Tielman held his sword in front of him, staring at the training dummy with unwavering eyes. He took a step forward and swung downward. The magic within the dummy made it come alive, and it swung its blade to parry his own. He masterfully maintained his momentum, beginning an ever-quickening dance. Metal glancing against metal filled the hall with a song of iron. The baron’s frustration poured into every blow until the intensity increased to such a point the blades spent more time in contact with each other than they were apart.


    Eventually, the baron’s blade danced back the impeccably quick reactions of the magic dummy, sinking into its neck. The tough fabric resisted, and the dummy once again went dormant. Tielman pulled his blade away, his breathing only barely labored. He put his blade back in its sheath, then looked up at the night sky.


    “Still no aura?”


    Tielman looked toward the voice, his caution raised until he realized who it was. There was only one person who could sneak up on him so—Godfried, the brother between Lennard and Willem in age. He looked the most like his mother, with a lithe, limber form and dark hair. Even in the art of war, he’d received training from his mother. All he had from Tielman was his blue eyes.


    Godfried had been cold to Tielman since the divorce, as he felt his mother had been dishonored. Tielman couldn’t begrudge his son that perspective. Despite his attempts to mend things, he couldn’t get through to the boy.


    “Still dangerous to use it,” Tielman answered his son, walking toward him.


    “Hmm.” Godfried nodded, hand resting on the rapier at his waist. The two stood around awkwardly and silently. Despite his fondness for his mother, Godfried was the most like Tielman of all of them—cold, quiet, efficient. It was difficult to judge who was worse at communicating.


    “Going to use—"


    “Letter came—”


    Both of them spoke at the same time, then paused.  Tielman gestured to Godfried for him to proceed.


    “Letter came from Willem.”


    “What?” Tielman’s brow furrowed. “Let me see.”


    Godfried didn’t move to obey. “We’ve finally gotten rid of him, and now you’re expending no effort to bring him back into the family.”


    Tielman looked at him without breaking away. “Back into? He remains family. These are merely legal issues.”


    Godfried leaned against a pillar of the hall. “Do you remember what happened to my fiancée?”


    Tielman sighed. “I remember.”


    “You say that, then act rather differently from how you should.” Godfried looked away from his father.


    Tielman also looked away. “I’d do the same for you.”


    Godfried scoffed. “That’s the problem.”


    Tielman only adjusted the sword strapped to his belt, unable to gather a response. Before he could say more, Godfried pulled the letter out from his shirt and handed it over. Tielman took it, folding it open. At once, he narrowed his eyes.


    “Willem truly sent this?”


    “The carrier bird came from the count’s estate in Gent,” Godfried said. “Why?”


    “Penmanship is different.” Willem looked at Godfried’s skeptical face, then elaborated, “I taught all of you how to read and write myself.”


    “Perhaps a servant wrote it.” Godfried shrugged. “Is the content unusual?”


    Tielman read it once more to be sure. “It asks me to come to Gent, provided I’m feeling well enough. And… he’s happy I’m better.”


    “Definitely fake,” Godfried said with conviction. “If it is a trap…”


    “It could be real.” The baron studied the greeting and the closing. Neither said father—instead, it said ‘Baron Tielman.’ He narrowed his eyes. “Whatever the case, I have to go. All leads to the poisoner died off. If these are the same people behind my assassination attempt, then I can bait them out.”


    “You’re unwell. I could tell.” Godfried gestured toward the dummy. “Your aura is sealed.”


    Tielman put his hand on his sword’s pommel. “Not sealed, merely dangerous to use. Besides, I’ll be well enough by the time I arrive.”


    “Take your best knights, at least,” Godfried said hurriedly.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    “No. Avaria might be responsible for the poisoning.” Tielman shook his head. “The knights stay.”


    “Bring Hans, then,” Godfried suggested.


    “I sent Hans to speak to your mother,” Tielman said. “I’ll be fine alone.”


    Godfried seemed to grind his teeth together, then said, “I’m coming with you.”


    Tielman waved away the offer. “I said I’ll be fine.”


    “I… want to see Catharina.” Godfried crossed his arms. “And I need to find out what Willem’s actually planning. Perhaps he’s playing you for a fool, knowing your refusal to give him genuine punishment for anything he does.”


    Tielman wished to reprimand his son, but could muster no excuse in front of something he, himself had thought a great many times.


    In the end, he walked away after saying only, “Prepare your things. We leave in the morning.”


    ***


    The griffon swooped down upon Lennard in the howling snowstorm, yet aura coursed all around the arm that held his shield and his feet as he was forced back along the mountaintop. The beast was easily eight times his size, yet in the end, its mad dash stopped. Golden aura swarmed all around him, and with a grunt, he swung his shield arm to swat it away. The monster let out a deafening cry, reeling backward and struggling to maintain its footing.


    The griffon scrambled backward toward the edge of a cliff, preparing to run off again and take off in flight. Lennard gathered all of his aura, throwing his sword and piercing both its foot and the mountain below. Pinned, it stumbled. That was all the time Lennard needed to close the distance, and he seized the beast’s throat.  He turned his body, pulling the griffon along with him until he slammed it against the ground.


    Lennard drew the knife at his waist, plunging it into the beast’s throat, and with a yank opened it up. He kept it restrained as it thrashed, raged, and bled. He stared into the beast’s eyes with his golden aura raging all about him as it went through its last moments on this realm. It tried to claw, tried to batter him with its wings, but his position was simply too advantageous.


    In the end, its struggles ceased. The golden aura pulsing all around Lennard began to vanish like it never had been, and he lowered his head with a sigh before turning and sitting upon its corpse. He pulled free his sword from the ground, frowning at the chip in its surface. He wiped it down on the griffon’s feathers, then sheathed it resignedly.


    Dowager Countess Anne Claire had asked for him to come to this mountain to avenge her late husband, the count, and find his body if it was possible. Lennard could tell that was the only way he’d be able to gain entrance to Gent. Fighting griffons was something he had a glut of experience at, so he took the opportunity.


    Lennard rose to his feet, eyeing the griffon’s corpse. This looked like the beast that had claimed her husband, at least from the survivor’s tales. Still… he didn’t want her to devise some excuse, and still had yet to recover her husband’s corpse. It’d be for the best if he simply hunted every griffon in the mountains to be totally certain. Then, at least, he’d be guaranteed entry.


    Lennard kneeled, ready to take a trophy and move on to the next quarry.


    ***


    “Dirk’s going to be continuing to try and get the rest on the list, but considering there’s likely going to be some cancellations, the final number of guests is probably about seventy,” Willem told Anne Claire.


    The two of them enjoyed a nice lunch in a pavilion in the count’s estate.


    “Seventy? Hmm. A larger number than I thought.” Anne Claire deliberated for only a moment before nodding. “I’ll just ask my son to lend me the ballroom in the city. Food, though…”


    “I imagine most of them won’t mind if we have less expensive stuff. I have a deal with a fishmonger. I think I can work something out.” He shook his head. “Boggles the mind that fish is so cheap.”


    “Good. Good!” Anne Claire smiled as she looked upon things. “I visited Karel expecting to have to lean on him further, but… it sounds like you’d already worked something out.”


    “Yeah.” Willem took a bite of his veal, chewing it in solemn thought before he swallowed and continued. “It may be contingent on Baron Tielman’s cooperation, but I’m hoping the gleaming gold blinds him even if that aspect falls through.”


    “Tielman? What?” Anne Claire looked uneased.


    “I invited him over,” Willem explained. “Was that rude? I mean, the man was dying, but it’s been a while. Dirk said it would be fine. I trust Dirk.”


    “Rude? By rumor, the baron killed an ogre that broke into his encampment with his guts still hanging out from last battle’s injury.” Anne Claire looked uneased. “Tielman will be fine. I’m just worried he’ll try and convince you to rescind your disinheritance.”


    “He doesn’t have any leverage over me anymore.” Willem shrugged. “Lennard must’ve really hated me. He was thorough. I appreciate what he did all the same. I got a nice payday, even if I probably didn’t deserve it. But hey, luck’s always a factor in business. Right place, right time, all that.”


    Anne Claire looked sad, but she covered her face with her fan before Willem could see. “Tielman is still your father. How can you know he won’t play any card against you?”


    “I don’t consider him my father.” Willem shook his head. “Nor any of the others my family. From what I understand, the feeling is mutual.”


    Anne Claire’s eyes trembled, and she reached across the table and put her hand atop Willem’s wrist.


    “It’s okay, my boy. You’re here,” she said, trying her best to make her tone happy. “And you’re going to stay here, right?”


    “Mmhmm,” Willem said through a mouthful of food, his gaze distant and distracted. “Lot of business to get done in this place. Favorable tax rate of zero. I’ve got no reason to leave.”


    Anne Claire looked reassured, and discreetly dabbed beneath her eyes to wipe away some tears. She thought Willem was reminiscing about the nightmares he’d been through at the van Brugh estate. She pictured him and Catharina enduring some horrible training together with whips and clubs—perhaps spikes, caltrops, and bear traps were involved.


    In reality, Willem was thinking about what businesses he should try and buy into once he got enough capital from the Society of Assured Prosperity. If Dirk were here, he could attest to the fact that was all Willem really thought about.