The Vampire & Her Witch-Chapter 1370: The Youngest Baron (Part Two)

"You’re staring at the back of Lord Owain’s head," Wes said quietly from beside him. His tone was light and conversational, but there was nothing casual about the look in his eyes. "If he notices, he’ll think you’re plotting something."

"I’m staring at everyone’s head," Erling said with a helpless shrug. It was true enough, but it was also true that he’d been staring at Bors Lothian’s son while wondering how the soon-to-be Marquis would fill his father’s shoes.

"It’s one of the few advantages of riding at the back," Erling continued, as though he was just making conversation while they rode. "You get to see everyone, and no one bothers to look at you." 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

"You could ride closer to the front," Wes pointed out. "You’re a baron. You have the right." While Owain had chosen to keep his knights close by his side, if a baron wanted to push them back in order to speak to the future marquis, there was very little the knights themselves could say about it. Of course, that didn’t mean that Owain would accept Erling’s company, and the young baron clearly recognized that.

"And spend the next hour listening to Sir Garrik boasting about how impenetrable the defenses of Maeril Village are while he tries to make his case that Maeril would be a stronger barony than Fayle?" Erling said, shaking his head as he scowled at the knight who was leaning over in his saddle to talk to Lord Owain. "I’d rather listen to the forest. At least the birds have pleasant voices."

Baron Wes Iriso scowled as he realized that Sir Garrik was likely picking up the old, familiar argument, trying to press his claim with the future Marquis before Owain had even taken his seat on the throne.

The Lothian Court often felt like a cook pot with its lid clamped on tight, and men like Sir Garrik were one of the reasons why. No matter how much villages like Maeril and Hurel grew, the knights who ruled over them would never be able to rise in station unless Lothian March became Lothian Duchy.

Some families of knights, like the Pyres who had served as guardsmen to the Lothian family for generations, were content with their lot in life. They served loyally and asked for nothing more. But others, like Garrik Maeril, suggested that the Lothian Marquis should ’rebalance’ the peerage within the domain, stripping the poorer, weaker baronies of their titles as barons in order to bestow an elevated status on ’more worthy’ vassals.

Baron Fayle had spent years resisting those pressures, but the voices advocating for relieving him of his title never stayed quiet for more than a few years.

"Has Sir Garrik been puffing himself up about successfully guarding his people from the demons of the Vale of Mists?" Wes asked, keeping his voice quiet enough that the clopping of the horses’ hooves on the trail prevented his words from carrying far. "Is he trying to take advantage of the attacks against the Dunns and the Hanrahans to advance his cause this time?"

"Naturally," Erling said, his voice dripping with enough sarcasm to drown a small animal. "Nothing to do with the Abbey of the Inquisition sitting a stone’s throw from his keep, or the dozen miracle-workers the Church has stationed in their Temple there."

"The demons avoid Maeril because they’ve heard of the great Sir Garrik and tremble at the thought of facing him in combat," the youthful baron said with a bitter chuckle. It would have been funnier if he hadn’t thought that Lord Owain might actually take Sir Garrik’s proposal seriously.

Owain clearly valued men who could boast about their accomplishments, slaying demons, and while Sir Garrik wasn’t impressive in that regard, he’d ridden out against the demon villages under Owain’s banner at least three times in the past five years, which was far more than Erling could say that he’d done.

In fact, the last time Owain had sent a letter asking about bringing soldiers to hunt the horse demons to the south of Fayle barony, Erling’s response had been to decline. He’d claimed that his knights couldn’t afford to be away from their villages during the hot summer months when so much attention had to be paid to the vineyards.

It wasn’t exactly a lie. Fayle Barony derived so much of its income from the vineyards that the bunch of grapes had become the core of the Fayle family crest. Protecting the grapes from anything that would taint the flavor of the fruit was important work that needed to be done by skilled hands, and most of the knights of Fayle wanted to be on hand should any issues arise.

The real reason that Erling refused to join in Owain’s raids against the demons of the Southern Steppe, however, was something that the young baron knew better than to speak out loud. After all, if he claimed to have been visited by a raven that spoke to him when he was just a boy, promising to keep his villages safe from demons so long as his men never ventured south of the River Tuilig, who would believe him?

But for fifteen years, he’d kept his word to the raven, and for fifteen years, the demons had never once raided his villages. It might have been a childhood fever dream, or just a superstition he’d invented in a flight of youthful fancy... But superstition or not, Erling wasn’t about to throw away fifteen years of peace so that Owain Lothian could hunt for trophies.

"Someone should remind Sir Gerrik how much he owes to the Church for keeping his village safe from the Demon Lady of the Vale, " Wes said, pulling Erling back out of his thoughts. "Before he convinces Lord Owain to take his suggestion seriously."

"Reynold very nearly did," Erling said, nodding in the direction of the man who looked like he was almost too large for his horse. "If Sir Gilander hadn’t changed the subject, I think our Lord Aleese was about to remind Sir Garrik that the difference between a knight and a baron isn’t measured in the height of one’s walls."

Wes nodded in understanding as he followed the younger baron’s gaze. Reynold Aleese wasn’t a man who picked fights casually, and if he’d been close to confronting Garrik over his boasting, it meant that something about the knight’s claims had struck a nerve.

Perhaps it was the casual mention of the demon raids touching every settlement around Maeril, or perhaps it was the implication that Garrik’s village was safe while others burned.Or perhaps Reynold, who spent more time in the wilderness fighting demons than any other man in the March, simply didn’t have the patience for a man who claimed credit for a safety he hadn’t earned.

But the most likely reason, in Baron Iriso’s opinion, was that the last time anyone had seen his brother Rain alive, it had been in Maeril village before he ventured out to the lands near the mouth of the Vale of Mists.

Sir Garrik Maeril could have ridden out with Lord Rain Aleese and Lord Hugo Hanrahan, but he hadn’t, and now both men were missing. It could be a coincidence, but from the dark expression on the hulking Lord Reynold’s face as he gazed at Lord Owain chatting with Sir Maeril, Wes doubted that Lord Reynold was a firm believer in happenstance.