Hohenfels

“–and so, I would be extraordinarily grateful if you would delay your report on this matter until Friedrich had a chance for a rematch.”

Arne stood in the Castellan’s office, bowing to Lord Hartmut who looked at him pensively.

“A rematch, hmm?” the old man asked gently, stroking his carefully trimmed beard. “You’re a natural at this, aren’t you?”

That made Arne hesitate. “What do you mean, Lord Hartmut?”

“Nothing much. Only that–”

His aura sense screamed a warning. But before he could react, Arne found himself pinned to the wall, held up only by the graying warrior’s hand around his throat.

“–you are an inexperienced brat.” The Castellan’s voice was cold and harsh, a sharp contrast to his earlier behavior. His aura was restrained to a degree where even Arne could barely make it out, but what little he felt made his blood run cold.

“You judged me to be a benevolent grandfather from my words and my aura. Accordingly, you decided that you could afford to try my patience by testing my allegiances with an innocuous question.”

Arne desperately tried to squeeze out a reply, but the fist around his throat did not give way.

“You wanted to gauge my reaction by bringing up your mother. You had no idea whether or not I report to her. Am I correct?”

A shallow nod was all he could muster, but it seemed enough.

“I thought so,” the ancient monster said while finally releasing Arne, who fell to the ground, gasping for air.

His aura returned to normal, cruel steel receding and leaving a kind old man in its place.

“Arnold, remember that your gift is nothing but a tool. Use it whenever you can, but do not make quick judgments based on it alone.”

Arne tried to muster a reply, but produced nothing but a pitiful coughing fit.

“There are scary men out there, boy. Men who lie as easily as they breathe and think nothing of it. They will pounce on your every mistake and make you suffer in ways you did not even know existed,” Lord Hartmut said while pacing around his desk. “But do you know who is even worse?”

“I–” Arne interrupted himself with another coughing fit, “I don’t know, Lord Hartmut.”

“Ambitious women.”

That threw Arne for a loop. “Pardon?”

“There are women out there who will play you like a damn fiddle and you won’t even know it until your dying breath,” Lord Hartmut said while kneeling down next to Arne, who was still prone on the wooden floor. “If even an old fogey like me can fool you, they will consider you easy prey.”

“And what can I–”

“Observe. Do not believe what you see or feel in the moment. Do not take anyone’s words at face value. If your instincts give you the slightest warning, take a step back and reconsider your move. Keep a detailed diary, lock it up firmly, and review it regularly,” he advised with a stern face. “Now, do you still believe I report to your mother?”

“N-no, Mylord.”

“Indeed. I report to no one. Nobody would dare,” he growled, a trace of the monster returning. “So, no need to worry. Something as minor as a scuffle in the arena will never reach her ears, even if her net is twice as large as I suspect. And now get out of here, I have work to do.”

Arne was more than happy to follow the dismissal, immediately returning to his chambers and throwing himself into a comfortable armchair in the lounge and breathing deeply to calm himself down. He could still feel the cold sweat clinging to his back.

‘I should take a bath,’ he thought. ‘And I should start a diary.’

= = = = =

“Fritz, what do you think you’re doing?” Arne asked his cousin, who was in the process of systematically dismembering a training dummy in the dorm’s private training yard.

“Practicing with my saber.”

“I can see that.“

“Then what are you on about?” Defiance. Rebelliousness.

“Your kidney got skewered just yesterday. So, let me ask again: What do you think you’re doing?”

“I–”

“You’re putting down that saber and taking a rest. Right. Now. Look, your bandages are all bloody already.”

“Fiiine,” Friedrich grumbled. “But in return, we’re checking out the mess hall later. I heard the Sonnensteins sponsored a Lumbardian cook for this semester.”

“...We have a perfectly serviceable refectory right here.”

“They only make the same old stuff we’ve eaten all our lives.”

“Perfectly serviceable old stuff.”

“Coward.”

“...”

“Chicken. Ba-gawk!”

“...Fine, we’ll go.”

“Woohoooo!” Friedrich shouted, startling the jackdaws on the dorm’s roof into flight. “Ouch,” he grimaced a moment later, holding his side.

“That’s what you get. Now go rest for a while.”

“I’m actually feeling a bit hungry. Can’t we go right now, and I rest afterwards?” Cautious defiance.

‘Is he testing my limits? I suppose I should indulge him considering what I did yesterday,’ Arne thought. ‘Better not to let this kind of thing fester.’

“All right. But we should probably dress up a bit.” Both of them were wearing very lax attire, due to Arne coming fresh out of the bathhouse and Friedrich training.

“Uniforms?”

“No, Mother said only to wear those in the city and to formal events.”

“Got it.”

They reassembled at the dorm’s gate, Arne now dressed in his favorite velvet doublet and Friedrich wearing a fancy tunic resembling the style of the old empire.

While they were entering the central plaza, Arne brought up a thought he had been mulling over for the last few hours. “Say, Fritz, what do you think Lord Hartmut is doing here of all places?”

“‘Letting the young’uns take the reins back home’, is what he told me.”

“...You asked him?”

“Mhmm. Was that bad?” Worry. Contrition.

“No no, it’s all good.” Relief. “When did you talk to him?”

“He came to see me when I started training. I even got half an hour of personal instruction out of it,” Friedrich grinned proudly.

“That’s great,” Arne replied with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Friedrich seemed to pick up on something, because he immediately switched topics.

“It’s getting more lively around here, huh?”

“It is indeed,” Arne sighed, not even bothering to hide his discomfort. Even Hohenfels Hall had filled up with newcomers, some of them acquaintances or distant family members, some of them minor nobles from neighboring countships aiming for a military career in the Margrave’s army, but most were, though Arne was loath to admit it, those who failed to secure a spot in the much fancier dorms sponsored by the duchies of Eisengrund and Falkenstein.

The plaza that had been practically deserted yesterday was now teeming with young aristocrats, animatedly socializing in groups from three to a dozen. Arne felt his heart speed up as the tangled auras impacted his senses, and fastened the amulet around his neck. The background noise of emotions became bearable again, though it was far from comfortable.

They got a few curious looks from some who had correctly identified the eagle crest embroidered on their clothes, but their hurried steps preempted any approaches. Friedrich’s imagination was running wild with culinary anticipation, and Arne simply wanted to get away from the crowd, though he was acutely aware that their destination would not prove more agreeable to him.

The mess hall was a majestic thing. Located in the academy’s main building, it was purpose-built to impress the Emperor’s ridiculous wealth upon everyone present. Huge windows of stained glass threw fluttering shadows on the polished marble floor. The ceiling was at least a dozen paces high, supported by ornate pillars decorated with Imperial heraldry.

The long wooden tables were arranged in a rather peculiar manner. Not in the physical sense – no, the peculiarities came from the implicit hierarchy they conveyed. Close to the entrance were the tables obviously meant for lower nobility. They were certainly impressive in their own right, with silver candelabra and fine tablecloth, but Arne could see empty platters and serving bowls.

The following set of tables were meant for members of houses holding imperial immediacy: High nobility. The servants clearly prioritized these tables over the earlier ones. He counted at least three of them swarming around the tables at any moment, replacing empty dishes and supplying beverages to the tables’ occupants.

And then came the tables of the ducal houses. Forgoing any subtlety, they were placed on an elevated platform. Six tables, each with heraldry proudly displayed over it, placed far enough apart to avoid conversations wafting over to their neighbors. The tables, while just as long as the rest of the many tables in the hall, were only sparsely populated. ‘That will change once the snake pit truly starts to churn,’ Arne thought. Lesser aristocrats would fight fierce battles, political and physical, over the privilege to join a duchy’s table.

Something that Arne and Friedrich would be spared, since they were greeted by a familiar face, who intentionally ignored polite manners to call out to them over the hall’s clamor.

“Prince Arnold! Young Lord Friedrich! My dearest cousins, come over and join me!”

The noise turned into hushed whispers, as Prince Matthias von Falkenstein, younger cousin of the current Duke of Falkenstein and second in line for succession, waved them over to his table. He was sitting with who Arne supposed was his fiancée, the daughter of a branch of House Greifenhain, who had opted to join the Falkenstein table together with her entourage of young ladies.

“My heartfelt greetings, Prince Matthias. We shall take advantage of your hospitality, then,” Arne said when he and Friedrich reached the table under the scrutinizing looks from all corners of the hall.

“It is good to see you again!” Matthias offered them a radiant grin, relishing the attention. “May I introduce you to the most gorgeous flower of Greifenau, my fiancée Lady Elenor von Greifenhain-Karstein?” The lady in question blushed lightly, rose from her chair to stand next to Matthias and curtsied. He had not even exaggerated her beauty – she was indeed a fitting match for Matthias, who himself was renowned for his princely handsomeness throughout the Empire’s higher social circles.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Elenor. Prince Matthias is a most fortunate man,” Arne shamelessly flattered while offering a small bow.

“The honor is mine, Prince Arnold,” Elenor told him in the deferential tone inner houses instilled in their female scions from birth onwards. It was a stark contrast to the Eisengrund princess’ openly hostile tone, and yet… Displeasure. Calculation. Guile.

While his amulet mostly shielded Arne from the directionless auras permeating the hall, anything directed towards him in particular would still reach his senses. ‘And in this case, I actually appreciate it,’ he thought. ‘It’s good to know where I stand.’

“Please, take a seat,” Matthias insisted, gesturing towards the free chair on his left. Arne took it, trying to parse through the emotions in Matthias’ aura. Genuine joy. Confidence. ‘An undercurrent of calculation, maybe?’

A servant was immediately at his side, offering fine Lumbardian wine that faintly smelled of strawberries. He saw Friedrich, now surrounded by Elenor’s giggling friends who seemed fascinated by the muscles rippling underneath the sleeves of his cousin’s tunic, reach gleefully for a plate of grilled cheese, and quickly decided to try it as well after the mouthwatering aroma reached his nose.

After a few bites, he turned to Matthias and lowered his voice to make it difficult for the countless curious onlookers to make out his words.

“I appreciate it, ‘cousin’. Did Aunt Amalie put you up to this?” Arne asked, referring to his mother’s sister, who happened to be Matthias’ cousin once removed.

“Indeed. She mentioned something about owing Lady Adelheid a favor. I don’t believe in trading favors within the family, but it is what it is,” he said jovially. His aura contorted slightly and Arne noted with a small measure of annoyance that Matthias did, in fact, believe in trading favors within the family.

He suppressed a sigh, faked a chuckle, and turned his attention to his grilled cheese.

Arne and Friedrich excused themselves around an hour later, the former fleeing from an ever-increasing headache, the latter reluctant to part with the ladies who had quickly identified – and successfully used – him as the perfect practice target for flattery and seduction.

“Let’s go again tomorrow,” Friedrich pleaded as they crossed the now sparsely populated plaza in the setting sun.

“I don’t think so,” Arne replied wearily. “You did realize that the girls were only playing with you, right?”

“Sure, but it was fun nonetheless.”

“Well, as long as you’re having fun,” Arne sighed. “Just keep in mind that they’re not to be trusted.”

“Obviously. But a bit of flirting never hurt any–”

Friedrich stopped himself as he saw the figure leaning against their dorm’s outer ramparts, his face contorting into a mask of rage. “What are you doing here?”

Klara von Eisenberg pushed off the wall and straightened up, her mien similarly unamused. She pointedly ignored Friedrich, addressing Arne instead.

“Got a moment, Hohenfels?”