INTO THE AESTMARCH

[Gandhi 3225]

 

 

INTO THE AESTMARCH

 

A RAID ON WALTONBURG, 1958

 

Spoiler

don't metagame the contents of this post lol

 

 

In the silent night upon the northern verge of the Haeseni Aestmarch, a squire tugged at the reins of his steed. He pulled them firm, and led his brown, elderly mare down a narrow strip of path, masked otherwise by a blanket of spruce trees; likely a trail rarely used in the region. His satchel hung low at his side, tied to his belt of woven leather; likely originating from a Koravian bull. Accompanying his belt, rested a longsword with a blade of black ferrum - imprinted with a steel guard awash in tones of crimson, molded into the form of a bull’s head with two distinct horns extending out. “El Toro de Fuego” - was the name Erik told Andrei, for the sword. He hadn’t a clue where it originated from, only that Lord Marshal Leonid Kortrevich first wielded it; and Andrei inherited it by rite of strength when he turned eighteen. It didn’t matter - it wasn’t important - neither was the color or state of his steed. He quietly scoffed as his mind was drawn to those menial things; and shook his head to steady himself.

 

Andrei believed himself foolish for traveling so far from home and in such an isolated region, alone. He knew better than to cower from it, for he chose the life of a warrior - but every mile or so in the evening he’d think back on it and sigh. The Aestmarch was not explicitly foreign to him, though - it was a part of the Kingdom, and it had been since the fall of Veletz, long before his birth. But it was still dotted with ruins, which were overgrown and overrun with a trifling sort of folk; or so he guessed. There was one a few miles back, located near a cliffside - now filled with tall grass and overgrown plants; he wondered what it would’ve looked like in its heyday. Before the residents fled, died, or cowered to the Covenant.

 

Veletz was always a tricky story to tell - it wasn’t as far back as something like the Sinners War, or the Brothers War, where the facts and lies would often trickle in and merge; and a definitive story was molded; the Veletz war was something more bleak and unclear, at least in his eyes. A massive nation brought to heel by the Princes of Canondom, for all its merits as a story seemed to grow more diluted with his age. He often wondered what he’d have done if Haense itself was brought to ruin at the hands of Veletz, and that seemed to just spoil the story for him. 

 

Eventually, Andrei seemed to phase back into reality, and his eyes were driven forth. The night sky offered just enough illumination of the pathway to continue at a gentle trot - but not a full gallop. He knew what he was looking for, some fallen brush, carved through the prior month on his last, eventful visit to the area; it’d litter the side of the path, and be between two towering spruce trees. Finally, his eyes found those few sticks and thin branches - and the reins were yanked; bringing his steed to a firm halt. He slowly slid his feet from the stirrups of his steed and pushed one leg overtop of the mare, to dismount.

 

He gently took his steed by the reins, and led her to one of the trees - perhaps his confidence in the isolation of the pathway was misplaced; but Andrei didn’t spot a thief hiding among the shrubbery, and he wasn’t going to be in the woods for long. He tied the reins to the tree and side-stepped around it. Finally, Andrei approached the cleared, makeshift entry into the woods with ease, and the twigs crunched beneath his boots as he stepped inwards.

 

It wasn’t long before he found it - and Andrei hadn’t needed to swipe, or annihilate any more branches to reach his objective; like he needed to last month. It was naught but a single tree, surrounded by only a small clearing of grass; which was painted in darkened, dried blood. It felt much different than before, though perhaps that was due to her absence from the scene. He scoffed, and pushed forward to the base of the tree - and his sword was quietly slid from its scabbard.

 

Eyes trailed after the dried blood - he was lucky the treeline grew so extensively, as to mask the rainfall from washing it all away. He stepped after it, and it slowly led him out of the clearing - though in the opposite direction of whence he came. One slash, two slashes, three - he cleaved relentlessly at whatever brush had regrown in that direction; until it led him to the long-departed marks of a steed in another clearing. Andrei was unable to continue further, for only a few meters away the tracks had vanished, stuffed and diluted in multiple directions with pieces of thicket.

 

He wasn’t usually prone to fury - but his sword made its mark in a nearby tree, chipping off a few odd pieces of bark. He turned and dug it from its place. One crazed swing was enough, but Andrei sighed and sheathed his blade. He searched the area for any remaining clues - and when none were found, departed wordlessly. On his trek back to his steed, he recalled the words of his brother, Markus; and the few times Andrei tried to keep him from returning to the wild. It was his room to relax - but for Andrei, there was no respite to be found; perhaps that was a piece of his faulty belief. Anger, or pity, or a mix of both for his brother. 

 

Andrei finally returned to his steed and freed the mare of her ties, nicking his bare hand on an odd; before re-mounting and yanking at the reins again. His boots kicked gently into her side in order to speed up, and as the sun began to rise; Andrei departed.

 

From a young age, Andrei yearned for knighthood - enough that his father bequeathed upon him the title of “Little Knight.” But in the years leading up to adulthood, when Karlotta left home - those hopes were squandered. It felt briefly like Andrei was a rodent in the underbelly of Jerovitz, his dream stomped out in a second as if it never existed in the first place.

 

Onto greener pastures, he believed then. But always in the depths of his heart did he yearn for that same goal; and only recently had it unveiled itself again, to full force. Maybe it was his expeditions with the Carrenguard, or his evening talks with Dima, or Primrose, maybe it was even his verbal fights and debates with his uncle Vladrik. But in all honesty, it descended from that one night in Salia; even if Andrei wouldn’t admit it.

 

That evening in Salia, under the moonlight.

 

It was some sort of celebration - Andrei couldn’t remember for the life of him. He did remember their arrival, how he, Dima, and Mikhaila made their way up the steps of Salia; and Andrei found his aunt, Esfir. They made the required introductions, and Andrei was eventually convinced by Dima to take part in fortune-telling. He assumed his relatives in d’Arkent had fetched some foreign mystic, or simply someone who claimed to be; it was likely a fraud in his eyes.

 

A fraud until he sat down in the chair, and the woman’s words piled on like a cartload. Rarely had he felt the same kind of shock he did there - and only one sentence rang vividly through his ears. 

 

“Without her - without them, you are nothing.”

 

“Without her - without them, you are nothing.”

 

“Without her - without them, you are nothing.”

 

“Without her - without them, you are nothing.”

 

He was left dizzied, though it seemed everyone else was too after their own experience. The rest of that event was a blur - and he departed soon afterward without a word to anybody but Dima; a noticeable distance lingered in his eyes. He knew what the fortune teller meant, and how she perceived his future. At least it was initially positive, right? 

 

 

On the ride home, he further recalled what Ser Joakim told him - about how he’d have to be capable of protecting her; it extended now to them in his eyes. In his youth - Andrei would be left unsure, stressed, and worried; but he’d changed from his youth, from his days as the “Little Knight” of House Kortrevich. He was sure of himself; of his abilities - he’d resemble his father whenever he chose to march into the Kastell Lesanov...

 

He penned swiftly a letter to King Karl - and perhaps it was the evening at Salia, the words of Ser Joakim, the endorsement of Ser Belisar, and the expeditions of the Carrenguard that revived his aspirations; but it was that bloodied rescue in the Aestmarch that served as the sole catalyst of his letter.

[Frawlic 1602]

 “I do hope he doesn't intend to.. abandon you. Surely, that'd be awful."

The Kovachev stood where she had recently dismounted Andrei's horse, eyes flickering to the paper she had hidden in the open joints of his armor. He requested rest, or at least that was his excuse, but he was angry, and something told her he would not return that night, the next, or maybe, not even the following. But he would come back, or so she convinced herself. She did not follow the dust of his steed.