The Opening Move

As the Duchess and Christoph had expected, by that very night the news of the New Year’s audience spread throughout the castle, and within days it had reached nearly every corner of the duchy.

The coronation and coming-of-age of the new lord this spring,

and a war with the Grandelvald Duchy.

The first to react sensitively were, of course, the merchants.

For those who traveled between duchies, no information mattered more than the prospect of war.

They had to decide at once what to hoard, what to liquidate quickly, and how to manage their trading partners—everyone was on edge.

The wealthy mounted horses, the poorer hired swift couriers—sending letters or messengers carrying memorized words to spread the news to every duchy.

Captain of the Guard Fynel was well aware of the commotion, but ordered the checkpoints to respond as usual.

However,

“Investigate thoroughly the destination and mission of anyone connected to the Cathedral. Especially if they carry letters or official documents bound for Grandelvald—report to me at once.”

Such orders were strictly issued to every gate, post, and checkpoint.

A few days later.

Late at night, inside Kraf’s office.

With the prioress, Joachim, and Thomas present, Kraf melted wax and handed a sealed letter to Thomas.

“One is a reply to the Grandelvald Cathedral’s New Year’s greeting. The other details what transpired at the New Year’s audience: that Nastrand Grand Cathedral opposes this war and will do its utmost to prevent it, and that we seek to strengthen ties with Grandelvald Duchy and Cathedral by informing them first.”

Thomas made the Sign of the Cross, knelt, and received the letter.

Kraf produced another document.

“This certifies that Father Thomas is on official duty. As you know, it bears my seal. With this, you may cross any border by church law as a servant of the Lord. Guard it well.”

An identical document was given to Joachim, who would travel to the Bjoern and Fjorland cathedrals before returning.

Since those duchies were unrelated to the looming war, Kraf judged it fine if he was delayed.

“Shall I bring back replies? That would give them time to discuss and draft opinions, but it may greatly delay the schedule.”

Kraf shook his head firmly.

“I have written all that must be said. Deliver it and return without delay. We must also prepare for Lord Christoph’s coronation and coming-of-age. If either of you were absent long, the castle might grow suspicious.”

“Understood.”

“Depart as soon as preparations are complete. Horses are ready.”

Kraf gave a brief blessing to the two kneeling priests.

As they rose and quietly left, Kraf sat down with a sigh.

The prioress spoke in a cold, displeased tone.

“I believe we should show a firmer stance against one who undermines the church’s authority.”

“You see too narrowly, Mother Superior. This is also an opportunity for the Nastrand Grand Cathedral to represent the entire Nordenheim Archdiocese. We must simply do what we can, and pray this Cathedral may serve the Lord in even greater ways.”

‘So in the end, he just wants to be made cardinal of the archdiocese.’

A mocking smile spread across the prioress’s lips.

Kraf frowned at her expression and continued.

“The convent is doing well, but I ask you to take greater care during the Young Lord’s coronation and coming-of-age. Do not give him any excuse.”

“How unlike you, High Priest, to fear worldly power so much.”

“It is not the power I fear, but the madness it may unleash.”

Kraf’s eyes gleamed sharply.

“If his madness grows too great, we have ways. That ‘whelp’ cannot be so foolish as to make all of Nordenheim his enemy. Should he cross the line—we will have no choice but to send him to the Lord’s side.”

Whelp…

It was the first time that word had been spoken.

Kraf twisted his wrinkled lips in a pleased smile, savoring the term. The prioress too nodded, seemingly satisfied.

“Shall we not inform the Holy See?”

“What need is there to tell them early? We shall paint the picture first, then report it. A picture must be painted by one hand—many brushes spoil it.”

Cecilia clicked her tongue. She realized she had underestimated the depth of this man’s guile.

A chill ran down her back.

The next morning, early.

Thomas and Joachim waited on horseback at the gate for it to open.

Clad in formal priestly robes, each with a fir twig tucked at the waist to signify official duty, they received kneeling salutes from the changing guards.

Gatekeeper Gunnar, looking sleepless, straightened up at once when he spotted the two priests.

‘This must be what Sir Fynel spoke of.’

He approached, crossed himself, and asked politely.

“Fathers, where do you travel so early?”

Thomas tapped the fir branch at his waist pointedly, while Joachim handed over Kraf’s sealed credential.

“We are going to deliver replies to the New Year’s greetings of the Cathedrals.”

“I see. As gatekeeper, I must record your destinations. Where precisely are you bound?”

“My name is Joachim. I will visit the Bjoern and Fjorland Cathedrals before returning. This is Father Thomas, master of ceremonies, bound for the Grandelvald Cathedral.”

Gunnar nodded and gestured to a guard to write it down.

“Very well. Travel safely. Open the gates!”

The heavy gates opened, and Thomas and Joachim inclined their heads slightly as they rode out.

As soon as the gates shut, Gunnar ran straight to Fynel’s office in the Guard headquarters.

Knock knock knock.

“It’s Gunnar.”

“Enter.”

Before the fully dressed Fynel, Gunnar stood at attention and reported that the two priests had just left.

Fynel’s eyes sharpened.

“They will split at Windir Hill—left to Grandelvald, right to Bjoern. There is the Valpar checkpoint on the Grandelvald road. You will take three Guards at once, seize the priest heading there, and detain him at Valpar.”

“You would detain a priest—the Cathedral’s master of ceremonies himself?”

Gunnar’s mouth dropped open.

“Yes. Detain him regardless of reason. Say it is my order. I will bear all responsibility.”

“But he is master of ceremonies! At least tell me the weight of this command!”

Fynel looked at Gunnar.

The boy who once guided an old woman to him, claiming knowledge of the priestess, had become this stout gatekeeper. Yet even he now sweated in dismay—such was the Cathedral’s power in the Duchy, enough that even the Captain of the Guard’s order was questioned.

‘Yes… that is the problem.’

With a bitter look, Fynel said, “The fate of the Duchy rests on this. You bear the duty of protecting it.”

Gunnar straightened at once. The words “fate of the duchy” rekindled his sense of duty as gatekeeper.

“And once he is detained?”

“Sir Morten and I will soon arrive. We will handle matters then.”

“Understood. I’ll depart immediately.”

Gunnar hurried out.

At Windir Hill, Thomas and Joachim exchanged farewells.

“Then, Father Joachim, may the Lord’s grace and protection be with every step of your journey. We’ll meet again at the Cathedral.”

“Father Thomas, may the Lord’s grace and protection be with you as well!”

Joachim crossed himself, bowed, and took the right-hand road toward Bjoern.

Once Joachim’s figure vanished, Thomas turned his horse onto the wintery plain.

After a time, hoofbeats approached—clearly visible across the wide plain, a small squad of Guards riding hard.

‘Hmm? What’s this?’

Thomas tilted his head—then his eyes widened in fear.

‘They’re coming for me!’

He thought to spur his horse, but that would only deepen suspicion. And there was no way he could outrun trained cavalry.

‘What do I do?’

Panicked, Thomas considered tearing the letter meant for Grandelvald—but there was no time.

‘No choice… I can only hope this isn’t about me.’

But as four horsemen closed in, Thomas recognized Gunnar, the gatekeeper from earlier—and knew beyond doubt they were after him.

The riders surrounded his horse.

“Whoa, easy! Haha. Good to see you again, Father Thomas. We greeted you earlier—must I cross myself again?”

Gunnar laughed smoothly as he reined in his excited horse.

Thomas forced calm, speaking sternly.

“Gatekeeper, what business do you have with me? I already showed you my credential.”

Gunnar grinned. But this smile was unlike his usual friendly one.

His eyes did not smile at all.

“Father Thomas, you’ll have to come with us now.”

“Where to?”

“On the way to Grandelvald lies a checkpoint—Valpar. We’ll escort you there.”

“I know it.”

“We’ll take you there.”

Thomas raised his voice, scolding.

“Explain yourself! I am a priest on Nastrand Grand Cathedral’s official duty. The Church’s mission is to be unimpeded and respected above all!”

Gunnar’s smile vanished.

His voice turned icy.

“This is by order of Captain Fynel. We, too, are on the Duchy’s official duty. Just as you prioritize the church’s mission, so we act for the Duchy’s safety—our highest duty.”

“By… by Captain Fynel’s order…?”

‘Captain Fynel… one of the four standing councilors alongside High Priest Kraf himself!’

Thomas stammered in shock.

Gunnar drove in the nail.

“If you promise to come quietly, we will not bind you, out of respect. At Valpar checkpoint, Sir Fynel and Sir Morten will soon arrive.”

‘This is a disaster.”

Thomas realized the Castle had perfectly anticipated and countered the Cathedral’s move. There was no escape.

The men’s sharp gazes, the swords at their sides, the ropes at their belts…

“…Very well.”

The feeble words were all he could manage. The forced dignity he had shown moments ago was gone.

Two riders boxed him front and back. Head lowered, Father Thomas’s horse carried him toward Valpar checkpoint.