A Plot For Land.

[Zack Blaze]

((Closed to Warpath))

Zack pulled the sleeves back down around his wrists. The youth had forgotten how much of a bite the Salvar winds could give those not dressed properly. The youth had been sent here with strict orders from the higher-ups of Misery Business; gain some new land in the snowy continent, through any means necessary. Unfortunately, Zack was about a hundred years too late to stake a claim to any of the expanse of the country that wasn’t already claimed by one noble family or another.

That was fine by his standards though, he would just take the land through manipulation.

With some forged letters, and a tongue sharper than any blade, Zack had convinced the head of the Wintertryst family (which was a family name that Zack mocked behind their backs), to not only let them in their home, but also into their counsel. Apparently, the Wintertrysts had been having some sort of feud with their long time rivals, the Summersales. Nobody could really remember the reason that these two families hated one another so, but they did.

They also, together, owned about twenty five percent of Salvar.

With such a large portion of land under their control, Misery Business would be able to establish a foothold in the who’s who of Althanas. It was the perfect opportunity for the company; as long as they made sure that both families gave up their land, either willingly or by more…unethical matters.

This was why Zack was here now, in the room of the youngest Wintertryst daughter, Amelia. The girl was seven years old, and wore the prettiest green dresses money could buy. She had long golden locks that reached her back, though Zack had spent several hours working the hair into a long ponytail. But the most intriguing thing about Amelia was her eyes, milky white orbs that were most of the time covered with a green blindfold over her face. Amelia Wintertryst was blind.

It was this bond with Amelia that the head of the Wintertrysts, Daniel, respected so much in the teen. If the youth could see past the girl’s crippling disability with genuine apathy, and not the pretend sympathy that most of his employ had, perhaps this Zack Blaze could be the man to finally end his feud with his rivals once and for all.

However, unbeknownst to Daniel, Zack was harboring a dark motive behind his friendship with Amelia. Far darker than taking the property of the landowner, Zack had seen the value of Amelia for what she truly was; a pawn.

And if necessary, Zack was going to take this little pawn all the way into checkmate.

[Warpath]

“This man is a fraud and a deceiver,” Leonid Travil was saying, pointing his finger accusingly at Flint Skovik. “I do not deny his strength or his skill as a common brawler, or even his ability to train others in matters of thought and physicality. But he knows nothing of tactics, nothing of battlefields, troops, or soldiery. He’s a fraud, my lord, and time must not be wasted on his schemes and methods.”

Flint, for his part, sat upright in the chair appointed to him and said nothing. Instead, he was tearing miniscule bits off of a piece of bread and dropping them to the floor between two lines of ants. A scout from one line began following the bread trail, and it met the scout from the other. They began to fight, and then more ants began following in the paths of the scouts.

“He works the men too hard,” Travil was saying now. “Three good young soldiers have died during his unholy training sessions, and countless others have washed out, emotionally and physically battered. All they talk about is the school now, they refuse to take orders, and they refuse to fall in line. As far as I can tell, all they want to do is prove themselves worthy again, and in this state they’re useless to me. If talks with the Wintertrysts continue to deteriorate, these men are necessary to defend us – they are a resource we must cultivate and expend carefully – and this son of a bitch is arrogating those resources.”

“Iron is a resource,” Skovik said suddenly. “Wood and grain are resources.”

“Marshal Travil meant no disrespect, Mister Skovik,” Lord Nicolai Summersale said. “I follow his meaning, and I believe his concern is genuine. What do you have to say about your methods, sir? Are these rumors true? I need every soldier I can get.”

Flint raised his eyes to the lord of the house, and his stare was singularly intense and unblinking. If not for the respect and deference in his tone, one might think he was prepared to snap the lord’s neck and toss Marshal Leonid through the nearest stain glass window. “My Lord,” Skovik said, his soothing voice and florid lilt contradicting his appearance. “I consider myself a craftsman. The minds and bodies of men are my raw materials, my iron and bronze. I temper these materials in the same unforgiving heat. Some alloys are brittle and break easily in this heat, it’s true, but those that are not brittle emerge as something...exceptional.”

“You’ve run your little school for months!” Travil spat. “Where is your evidence, sir?”

The brute shifted his unblinking stare to the Marshal without turning his head, and stared him down silently for a long moment. He then blinked for the first time, slowly, and when his eyes opened again they were focused on a fourth figure in the lord’s house – a young man, Nicolai’s heir.

“There,” Skovik said. “If the lord needs evidence of my success, his only son shall provide it.”

Nikolai looked to his boy. “What have you to say, Anton?”

Anton Summersale raised his chin a fraction of an inch, pleased to have his opinion solicited. “As you know, I have attended Mister Skovik’s school, and I have seen his methods firsthand. Marshal Travil speaks out of ignorance, but he isn’t wholly wrong. The teaching is hard, but the strong survive and become stronger. My lord father, do you recall the cooper’s son? Marshal Travil turned him aside for service in the militia three years ago for being physically unfit, which broke his spirit. Mister Skovik saw something more in him, and I personally saw him fight three trained militiamen to a standstill.”

Lord Summersale raised his eyebrows, and looked to the Marshal. “Is this report true?”

Travil shifted uncomfortably. “I did receive a report of a disturbance at the tavern where some of my men were injured, yes. But my lord, there’s a difference between a bar fight and a battle on the open field. I need soldiers, not brawlers.”

“Mister Skovik?” the lord said.

Flint shrugged one big shoulder. “As I said, I am a craftsman. I make tools. I leave the fighting to the tacticians. I can’t be blamed if the tactician doesn’t know how to make use of his weapons.”

Travil sputtered. “The fault is in the weapons!”

“The weapons are sound,” Flint said evenly.

“Where is your proof! You still haven’t given us proof!”

“Indeed I have,” Flint said, and Travil could swear he heard amusement in that unwavering calm. “Lord Anton has it. He is himself proof. I was hired on to supply a warrior elite to your house, and I have done so. If my services are unwelcome, we can negotiate an end to my contract.”

“No, no,” Lord Nicolai Summersale said. “No, I’ve heard quite enough on this matter, and I think I’ve made up my mind. Mister Skovik will continue training those men interested in his program, I think, and we shall continue recruiting for the militia in the meantime. If the Sway be willing, both will be unneeded, but if the Wintertrysts continue their aggressions I will require every tool at my disposal. I want no more incidents inside my fighting forces, though, is that understood?”

“Implicitly,” Flint said.

“Good. You are all dismissed then, thank you for your advisement.”

Marshal Travil stood up and bowed first, and then left with his cape fluttering around him furiously. Flint and Anton stood next. Flint bowed his head slightly – showing the minimum deference – but Anton bowed low. The pair left together, and on the stairs the young heir to Summersale spoke his mind.

“What I can’t understand,” he said, “is what Ivar was doing at in a tavern in the first place. Your teachings prohibit the consumption of alcohol.”

“I sent him there,” Flint said. "Just like I sent you to watch."

Flint did not deign to turn his eyes toward his pupil, even as the younger man looked to him in shock.

[Zack Blaze]

“Mr. Blaze?” Amelia asked as Zack finished the bow in her hair, “How is it you know of the feud between my family and the Summersales? Most people only know about it because they were involved, but you’re a stranger.”

The question shocked Zack both due to the formality of the query, as well as the blunt way it was put. Amelia seemed to be quite smart for her age, it seemed. He had heard that blind people adapted extra senses to make up for the one they had lost. Could this have been true with Amelia? Could she have sensed the teen’s intentions since his arrival?

“Well,” Zack said, his mind formulating a way to skirt around the truth, “the people I work for have a stake in this fight between families. If we can tip the scales one way or another, then Salvar benefits as a whole from a victor.”

Amelia turned around, her head looking up towards the fighter. “You said one way or another. Do you intend to let my family die?”

Zack opened his mouth, unsure of how to answer the question. He had never had someone ever be so direct with him. He was spared from further awkwardness by the sounds of trumpets, the battle cry of the Winterhyrsts. Soon, the Summersales would beat their drums of war and once again the flames of war would melt away the snows of Salvar. Zack left the room without so much as a goodbye, his feet carrying him to outside the courtyard where several dozen soldiers had amassed.

Each plate armor that each warrior wore bared the mark of a white lion, the Winterhyrst crest. Zack stood as Daniel Winterhyrst went on some long tirade about how this was to be the final battle. It never was; the families would each take enough casualties that neither would be able to advance upon the other, and the stalemate of the feud would continue. The difference, however, was that Zack was now here; ready to change the tides of war.

He could hear the steel gates behind him opening as Daniel finished up his speech, the soldiers moving as a cohesive unit as they marched outwards towards battle. Within half an hour, the metal clanking of armor would be replaced with the similar sound of sword meeting sword. The cycle was starting anew.

Zack followed the group of men, his hands in his pockets and a whistling tune on his lips. He stopped for a moment to look back, towards the second story window where Amelia’s room was. He could see the blind girl out of the window. Her blindfold prevented her from seeing anything, but for some reason, Zack was absolutely sure that she was staring at him. He shivered, a bit creeped out by the feeling of being watched by someone who should not be able to do such.