Soot-Steeped Knight (LN)
More turns of the hourglass.
The moment found us done with our twentieth assessment.
“Hoo—ah,” Raakel stretched. “Ay, I’m shag’d. We’ve met, what, a full score o’ them so far, ey? By gum, had even got pensioners back from their pastures, we did.”
A sentiment hardly hers alone. By now, the nightly hour and the other leaders both were weary and wearing on.
“How many left now?” I asked.
“All but two more,” the clerk answered. “The finish line’s in sight, madame; let’s have this race run.”
Two…
More and more were my doubts given reality, as that very number dwindled with Rolf absent from its count. Felicia, too, had clearly lost much hopeful softness from her face. Yet however taxed we were, the clerk relented little in showing in our next aspirant.
A bow. “My fair Mareschal Valenius. How long has it been?”
This man.
I knew his face.
With him did I brave the Battle of Erbelde. With him did I often meet in the halls of Central—more times than I care to admit. Nevertheless, I gestured for him to take his seat.
But no sooner did Gerd begin to mutter with some sharpness.
“…Erik Lindell.”
Indeed, ‘twas Sir Erik Lindell—knight of the 1st, leader to its Owlcranes.
My warm impressions of him were scant, if not wholly vacant. Of Lindell, I recall foremost the pummelling vehemence he exacted upon Rolf on the eve of the Erbelde operation. The bruises shading my once-betrothed’s face were as clear in my mind as when I saw them three years past—just as clear as the vaulting words with which I then protested to his mareschal.
And that’s to say nothing of his advances, however subtle and unsettling they may be. Yes. There was in Lindell a fixation upon me, the nagging capstone to my dim opinion of him.
“That I am—Erik Lindell of the 1st Chivalric Order,” he bowed again. “At your service, gentles all.”
No few amongst the leadership were then roused with awe.
“Why, in faith! ‘Tis the lieutenant of the 1st’s Owlcranes!”
“Mareschal Tiselius’ bosom-blade! Here in the flesh! What earns us this pleasure, now?”
“My good knights!” Lindell heartily laughed. “Oh! You lionise me doubly-half than I half-doubly deserve!”
Byzantine modesty, concealed by a honeyed smile—the other leaders were quick to revere the lieutenant, but I myself shared none of their enthusiasm. But then did Sheila part her lips with a gentle blade of a question, as if to air my very thoughts.
“Lord Lindell. A matter, if I may?”
“Hm? Ah, the fair Dame Sheila Larsen, yes? Most certainly, my Lady.”
“The illustrious lion of the 1st seeks to join the 5th—curious, I must say,” she began with not a break in her mild smile. “Oh, Yoná be merciful: are those puppet strings mine eyes espy? Dangling from the hands of Central?”
There were some amongst our leaders in whose ears Sheila’s words rang with uneasy meaning. In their faces now were smiles fading against some throbbing suspicion.
“Come now, my dear Lady. You but espy a fancy from the faeries, I’m afraid,” Lindell returned, his visage wholly unstruck by the turn of the moment’s tone.
Yet in spite of his denial, there was weight to Sheila’s observation. Friction was what’s immediately found between Central and the Mareschal Tiselius. And ‘twas this very friction that compelled the administrative grasp to swipe from her the mantle of hero-dame, and with it, drape my shoulders instead.
Thus was there cunning afoot, to wear away at her influence and fame, and pedestalise me in the same stroke. Lindell’s intent to join our ranks seemed but a tendril stemming from those shadowed designs.
Little corroboration was to be found, then, in Lindell’s rebuttal, for our collective suspicion faded not in the least. Once more did he then speak, as though the scent of doubt was rank to his nose.
“But suppose for a moment that there is, indeed, some of Central’s puppetry at play. What matter? The 5th shall suffer no ill from it, I’m sure.”
“Nay, Sir Erik. I, for one, see much ill and more in meddling with politics. And thus do I ill-take to it.”
“Oh, my fair Lady Emilie,” simpered Lindel. “Your worries, I understand full-well.”
Your nonsense, I pity full-heartedly, his mind might’ve said. Averse to politicking, in such circumstance as I am now—in his ears, I perhaps sounded more the bellyaching child than a prudent leader.
‘Twas then that I recalled his mareschal’s very words. A man on whom fits the orator’s jerkin just as snugly the knight’s cuirass; a wolf well-practised in rousing the packs to his purposes—not even from the hero-dame was Lindell’s love of political knifery hidden.
Lightly, then, must I tread whilst in his company.
“Right,” I spoke anew, cutting the tension. “In any case, you sit as an aspirant, and we as judges. Let us proceed, shall we?”
Thus did another assessment commence—now with much caution.
♰
“Well then, good leaders all. Do judge me gently,” Lindell bowed after rising from his seat.
“And so we shall. You will know our resolve in the coming days,” I answered flatly.
“Ah yes, resolve. I must say, though there burns in me both reverence and adoration for my mareschal, the Lady Tiselius, more brightly aflame is my own resolve, to lend both hand and heart in ushering in the new age. My hope, then, that you will accept it.”
With those slithering words did Lindell finally quit our presence. How serpentine he is, thus we ought to treat him accordingly. Though truth be told, the moment found me caring little of it, for another matter pressed me more exigently.
I looked to the clerk. “The next shall be the last, I take it?”
“That is correct, madame.”
“Are you certain? There remains none in the parlour?”
“Very certain. One more and the day is done,” he nodded. “Your endurance astounds, madame. Just a little more, now.”
Then did the clerk leave to summon the next—and last—aspirant. The door shut, and at once, my nerves frayed altogether. Sounds, all of them, seemed to pull away into a weighty silence. In that ensuing hollow were but two: the heaving of my breaths and the quickening of my heartbeat.
‘Tis all right.
Rolf is most certainly here.
When that door next opens, ‘twill be him that I see.
Him, and no one else.
The stars are aligned. The stars of our futures, intertwined anew.
Rolf will soon be home again.
Home, by my side.
And together, we’ll fight the Nafílim.
Together, we’ll start a new family.
And then, we’ll walk towards tomorrow and on—together.
Time then seemed to tarry.
Water would’ve flowed like winter honey.
A blink would’ve spanned a whole moment.
In that slowness, leashed taut by suspense, did the door creep open at last.
A man.
Half-greyed.
And not less than twice my age.
Rolf…
…did not come home.
♰
The good mister left naught to be desired.
His history found him well-noted: six years in the 4th Order, some spent at the helm of a brigade, and a transfer to Central for a long tenure in its halls.
Eloquent of wit and manner, sagacious and gentlemanly—he was the ideal candidate, truth be told.
“Mareschal Valenius. Gracious leaders withal. I pray for patience to endure the long deliberation—and the good news to come.”
Thus did he bow and exit, and in his place then came the clerk.
“Most excellent, everyone. The screening is ended.”
Breaths exhaled from all around, as if a pent-up wind was released from everyone’s lungs. Relief, weariness, cheer, corroboration—all were expressed and exchanged.
Yet in its midst…
“…why… why…?”
A poor whisper from Felicia’s lips. Upon her brows, a grave furrow. But in her eyes, an emptiness.
To any other, such a mien might’ve seemed too fraught a book to read. A mist enshrouded her heart, turning away all empathy. But she is as a sister to me, and so did my own heart know full-well what ailed hers: disbelief, pure and dark, in the face of this newly unveiled reality.
A disbelief I shared.
“Is this… is this truly it?” I asked the clerk. “We’ve no more aspirants to meet?”
“Indeed, madame.”
“W… what of late arrivals? For them, we can wait, perhaps…”
A slightly quizzical look. “The cutoff is passed, madame. I’m afraid not a soul more shall show up at our doorstep.”
“The kingdom…” I pressed on, “…to all corners of the kingdom have I opened recruitment. Sure enough, we’ve met some today hailing from the far reaches. There may yet be one more making his way here—from too far a corner, perhaps, to make it in time. For him, we can wait, if even for just a little while.”
We souls of Man are wont to lose our better wits, when afront a reality we cannot bear. How painfully this resonated, as I aired words unreasonable to any other ear.
“Come now, Emilie,” spoke Gerd. “If ‘he’ did like the rest, he would’ve arrived the day before, and stayed the night at some inn, no less, as any right-minded travel-folk should do. Rules are rules, and being on time is one we’ve set. Bend them, and we forget fairness with full-intention.”
Gerd’s words rang too true. But I felt in me a wall of denial, shutting away all calls to rationality, just to protect an empty hope. Rolf must be coming; that he would not was simply inconceivable.
“B… but…”
There did I begin to gainsay Gerd’s argument. Try as I might, however, what left my lips was but silent air. The moment that followed, then, was just as quiet. The leaders, all of them, turned their eyes and ears to me.
Yet to them, I must’ve seemed more the forlorn damsel than a hero-dame, as with my own eyes did I look all through them, seeking their counsel, their corroboration. Only, their lips remained unmoving. Justly so, for ‘twas mine that were being begged for motion.
And in the stretches of that muted lull did I finally recognise an aching truth: my dreams, my desires, all that felt so close at hand coursed through its fingers like fine sand.
Just to be blown away by the winds.
“…Nay…” I surrendered at last, “…you’re absolutely right. We end here.”
Yes. From here on would we, the leadership, deliberate all that we’ve gathered today, and in due course, select the 5th’s new chief adjutant.
One whose name will not be “Rolf Buckmann.”
♰
I looked all along the parlour, alone.
Here once waited a score and more aspirants. But the marbled and embroidered room was now dim and empty, even of sound. Not a soul waited in the lonely space, no matter how much I searched.
‘Twas overlate. The leaders have all retired for the night. Through the entryway would come not another person. Not Rolf. Not anyone. A thought, simple as ‘twas crushing.
…Why?
How resolved I was in forgiving him. How eager I was in reaching out my hand to him. How certain I was in thinking he’d take it.
Yes…
Certain.
How certainly did I believe that he would come racing home from the faraway frontier.
That he would reflect upon his faults.
That he would apologise for them.
That he would then, from his own lips, say how much he longed to be with me.
The path was all laid out. I would welcome Rolf into House Valenius as my husband. Then with the new name would we start a new family and a new life. A fancy that filled my many whiles. A path that should’ve been unbarred.
But Rolf isn’t here.
He never came.
The path is vanished.
Was it my fault? Had my judgement erred somewhere? Had I unwittingly chosen for myself a world without Rolf?
I stood, and stood, and stood.
All alone, in a soulless parlour. A sight, a scene, a figure ill-becoming that of a commander of knights. A lauded prodigy. A star of Londosius.
Emilie Valenius. Hero-dame for the new age.
…What a seed for laughter.
Chapter 72: Volume 2 - CH 3.6
The moment found us done with our twentieth assessment.
“Hoo—ah,” Raakel stretched. “Ay, I’m shag’d. We’ve met, what, a full score o’ them so far, ey? By gum, had even got pensioners back from their pastures, we did.”
A sentiment hardly hers alone. By now, the nightly hour and the other leaders both were weary and wearing on.
“How many left now?” I asked.
“All but two more,” the clerk answered. “The finish line’s in sight, madame; let’s have this race run.”
Two…
More and more were my doubts given reality, as that very number dwindled with Rolf absent from its count. Felicia, too, had clearly lost much hopeful softness from her face. Yet however taxed we were, the clerk relented little in showing in our next aspirant.
A bow. “My fair Mareschal Valenius. How long has it been?”
This man.
I knew his face.
With him did I brave the Battle of Erbelde. With him did I often meet in the halls of Central—more times than I care to admit. Nevertheless, I gestured for him to take his seat.
But no sooner did Gerd begin to mutter with some sharpness.
“…Erik Lindell.”
Indeed, ‘twas Sir Erik Lindell—knight of the 1st, leader to its Owlcranes.
My warm impressions of him were scant, if not wholly vacant. Of Lindell, I recall foremost the pummelling vehemence he exacted upon Rolf on the eve of the Erbelde operation. The bruises shading my once-betrothed’s face were as clear in my mind as when I saw them three years past—just as clear as the vaulting words with which I then protested to his mareschal.
And that’s to say nothing of his advances, however subtle and unsettling they may be. Yes. There was in Lindell a fixation upon me, the nagging capstone to my dim opinion of him.
“That I am—Erik Lindell of the 1st Chivalric Order,” he bowed again. “At your service, gentles all.”
No few amongst the leadership were then roused with awe.
“Why, in faith! ‘Tis the lieutenant of the 1st’s Owlcranes!”
“My good knights!” Lindell heartily laughed. “Oh! You lionise me doubly-half than I half-doubly deserve!”
Byzantine modesty, concealed by a honeyed smile—the other leaders were quick to revere the lieutenant, but I myself shared none of their enthusiasm. But then did Sheila part her lips with a gentle blade of a question, as if to air my very thoughts.
“Lord Lindell. A matter, if I may?”
“Hm? Ah, the fair Dame Sheila Larsen, yes? Most certainly, my Lady.”
“The illustrious lion of the 1st seeks to join the 5th—curious, I must say,” she began with not a break in her mild smile. “Oh, Yoná be merciful: are those puppet strings mine eyes espy? Dangling from the hands of Central?”
There were some amongst our leaders in whose ears Sheila’s words rang with uneasy meaning. In their faces now were smiles fading against some throbbing suspicion.
“Come now, my dear Lady. You but espy a fancy from the faeries, I’m afraid,” Lindell returned, his visage wholly unstruck by the turn of the moment’s tone.
Yet in spite of his denial, there was weight to Sheila’s observation. Friction was what’s immediately found between Central and the Mareschal Tiselius. And ‘twas this very friction that compelled the administrative grasp to swipe from her the mantle of hero-dame, and with it, drape my shoulders instead.
Thus was there cunning afoot, to wear away at her influence and fame, and pedestalise me in the same stroke. Lindell’s intent to join our ranks seemed but a tendril stemming from those shadowed designs.
Little corroboration was to be found, then, in Lindell’s rebuttal, for our collective suspicion faded not in the least. Once more did he then speak, as though the scent of doubt was rank to his nose.
“But suppose for a moment that there is, indeed, some of Central’s puppetry at play. What matter? The 5th shall suffer no ill from it, I’m sure.”
“Nay, Sir Erik. I, for one, see much ill and more in meddling with politics. And thus do I ill-take to it.”
“Oh, my fair Lady Emilie,” simpered Lindel. “Your worries, I understand full-well.”
Your nonsense, I pity full-heartedly, his mind might’ve said. Averse to politicking, in such circumstance as I am now—in his ears, I perhaps sounded more the bellyaching child than a prudent leader.
‘Twas then that I recalled his mareschal’s very words. A man on whom fits the orator’s jerkin just as snugly the knight’s cuirass; a wolf well-practised in rousing the packs to his purposes—not even from the hero-dame was Lindell’s love of political knifery hidden.
Lightly, then, must I tread whilst in his company.
“Right,” I spoke anew, cutting the tension. “In any case, you sit as an aspirant, and we as judges. Let us proceed, shall we?”
Thus did another assessment commence—now with much caution.
♰
“And so we shall. You will know our resolve in the coming days,” I answered flatly.
“Ah yes, resolve. I must say, though there burns in me both reverence and adoration for my mareschal, the Lady Tiselius, more brightly aflame is my own resolve, to lend both hand and heart in ushering in the new age. My hope, then, that you will accept it.”
With those slithering words did Lindell finally quit our presence. How serpentine he is, thus we ought to treat him accordingly. Though truth be told, the moment found me caring little of it, for another matter pressed me more exigently.
I looked to the clerk. “The next shall be the last, I take it?”
“That is correct, madame.”
“Are you certain? There remains none in the parlour?”
“Very certain. One more and the day is done,” he nodded. “Your endurance astounds, madame. Just a little more, now.”
Then did the clerk leave to summon the next—and last—aspirant. The door shut, and at once, my nerves frayed altogether. Sounds, all of them, seemed to pull away into a weighty silence. In that ensuing hollow were but two: the heaving of my breaths and the quickening of my heartbeat.
‘Tis all right.
Rolf is most certainly here.
When that door next opens, ‘twill be him that I see.
Him, and no one else.
The stars are aligned. The stars of our futures, intertwined anew.
Rolf will soon be home again.
Home, by my side.
And together, we’ll fight the Nafílim.
Together, we’ll start a new family.
And then, we’ll walk towards tomorrow and on—together.
Time then seemed to tarry.
You are reading story Soot-Steeped Knight (LN) at novel35.com
A blink would’ve spanned a whole moment.
In that slowness, leashed taut by suspense, did the door creep open at last.
A man.
Half-greyed.
And not less than twice my age.
Rolf…
…did not come home.
♰
The good mister left naught to be desired.
His history found him well-noted: six years in the 4th Order, some spent at the helm of a brigade, and a transfer to Central for a long tenure in its halls.
Eloquent of wit and manner, sagacious and gentlemanly—he was the ideal candidate, truth be told.
“Mareschal Valenius. Gracious leaders withal. I pray for patience to endure the long deliberation—and the good news to come.”
Thus did he bow and exit, and in his place then came the clerk.
“Most excellent, everyone. The screening is ended.”
Breaths exhaled from all around, as if a pent-up wind was released from everyone’s lungs. Relief, weariness, cheer, corroboration—all were expressed and exchanged.
Yet in its midst…
“…why… why…?”
A poor whisper from Felicia’s lips. Upon her brows, a grave furrow. But in her eyes, an emptiness.
To any other, such a mien might’ve seemed too fraught a book to read. A mist enshrouded her heart, turning away all empathy. But she is as a sister to me, and so did my own heart know full-well what ailed hers: disbelief, pure and dark, in the face of this newly unveiled reality.
“Is this… is this truly it?” I asked the clerk. “We’ve no more aspirants to meet?”
“Indeed, madame.”
“W… what of late arrivals? For them, we can wait, perhaps…”
A slightly quizzical look. “The cutoff is passed, madame. I’m afraid not a soul more shall show up at our doorstep.”
“The kingdom…” I pressed on, “…to all corners of the kingdom have I opened recruitment. Sure enough, we’ve met some today hailing from the far reaches. There may yet be one more making his way here—from too far a corner, perhaps, to make it in time. For him, we can wait, if even for just a little while.”
We souls of Man are wont to lose our better wits, when afront a reality we cannot bear. How painfully this resonated, as I aired words unreasonable to any other ear.
“Come now, Emilie,” spoke Gerd. “If ‘he’ did like the rest, he would’ve arrived the day before, and stayed the night at some inn, no less, as any right-minded travel-folk should do. Rules are rules, and being on time is one we’ve set. Bend them, and we forget fairness with full-intention.”
Gerd’s words rang too true. But I felt in me a wall of denial, shutting away all calls to rationality, just to protect an empty hope. Rolf must be coming; that he would not was simply inconceivable.
“B… but…”
There did I begin to gainsay Gerd’s argument. Try as I might, however, what left my lips was but silent air. The moment that followed, then, was just as quiet. The leaders, all of them, turned their eyes and ears to me.
Yet to them, I must’ve seemed more the forlorn damsel than a hero-dame, as with my own eyes did I look all through them, seeking their counsel, their corroboration. Only, their lips remained unmoving. Justly so, for ‘twas mine that were being begged for motion.
And in the stretches of that muted lull did I finally recognise an aching truth: my dreams, my desires, all that felt so close at hand coursed through its fingers like fine sand.
Just to be blown away by the winds.
“…Nay…” I surrendered at last, “…you’re absolutely right. We end here.”
Yes. From here on would we, the leadership, deliberate all that we’ve gathered today, and in due course, select the 5th’s new chief adjutant.
One whose name will not be “Rolf Buckmann.”
♰
I looked all along the parlour, alone.
‘Twas overlate. The leaders have all retired for the night. Through the entryway would come not another person. Not Rolf. Not anyone. A thought, simple as ‘twas crushing.
…Why?
How resolved I was in forgiving him. How eager I was in reaching out my hand to him. How certain I was in thinking he’d take it.
Yes…
Certain.
How certainly did I believe that he would come racing home from the faraway frontier.
That he would reflect upon his faults.
That he would apologise for them.
That he would then, from his own lips, say how much he longed to be with me.
The path was all laid out. I would welcome Rolf into House Valenius as my husband. Then with the new name would we start a new family and a new life. A fancy that filled my many whiles. A path that should’ve been unbarred.
But Rolf isn’t here.
He never came.
The path is vanished.
Was it my fault? Had my judgement erred somewhere? Had I unwittingly chosen for myself a world without Rolf?
I stood, and stood, and stood.
All alone, in a soulless parlour. A sight, a scene, a figure ill-becoming that of a commander of knights. A lauded prodigy. A star of Londosius.
Emilie Valenius. Hero-dame for the new age.
…What a seed for laughter.
You can find story with these keywords: Soot-Steeped Knight (LN), Read Soot-Steeped Knight (LN), Soot-Steeped Knight (LN) novel, Soot-Steeped Knight (LN) book, Soot-Steeped Knight (LN) story, Soot-Steeped Knight (LN) full, Soot-Steeped Knight (LN) Latest Chapter
NOVEL35.COM – READ BEST NOVELS ONLINE FREE
Novel35.com top 1 website in the world. In here We are offering thousands of free books online read! Read novel updated daily: Action novel, Romance Novel, Adventure Novel, light novel translations, web novel, chinese novel, japanese novel, korean novel, english novel and other novel online. Wish you have relaxing reading sessions at Novel35.com
