[Book 1] The Barricade

With Baroness Helene Blackwell set on returning the favor to Immanuel Maier, she led him to the upper floors of the manor with the promise to bring him to an unused bedroom. As they both ascended the staircase that Immanuel intended to reach during his encounter with the manor’s security measures, he chuckled in silence. Turns out all that time I spent committing the map to memory had not been necessary after all.

The next floor had a central reception area that looked more oriented towards board games than a conversation over tea. There were many tables for playing different board games. Some tables could accommodate only two players, while others could accommodate four.

A long hallway stretched from one side to the other, and the central reception area divided the floor into two wings. Baroness Blackwell led Immanuel along the right wing, and they stopped in front of an ornate door at this end of the hallway.

Even if the door had not yet been opened, Immanuel knew what to expect, and he struggled to hide a smile from the baroness, who gave him a confused look. “Is something the matter, Maier?”

“It’s nothing, Lady Blackwell.”

The baroness pulled out from her clothes a bunch of keys bound together on a large ring. Then she picked one of the keys in the bunch and inserted it into the keyhole, opening the door.

True to what Immanuel’s map claimed, the bedroom was grander than anything Immanuel had seen in his life, and he could only gasp in a mix of awe and sorrow at what he saw. This place seems to be bringing me back to a conversation I once had with Leanne.

The bed was more than double the size of what he had at home and looked so grand it looked more like an art piece than a bed. Above it, on a high ceiling, hung a chandelier, whose gentle light illuminated the entire room. On the wall, positioned next to the bed, is a painting: rays of sunlight pass through the treetops, illuminating the forest floor, and highlighted by one prominent ray of sunlight is a sleeping tiger. Across this painting were large windows covered with regal-looking curtains. Two doors were positioned at the opposite side of the main door, and Immanuel remembered that one led to a balcony while behind the other was the bath for whoever occupied the room. Standing by the wall, between the bed and the door leading to the bath, was a wooden piece Immanuel assumed to be a wardrobe.

In many ways, this bedroom was a grand vision of the bedroom at his house.

“This looks like something…” Immanuel began, but he trailed off, not wanting to finish his statement. He bit a lip at the realization of what the baroness was actually up to by bringing him there.

“Something your wife would have liked?”

Immanuel clenched his teeth in annoyance at what the baroness said, and he turned to her prepared to snap back in response to her smirk. But he remembered what he had done to the manor and what he came there for, and he shifted his expression. This is payback for what I had done to the statues.

“One of many things I promised her. One of many things I worked so hard on achieving that I was killed because I was doing my absolute best even if I wasn’t equipped with magic items, spell scrolls, and sigils.” Immanuel’s anger seeped through, and he found himself clenching his teeth again. Realizing this, he faked a smile, then looked inside the room he was brought to once again.

“You seem displeased at what you are seeing before you, Maier. Would you rather rest elsewhere?”

Immanuel faced the baroness again, his face stiff as he struggled to hide his anger. “No. This is a great room. Thank you very much for accommodating me, Lady Blackwell.” Then he bowed at the baroness.

When he entered the room, Immanuel made a mental note to find ways to raise enough coin to give Leanne a luxurious life. If I get her back from the Grand Baron, that is.

“The wardrobe has clothing that fits anyone who wears them. I’ll have a carriage ready by morning. Good night, Maier.” The baroness then shut the door, leaving Immanuel alone with his thoughts.

Despite the presence of the bed, Immanuel squatted on the floor with his sword close to him and leaned his back against the wall. He recalled how his conversation with the baroness went as he rehearsed in his mind improvements to what he had told the baroness earlier, in preparation for an audience with the Hierophant at his palace.

His mental rehearsal went on even as his eyes were about to drop. He tried to counter his drowsiness each time by imagining that the Hierophant was in front of him. It worked at first, but as time passed, it was no longer a convincing act, especially that it would never be possible for an imagined figure to engage in conversation.

Not to mention that Immanuel needed more mental power to imagine the Hierophant’s presence in front of him. When that ran out, he surrendered, without knowing it, to the need to sleep.

–

The mild ring of a bell woke up Immanuel in his chambers the next day. He looked to the door, believing someone had entered, but no one was there. Listening more intently, he found that the ringing of the bell was mild due to how high up it was.

Immanuel looked at his cloak and his clothes, and when he saw the dried, darkened blood on them, he opened the wardrobe between the bathroom door and the bed. There were a few clothes in there that were suitable for combat, and he picked the outfit that was closest in appearance to his bloodied clothes and changed into it after briefly washing his body.

While the move was beneficial to the next phase of his mission, it also presented a problem.

What am I to do with these bloodied clothes? Immanuel scratched his head. He looked to the windows, thinking of tossing them over. He pulled out the box of matches he used to light up the lamp last night as he thought to burn them in the bath. And for a few moments, it seemed he was decided–he brought his blood-soaked clothes back inside the bath and, once there, pulled out a matchstick. So if I light this up right now, how, then, do I deal with the fire becoming larger? The smoke? The ashen remains of these pieces of clothing?

With that thought, he rolled up his used clothes and placed them against the corner of the room aligned with the door that brings him out to the hallway. He had decided to deal with the consequences of leaving them behind when they happen.

As for his cloak that allowed him to assume another’s identity…

Normally, a blood-soaked cloak needs to be washed and dried before it is used again, lest its stains attract attention. But with Immanuel’s cloak being reversible, wearing it the other way at least minimizes the chances of attracting attention in the state it was in.

There was a knock on the door, and Immanuel swiped a hand from his forehead down. When the door opened, he was again the gentle-faced lad.

“Have you made your preparations?” asked the baroness.

“Yes, I have.”

–

A carriage drawn by two horses sped through the roads of the barony of Ironthorne. This carriage bore the emblem of Ironthorne on its left and right sides. The symbol prominently featured an arm wielding a hammer.

That the carriage was on the road meant it was on official business transporting someone important to the barony, and that a bell installed on the carriage rang as it moved–harsher than the manor’s bell, in fact–meant that the carriage must not be stopped for any reason.

Up ahead of the Ironthorne carriage were gathered a number of armed men. Their garb and armor suggested, from far away, that they were soldiers of the Kingdom. But their movement hinted that they reported to another barony–as they moved wooden barricades towards the middle of the road, the emblems they bore became visible to the coachman.

“There are soldiers on the road, and it looks like they want to block our way!” shouted the coachman from the outside of the vehicle.

Immanuel peeked his head out the window to look to the distance ahead. His heart jumped at the sight of the familiar emblem of Gold Leaf.

“We have no choice but to stop!” continued the carriage driver. Baroness Blackwell clenched his teeth at the perceived inconvenience.

When they reached the wooden barricades, Baroness Blackwell, who was at the front seat, peered her head past the curtain and out of the side window and yelled at one of the soldiers of Gold Leaf.

“Who gave you permission to place a barricade in my area of jurisdiction?” The soldiers turned pale in shock.

“It’s her!” could be heard from one of the men.

The soldier, in a shaky voice, answered. “None less than the Grand Baron, My Lady.”

“What shenanigans is going on, and what does he have to do with this?” Baroness Blackwell raised an eyebrow.

A calmer looking soldier stepped in to face the baroness. “My Lady, our sincerest apologies for this mess we have caused, but our forces are missing two of our best footmen.” He reached a hand out, asking for something, and he was given two rolls of paper by another soldier.

He unrolled them to reveal the faces of Immanuel Maier and Isaiah Maddox. “The sketch to your left is that of Lieutenant Immanuel Maier, and the sketch to your right is that of Lieutenant Isaiah Maddox. They have been instrumental in our duties to preserve peace in the Kingdom.”

I was right. They had promoted Maddox.

“I see. But why not train new men to replace them?”

“Our ranks are doing that, My Lady. But that does not mean we should cease or minimize our efforts to find them–”

“Well you’ll have to stop someone else because I have seen neither man, and I know of others who share the name ‘Immanuel Maier’ in the Kingdom.”

“That may be true, My Lady, but by orders of the Grand Baron, we must check the inside of the carriage too.”

“What?! And you would expect me to consent now when I have not spoken to him about this matter yet?”

Then without saying a word, Immanuel ducked onto the legspace of the seat and pulled aside his half of the curtain of the window that faced the soldiers. With there only being a limited time window before someone would lean in to check the interior, Immanuel felt his chest to activate the sigil, and once his body had assumed shadow form, he slipped out of the vehicle through a gap created by opening another door just slightly.

After what felt like the longest inspection, someone then declared, “Nobody else here but My Lady, sir.” A soldier’s feet descended from the steps of the side of the carriage that was facing the soldiers.

“Remove the barricades! Fast!”

“You may go, My Lady.” From beneath the carriage, Immanuel could see the movement of soldiers carrying the barricade away. Once the barricade was set aside, Immanuel touched his chest again and activated the sigil.

“You may go, coachman.” Immanuel slipped back into the carriage through the same opening he passed through to get out of the vehicle, then shut the door. The whip cracked. The carriage sped away. Immanuel rose, reverting into his normal form, and, without looking up, swiped his face downwards with a hand–he was once again the gentle-faced lad.

“Where were you?!” came the astonished question from Baroness Blackwell. How long has she been watching my seat?

“Hiding,” growled Immanuel in between catching his breath.

“For what?”

“To get us out of there sooner.”