Swiss Arms 28 (Patreon)

A/N: Werdenberg Castle is in the same valley as all of Liechtenstein.

Swiss Arms
Chapter 28

-VB-

Albert I, Count of Werdenberg

“Everything was a mistake,” Albert hissed out between his gritted teeth as he looked out from his keep’s battlements to look at the army that had arrived at the foot of the hill that his castle and castle town sat upon.

Next to him, his lady wife stood, looking down upon the peasant army with disdain.

“Why have you not routed them already, husband?” Alicia von Habsburg asked her husband as she swept her long, wavy blonde hair from her shoulders to her back.

“Because that army right there has defeated half a dozen armies on its own already,” he replied back without snapping at his hot bitch of a wife, who was passionate with all things she loved (like him) and cold and disinterested in all things she didn’t have an iota of interest in (the peasant army). “That army is the one that the Count Killer leads.”

Her eyes widened with glee. “Truly? Will I get to see the man who led his men to victory against impossible odds?” she asked with glittering eyes.

He made a face at her.

He didn’t understand why Alicia got interested in the Count Killer. He knew how she got interested. He and his court had been hearing about the Count Killer for the past year now. The Bishop warned them about a “monstrous demon” under the Baron of Vaz’s employ, but then the baron got himself killed by the previous Count of Sax-Misox, whose needless killing and looting led him towards Zernez in search of ever greater plunder. Meanwhile, news of the Count of Zernez’s fall at the hands of the same “monstrous demon” reached their ears when said count’s son and now the current count of Zernez sent out letters seeking help.

Help that arrived in the form of the same man who killed his father. The Count Killer killed the Count of Sax-Misox by ignoring all rules of warfare and striking him from behind.

By the time this third letter arrived, Alicia became obsessed with the idea of a peasant making pacts with the devil to become some kind of usurper of the God’s order upon earth.

Albert thought that was stupid. The man was obviously a well-trained fallen noble leading the peasants who were kind to him to victory against what the fallen noble saw as orgy of violence that kept on breaking out around his new home.

None of that mattered right now because that Count Killer was now at his doorstep, ready to kill him, too.

Too bad for the demon, he had plenty of food stocked up in his keep. As long as no siege lasted over six months, then he would be fine.

Albert blinked as he observed the peasant army, because one of them broke formation(?) and walked towards his keep with a white flag.

A tregua*?

“Well, go on then!”

He looked at Alicia.

“What?”

“The Count Killer wants to talk!”

He snapped his head back towards the one holding the flag, and felt his blood drain as he saw who exactly was holding it. With a beaten metal facemask and a long fur cape that draped over his broad shoulders, the flag bearer was the Count Killer.

“You realize that I am a count?” he asked his wife.

“Well, he obviously isn’t here to fight if he doesn’t have to. Otherwise, he would have broken our castle gates down with those thick, strong arms of his!”

He stared at her flatly.

“Is this about how fat I’ve become since our marriage?”

“... Maybe.”

-VB-

“Well, damn. You’re in a bad mood,” I remarked in a simple manner that was not diplomatic at all.

The Count of Werdenberg, flanked by a dozen guards, grunted.

The count was a big man. He wasn’t obese, just big. It was easy for someone to confuse “swole” with fat if they didn’t know just how much muscle big bellies tended to hide. It wouldn’t do for me to dismiss the man in front of me just because he was big, because he walked around in his chainmail underarmor (heavy), chestplate (heavy), full back cloak to prevent backstabbing (heavy), great helmet (heavy), and gauntlets and shinguards (heavy) as if they were regular clothes.

[Albert von Werdenberg]

Title: Count of Werdenberg
LvL.40
Age: 41
HP: 173
MP: 0
ST: 125
STR: 20
END: 24
AGI: 11 (15 - 4 (armor))
DEX: 9 (13 - 4 (armor))
INT: 14
CHA: 13

His stats also showed me that he wasn’t someone to be taken lightly. Sure, I would chew through dozens of people just like him, but by the standards of the regular people, he was a veritable mobile fortress of steel and skill.

He was stronger, faster, more durable, and more enduring than most well-trained men-at-arms. He was also pretty charismatic and smart if his INT and CHA said anything.

So why did a smart guy like Albert here choose to join in on Toggenburg’s assault against me and the Compact?

“Count of Werdenberg,” I greeted.

He looked at me for a moment, looking at me up and down from behind his slit-faced great helm. “Normally, a peasant would bow to a lord,” he said. “But you are not a normal peasant. You are the Count Killer.”

“I am,” I replied.

“Are the peasants you lead trying to tell me to go and die by sending you to message? That they can kill me whenever?”

I blinked before quickly shaking my head. “We are not. I apologize on behalf of the Compact if that is how you understood this gesture. We meant to talk with you with our most accomplished and strongest individual capable of holding discourse with you.”

The count and his bodyguards, all of whom were knights, stared at me. “You speak the truth,” he replied after a few moments of observing me. He tilted his head slightly to the side.

“However,” I spoke up. “You understand why I will not bow to you, yes?”

“Yes,” he replied with a nod. “We are currently enemies.”

“We are, and that is what this parley is for.”

“By parley, do you mean tregua?”

“Ah. Yes. I spoke another language by accident.”

Sometimes, I did that, mostly because there were words that could not be translated, didn’t exist, or that I didn’t know of. Apparently, “tregua” was the local - or Latin? - term for truce or parley.

The count seemed to nod to himself as if confirming something.

“Very well. Then why have you called for a tregua?” he asked me. “If we are enemies, then you should be besiging me in my castle right now.”

“Because I don’t care about Werdenerberg.”

“... Excuse me?” he asked me sharply.

“Werdenberg sits at a very fertile valley, however this valley is not the Compact’s valley. Yes, Maienfeld sits at the very top of it, but so what? This isn’t our home, and while we are unhappy that you have joined hands with Toggenburg to attack us, we are not barbarian enough to kill anyone and everyone who attacks us,” I spoke. “No, what the Compact seeks is different. Werdenberg is ultimately not the cause of the conflict and have no stake in the Compact, its people, and its lands. For that reason, the Compact of the Seven wishes to extend peace to Werdenberg. Acknowledge that the Compact as an independent political entity separate from the Prince-Bishopric of Chur, County of Zernez, County of Sargans, and the County of Werdenberg, and grant us free passage through your lands. For that, we shall have peace.

“What will it be, Count of Werdenberg?”

-VB-

The Count Killer demanded something very simple yet complicated.

Simple, because there would be no exchange of gold or land and thus made agreeing to this proposal very easy on him.

Complicated, because acknowledging this ‘Compact of the Seven’ would inevitably cause tension with Sargans and Toggenburg, his immediate neighbors to his south and west respectively. He was also in an alliance with them right now, and if he pulled out right now by accepting this deal, then he would break out of the alliance as well.

If Toggenburg and Sargans got done with Chur, then they might turn on him. Pinned on two sides and with under half of their combined might, he might not survive.

Albert didn’t think he would rue the day that the empire currently lacked a strong emperor.

… He did have another way out of this, though, and that way stood right in front of him.

“I have a counter proposal.”

“Yes?” the Count Killer asked.

“I agree to all of what you have stated, but once you finish your war with the Count of Sargans and the Count of Toggenburg, I, Albert of Werdenberg, and you, the Compact of the Seven, will become allies.”

The Count Killer’s eyes widened behind his crude yet thick and well-forged steel facemask.

“... I see. You are afraid of retaliation if you were to not resist our advances.”

Shit, he found out. This man had to be a fallen noble.

“No, I am merely thinking ahead,” Albert replied. “Failures in this war will lead all of the belligerents to look for scapegoats, if they have the means to enforce their will. Sax-Misox will surely not be able to after the two sons finish their fighting, but Sargans and Toggenburg will.”

“Not if I have a say in the latter,” the Count Killer replied.

Albert froze as something overcame him. As the Count Killer continued to speak of what he intended to bring upon Toggenburg, the feeling ballooned inside of him.

“I intend to burn his castle town and bring down the wall of his castle.”

‘Ah,’ Albert realized as he saw from the corner of his eyes as his own men faltered and froze. ‘I see.’

“We have done nothing to Toggenburg, and yet he chose to send his men to burn, loot, and rape. You are culpable as well, Count Albert of Werdenberg, but you are merely in the way and not my target.”

‘This is the true Count Killer,’ he thought as the Count Killer seemed to grow within his sights. He could feel the rage pouring out of him, and his legs trembled.

“And instead of apologizing for helping in fueling the atrocities, you are considering only your hide? When you should be bowing to me and begging for forgiveness instead?!”

Albert gulped. Was this how he was going to die? Death by stepping upon a lion’s tail?

And then it all stopped. As if Saint Michael had drawn his hand out and pulled all of the evil and hate of the world away.

One of his men collapsed to his knees, gasping loudly and coughing.

“You don’t have to worry about Toggenburg,” the Count Killer muttered but it was loud and clear to Albert. “When I am done with them, everyone will know not to mess with my home lest they become the Second Toggenburg.”

Albert believed him.

The Count Killer reached under his cape and brought out a parchment.

“This parchment details all of the Compact’s demands. Have one of your men copy it down, and I want you to sign off on both of them.”

He did just that, because the alternative was to make an enemy of the Count Killer and become the latest landed noble to die to this demon.

When the copying was done and Albert signed both copies of the treaty, the Count Killer also signed both copies.

“Before you go,” Albert spoke up just as the Count Killer turned to leave. “Why are you in these valleys?”

The Count Killer looked up to the sky for a moment before he looked back down. “I came looking for a quiet home, and I found it here before this crisis happened. That’s all.”

Albert watched the man leave, and the peasant army swerved around his castle to take the gorge that led towards Toggenburg lands.

He realized that he’d been mistaken. The Count Killer was not a bloodthirsty demon or a usurper of law and order as set by God and past emperors of the land. No, he was just a man looking for peace and war had come to him.

‘If only such a man had settled in my lands,’ Albert thought as he too turned around and went back home with his men.

-VB-

*Medieval latin for truce, though I wanted the word parley, which is Late Middle English word that comes from Old French word parlee.