Chương 17: 17. The Cookie Woman and her Objective.
In a lavishly adorned room, its space ample and its furnishings exquisite, three figures stood before Mordret. He occupied the central seat, while the woman with raven hair, her long braid cascading down her back, took position opposite him. She appeared to be in her late thirties, and her presence marked the fourth individual's entrance into the hall. By Mordret's side stood Eliza, her gaze fixed on the uninvited guests, her eyes daggers that conveyed her wariness. Mordret, recovering from grievous wounds, could hardly dismiss the significance of the raven-haired woman's presence, which prompted Eliza to tolerate their intrusion.
"I extend my wishes for the Lord's well-being," the raven-haired woman inclined her head in a gesture of respect. Her companions, save for the blonde woman, mirrored her show of reverence.
Mordret's keen perception did not overlook this particular detail. 'So she's aligned with them,' Karen's conduct answered the unasked questions. Actions often spoke louder than words, and Karen's hostility toward the Lord was manifest.
"Speak, but remember my Lord requires rest," Eliza interjected, ensuring her Lord didn't squander his precious time on these uninvited and unworthy guests. Her words drew a growl from Karen, the blonde woman.
"Watch your mou—" Karen's protest was abruptly silenced as a frigid blade, sharp and cold, touched her throat, tracing a line that threatened bloodshed. Fear coursed through Karen, her body trembling. Even Jon, the reputed warrior of the village, had failed to anticipate the blade's swift appearance.
Mordret alone perceived the swift movement that emanated from Eliza's shadow, culminating in the blade's presence against Karen's neck. 'Her aspect must be tied to shadows,' Mordret deduced, recognizing that knowledge about Eliza's abilities was shrouded in mystery. After all, each individual's aspect and capabilities were private matters, and Mordret's trust in Eliza was not yet substantial enough to warrant prying into her secrets.
A grave sigh escaped the elder woman's lips, a testament to her impatience with the young ones who had merely scratched the surface of the intricate situation.
"If the Lord is inclined to be merciful, I beseech him to instruct his servant to withhold any punishment for Karen's insolence." The woman bowed, her words a request directed at Mordret.
Zephyr, in his quest to understand Mordret's actions, began to ponder 'What would Mordret do in this situation?' This introspection inched him closer to comprehending his current status and power.
"Eliza," Mordret chose to address her formally in the presence of outsiders. Eliza acquiesced to his directive without objection.
"Jon, ensure she remains silent until I acknowledge her," Maria commanded, her tone unwavering. The threat of utilizing her motherly authority to cast Karen into a beast raid hung unspoken but potent in the air. The raven-haired woman, and chieftess, emanated a predatory aura that left no room for defiance.
Jon trembled under his mother's gaze, his eyes shifting to Karen, who remained subdued following her harrowing encounter. The specter of death that had loomed before her silenced her protests.
"My Lord, I, Chieftess Maria, extend my greetings and offer my apologies for my companion's conduct." Maria bowed once more and produced an object from the tote bag she carried.
It was a container. 'Ah! I remember now! She's the woman cookie woman!' Zephyr recalled his encounter with the woman's daughter during his exploration of the [Obelisk of Mirage].
"These cookies are a humble gift I've baked for you," Maria spoke with a gentle smile.
Though Mordret retained his stoic countenance, within, Zephyr's face lit up with a wide smile. Despite her mature demeanor and formal approach, he recognized that she had invested her effort into personally baking these cookies for him.
Eliza, on the verge of interjection, halted at the raised hand of her Lord.
"I had intended to meet with you, Chieftess Maria," Mordret's resonant voice sent a ripple of surprise through the three individuals who had accompanied Maria. For Karen, it was an ominous sign.
"I appreciate your foresight, unlike your companions here," he indicated to Eliza to promptly serve cookies to everyone. She complied with his directive, albeit begrudgingly.
"Then, might I inquire as to the purpose of your visit?" Mordret cut to the chase without delay.
"Indeed." Maria's sigh was subtle, her words forthcoming.
"With my Lord's awakening, I aimed to spare you unwelcome tidings. Nonetheless, the fate of three villages rests in your hands. As the chieftess, I am compelled to ascertain your intentions regarding the impending beast raid." Maria's stance remained unwavering, her gaze locked onto Mordret's.
It wasn't arrogance, but the assuredness that accompanied a leader. Mordret was genuinely impressed.
"In the last beast raid, our village lost three valiant warriors, two of whom led the front-line assault. The two thousand able-bodied souls who thrive under your benevolence lack combat prowess and are ill-equipped to face the beast onslaught. The escalating ferocity of these attacks has disrupted our farming efforts, leading to a dire shortage of sustenance. Unless a resolution is reached within a month, we anticipate the estate will become a graveyard—its occupants felled either by beast or famine." While Maria's demeanor remained courteous, her words bore the weight of a grim reality.
Zephyr discerned a flaw in Mordret's prior actions from the records: an inclination toward static solutions. Ruling a domain necessitated the constant evolution of robust and dynamic solutions. Over time, old policies lose their efficacy, demanding innovation. Yet, Mordret's experimentation had led him to overlook his land's pressing issues.
"In the forthcoming beast raid, we project a significant surge in casualties. To be candid, at least ten lives are at stake. It will prove a considerable blow to the village." Mordret found amusement in Maria's forthright observations. Not only was she articulating facts, but her unexpected erudition surprised him. While he maintained a degree of skepticism regarding her statistics, he was convinced that future casualties would exceed single digits.
"I beg pardon for my bluntness, yet, My Lord, I implore you to reconsider. I beseech you, for the sake of countless lives," Maria's plea was sincere, her eyes tinged with sorrow.
"This is Sarena," Maria continued before Mordret could interject. "Her father, Samuel, a stalwart warrior of our village, fell in the previous beast raid." Sarena, her name invoking a shiver, gazed at Mordret with eyes laden with grief.
"My Lord," Sarena offered a bow, her worn features bearing testimony to her ordeal.
"Numerous hardships plague the villagers' existence. With the village protectors laboring day and night, the population has stagnated over the past year. The dearth of able-bodied workers, coupled with the specter of death, corrodes morale." Zephyr marveled at Maria's calculated words, a politician's finesse infused within them. She adeptly played her cards, revealing the depths of the villagers' plight. Each sentence painted a vivid picture, and even Samuel's demise was used strategically, hinting at multiple issues in a single breath.
Sarena, a marriageable young woman bereaved of her father and the family's breadwinner, along with the stagnant populace, served as Maria's pawns. With precise moves, Maria steered Mordret toward a singular solution.
"Allow me to be forthright, Chieftess Maria," Zephyr accurately grasped Mordret's intent. "What exactly do you expect of me?" Mordret chose directness, seeking clarity rather than manipulated discourse.
The chieftess sighed, her actions deliberate. "I have a request of the Lord." Rising gracefully, she offered another bow. "Please reconsider seeking aid from the viscount." Her tone exuded the utmost politeness.
Jon, Sarena, and even Karen registered their astonishment. Karen, in particular, was perplexed—after all, Maria was a devout follower of Lord Mordret. Why would she advocate seeking assistance from the very figure he held in disdain?
***
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