Chapter 54

Several days passed before the party finally departed for Osterbeek.

Kosha had stubbornly insisted that his flock of geese would remain perfectly safe if left unattended at his home. Lucien found the claim utterly preposterous, though for once, the lord had chosen to humor the mage. Retrieving the birds should have been a trivial undertaking, requiring little more than a carriage and a few capable men to gather the flock and load them aboard. Instead, the task dragged on for days because Kosha refused to let anyone else fetch them.

“They barely listen to me, so they certainly won’t obey strangers,” Kosha had argued. “Do you have any idea how fast geese can run once they decide to flee?”

Admittedly, there was a certain logic in allowing the former goose herder to corral his own flock. The true cause of the prolonged delay, however, was Lucien’s unyielding insistence on accompanying him personally. He maintained that Kosha could hardly be sent away unsupervised, and the justification carried genuine weight, given the very real possibility that the unpredictable spellcaster might load his birds into the wagon and disappear into the wilderness.

Lucien could simply have assigned him an armed escort, but the atmosphere shifted the moment Eydric volunteered.

The knight often passed long stretches without any particular duty, so his sudden initiative was not especially unusual. His exceptional physical prowess also made him perfectly suited to chasing down rogue poultry. Nevertheless, after scarcely a moment’s consideration, Lucien rejected the offer outright.

Observing the exchange, Gosrick detected the subtle yet volatile current running between his lord and the towering knight, and a deep unease settled over him. When Lucien finally declared that he would lead the retrieval himself, Gosrick felt the inevitable weight of disaster sink into his stomach. Even so, he made a futile attempt to remind his master of their punishing schedule.

Naturally, his objections fell on deaf ears.

Lucien had been this way since childhood. He habitually invited differing opinions, but once he firmly settled on a course of action, the decision became an absolute expression of his will, one he refused to reverse under any circumstances. Consequently, the entire retinue was forced to scramble and clear a full day from his itinerary.

Lucien appeared to regard Kosha’s delayed reunion with his beloved birds as an amusing secondary benefit. Oblivious to the turmoil his request had caused, the mage merely smiled through the wait, visibly thrilled by the prospect of seeing his flock again.

The delegation that finally departed for the remote countryside beyond Osterbeek consisted of Lucien, Eydric serving as his temporary bodyguard, an endlessly anxious Gosrick, Kosha, and a lone coachman driving the supply wagon.

Considering that Gosrick descended from a lordly bloodline and Eydric belonged to a distinguished Carlot noble house, deploying three elite knights and a powerful mage to retrieve nine farm birds felt absurdly extravagant.

It was a strike force better suited to infiltrating an enemy stronghold than visiting a rural backwater.

Kosha remained entirely untroubled by Gosrick’s visible discomfort. Wrapped in the gray robe he now wore like a second skin, he practically vibrated with excitement, shifting eagerly from one foot to the other.

Their progress suffered considerably because Kosha had to remain confined to the rattling baggage wagon while the three knights rode alongside on horseback. By the time they reached the remote outskirts of Osterbeek, the sun had already passed its zenith.

Horribly pale and stricken with severe motion sickness, Kosha clambered down from the wooden cargo bed and staggered toward his property while the armed trio followed close behind.

The structure awaiting them barely qualified as a house.

Years of neglect had reduced it to a near ruin steeped in a lingering, eerie gloom. The yard stood silent and overgrown, entirely devoid of livestock.

Lucien rubbed his temples as frustration mounted. “You promised they would be here.”

“They should be.” Kosha frantically searched the tangled yard. “This is incredibly strange. Just give me a moment.”

The tiny shack offered almost nowhere for anything to hide. Kosha picked his way through the debris-strewn yard before venturing toward a small shed at the rear of the property. Leaning through the doorway, he peered into the suffocating dimness.

Deep within the cramped storage space, a large figure sat atop a pile of grain sacks that looked ready to burst. The man chewed noisily on a handful of gnawed roots.

Kosha did not recognize him at first. The stranger squinted back at him against the harsh sunlight pouring through the doorway, and a moment of mutual confusion stretched between them before a savage voice shattered the silence.

“Who the hell is out there?”

The man hauled his massive frame upright.

A bead of cold sweat raced down Kosha’s spine as recognition struck, not from the man’s face, but from his aggressive tone. “Veorn?”

The brute was the village blacksmith’s eldest son and the brother of Melda, the same woman who had once commissioned a love potion. Veorn habitually boasted about the inheritance he would one day receive while tormenting Kosha at every conceivable opportunity.

Recognition twisted his heavy features into a scowl. “You son of a bitch. Don’t tell me you’re the goose herder.”

Kosha instinctively shrank back. “Ah…”

“Where the hell have you been, you little shit?” Veorn roared as he closed the distance with heavy, thudding steps.

Toxic memories flooded Kosha’s mind.

For years, this bear of a man had rapped him across the skull, shoved him into muddy water, and tripped him in the streets. Every so often, Veorn would toss him soiled clothing or scraps of food under the guise of charity. Somehow, those rare displays of pity had made the blacksmith’s son infinitely more detestable.

“Did you really run off with Melda?” Veorn demanded. “Is it true?”

“No, please, let me go before you start talking.” Kosha desperately tried to pull away. “You’re moving too fast.”

A hand as thick as a timber slab clamped brutally around Kosha’s shoulder.

Decades of conditioned terror seized the mage, freezing his slender body in sheer paralysis.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

A perfectly calm voice cut through the humid gloom of the shed.

Eydric stepped forward, the leather of his simple vambrace creaking as he closed one hand around Veorn’s wrist. With seemingly no effort at all, the knight peeled the blacksmith’s massive fingers away from Kosha’s shoulder.

His legs trembling, Kosha stumbled backward and stared at the confrontation in absolute bewilderment.

Veorn had always dominated his nightmares through sheer, oppressive size. Kosha had never considered Eydric particularly enormous by comparison, but with the two men standing chest to chest, the disparity became unmistakable. The knight possessed a vastly superior frame.

Eydric remained serenely still while Veorn glared at him with bulging eyes. Despite the villager’s fury, however, he already appeared completely overwhelmed by the knight’s suffocating presence.

“Who the hell are you?” Veorn bellowed, wrenching his arm away in a desperate display of bravado.

Eydric obligingly released him, then drove a swift kick into the inside of Veorn’s shin in the same fluid motion. The strike looked almost effortless, yet the resulting CRACK! rang across the ruined yard with bone-rattling force.

Veorn staggered sideways with a strangled cry.

Eydric immediately seized the back of his filthy tunic and slammed the larger man down onto both knees in the dirt. As Veorn screamed in agony, the knight planted a heavy boot on the hand he tried to use for balance, twisted the brute’s free arm painfully behind his back, and drew a sleek dagger from beneath his coat. Cold steel settled flush against the blacksmith’s pulsing throat.

The entire subjugation unfolded within the span of a single breath.

Still unable to comprehend how completely he had been defeated, Veorn could only gasp wetly for air. Eydric gazed down at him, his handsome features entirely free of exertion or malice despite having neutralized the threat in seconds.

“What the hell are you?” Veorn sputtered. His frantic gaze darted toward his former victim. “Wait. Is that really you, goose herder?”

Accustomed to throwing his considerable weight around town with a gang of sycophants trailing at his heels, Veorn had never experienced such absolute and humiliating restraint.

The crunch of approaching boots interrupted his panicked thoughts.

“What exactly is the meaning of this?” Lucien demanded as he entered the dim shed with Gosrick at his side.

“I have apprehended a highly suspicious individual, my lord,” Eydric reported smoothly.

“Suspicious?” Veorn thrashed weakly against the dirt. “Who the fuck are you calling suspicious?”

His furious protests died the instant he noticed the newcomers.

The provincial blacksmith’s son lacked the experience to recognize high nobility at a glance, but the terrifying, predatory aura radiating from the blond man silenced him. Even dressed in the humble traveling leathers of a wandering mercenary, Lucien commanded the cramped space like a conquering emperor.

“Who are you people?” Veorn whispered.

Ignoring the bleeding man entirely, Lucien fixed Kosha with a cool stare. “Do you know this local?”

Kosha nodded, still bewildered. “He’s the eldest son of the village blacksmith. His name is Veorn.”

“I wasn’t asking for his pedigree.” Lucien’s expression tightened with profound annoyance. “What is your actual relationship with him?”

Relationship?

Kosha’s eyes darted nervously between the terrifying lord and his childhood tormentor. “We have absolutely no relationship whatsoever.”

“What did you just say?” Veorn snapped, straining to lift his head. “Listen here, goose herder. You’d better tell them…”

A sickening groan escaped him as Eydric applied the slightest fraction of downward pressure. Veorn’s heavy spine buckled, and his face ground deeper into the dirt.

Lucien made a dismissive gesture.

Understanding the silent command, Eydric sheathed his dagger and reached for a set of iron restraints. Realizing he was about to be imprisoned, Veorn kicked out in wild, pathetic desperation.

“Where is my sister?” he shrieked.