Noren’s Grand Scheme at Olomouc Castle

Having traversed the narrow wooden bridge spanning the moat, they stepped onto the castle mound’s perimeter. There, a winding gravel path appeared at the foot of the mound, snaking upwards towards the castle gates.

As they ventured onto the castle grounds, groups of patrolling soldiers, typically three to five strong, materialized at the base of the mound, meandering idly.

Had it not been for the soldiers’ remarkably relaxed demeanor, their faces alight with casual chatter and boasts as they patrolled, Noren might well have mistakenly believed the place to be heavily fortified.

With Sir Kovan leading the way, no patrolling soldier, however oblivious, dared to question their party.

Following the serpentine gravel path, the group ascended the castle mound, reaching its peak after navigating three deliberate turns designed to mitigate the steepness of the climb.

The formidable castle now loomed directly before Noren.

Noren scrutinized the castle, noting that it did not appear quite as imposing as it had from the base of the hill. Its stone outer walls, barely twenty feet in height, possessed an earthy yellow tint, likely due to a substantial quantity of clay and blended mortar used as a binding agent.

Beyond the walls, a shallow moat had been dug, its depths bristling with sharpened wooden stakes, while a wooden drawbridge hung suspended directly above it.

“This is truly a magnificent castle,” Igor exclaimed, his gaze fixed upwards. “No matter how many times I’ve visited, I am always awestruck by its grandeur.” He understood that the construction of such a stone fortress required an immense investment of both manpower and resources.

Count Otta’s castle boasted walls stretching eight hundred feet, while the summit of its mound encompassed over five acres. To erect such a fortress in an age characterized by rudimentary productivity, setting aside the construction of stone walls and the main keep, merely piling and compacting the foundation would have necessitated hundreds of laborers toiling for two or three months.

To Igor, a knight’s second son, this scale of endeavor was almost unfathomable; even the stone church in Unichov could not rival Olomouc Castle in terms of the resources expended.

Sir Kovan smiled, a touch of pride in his voice. “Lord ‘Handsome’ poured his heart and soul into the castle’s construction. Though it cannot vie with a colossal city like Prague, it stands unrivaled in all of Moravia.”

Igor nodded thoughtfully, yet in the very next moment, his attention snapped back to the present. “Let’s go in quickly!” he urged. “My brother still requires treatment!”

“Alright, let’s proceed inside!” Sir Kovan chuckled, a touch of amusement in his voice. He had mistakenly believed Igor was so captivated by the castle that he had utterly forgotten his brother’s plight!

Beyond the wooden drawbridge, the castle passageway stretched ahead, flanked by two heavily armored spearmen standing guard. Upon recognizing Sir Kovan, they offered deferential bows, permitting Noren and her companions to pass without so much as a query regarding their identities.

The castle passageway proved exceedingly narrow, permitting only a single carriage to pass through at a time. Within its confines stood two formidable defenses: an iron portcullis, crafted from interlocking iron bars, on the outer side, and a heavy, dark ancient oak door on the inner.

A small window had been carved into the oak door, secured from the inside by an iron bolt. Noren, however, found herself utterly perplexed by its purpose. Could it possibly be for a delivery person to hand over meals?

Having traversed the passageway, their vision suddenly broadened, revealing a bustling castle courtyard. Servants and artisans moved ceaselessly, while various livestock diligently pulled flatbed carts, transporting an array of supplies.

A formidable grey-black castle keep stood resolutely at the very heart of Noren’s view.

Upon seeing the stark, square keep, Noren sighed, remarking, “I truly believed Opava Castle was an isolated anomaly, yet this castle, too, shares the same unfortunate design. How dreadfully ugly it is~”

Sir Kovan’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly at Noren’s candid assessment, but a swift realization seemed to dawn upon him. His brow relaxed, and a gentle smile returned to his lips as he turned to face Noren.

“This castle’s primary function is that of a military fortress,” he explained. “Moravia must perpetually guard against incursions from both the Magyars and the Poles, thus it cannot indulge in the same lavishness as a royal or noble palace.”

As he spoke, Sir Kovan raised a finger, indicating the external staircase of the castle. “Observe, that wooden staircase affixed to the main keep was specifically erected to counter wartime threats.”

Noren’s left eyebrow arched ever so slightly, for she could discern nothing particularly unusual about the wooden staircase. “Is that not merely an ordinary wooden staircase?” she inquired.

Kovan adopted an expression that conveyed, with a mischievous grin, ‘You are quite unacquainted with such matters.’ “This specialized, highly flammable wooden staircase is not integrated into the keep’s walls, rendering it remarkably easy to incinerate. Should enemies manage to breach the castle, the remaining warriors can retreat into the main keep, then promptly set the wooden stairs ablaze, thereby buying precious time to hold out until reinforcements inevitably arrive.”

“And what if no reinforcements arrive?” Igor interjected, his voice cutting through the explanation.

Sir Kovan and Noren paused, a shared silence settling between them, before both spoke simultaneously:

“Fight to the death.” “Break through.”

They exchanged a fleeting glance, each discerning a blend of scrutiny and disdain in the other’s eyes.

Just as Sir Kovan was poised to impart a lecture on military theory to the young noblewoman, Igor’s urgent voice once more cut him short.

“Sir Kovan,” Igor interjected, his gaze earnest and imploring, “I implore you to swiftly summon the Count’s court physician; I fear my brother can brook no further delay!”

Sir Kovan fell silent, utterly at a loss for words. The topic had been instigated by the young noblewoman, and Igor himself had interjected, yet somehow it now felt as though Kovan were the one deliberately attempting to waste time.

A fervent desire to speak at length, to unleash a torrent of words, surged within Sir Kovan. Yet, he found himself utterly tongue-tied, every intended utterance caught uncomfortably in his throat.

Had Sir Kovan ever found himself in the twenty-first century, he would have instantly recognized this overwhelming urge as ‘venting’.

“Ah, well~ I shall first inform the castle steward to arrange your accommodations!” Sir Kovan declared, exhaling the pent-up frustration like a lingering breath. “Your horses and carriage will, of course, also require proper attention.” As a seasoned noble, he recognized the futility of engaging in a spat with a group of young lords and ladies.

“Please, wait here for a brief while!” With that, Sir Kovan dissolved into the bustling throng of people.

Moments later, Noren observed Sir Kovan reappearing on the wooden staircase adjacent to the main keep. He pushed open its narrow wooden door and slipped inside.

Seizing this momentary reprieve, Noren began a meticulous observation of the castle courtyard’s layout, recognizing that a thorough understanding of its arrangement would prove immensely advantageous for any future endeavors of ‘robbing the rich to aid the poor.’

Such acts of theft were not truly her desire; rather, they were merely the restless stirrings of the Norse raiding blood coursing through her veins!

Indeed! Theft, too, is a form of raiding! Plundering the wealth of nobles to alleviate Noren’s own poverty. There was absolutely nothing wrong with that, she concluded.

“Tolke, come here!” Noren called out, dismounting gracefully from her horse by stepping off the stirrup, then beckoned to Tolke.

“?” Tolke, clutching the raised pommel of the saddle, gingerly dismounted by stepping onto the stirrup, before shuffling quietly to Noren’s side.

Noren clasped the young boy’s shoulder, leaning in to whisper into his ear, “First, this… then this… and finally, this…”

Having meticulously outlined the ‘Olomouc Castle Reconnaissance Plan,’ Noren turned to Igor. “My attendant and I shall take a stroll, perhaps tour this magnificent castle,” she explained. “Once Sir Kovan returns, you should proceed inside. As for the carriage and horses, Hafdan can manage the handover with the castle’s stablehands and servants.”

“Did you hear that, Hafdan!” Noren called out, turning her head towards the covered wagon behind them, only to be met with Hafdan’s deep, rumbling snores as a sole response.

“See, Hafdan understood perfectly!” Ignoring Igor’s wide-eyed, utterly bewildered expression, Noren seized Tolke’s arm and sprinted away, her voice ringing out with what sounded suspiciously like mad ramblings—

“Tolke, you’re my chosen accomplice! Let’s go!”