"Vautour is ripe for the taking!"
His lordship lord Mercier would not stop saying it. He had brought to the great hall the whole of his troop to feast. The early night was such that the hearth alone could not light them and so torches burned around, adding their black smoke to their festivities.
As usual, his wife was absent but lord Mercier did not even notice. They were ripping apart the roasted pig, adding puree to it, sauce and beer and eating it to the bone.
Days of raid had them exhausted but they were all as extatic as their lord.
His sons were eating with them, listening to their father repeat how well it had all gone. What few guards Vautour had had were fleeing at their approach. They could take all they wanted unimpeded.
"This is perfect! Now is the time, we'll bring add a fourth domain to our name!"
And he turned to the twins.
"Abelard! You'll be coming with me! We go back, we burn their fields, their stores and granaries! We leave them with nothing! We burn until they are left with nothing but famine!"
"Yes, father."
He laughed, pleased, but deep inside the lord frowned.
What was with this lackluster reaction? Mercier was tired of this tepid act more than ever tonight. His son had drunk and still would not lighten up.
"This fall we take their food, come spring we take their castle! Eighty men, a hundred, a hundred and fifty! How many could we possibly need against wimps?!"
"Father, what of the risks?"
That word, risks, made him laugh hard. And for himself he got curious. It was normal for his sons to be so timid and fainthearted; it was not for them to speak about it so soon.
"The risks!" Mercier waved it off. "The risks are exactly why it will be so easy!"
And he got up, put his boot on the table.
"They fear each other as much as they fear us! They are not bears, they are pussies! And Vautour is the worst of them, hiding behind walls while people raid him free! All shaking on their thrones, ripe for the taking!"
"And if we are wrong?"
He stopped to look and could not tell which son had spoken. They both had that frustrating, submissive look on their face.
But one continued:
"Rumors abound of our neighbors meeting. What if Vautour's troops were assembling with their allies? Without knowing what they are doing..."
"Mph! You don't need to know what cowards do! You make them dance at your fingers! If they are assembling, all the more reason to attack! They'll chase after us and fight at a place of our choosing!"
"Or let us run into an ambush."
Now Mercier's mood was souring greatly. Ambush? Risks? It was enough to be of such poor spirit but that wasn't even an argument!
That was just what cowards said when they would not speak their mind.
So he approached his sons, looked at their swords and guessed from that which one was Abelard. Mercier took him under his arm and pulled him aside.
"Listen, son, listen well. We take Vautour, no one will dare attack us ever again! The Pivert will rule uncontested! Do you understand?"
"No more raid?"
"You want your father to die of boredom?!" He exclaimed, then lowered his voice again. "Now, look. You are of age. Prove your worth and saintess be my witness by next summer you will be wearing this crown."
"Father!"
"But you've got to grow guts! You hear? Our realm is unforgiving, no bear can live but through sheer force! So come with me! Burn those fields! Climb those walls! Be the lord our family needs and you will be the one to command me!"
He didn't know if it was the greedy promise of a crown or the perspective of power but his words had hit. His son was warming up to the idea. Smiling even.
So he turned and for the whole room:
"To the Pivert!"
"To the Pivert!" His men rose their mugs.
Those men-at-arms, with knights among them, had the drive he sought. This was the energy he was after! Yes, he thought, Mercier could only feel at ease among a crowd of murderers.
His sons knew it too well.
As soon as Corentin had come back to his twin he shared with him what father had told him. They kept looking at the lord who had plunged back into drinks and meat.
"The last war? You believe that?"
"If you are ruthless enough."
"I don't like this." Abelard repeated.
He didn't mean their father's words. Both could believe him sincere enough to cede power to the youth. No, their concern was with the domain of Vautour.
What their father wanted was to charge blindly into danger and this time everything told them it would prove too much.
Their choice was caution or a crown.
"The best we can do is trust him and hope it ends well for all. Our father may know the odds better than us."
"Well," Abelard rose his voice and mug, "let's burn Vautour then!"
They sat down and joined again, this time sharing some of the cheers.
Those weren't just rumors: their neighbors were indeed negotiating an alliance. Whether it would happen was still anyone's guess but they knew that if it happened, with Cormoran still riddled with bandits, they risked being outmatched three to one.
At that moment their father addressed them again.
"Where is that woman? What was her name?"
"Joan." Abelard assumed.
"Yeah, her! How come she is not eating with us?!"
"She spent the whole day with me. I exhausted her."
It made his father groan.
"Pitiful. She looked better than that! When is the wedding again?"
"We depart in two days."
"Ah yes, there is that." His father frowned. "Fine! You go and stay at Cormoran, rebuild what you can! Your mother can take care of the affairs here while we are gone!"
And he looked around.
"Where is she?! Hiding in her room again? Tell her to come!"
Servants were already heading to the door but Abelard got up and gestured for them to stop.
"I'll go."
He left the warm and lit room for the dark coldness of the hallway. Up and to the lord's chamber where her mother, still awake, watched the night outside.
"Mother, father wants you to come."
"What about Joan?" She asked.
His mother would not turn around. Abelard could not imagine her caring about that woman, especially after all the rumors brought against her by the saintess.
"She hasn't come back."
"She will. Dogs always come back to their owner."
"You don't think highly of her."
Lady Mirabelle turned around. She still wore the silver pendant Corentin had found for her.
"Mother, if father see this..."
"Of course." She smirked. "We wouldn't want to anger his majesty now would we?"
She removed the trinket and put it on the window sill, but held her hand there for a moment. His son knew too well she dreamed of enraging her husband.
"Mother..." He insisted.
"She can't come back soon enough." She sighed.
Outside on the towers, as impossible as it seemed, the candles the priests had lit in the late afternoon were still burning, their wax barely consumed.