Several people had sighted flocks of the big swamp dactyls flying into the farmlands. Dozens of goats, a few sheep, and even a milk cow, had been reported missing. The next report said that a handful of barges had sunk or been pirated before reaching their destinations. This was a fresh copy of an old report and he quickly tossed it away. A young girl had been raped by men in uniform, probably Lord Brach’s recruiters. Ellrich’s men knew better. She had just come forward with the claim. Her family most likely bade her to wait for Lord Ellrich’s return before she made the accusation. It was probably too late to find the men responsible, now that the invasion of Wildermont had begun. Lord Ellrich sighed and rubbed at the folds of his chin with his sausage-like a fingers. What a shame.
Another report said that a rash of burglaries along the riverfront had occurred in more than one town. “Highly organized,” Captain Long had written in the margin of the report. Ellrich tried to remember if Long had been sent to the Wildermont front or not. If he had investigated the thefts enough to learn how organized the perpetrators were, but still hadn’t managed to find them, then maybe the battlefront was the place for him. Or, maybe, Captain Long would like to lead an excursion out into the marshes to wipe out some of the pesky dactyls. Ellrich liked that idea better. A few of the big leathery birds hanging from the trees in the towns along the coast would make the people feel a little bit better. He started to read the next page, but sighed again, and tossed the stack of papers back onto his desk.
Since he had been home, he had been forced to deal with these sorts of matters personally. He used to assign a man to each and see what came about, but he didn’t have the resources of his garrison anymore. A few thousand men had suddenly turned into a few hundred. He would deal with it, on the morrow. The scent of Rosila’s meal had him salivating. Not even the upsetting matter of the molested girl, whose father he knew personally, was going to disturb his dinner this night.
The table was loaded with his favorites. Rosila had cooked and cared for him since he was knee high to a swamp bug, and knew just what would satisfy his vast hunger. Since he had been home, he had been too busy culling the outposts, and making the rounds, to sit down at his own table and enjoy one of her feasts, but she had insisted that he stay put this night. She had also invited his advisers, and warned them what would happen if they didn’t leave the Lord to get a good night’s rest after supper was finished. They knew better than to argue with her, as did Lord Ellrich. She was as old as Settsted itself, and as stubborn as the stone it was built from.
Captain Layson, a tall, thick man in his graying years, with a clean military demeanor and a balding head, had been invited. He was Lord Ellrich’s second in command here at the stronghold.
Captain Munst, a slightly younger and bulkier version of Captain Layson, was there as well. He was over all the men who manned the string of outposts that Lord Ellrich had just gutted.
Sir William, the wily old Weapons Master, who had trained nearly every man that served under Lord Ellrich, was there as well. He was getting on in years, but his wild explosion of snow white hair and his hardened physique, were still imposing. Especially on the training yard where he often proved why he was still the Weapons Master.
The rock-walled dining hall wasn’t very large. It held only one long table and was lit by torches spaced evenly along the long walls. The big fireplace at the foot of the table was blocked off with a wooden folding partition, and was painted the same dark and dreary shades of green and brown as the two swamp scene tapestries hanging on the walls that ran alongside of the dining board. Even this early in the summer, a fire would have made the heat in the windowless room unbearable.
The occasion was informal, old friends who trusted and respected one another, just socializing, and enjoying the return of their Liege Lord. These were the three men who had shaped Lord Ellrich’s ideals and raised him after his father had passed away many years ago. His title meant little in their company; they were like family, and none of them would hesitate to speak their mind. All three of them were pleased to get to enjoy Rosila’s feast. It was rare that she let them share the Lord’s table.
Not much was said while they were eating. Roasted game hens, and sliced pork, drenched in gravy, seemed to keep their fingers and mouths busy enough. Fresh baked loaves of bread, heavily buttered, sweet jellies, and a mix of green vegetables, weren’t ignored either. The best cask of red in the cellar had been brought up, and Rosila and her daughter kept the goblets full. Dessert was sugared moss cakes, with candied gar root, a swamp land delicacy that was as rare as snowfall to the men. They ate their fill of all of it.
The conversation stayed light, until Lord Ellrich, who was sweating profusely, and bloated like a boar hog, had a pair of candelabras brought out so that the torches might be extinguished. After wiping the grease and sweet jam from his hands, he belched loudly, and then touched on the subject of King Glendar’s campaign against the east. He was buzzed from the wine and had a green smear of icing from the moss cake on his cheek. His manner and tone were almost comical.
“You think this war is a winnable thing?” he asked the table.
“Why that Highwander Witch would set such a thing off at Summer’s Day, I cannot imagine,” Captain Layson offered.