Young Writers Society

Harold

The atmosphere in the Castle Drage was, at best, depressing. Candles were not present in the hallways to light the path. Windows were closed shut day in and day out. Even the fires that were lit in winter seemed to encourage the darkness, rather than exterminate it. It was as if the Nottinghams were on a crusade against light. The Castle Drage was as large as it was dark, its stone walls rising high into the sky. Although it was not as grand as the Fort of Os, Castle Drage was just as well protected. A large, deep moat surrounded the entirety of the fortress. The only way into the castle was a drawbridge that was never brought down unless Baron Harold needed to leave, which he never did. His life was spent in his study until the Gathering came around.

As Harold sat, waiting for Etmon Almos to knock on his door, he could hear the Baron’s breathing. It was heavy and nervous, as it should be. The Nottinghams surrounded their lives in a veil of unsolvable mystery. When they were in the presence of outsiders, they often spoke their strange language on a whisper that was just able to reach the ears of those around them. Devious smiles came across the Nottinghams’ faces when they saw the confused looks of their guests as they spoke in their bizarre tongue.

Etmon knocked three times on Harold’s massive chamber door. The knocks were timid and scared. Harold could almost feel Etmon’s fear. It seemed to seep under the door and crawl submissively to the Baron’s feet. Etmon had only ever spoken to Harold in the presence of the other Barons. Now, they were alone.

“Come in.” Harold said, his Hanjjant rough and far from fluent.

Etmon stepped slowly into Harold’s study. Unlike other Barons who conducted business on the Throne of the Baron or in a council room, Harold chose to work in a separate room that he filled with books and artifacts from the Eastern Land. Etmon looked around in horror at strange words he could not read and at foreign objects to which he could not place a purpose. While Etmon walked towards Harold, the Baron of Crystalford glanced up once at the man. Etmon was a thin and frail man. One would fear that simply being in the wind would rip up his skin. Etmon stood in front of what the Nottingham called a desk and waited for Harold to address him.

“You may sit, Etmon,” Harold said, his accent murky and clearly caught between two very different languages. “We are both Barons. I am your equal according to the laws of the kingdom and our King.”

The Almos Baron sat down in one of the two chairs in front of Harold. He was fidgeting and twitching manically, however Harold paid no mind to this.

“How are you, Harold? I do not believe we have spoken since the Gathering a few months back.” Etmon said.

“I have not spoken to anyone who does not share my family name since the Gathering.” Harold said.

“I see. I see,” Etmon said, his eyes darting around the room, never sitting on Harold’s Eastern face and cold, uncompromising eyes. “I have a request to make of you, Baron Nottingham.”

“You have addressed me formally. You mean to talk business.” Harold said.

“Yes,” Etmon said. “As you no doubt know, I have been under attack for three years by Sulryn of Osfort.”

Harold did not stir.

“I was hoping that, as a fellow Baron of the Kingdom of Uthdore, you would spare a few of your troops to fight in Faymont against Sulryn’s aggression.” Etmon said.

“I have no interest in the politics between fiefs. Sulryn may do as he pleases. It does not matter to me,” Harold said. “And if this is all you have to say, please leave. We have nothing further to say to each other.”

“That is not all, Harold,” Etmon said. “I have also heard word from my spies in Osfort that Sulryn is planning an attack on Goldhaven and on the King himself.”

Harold stood at once, which frightened Etmon into standing as well. The Nottingham were extremely loyal and as such were staunch supporters of the King. In their family, loyalty was prized above all else.

“Has this attack on the King been confirmed?” Harold asked.

“It has definitely been spoken of at the Fort of Os.” Etmon said.

Harold turned from Etmon and paced around the room. Etmon looked away from the man as he thought. Harold turned to the door and yelled out a loud word in his language. A man entered who had features similar to Harold. Harold spoke to this man quickly in the language of the Eastern Land. The man bowed to Harold once they had finished conversing and promptly left.

“A diplomat from Osfort was recently in town and residing in Castle Drage. In the chance that he has not completed his duties, I have sent for him. If he confirms that an attack on Goldhaven is imminent, I will burn Osfort to the ground and have Sulryn’s head brought before the King.” Harold said.

“What? That is what you are basing your decision on? Whether a servant of Sulryn confirms the attack?” Etmon asked. “Do you truly believe that a servant of Sulryn would openly give information about an attack?”

“Of course not,” Harold said. “A truly loyal subject would never reveal information about their leader.”

“Then why will you listen to the words of this diplomat?” Etmon asked.

“Because no one is as loyal as a Nottingham.” Harold said.

“My lord,” a voice said from the door. “You sent for me?”

A tall, smiling, and devilishly handsome man stood in the door of Harold’s study. It was clear that he had charm and charisma. He was the perfect diplomat. When he saw Etmon, his smile faded into a look of disgust.

“Yes,” Harold said. “Please sit.”

Harold gestured to the seat next to the one Etmon had used.

“What use can I be to you, my lord?” the man said, his smile returning.

“I am going to ask you a question two times. The first time is simply for formalities sake. You may answer whatever you wish. The second time is the point where you should give me a truthful answer. Understand?” Harold asked.

Although Harold’s Hanjjant was hard to comprehend, the man nodded his head.

“Is Sulryn planning an invasion of Goldhaven and an attack on the King?” Harold asked, his face perfectly composed and calm.

The diplomat looked to Harold with confusion. His eyes jumped, only for a second, to Etmon. The man no doubt saw Etmon’s hand in Harold’s question.

“Of course not, my lord! Sulryn swore his loyalty to King Ordyn Acktur and a Rothestwar never breaks his word.” the man said.

Etmon snorted.

“Thank you for answering the first time.” Harold said.

Harold suddenly reached for the man’s hand with a speed that surprised everyone but Harold himself. He grabbed the hand and slammed it hard onto his desk. Before anyone in the room had time to become shocked by the events unfolding, Harold removed his knife from its sheath and drove it hard into the man’s hand. The diplomat let out a gut wrenching scream of pain and agony. Harold’s expression did not change.

“Is Sulryn planning an invasion of Goldhaven and an attack on the King?” Harold asked in between the man’s screams and just as he had the first time.

“How dare you attack a diplomat!” the man screamed.

Harold grabbed the man’s other hand, reached for Etmon’s knife, and pinned it to the desk. The intensity of the man’s screams doubled. Etmon had to look away from the pool of blood beginning to form on the desk.

“I will not ask the question again. Either answer or lose your right hand, and later, your life.” Harold said.

“Sulryn is not planning an invasion!” the man yelled.

Harold removed the knife from the man’s right hand, which caused the man to screech, and placed it near the man’s throat.

“This is your last chance to speak the truth.” Harold said.

The man’s eyes went from the knife to Harold’s face, trying to see any hint of uncertainty in Harold’s eyes. He could find none.

“I speak the truth, my lord!” the man said.

Harold snatched the knife from the man’s left hand and yelled a word in his language. Two women clad in black entered the room. He gave them a command and they nodded. The women went to the diplomat, no hint of revulsion of the blood in their eyes, and picked up the man’s limp body. He had passed out from the sheer pain of Harold’s interrogation. Harold reached into his pocket and removed a piece of cloth. He wiped away the blood from his and Etmon’s knife, then wiped the blood off the desk. Etmon was speechless.

“You have your answer. Sulryn plans nothing,” Harold said. “Goodbye, Baron Almos.”