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Chapter Four (TIBK)
🕑 Added 2025-07-16 06:29:52 +0000 UTCThe path to Lord Cedric’s hall was not pleasant in the slightest.
Not just the weather, that he had expected as much, but rather how others treated him as he made his way.
Servants scurried past without bowing - one even spat in the snow near his boots. A stableboy “accidentally” kicked slush at his leggings, snickering with his friends.
“Spineless Bastard!”chanted two kitchen girls hanging frozen linens, making foggy breaths in the air. A group of privileged boys “tripped” sideways to block Eirik’s path, forcing him to detour around a stinking manure pile. He ignored them and kept walking.
Icy wind slapped Eirik’s face. The cobblestone path to the Great Hall glittered with frost. A child threw a snowball at him, which missed him by inches. Their parents watched from stalls selling fish and spices, making no effort to hide their smirks.
Still, he ignored them.
A massive hall appears in front of him, interrupting his thoughts on what he’s about to do when seeing Lord Cedric.
Two guards flanked the hall’s oak doors. Both wore Stormcrow sigils—a black raven screaming against a white mountain.
Both gripped spears like they itched to use them.
Eirik halted before the towering doors. “Announce me.”
The guard changed smirks.
“Announce you?” The taller one sneered, tapping his spearhaft against Eirik’s chest. “Think you’re lordling now, Mudborn?”
CRAAACK—
Eirik’s hand blurred with a speed that neither guard had expected, then the tall guard’s spear ironwood shaft snapped like kindling. Before the splintered halves hit the ground, Eirik seized the guard’s gorget and hoisted up him one-handed, leaving him boots dangling a full foot above the ground.
“Announce. Me.” Eirik said calmly, watching the man’s eyes bulge as veins throbbed in his throttled neck. The second guard watched in utter shock.
“Y-you’re mad! Lord Cedric will—”
Eirik tightened his grip. The tall guard gagged.
“Fine! Fine!” The second guard scrambled to bang the door-ram.
———
The great hall of Stromkeep was not warm at the best of times. Smoke from the hearths coiled up toward the rafters like gray serpents, never quite seeped from the stone.
Today, the cold felt sharper.
Lord Cedric Stromcrow sat atop a stone throne at the far end of the hall.
His face was sharp, clean-shaven, with eyes like chips of ice. Silver hair, streaked with white, fell straight to his shoulders. He wore a fur-lined tunic, full black, with the Stormcrow raven sigil stitched in silver thread over his heart.
He was the man that the entire barony both revered and feared. He had buried his enemies, crushed rebellions, fought barbarians and monsters beyond the Northern Waste, and turned a crumbling barony into a fortress.
Garrick stood at his father’s right, face swollen and wrapped in bloody bandages. To Cedric’s left stood Lady Ingrid, Garrick’s mother. Her lips curled like she’d just tasted spoiled milk. Six armored guards lined the walls, hands on sword hilts.
Across the hall, the entire Stormcrow council stood expressively, among them were Steward Brynn, Marshal Gunnar, and Spymaster Yelena.
If someone weren't aware of the current situation, they would surely think this must be a war-council or about other equally grave matters.
Lord Cedric impatiently broke the silence:
“The guards were ordered to drag Eirik here. Why did it take so long?”
Garrick’s split lips twisted.
“Probably pissing his breeches at the door, Father. Let me—”
Boom. Boom. Boom.
A deep, resonant sound echoed across the hall.
“What—?” Steward Brynn wondered out loud. It was the sound of the door ram banging on oak, a ceremonial banging that was only reserved for important events or the arrival of distinguished guests such as the Duke or powerful Earls and Viscounts. Why suddenly—
The oak doors groaned open.
“Lord Eirik Stormcrow approaches!”
Eirik walked in—back straight with measured steps. His threadbare tunic hung loose, but his shoulders were squared.
He wore clothing that befit less a royal and more a peasant, but his eyes—
Cold. Clear. Glinting like snow.
The hall fell silent.
Gasps hissed across the hall. Steward Brynn’s quill slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the ground. Marshal Gunnar, a hulking man built like a bear, narrowed his eyes. Spymaster Yelena’s sharp gaze flicked between Eirik and Garrick. Guards stared at the boy they’d mocked for years—now standing tall like a pine tree.
But the loudest reaction came from the Lord Heir.
“WHAT?” Garrick pointed a shaking, bandaged hand at Eirik. “Since when do guards announce this worm?”
Lady Ingrid’s cold smile vanished. Her painted nails dug into the arm of her chair.
“This is ridiculous. Cedric, why is he being treated like a guest?”
Lord Cedric said nothing. His icy stare locked onto Eirik.
The hall fell silent again.
Eirik dipped his head—
“You summoned me, Lord Stormcrow.”
Cedric’s eyes narrowed. For years, Eirik had slouched, mumbled, and knelt without being told. Now his bastard son stood straight-backed, meeting his gaze without flinching.
Since when does this weakling have a spine? Cedric leaned forward slightly, studying Eirik’s calm face.
His icy eyes narrowed. For years, Eirik had slouched, mumbled, and knelt without being told. Now his bastard son stood straight-backed, meeting his gaze without flinching.
Cedric’s fingers tightened on his throne’s armrests.
Since when does this weakling have a spine? He leaned forward slightly, studying Eirik’s calm face.
He saw only cold focus.
Lady Ingrid stood abruptly.
“You dare address your father without kneeling?”
“Father?” Eirik met Cedric’s gaze. “By father, do you mean the man who let his son plant daggers on me? Who let my servants poison me? Who’d allow my entire house’s budget to be embezzled so that I barely survived every winter?”
The hall sucked in a breath sharp as a blade.
Did they hear it right? Did the spineless Eirik who’d cower before the ruthless Cedric for something as small as breaking a wine bottle, just tried to denounce him openly? Is this reality?
Lady Ingrid’s face purpled. And Garrick simply could not take it anymore.
“KNEEL, YOU BARBARIAN WHORE’S SPAAWN!”
Spittle flew from his lips.
“GUARDS! FLAY HIS SKIN! HANG HIS GUTS FROM THE—”
“Silence.”
The entire hall froze at Lord Cedric’s voice.
Since when did Eirik… behave like this? Cedric’s mind churned. This… wasn’t the cowering boy he’d ignored for nineteen years. This stranger stood tall, eyes blazing with contempt—no, challenge. A spark Cedric hadn’t seen since…
No. He crushed the memory.
Eirik’s voice again cut through the tension.
“Sure, it was Garrick who did these things to me. But it is you that I take offense to, the man who I used to honor with the word ‘father.’ You allowed everything to happen yet chose to do nothing.”
The council gasped.
Marshal Gunnar stepped forward, sword half-drawn. “You dare insult Lord Stormcrow’s—”
Cedric raised a hand. The Marshal froze.
“Continue.”
Eirik met Cedric’s gaze.
“Garrick planted the dagger and framed it as thievery.” Eirik gestured to his brother’s swollen face. “He confessed before the servants from my household. Ask them.”
Garrick’s swollen lips twitched into a sneer.
Confess?
They’d sooner cut their tongues out than defy me!
Blood crusted his broken nose, but the rush of spite warmed him. These servants knew the price of daring to betray him—floggings, starvation, or worse. His threats were ironclad.
Let the bastard call them. Garrick thought to himself. They’ll lie through their teeth, and Father will finally execute him.
“Bring the witnesses,” Lord Cedric commanded.
A guard hurried out.
Eirik stood motionless, back straight as a spear.
After a long pause, the oak doors creaked as six servants shuffled in—Marta the cook, Harkin the old guard, Yorick, Jens, and a few others. Their eyes darted like trapped mice.
Marta flinched when Eirik’s gaze met hers, her now bandaged fingers clawing her stained apron.
“Kneel,” Cedric ordered.
The servants knelt like scolded dogs, trembling under Lord Cedric’s glacial stare.
Cedric leaned forward, his shadow swallowing the trembling maid Marta whole.
“Speak,” Cedric commanded. “Did Garrick confess to framing Eirik?”
Silence.
Marta’s throat bobbed. Her eyes darted to Garrick—still smug despite his swollen face—then to Eirik, who stood motionless.
Garric will make me suffer greatly if I betray him, she thought, but Eirik… Eirik will skin me alive if I don’t do as he’d wished…
Garrick smirked, blood crusting his crooked teeth. Of course they’ll lie. They know what happens to traitors. He shot his mother, Lady Ingrid, a look. She nodded very faintly.
Instantly, Ingrid’s gaze pinned Marta. “Speak.”
Marta’s mouth opened. No sound came out.
Garrick’s smirk faltered a bit.
What is she waiting for? There’s no reason to delay it anymore! Just blame everything on Eirik and leave the rest to him and his mother!
He shot Marta with an angry look, but she did not look his way.
Instead, graphic memories occupied Marta’s head: the crack of Garrick’s nose, Eirik’s glowing eyes, his fingers denting the wash basin…
He’s not Eirik anymore… He’s something else.
“Answer!” Cedric barked.
Marta flinched as tears streaked down her face.
Garrick’s confidence wavered.
Why isn’t she lying already?
“L-lord Garrick…,” Marta whimpered. “H-he… planted the dagger! Made me tell Lord Eirik to go to the armory three days ago! He… he made me do it!”
Gasps erupted.
Garrick lunged. “Liar! You filthy—”
Eirik moved faster. He caught Garrick’s wrist, twisting it until bones creaked. Garrick howled, collapsing to his knees.
“Truth hurts, brother?” Eirik said softly.
“I’LL RIP YOUR BASTARD THROAT OUT AND—HRAAAAK—” A wet cough cut his rant short, spraying flecks of red across the stone floor. “Father—H-he’s lying—he’s the thief, the trai—”
“ENOUGH!” Lord Cedric’s face darkened like a stormcloud. “Others—confirm this!”
The old guard Harkin crawled forward, forehead pressed to stone. “It’s true, milord! Lord Garrick framed Lord Eirik! We all saw him confess!”
The woodcutter Jens nodded violently. “Aye! Everyone saw it! Including Lord Garrick’s own guards!”
No. No! Garrick’s mind raced. They’re insects! How dare they—
Lady Ingrid shot to her feet. “Lies! My son is noble! This bastard bribed them!”
Eirik laughed.
“With what? My three-copper stipend? Or the poisoned bread you let my cook feed me with? Or the always shorthanded firewood supply to make sure I was miserable every winter?”
Lady Ingrid’s shrill voice cut through the murmurs.
“Lies! This filth dares spin atlas to save his hide! My Garrick is—”
Cedric’s fist slammed the throne arm. The crack of wood splintering silenced her.
“Enough.” The Lord of Stormkeep leaned forward, glacier-blue eyes locked on Eirik.
“You. Explain. Now.”
“My pleasure.” Eirik’s gaze snapped to Cedric. “Let’s discuss his methods, Lord.”
Eirik stepped toward the council, and turned to the trembling servants.
“Marta. Tell the court exactly what Garrick ordered you to do.”
Marta’s bandaged hand clutched her apron, her face pale as fresh snow. She opened her mouth, but only a whimper escaped.
She’s terrified of Garrick retaliation. Eirik’s jaw tightened. Time to remind her who held the leash now.
“Speak. Truth will be your biggest protection.” Eirik said to her.
Marta flinched.
She understood the deeper meaning instantly, that the biggest threat to her life, right now, isn’t offending Garrick, or even Ingrid, but being caught telling lies in front of Cedric.
“L-Lord Garrick… he made me poison Lord Eirik!” Her words spilled out in a panicked rush. “Ground nightshade in his tonic and food—just enough to weaken him! He said… said if I refused, he’d sell my boy to the slavers!”
Gasps erupted from the council.
“Lies! She’s ly—!” Garrick yelled.
“Show them your hands, Marta.” Eirik said calmly.
The cook held up her bandaged hand, the missing pinky nail raw and oozing.
“Long-term exposure to nightshade would leave a permanent purple hue on the flesh. Check if you wish.” Eirik addressed Cedric.
Cerick’s ice-chip eyes narrowed. He flicked a finger at Spymaster Yelena, who strode forward and seized Marta’s wrist. The spy peeled back the bandage, revealing the telltale violet smudges beneath the fresh wound.
Yelena’s lips thinned. “Confirmed, my lord. Nightshade residue. For as long as two winters from the looks of it.”
“This proves nothing!”Lady Ingrid shot to her feet. “That wretch could’ve poisoned herself to frame my son!”
“Ah yes.” Eirik snorted. “Marta poisoned me for the past two years just to frame your son. A genius move that would have her showered with honor and coins, surely.”
A few guards muffled snickers.
Cedric’s fist slammed the throne again. “Enough! Is this it or do you have some other witnesses?”
Eirik nodded at the scribe, who hunched like a beaten dog. Yorick’s polished boots gleamed in the torchlight—a stark contrast to his threadbare tunic.
“Yorick,” Eirik said, “Did you steal this pair of boots you are wearing?”
The scribe’s throat bobbed. “What? I… I did not—”
Eirik cut him off. “You did, albeit not in the conventional way. The boots cost three silver talons, and your monthly wage is two copper coins. Explain.”
Yorick’s eyes darted to Garrick, who mouthed a silent I’ll kill you. Yet when he looked at Eirik’s eyes, a sense of terror seized him.
He crumpled instantly.
“Lord Garrick ordered me to siphon funds from Lord Eirik’s stipend! He paid me one silver talon per month to do it!”
Steward Brynn nearly dropped his ledger. “Embezzlement? Under my watch?!”
Eirik pressed harder. “How can you prove that Eirik made you do it, instead of you doing it on your own volition?”
Yorick swallowed, then spoke in a shaky voice. “The fake entries… they match Lord Garrick’s hunting trips.”
Lord Cedric leaned forward. “Explain.”
The scribe pulled a small ledger from his robe.
“Lord Eirik’s accounts show purchases of ‘winter fodder’ every fortnight. But look here—” He pointed to smudged numbers. “These dates line up with Lord Garrick’s boar hunts in the Wolfswood. Twenty silver talons spent on ‘fodder’ the day before his last hunt… which costs twenty talons to fund.”
Steward Brynn snatched the ledger, comparing it to Garrick’s travel records.
“B-By the Frost Mother… He speaks the truth!”
Yorick continued faster now. “The money trail leads to Huntsman Olvar - Garrick’s personal game supplier! Ask him where he got extra coins for new hunting dogs last moon!”
“Silence! You worm!” Lady Ingrid hissed while Garrick turned pale.
But Yorick kept going.
“Check the cellar records too! Lord Eirik’s account shows six barrels of salted beef purchased last winter… but our cold storage only holds two! The other four went to Garrick’s feast for Lady Ingrid’s name-day!”
Gasps exploded around the hall as Cedric’s icy calm finally cracked.
“Garrick. Is this true?”
Lady Ingrid grabbed her son’s arm. “L-Lord Husband, this proves nothing. The scribe could’ve—”
“Check the meat barrels!” Jens the woodcutter blurted out. Everyone turned to the shaking servant. “The… the false four barrels were moved with my cart! My axemark’s on the lid - three notches by the handle!”
Garrick’s bandaged face twitched. “L-Lies! That woodcutter’s delusional! His axemarks prove nothing—”
“Prove it?” Jens blurted, fists shaking. His weathered face flushed with a mix of terror and defiance. “Then check Lord Garrick’s firewood storage! I’m sure you’d find quite a few were cut with my axe!”
Lady Ingrid’s painted nails dug into her arm. “Silence, peasant! You dare accuse my son of—”
“What’s special about your axe, Jens?” Eirik interjected.
Jens swallowed, then raised his calloused hands. “Milords… my axe ain’t like others. Got a notch on the blade—three shallow grooves near the handle. Leaves three tiny lines on every log I chop!”
Murmurs exploded across the hall.
"LIES! Father, this worm FORGED—"Garrick exploded.
Cedric’s fist slammed the armrest. “Enough!”
The entire hall quivered. Frost spiraled from the Baron’s armored boots.
His gaze swept over the trembling servants, the calm Eirik, and finally settled on his wife and eldest son.
Lady Ingrid’s face had gone pale as ash, while Garrick hunched like a beaten dog.
So, this is the rot festering under my roof, Cedric thought, fingers digging into the splintered armrest. Garrick, my beloved son that’d one day inherit everything that I have, showed nothing but petty schemes, brutish idiocy and corruption.
The truth pricked Cedric’s pride like needles.
Garrick seethed beside him, clutching his twisted wrist. “Father, this bastard attacked your heir! He’s twisting lies to—”
“Silence.” Cedric’s eyes narrowing. “Do you think me blind, boy? Or a fool?”
Garrick flinched. Lady Ingrid gripped her arm tighter, her jeweled rings glinting as she stepped forward.
“My lord, this was all my doing. I… I ordered Garrick to act. The bast… Eirik… threatened our house’s good name! I couldn’t let him—”
“Enough.” Cedric’s roar shook the hall’s rafters. Even the guards stiffened. “You think groveling excuses will spare you?”
His glare swung to Brynn.
“And you. My steward. Did you think your sins wouldn’t surface?”
Brynn stood up, shaking. “ I—I have nothing to do with this!”
“Nothing?” Cedric smirked. “You are the one who vetted the staff members for royal households, yet there is a traitor who has poisoned my son for years. You are the one who is supposed to review my sons’ ledgers, yet you let my son’s money be siphoned away and suffering cold in the winter. And yet you said ‘nothing.’”
“M-mercy, my lord!” Brynn pressed his forehead to the floor in terror.
Cedric’s jaw tightened. This was a typical scapegoating move, yet a necessary move he must carry out no matter what others think.
“Steward Brynn. You will receive twenty lashes, then exile to the Ice Trench mines for a full moon. In the meantime, you are stripped of title and holdings waiting further review.”
“L-Lord! I—”Brynn wailed, but guards dragged him away.
Cedric turned to Lady Ingrid. “You—”
“A mother’s love drove me!” She cried, tears streaking her powered cheeks. Dramatic, practiced sobs shook her shoulders. “Garrick is your heir! Must I watch some… some barbarian’s whelp undermine him?”
Cedric hesitated. The plea cut through his rage. Ingrid was cunning, manipulative, but still his beloved wife. Garrick, though immature, was his firstborn. The boy’s incompetence couldn’t erase that.
Meanwhile, Eirik watched the theatrics with cold amusement.
These lies laid bare by Eirik made Cedric’s rule look weaker, yet he could not punish Eirik, who’s in the right here, nor could he actually punish Garrick and his wife, or else the Stormcrow name would become a laughing stock.
He’s cornered into a tight spot by Eirik, and Brynn was his out. As for Garrick and Ingrid? Cedric will just slap their wrists and call it justice.
Cedric straightened, voice hardening into a decree.
“Garrick Stormcrow. As my son and heir, you have brought shame upon this house.”
