Chapter 4: The Raven

Whoever his captor hired to reenact this whole charade, they didn’t cut any corners. No matter if it was the butcher’s boy, the chambermaids or the stablekeep, Peter offered them cash, his entire bank account, hell even his car if they just explained to him why he was here, yet they all looked as confused as the last by his offer, not to mention his ill tailored attire. Roko continued to prod him along at each stop, his stammering foot growing increasingly frantic by each unprompted question and reminder not to alarm his subjects on the way to court.

By the time Peter reached the halls, he could feel every sneer, jeer or snicker at his mere presence. While his hearing wasn’t as sharp as it could be, it didn’t take much for him to surmise that most were skeptical of him being the same man he saw in the parking garage.

“All rise for Lord Petar Zrinski, Vojvoda of Zemliharos & Preveyor of Silver”. While most of the court did as obeyed, two amongst the advisors did not. One looked to be well into his mid fifties, balding and draped in a doublet of crimson and gold. The other a man in his thirties, wearing plate armor with a red & white checked design on his surcoat. He had steely blue eyes and a wide face with a scar across his right temple. He towered over the men around him, much like himself. The boy who found him at the crossroads stood besides him, pouring what appeared to be wine into his chalice. Peter took his place at the center of the formation. Whatever was going on, he was starting to believe it was real himself. He hated leading weekly huddles to his former small team of three in the office, let alone dictating the commands that determined the fate of an entire duchy. He could feel the sweat dripping down his back already, as all eyes lasered onto him while the rest of the room stood.

Roko beckoned Peter to lower his hand for the subjects. He did, and the room followed. It was the first time in his life that he felt his influence determining the actions of others on such a visceral level, and he didn’t quite know how he should feel about it.

The man in his fifties who didn’t stan for Peter now rose to address the court. “I, Stjepan Knežević, Bailiff of Zemliharos, stand before this court, and for everything our Duchy represents, request that this ‘Petar Zrinski’to provide proof that he is indeed who he claims to be.”

The High Priest stands up, “Is his appearance not enough? Our Vojvoda has returned, regardless of your opinion on the matter. To suggest anything less is treason.”

“And can this Vojvoda, who’s grown a foot taller and a stone heavier after disappearing for months on end, reassure us of his return home?”

Peter felt all of the eyes laser back onto him and his face grew flush under their influence. He knew what the envelope said, suppose it was all a matter of how well he could sell it now. Peter opened his mouth.

“B-Bailiff, I, um, understand your grievances, but, I-I assure you um, I am Petar. While, I’ve b-been gone, I grew up in this land, our family h-has been purveying silver for three generations, and that I-I have returned from the peninsula of Melino, fostered good terms for exported silver wa w-will continue to l-lead our people to the best of my ability.” The last of the forced words left Peter's tongue in a slur. Peter sunk back into his chair, cursing himself that he couldn’t fully hide his impediment, even with his life on the line.

The Bailiff looked at him, shook his head and knelt. “Forgive me, Your Grace, I was only being cautious with your absence, it’s clear from your voice you’re who you say you are.” The knight continued to leer at Peter but the rest of the court fell in line. The High Priest smirked as he looked at Peter. Whatever Peter had done, he somehow sold a room of nobles to believe him with his stuttering slurred voice. The first time he sold someone completely on his own.

Peter fidgeted while having this kneeling man at his command. “R-rise, Bailiff, and do share your news on t-the events in the harbor.”

The Bailiff rose to his feet again and paced around the court, “Your Grace, we found another incident outside the city walls, in the docks. Our ship returned after exporting a shipment of Silver, only to find its crew and the traded livestock all butchered. Each of their bodies cleanly devoid of blood. Many think it’s the ones-”

“-Your Grace.” the Knight interrupted, “I, Sir Luka of House Branković, will not give in to the superstitions of the Striga, it was the Muradians east of us, trying to divide and conquer us by playing into our superstitions.”

Silence engulfed the room. The High Priest turned to the knight “Sir Branković, what have you done, speaking their name outloud?”

“With all due respect, what should have been done a while ago.” He turned to face Peter. “Your Grace, let me send a patrol of our finest men. We’ll uproot the hags in the bog and put spikes through their heads to remind our enemies what happens when you dishonor The Duchy. My men have determined no more than two dozen supposed striga live in the bog, let us dispose of them at once, then we can prove this is not simply witchcraft”

Peter froze. If this wasn’t just some elaborate ruse, could he really just order the death a two dozen women, just like that? He could barely handle the guilt that came from having to fire someone with little cause, let alone an execution. “I-er, need more information before endorsing such an action.”

“Your Grace, there’s nothing left to resolve. Those supposed striga are blasphemous, and should’ve been burned at the stake long ago. To give their witchcraft weight is to give them what they want. They can come here and try to scare me for all I care, they will meet an equally quick end.”

The High Priest nearly fell out of his chair, “You fool. Don’t tempt Guest Rights with things you have no ability of comprehending.”

“I’ve fought many beings, many of which are supposed monsters. And all fall to the blade in time.”

From the open court doors, the caw of a raven echoed throughout the room. The black bird landed on the chandelier in the center of the hall. It opened its beak and spoke with the methodical and creaky voice of a hag. “The Crones of the Bog have heeded your invitation. Give us Lord Petar Zrinski, or we shall return at dusk.” The raven flew away laughing as a storm of voices shouted over each other after the declaration.

The High Priest slammed his scepter on the floor, the room fell silent. “Order, we must now-”

Peter knew what he must do. He didn’t understand this world, and he barely understood his old one. But, if he was contemplating ending his own life for nothing before this, he might as well make the sacrifice when it meant something. No more reason for this mad prank to continue. “I’ll go.”

“My Lord, you’ll be no such-”

Luka stood up. “You heard our Lord’s orders. We’ll take him come nightfall.”

“You’ll do no such-”

“You will, it’s ok Roko, if that’s what I was meant to do here,a-and it will save lives, I will.”

The High Priest stared in disbelief while Luka and his squire escorted their Lord back to his bedchambers.