3.31: Korric

“And where could I find brother Soren?” Konrad asked, leaning forward.

“He went back to Stormhaven to see his family.”

So, onto Falkenheim to meet this Father Korric first.

Finishing his cup, he put it on the table, then gingerly got up.

“Thank you, brother Ewald, for your hospitality and your frankness.”

“Won’t you please stay? The people would be overjoyed to hear a sermon from you.”

“I would, if I were here of my own accord. Maybe on my way back.”

“Please do,” Ewald said, leading him outside.

“Where can I arrange transportation for the county’s capital?”

“You’ll find caravans at the gate. There’s always one there departing to the capital. If you don’t find it in a few hours, you are always welcome to stay here.”

“Thank you, brother. God’s blessings upon you.”

“And you, Father.”

With that, he began walking towards the outskirts of the town, no, almost a city. Near the walls, he found a caravan preparing for departure. Oddly, only two guards rode beside the four covered wagons. This far from the capital, he had expected banditry to be a bigger problem.

The men pointed him to the caravan master; a slightly corpulent man with a large mustache.

“Greetings. Are you going to Falkenheim?” he asked.

“We are, Father. I am Tharn.”

“Konrad. Would you have space for one more person?”

The man smiled broadly, revealing crooked teeth.

“I’m sure I can find some.”

Tharn let him sit next to himself on the second wagon.

Some time after the caravan had left the city, Konrad couldn’t help but voice his curiosity.

“I can’t help but notice that you only have two guards.”

“Ah, yes. We used to have a contingent of at least eight men to protect us. Not here, but when going beyond Falkenheim. Only the road from Nordhaven to Falkenheim used to be bandit free, but now… you’ll see for yourself.”

The caravan trudged along the shore of Iselau, the roar of the fast moving river to their left, their constant companion. To the right lay thick forests of pine and cedar blanketing the steep hills, with villages filling every piece of flat ground. A picturesque view, which Konrad didn’t get to admire. His focus was on the groups of well-armed soldiers in the county’s livery that passed them every hour.

Every patrol looked the same; six men on foot, and one or two riders. There was also a clear mix of novices, eyes checking their surroundings with nervous eagerness, and at least two veterans, wearing their armor like woolen coats. None looked drunk.

Using veterans of battles for patrol duty. How odd.

“Has this road always been this well protected?” he asked the caravan leader.

“Yes. Well, not this well-protected, but it has always been kept safe. It connects the biggest cities of the county and is also half of the border with the Ironfelds. Things got hairy after the Battle of the Bog. The trade on this route continued, but anyone who could afford to, stopped going deeper into the county because of bandit attacks. That forced Lord Gunter to hire a mercenary band.”

“What happened to it?”

“The new Count absorbed it into the military. Apparently he was impressed by their performance at the Battle of Blackrain.”

“What do you think of him?”

“The new Count? Ummm…”

“I won’t judge you for it.”

“He’s done quite well for us merchants. The entire road from Nordhaven to Wolfwatch is now as secure as the border road. Our expenses on personal guards have more than halved. I do worry how he is going to pay for it all, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“The new Count lowered the milling fee for everyone from one-tenth to one-hundredth.”

“That is… practically nothing.”

“Yah. Just enough to maintain the mills. Maybe not even that. That’s on top of hiring hundreds of soldiers.”

“You think it is too good to be true?”

The merchant made a face.

“He said it was in celebration of his marriage to the Queen. I just hope he doesn’t start charging high tolls when his treasury is in trouble. It’s us merchants who usually pay the price for the nobles’ mistakes.”

Or maybe he will pull another miracle, the same way he seems to do with every battle he fights.

Konrad hoped the milling fee reduction was a genuine act of compassion and would continue. If it could save even one soul from wasting away, the Count would be doing God’s work.

I mustn’t make my mind about him. Not yet.

The sky began to darken, but the caravan didn’t stop.

Before Konrad could ask why, the answer appeared on the horizon. A large, lone hill emerged from the thin mist, strewn with tiny orange dots of light. At its top stood a gray, squat castle. The seat of the Count of Nobhart. Covered in squat buildings with black and red tiled roofs, it was quite a sight.

Inside the walls, he thanked the caravan master and began walking up the road that wound around the hill towards the local church, its steeple barely visible underneath the violet sky. As he pushed his legs against the cobblestone, the encroaching damp night chill tried its best to steal his body’s heat. He pulled his cloak tight around himself.

Along the road, dozens of vendors were closing their stalls, looking tired but not unhappy. The giggling of children reached him. Four of them ran out of a street, a woman calling after them. They all looked well-fed and clothed. He kept walking. It was getting difficult to see, but none of the buildings had sagging roofs or peeling plaster that marked many towns. A building’s health was a lot more important this north, close to the mountains, where winter could kill from exposure alone.

Konrad almost tripped. Looking down, he saw a part of the shoulder of the main road had been dug, creating a very long trench.

A worker was packing up his tools nearby.

“Excuse me, brother, but what is this?”

“Huh? Oh this? It’s a trench for sewer pipe.”

“Sewerage?”

“Yah. The Count banned people from throwing waste into the streets.”

Come to think of it, Konrad had noticed the lack of strong fetid smells that usually accompanied large cities.

Thanking the man, he kept walking, a smile on his face. He was having a hard time not making up his mind about the Count already.

By the time he reached the church, the climb had left him out of breath and his legs aching. He knocked on the ornate cedar-wood door, and looked up. It was a well-built structure, made of the same gray stone the castle was built of.

A tall, severe-looking, thin man with cropped brown hair, only a few years younger than Konrad, answered the door.

“Greetings, brother. I am Bishop Konrad from the capital.”

The man exhaled audibly as he bowed low. “It is an honor to meet you, Father. I am Korric, the local priest. I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

He led Konrad inside.

The cold immediately lessened as Korric closed the door. The smell of incense filled Konrad’s lungs.

“You must be tired. Let me make some tea for you.”

Konrad was late for his evening prayers and should’ve made a beeline for the main hall, but his joints were getting stiff from the cold. Maybe it was selfish of him, but he accepted the offer. He would apologize later.

After the tea, Korric led him to the main hall.

It was a beautiful place, lit by candles.

Konrad knelt down before the altar, clasping his hands, and closed his eyes.

Please grant your humble servant the wisdom to see the truth from lies.

Once he was finished, Korric announced dinner was ready. They sat at the table, where Korric filled his bowl with a rich stew of beans, meat and vegetables, along with fresh bread. Konrad leaned back as the pepper stung his nose. The priest was doing quite well for himself.

“I hope your journey wasn’t too terrible?” Korric asked as they ate.

“I survived,” Konrad replied. He wouldn’t have minded the weather, if it didn’t keep reminding him of his aging body. “How about you, brother?”

“I… I have been eagerly waiting for your arrival, Father. I worry for the people of Nahnon.”

“Let us discuss these matters after the dinner?”

Korric nodded, his restraint seeming to cost him something.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence, with occasional talk of trivial matters.

After the table was cleared up, Korric put a few logs on the hearth, then came to sit back across Konrad.

“I suppose we should talk about the unpleasant matter that has brought you here,” Korric said.

“Yes. I read your letter. What else can you tell me about the Count?”

“Count Jack Nobhart not only sacked his physician and replaced him with a barber-surgeon, but when I visited him to guide him towards righteousness, he flatly refused to listen to me. He displayed flagrant disregard for the Church’s authority and doctrine. Instead, he shamelessly asked me to sanction his butcher.”

“Hmm,” was all Konrad said, rubbing his chin in thought.

Why would anyone act that reckless?

“Did he… deny God’s existence?” he dared the question that could seal the Count’s fate.

“No, but his pride could fill the entire sky.”

Korric mustn’t have gotten the reaction he expected as he scooted closer.

“Father, if we let him get his way, once he becomes the Prince Consort of the realm, other nobles might follow. I worry for the souls of the faithful.”

“Your concern for the laity is exemplary. What of the other claim?”

“His physician, brother Soren, confided in me that the Count’s wounds healed at an astounding pace. He was up and walking in a matter of weeks, while most men would be immobile for at least a month. That… is not natural.”

Konrad’s hand went to his chin again. This did not sound like the other cases of possession he had investigated. Most were just poor souls suffering from mental illnesses or unknown maladies. On the other hand…

“It indeed doesn’t sound natural, but how do we know if it’s God’s work or the devil’s?”

Korric’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“He’s openly defying God’s Church. What more proof do you need?”

The man finally seemed to realize the difference in their ranks, as he leaned back.

“I’ll visit the castle tomorrow,” Konrad said, “and talk to the people there.”

Korric leaned forward again, eyes gleaming with conviction.

“I implore you to not put any trust in the words of anything the residents say. They must surely have seen his unnatural recovery and heard his blasphemous words, but none contacted me.”

Konrad just nodded at his rather enthusiastic brother’s words.

“Not only that,” Korric continued, “the Count took four of the most promising monks and nuns in training out of the local monastery and assigned them to his barber-surgeon, to teach them his ways. I fear what he is trying to build.”

That made Konrad straighten in alarm.

The Count was definitely up to something.

Was he just an extraordinarily arrogant fool, or truly possessed knowledge no one else did?