our target is the Forhemians Country, not Laramere,” said Sir Astor.

 

Count Adhemar chuckled. “They do it to defy us then,” he croaked. “How long have you been with me, Sir Astor?”

 

“Twelve years, my count,” said Sir Astor.

 

“Good,” said Count Adhemar, bobbing his head. “Now, tell me what you think I’d do in such situation if I was at the battle front. Impress me, Sir Astor.”

 

“I’d write a letter of apology to the chief of Laramere, have all my men apologize outside the wall, hand over the offending captain to them for punishment…”

 

Count Adhemar pursed his lips and bobbed. “Interesting, go on.”

 

“And when they open the gates, I would bring such fiery hell on them as never before. The smoke of ruin will bellow from their rooftops, their tears will wet the floor like rain in spring, all that pass by Laramere will look at it and say, ‘that is a city cursed by God.’”

 

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Count Adhemar burst into laughter and clapped his hands. “Oh, boy,” he said, wiping tears from a corner of his eyes. “You scare me with your words. But you cannot do the things you’ve said, if word reaches the king, then we’re all done for.”

 

“Word will reach the king if, and only if, there is a survivor. Not one fly will make it out of Laramere alive.”

 

Count Adhemar licked his lower lips deliciously. “You make me proud, this kid. You make me proud. Go on and do as you’ve said, go on, Sir Astor and blot Laramere from the history books.”

 

“Yes, my count,” Sir Astor said, bowing deeply. He spurned around and marched out of the tent.

 

Germaine stepped inside about the same time as the soldier’s exit. He wore a worried look on his face and kept staring back at the soldier.

 

“My count,” he said, “have you been summoned to battle?”

 

Count Adhemar rubbed the sides of his mouth and smiled wistfully. “What if I had? Will you refuse to go with me, Germaine?”

 

“I dare not!” Germaine cried out and fell to the floor.

 

“You dare not,” Count Adhemar repeated, chuckling. “Who am I tilting against next? I can’t wait to lay hands on that poor fowl from Gelderland.” He spat. “Even the name tastes like piss.”

 

“Ah, yes. Let me see that count,” said Germaine, rising to his feet. He pulled out a scroll from his tunic and unfurled it. “It says here that you’re tilting against Sir Thomas Colville, my count.”

 

“Colville?” Count Adhemar said, his eyes lighting up with wickedness. “Isn’t that the knight Ulrich spared in the last tournament? Well, well, well, I’m glad for the chance to finally retire him from lancing.”

 

Count Adhemar scowled darkly when he saw Germaine grow pale in horror.

 

“If you fail to grow out of your weakness, Germaine, I’ll be forced to do away with you,” Count Adhemar, snapped at Germaine.

 

“It’s just… there’s something you should know about Sir Colville,” said Germaine, starting towards Count Adhemar.

 

“Take one more step and I’ll relieve your neck the burden of your head,” said Count Adhemar, rising and pulling out a short, stout dagger. “What is it you have to say?”

 

“My count, the walls have ears,” said Germaine, biting on his fingers. “The walls have ears. I must say this into your ears alone.”

 

Count Adhemar frowned and thought about this for a while. “Fine,” he said at last, returning the dagger to his belt. “Speak to my ears.”

 

He leaned forward so Germaine could whisper into his ears. Although one hand sat on the hilt of the dagger about his waist, and the other was clenched tight into a fist.

 

Germaine leaned over and began whispering words into Count Adhemar’s ears, and as he spoke, Count Adhemar’s expression went from wary to surprised and then aghast.

 

“Are you certain of this, Germaine?” Count Adhemar asked, his eyes bulging in their sockets.

 

“Yes, my count,” he said, bobbing. “I’m certain with my life.”

 

A smile flitted across Count Adhemar’s face at this. “Very well then,” he said, “it appears the King of Borish is now indebted to us.”

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