The Beginning Of Intrigue

Thomas entered the convent with Lyset and headed for the general affairs office.

Exchanging greetings with passing sisters—cross signs and “Peace be with you”—Thomas and Lyset walked on. Soon the office door opened, and Thomas stood before the general affairs head.

“Peace be with you. I’ve come to report the reassignment of Sister Lyset’s place of service.”

“Peace be with you. Father Thomas, what do you mean?”

The general affairs head tilted his head.

“At the delegation event, Lord Deputy Christoph suggested Sister Lyset serve in the library and archives. Having been entrusted with full authority by High Priest Kraf, I approved it.”

“Sister Lyset, is this true?”

“Yes, it is.”

The general affairs head frowned slightly.

“Of course, I cannot block authority entrusted to you by the High Priest. But this requires final confirmation from Mother Cecilia, the prioress.”

It was true.

But earlier, when Thomas tried to report it, Kraf had waved him off—handle trifles yourself. There was no need to go back and bother both the High Priest and the prioress.

“General Affairs Head, as delegation representative I already reported this matter to High Priest Kraf and Mother Cecilia in his office.”

It was Thomas’s smooth lie. Lyset was startled, but Thomas calmly met the official’s gaze without a flicker.

In truth, changing a single Sister’s post wasn’t critical. Such reassignments happened often—for health, for shortages.

The official nodded in understanding.

“Very well. I’ll record it in the weekly report. Sister Lyset, finish kitchen service by week’s end, then start in the library.”

“Yes, understood.”

Thus Lyset’s reassignment was settled.

Thomas winked at Lyset, as if to say task complete, and cheerfully headed back to the cathedral.

Heart pounding, Lyset went to her room.

It had been a storm of a day, beyond description.

The castle’s small banquet hall.

“May I ask what Your Lordship is truly thinking?”

Morten asked in a low voice.

“As declared. As you know, my father Duke Yodel is gravely ill. To quell the growing unease.”

Morten and Fynel both sighed.

Fynel carefully spoke.

“Even so, for such grave matters, it would have been better to consult at least with Sir Morten, the Knight Commander, or with me. If it were Duke Yodel, he would surely have…”

“Sir Fynel!”

Christoph cut him off.

Fynel had been appointed Captain of the Guard in his youth—long before Christoph was even born—while Morten was promoted to Knight Commander.

Now in his fifties, his words were interrupted by Christoph, who had not even undergone his coming-of-age ceremony.

Morten shook his head, as if he could hardly believe what he was seeing.

But Christoph ignored him and pressed on, his tone firm.

“If I had consulted you on what I declared, would you have accepted it? Surely not—you would have opposed me. I knew that. But this crisis must be seized as an opportunity to advance.”

It sounded like youthful arrogance cloaked in reason—but Christoph’s next words froze Morten and Fynel.

“I will resolve the imbalance of power between the Cathedral and Duchy. Nastrand must unite around me and become the dominant force of the region. To do that, we must first break the Cathedral’s power and place it beneath us. Only then will the Duchy’s wings beat strongly over the land of Nordenheim.”

“Imbalance… wings…”

Morten muttered unconsciously, his face stern.

“Commander of the Knights! Captain of the Guard! You are the heroes who bear this Duchy on your shoulders. I wish to open a grand stage for your pride, ambition, and martial brilliance to shine.”

‘Pride as warriors… our ambition, our strength…’

They were heavy words—and ones long forgotten.

Morten and Fynel fell silent, faces flushed under the weight of those words.

Christoph delivered the decisive words.

“And that will be essential for this Duchy’s great stride under its next lord. If you trust me, the new age of Nastrand will be remembered and sung forever as the radiant age of heroes. Indeed—under your hands, a Nastrand Kingdom may rise!”

A kingdom!

So that was his vision? Shocked, Morten and Fynel clenched their fists.

Fynel carefully voiced the question, one Morten too had been wondering.

“My Lord, since when have you harbored such grand ambitions? How did you come to these ideas?”

At that moment, the door to the banquet hall opened.

The Duchess entered, her face bright with a smile, moving with graceful steps. Morten and Fynel stood to pay their respects.

“It is hardly proper for a woman like me to intrude upon a hall filled with men’s ambitious talk, but I beg your pardon, Sirs Morten and Fynel, for coming—only to lend some small aid to my son and the next lord, Christoph.”

‘So she is the mastermind behind all this.’

Morten and Fynel instantly realized who had devised this cunning plan.

The Duchess slowly brought a chair and seated herself beside Christoph.

Morten spoke abruptly.

“Very well. Let us hear, then, how you intend to diminish the Cathedral’s authority as the first step in this Duchy’s rise. If you cannot persuade me and the Captain of the Guard here, then—”

“And if not?”

The Duchess smiled faintly.

‘If not—then, while Duke Yodel still lives, we could have your heads struck off here and now for treason.’

But Morten swallowed the thought and chose his words carefully.

“The Knight Order and the Guard Corps will not move.”

The Duchess murmured, “Of course,” with a mocking smile.

“Then the next lord himself will explain.”

The Duchess unfurled a map she had prepared, and Christoph began to speak as they looked upon it.

“The invasion of the Grandelvald Duchy—or more precisely, the recovery of the Estderin region—will of course only be possible after my coronation and coming-of-age. Then why did I declare such a vital secret prematurely? Because it was a decoy.”

“A decoy? You mean it was a lie?”

Morten glared at Christoph.

“Hear me out. Now that I’ve proclaimed it, traders and messengers connected to Grandelvald will surely rush to spread word. Even tonight, someone may ride with my declaration hidden in their cloak.”

Fynel clicked his tongue.

“Then I will order the Guard at once to seal the gates and seize any seditious courier for questioning.”

“No. That must not be done.”

“What do you mean?”

“This information must reach Grandelvald. And also our neighbors—Bjoern and Fjorland.”

Morten and Fynel looked at each other in shock, not understanding. The Duchess laughed aloud, as if she had expected it.

Their strong faces flushed with anger at her laughter. Christoph gave a strained smile, pulling their attention back.

“Listen. It is crucial this news spreads. Everyone must believe Nastrand and Grandelvald are truly going to war. Then all eyes will be fixed in that direction.”

“A diversion, then.”

Morten nodded in comprehension. Fynel gasped, “Ah!” But Christoph shook his head.

“No. Not a diversion. A full-scale assault—with all our might. Against Fjorland, on the opposite front.”

“…!!!!!!!”

Morten slammed his hand on the table before he realized it, startling everyone.

“What are you doing, Sir Morten?”

Christoph scolded him angrily, but the stalwart knight brushed it aside, growling in a low voice.

“Fjorland is far stronger than us. In my father’s time as commander, we lost to them and surrendered part of our western lands. Even now, they can muster twice the knights and troops we can.”

“And if we could make that strength vanish?”

“Vanish? What do you mean?”

Morten and Fynel demanded, incredulous. How could the 400 heavy knights and 5,000 guards of Fjorland—the mightiest force in Nordenheim—be erased?

Then the Duchess rose, tore off the red button fastening her chest, and placed it on the map—upon the mountains linking Arendal and Kunslatten beneath Fjorland.

As she laid the button down, her bodice gaped, exposing white skin. Morten and Fynel averted their eyes.

Amused, the Duchess gave a sultry smile.

“Tell me—what tribe dwells in these mountains?”

“The warlike Norger tribe, raiders and pirates, do they not?”

“Correct. Now I’ll explain. If the Norgers launch a massive invasion of Fjorland, their forces will be drawn south. Believing Nastrand to be preparing war against Grandelvald, they will feel safe on this front and dispatch their armies away. Without fail.”

“And how do you know the Norgers will invade en masse?”

“Because I asked them to. When Nastrand conquers Fjorland, I promised them not only their mountain lands, but also all Fjorland territory they seize themselves—with full autonomy.”

“Is this true?”

“It is. The envoy with the sealed letter left three days ago; it may take a day or two more to arrive. But with terms that generous, they will not refuse. We sent ample gold and silver as war funds as well.”

Morten and Fynel were left speechless.

They wondered if this woman—who had orchestrated so grand a design without them—was truly the Duchess they thought they knew.

The Duchess met their stunned gazes with a mocking laugh.

“It will be so. Then our onslaught will wrest nearly half of Fjorland’s lands in no time—right up to their very castles.”

‘It is possible. If it unfolds so, it truly is possible.’

Morten nodded before he realized.

“And after seizing such hard-won lands, you would hand half over to the Cathedral as promised?”

Fynel asked, incredulous.

“Oh, hardly. By then Nastrand Cathedral will be utterly toothless—powerless.”

“How so?”

“As the Captain of the Guard said—make security airtight at the gates, passes, and checkpoints. Search for couriers bearing letters from Nastrand Cathedral to Grandelvald. Ignore the rest—only seize those bound for Grandelvald.

“Once we seize one, we will expose him and his letter before the whole duchy.

“That will cripple the Cathedral’s power—reviled within the Duchy and among neighboring cathedrals alike. They will be shamed as incompetent and deceitful.”

Morten and Fynel clicked their tongues in awe.

‘What a staggering ambition this woman holds!’

The Duchess smiled, pointing at the map.

“Now imagine—if we seize more than half, perhaps two-thirds of Fjorland. Consider our expanded lands and army. Next we can devour Bjoern or Grandelvald in turn. Though they may ally—so it would be wise first to seal a secret non-aggression pact with Bjoern.”

“Indeed, Bjoern once allied with us against Fjorland. They can be considered friendly.”

The Duchess closed the map.

“Well? Surely this is enough to set your pride as a warrior ablaze.”

After a long pause, Morten nodded—signifying his consent.

“Good. We’ll refine the details later. But none outside the four of us must know. Until the army marches, even the Knights and Guards must believe we head for Grandelvald.”

“Understood.”

“Then prepare the troops well. We will also seek ways to undermine the Cathedral further. Above all, we must secure allies inside the Cathedral itself.”

“Allies within the Cathedral…”

“And in the convent as well. That is urgent. Each of us must seek it.”

The council in the banquet hall ended.

Morten and Fynel left, still wearing expressions of disbelief.

Behind the closing doors, Christoph and the Duchess sat smiling.