Night had fallen upon the sprawling city of Kelewair. But the lamps had been lit, each a twisting line that followed the ebb and flow of the hills as they blended from the northern forests. The lamps even went beyond the city walls, bleeding off into the fields to the South and East, where the herders were gathering their flocks. The roads remained cobblestone in every direction from the city for as far as the light shone. Though night would fall, darkness never would on the capital of the Southern Midlands.
It had not been an easy road for Kelewair to rise to such a place of prominence within its own realm. Amongst the capitals of the world, it could hardly be said to have been the most garish or impressive. It lacked the delicacy of Elvquelin, the pure grandeur of Metamor, or even the opulence of Yesulam. It could not boast the secrets of the close clay packed corridors of Sondeshara. Nor could it lay claim to antiquity as did both Silvassa and Pyralis. And even amidst the splendour of the early Spring hills, it lacked the wild feel of Salinon, teetering as it did on the edge of something untameable. It was simply Kelewair, a city of wooden homes draped in cloth, stone walls that kept them close, and a great edifice of kiln-blasted red brick.
It was before this oddity, draped from the rafters in fine tapestries woven entirely in threads spun in the city, that the Marquis du Tournemire brought his steed to a halt. No gates kept the townsfolk from approaching the broad entranceway, but there were certainly guards aplenty whose eyes surveyed all that approached with intense distrust. The cobblestone road entered a circle before a great fountain fashioned from imported marble in the shape of four wolves sitting upon their haunches back to back, tails pressing vertically to one another. From their open muzzles the frothy spray came forth, gurgling into the wide basin beneath wherein some previous lord with a sense of humour had placed marble-wrought pups playing together.
Beyond the fountain the road circled beneath a large portico supported by a row of pillars on one side. A gap was left in the middle so that any standing on the doorsteps could watch the fountain clearly, as well as the city beyond. To either side small trees sprang up, meticulously groomed. They were taller the further they stood from the roadway, yet they were kept a good distance from the manor walls themselves. Lampposts stretched out between the forest and the manor, all of them lit, casting a warm glow upon the red brick like flames leaping up the sides.
The entrance doors themselves were at least twice a man’s height, and fashioned from stoat oak. Giant brass knockers stood on each door, each in the shape of a wolf’s head with the brass ring clutched between its jaws. A pair of guards flanked the door, each bearing a long spear. Their livery was the same bright red as the brick, and upon their chests they bore the wolf’s head heraldry, a black silhouette with snarling jaws.
Marquis du Tournemire sat atop his horse underneath the portico gazing disinterestedly at the night air about. Presently, a young man also dressed in red, though clearly a servant, came out through a smaller door inset into the larger main doors. “Might I be of help to you, my lord?”
“My lord,” the man who had ridden behind the Marquis said, “seeks the hospitality of your master this evening. Tell him that the Marquis du Tournemire of Pyralis is travelling through his lands and now waits at his door.”
The servant looked from the Marquis’s steward to the Marquis himself for a moment, eyes wide in surprise. There was a tired look to them that was not from lack of sleep but from weariness, and it only seemed to grow wearier as he stared. Then, turning about he returned through the doorway leaving only the two red clad guards and the Marquis’s own blue liveried company.
Aside from his steward, the Marquis was accompanied by his castellan and ten other soldiers, all wearing the blue livery of his family and the seal of the unicorn that was his heraldry. Only one amongst the company did not wear the blue, and this was a black-haired man dressed in black tunic and breeches and nothing more. In all they were thirteen, twelve in blue and one in black.
It was several minutes before the doors opened again. And this time when they did open, it was the main doors themselves being swung inwards, revealing a broad foyer panelled in cedar, the floor completely covered in colourful carpets depicting flowers, knights, sheep, but in the centre was again the black wolf that was the family’s sigil. Standing at the front steps was a tall man with bright red hair, dressed in fine damask brocade, with two men flanking him at either side. The man to his left bore a mail shirt with long saber buckled at his side. His nose was crooked, bent sharply to the left. On the man’s right stood a slender bookish man of short stature, though his clothes were well-apportioned.
“I am Duke Titian Verdane,” the red-haired man announced in clear tones. His eyes narrowed suspiciously over the large company still mounted beneath his portico. “I am told that you are the Marquis du Tournemire,” he said, eyes settling upon the finely dressed man in blue silks. “What brings you to Kelewair seeking my hospitality?”
The Marquis smiled, but did not climb down from his white Percheron. “I have business that takes me through your lands, your grace. I bring with me kind greetings from Pyralis and Yesulam. Is there a more suitable place for us to discuss such matters than your portico?”
Duke Verdane’s eyes narrowed further. “I am always glad to receive visitors from our noble brethren to the South. My Steward Apollinar shall see to the quartering of your men. My Castellan Sir Malcolm Royce will bring you to my table when you are ready.” And with that, he turned about on his feet and strode up through the hall, the thick carpet muffling the tread of his boots.
Even after the Duke’s departure, the castellan did not move, standing with arms crossed over his mailed chest as impassively as a statue. The steward however took a step forward, calling out to them, “If you will dismount, I will have the ostlers attend to your steeds. If your men will care to follow me, I will show them rooms in which they can stay. Your things will be brought up presently, my lord.”
The Marquis nodded stiffly, turning back to his own men. “Dismount. Vigoureux, Sir Autrefois, you will accompany me.” He did not need to tell the black clad man what to do. Until he did so, he knew precisely where he’d be at all times.
After they had dismounted, Apollinar issued several orders to a nearby page. The boy ran off down the length of the manor towards one of the side houses, one that though finely decorated did appear to be a stables. The steward then motioned for the soldiers to follow after him as he led them within the manor, flanked by several of the red-liveried guards. And still Sir Royce stood motionless upon the portico steps.
“My lord Marquis,” Sir Royce said at last, his voice gravely, “if you would follow me, I shall bring you to his grace, Duke Verdane.”
The Marquis nodded though said nothing. He gripped his blue cloak in one hand as he swept up those steps, not bothering to peer behind him, knowing that his own men would follow only a step behind.
The inside of the manor was also fashioned from brick, but most of it was unexposed, hidden behind cedar and cherry panelling, casting the rooms in a warmth that many castles lacked. The panelling was finely carved, wolf-heads being the most prominent relief. The castellan lead them through one of the main passages towards the east wing. At the main intersections, at least one guard stood watch. Most of the doors remained unguarded though. The Marquis noted that there were a few doors guarded by men who did not bear the red surcoats of the Verdane house. It seemed he was not the only one visiting.
They were brought at last before a small door set at the hallway ended in a long spiral staircase. The door was guarded by two red-coated men with drawn swords, but they stepped aside when Sir Royce approached. The castellan pushed open the door, revealing a small but finely apportioned room beyond. The floor was covered by the familiar rug with black wolf, atop which sat a long table fashioned from cherry. A red brick hearth stood along one side, above which rested the head of a large bear. Beside it were those of a stag and doe. A few smaller game animals lined the rest of the walls, though none quite so imposing as those three.
Standing beside the table, knuckles resting upon the wood was Duke Verdane. “Welcome to my home, Marquis. Come, sit and sup with me.”
The Marquis smiled, nodding his head once to the duke, taking the seat opposite him at the table. “Thank you for your graciousness to a weary traveller.” He sat down, finding the wooden chairs a bit hard, but otherwise acceptable.
“You are a long way from home, Marquis,” Duke Verdane said, finding his own seat, resting his folded hands upon the table before him. “Is there anything I can fetch for you? A bit of lamb perhaps?”
“A cup of tea would be best,” the Marquis replied. “I find that my stomach does not greet lamb with any alacrity.”
The Duke nodded. “Very well. We shall both have tea.” One of the servants disappeared through another door so quietly that were it not for the click of the latch, none would have even known he’d left to fulfill the Duke’s command.
“For such a long journey, you still seem to have brought a fairly light retinue,” Titian observed. “I would be grateful if you would honour me with their given names.”
The Marquis nodded, folding his own hands before him. “I am the Maquis Camille du Tournemire. This is my steward Vigoureux,” he gestured to his right where the slightly overweight man nodded. “And this is my castellan, Sir Autrefois.” To his left stood the large man, his chest and arms thick and heavy like an ox.
“And the man in black?” Titian asked, after nodding lightly to the other two. “Is he also a part of your retinue? Or is he merely a shade that persists even after the sun has set?”
At that, the Marquis chuckled lightly. “He is a shade, but a useful one. No, he is not part of my household, but he is in my service.” The servant came back through the doorway then, bearing a porcelain carafe upon a silver platter. He set two cups down, one before each of them, and poured out a steaming brew into each. The Marquis picked his cup and sipped at it, the tea shimmering as it touched his lips. “His name is Zagrosek.”
The fire snapped in the hearth, its orange rays warming the room. Even though it was the middle of April, the air was still cool. While the western coasts were brimming with warmth, here far into the interior, the winds still swept down from the icy barrier range. As if the crackling of the fire reminded them of that, several of the servants pulled their arms closer, hoarding what warmth they had.
Not so with Duke Verdane, his entire body composed as he spoke. “What sort of services does he perform for you, Marquis?” He had not yet touched his tea.
But the Marquis continued to sip his slowly, watching as it rippled and tilted in the cup. “Whatever I ask of him. He is quite versatile and knows a great many people in positions that are useful to me and my goals. He has even met with the Patriarch once. I very nearly received everything I asked for from that meeting as well.”
Titian raised one eyebrow, it as bright a red as his hair. “What did you seek from the Patriarch?”
The Marquis smiled warmly. “Ah, but that is part of the reason I am travelling through your lands, your grace. It is not a journey I make lightly, but out of necessity, for what must be done is so vital that I must oversee it. I am honoured to have been given this task. And from what I have been told, I believe that you would welcome the chance to see it brought to fruition.”
“Truly? And what task do you bear that you believe I would embrace?”
The Marquis took a long draught of the tea, feeling its warmth spread through his chest. He smiled past his long nose, setting the cup down delicately upon the cherry table. “Though the secrecy of my task encumbers me, its clandestine nature prevents me from speaking any further of it now, lest some spy overhear.”
A dark pall fell over the Duke. “Forgive me for leaping to conclusions, as I am sure your intentions are completely amicable as you say, but your words lend themselves to a certain suspicion of the culpability of my servants. If indeed your delicate words suggest that any man of mine could be capable of such traitorous legerdemain, I will be forced to withdraw my offer of hospitality to defend the honour of the House of Verdane.”
“Stay your anger, your grace,” The Marquis said, still smiling, though he did raise one hand as if warding off a blow. “I mean no impugnation against any man of yours. But I could not help but notice as I was brought before your table by your hospitality that there are men within these walls that do not bear the red surcoat with your wolf, Duke Verdane.”
The glowering turned to annoyance then, his anger not completely mollified, merely redirected. “You are not the only one at present who has sought my hospitality, Marquis, it is true. Both Lord Dupré and Lord Guilford, my own vassals, have come to settle a dispute between them at this time. If it is secrecy you wished in your endeavour, then you have come at a very bad time.”
“I see,” the Marquis said, managing to hold the slender smile upon his lips, though privately he was disgusted. He did not have time to deal with petty squabbles. Perhaps approaching the Duke had been a mistake, though not one he could blame himself for. “Perhaps it would be best were I to bring this matter directly to the Bishop then. He could then approach you once the dispute is settled when idle eyes are no longer about.”
Titian shook his head. “Both Lord Dupré and Lord Guilford inhabit lands that are three days ride to the west. Bishop Ammodus has journeyed at my express request to those lands to personally investigate the claims of each of them, to see which is telling the truth. He will not return for some days. If you wish, you may speak with the Prelate. He will be at the Cathedral. I can only assume you’ve no wish to bring this matter before the Lothanasi hierarchy.”
“It would not be my first course of action, no,” the Marquis replied, bristling inside. “My mission requires that I speak with Bishop Ammodus before I continue on my way. Might I partake of your hospitality for several days more?
“Granted. As a courtesy to Pyralis and Yesulam,” his eyes glanced to where Zagrosek silently stood against the far wall, “I will be glad to offer you and your household hospitality for a few days more. If your men wish to draw their swords, I will ask that your castellan bring them to the fields behind the manor for such use. They are not to be drawn within these walls.”
“Of course, I will instruct Sir Autrefois in that.”
“Now,” Duke Verdane said, smiling for once himself. “It would please me to know where your travels will take you. You have said that you wished to journey through my lands.”
“Yes. Ultimately, I will journeying to Metamor Keep itself. I wish to proceed unmolested and unannounced. Any letters you could provide would ensure amicable relations between Kelewair and both Pyralis and Yesulam.”
Duke Titian Verdane considered those words for several moments. He took a slow draught form his tea, studying the long-nosed Marquis with hooded eyes. Finally, he set the tea down, his voice firm. “Metamor Keep?” It was spoken as if a curse. “I will inquire after your business in that thrice-cursed city another time. But as for letters of intent, I shall wait until I have heard your full purpose when Bishop Ammodus returns and the situation with Lord Dupré and Lord Guilford has been brought to a close.” He tipped the cup of tea back as if it were alcohol, and then rose from his seat. “It has been a pleasure entertaining you, Marquis Camille du Tournemire. I look forward to many more such evenings. Good night. Apollinar will show you to a room I’m sure you will find to your tastes.”
Titian rose from his seat then, nodded his head once, and then left through the same door that the servant had brought in the tea. The Marquis rose as he did, bowing at the waist as his host left. He then returned to his seat, swirling the few leaves that had settled in the bottom of his cup about. No words escaped his lips just then, and none near him seemed in any rush to find out what words might rush if they but asked.
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