Session Seventy-Three - March 20, 2010

[Matt]

Nuzyael 20, 732
Noon
Minarsas, Kaldor
Green Dragon Inn

The sun loomed high over Minarsas as the party emerged from the Green Dragon Inn, blinking in the noon sun. A cool breeze blew through the courtyard, bringing with it the scent of manure from the stables. Sir Ewen led the group onto the bustling street where they joined the throng of well dressed gentlefolk and guildsmen and russet-clad commoners rushing about their business. They passed townhouses and other residences, and even a few guild houses, among these a woodcrafter and an apothecary. Over it all perched Caer Minarsas on the hill to the west. Sir Baris eyed the sign of a weaponcrafter with interest, and looked askance at the Temple of Larani. The small folk were properly polite and submissive, making way for the knights and tugging at their forelocks.

Across the street on the stock common Cekiya and Kaelyn noted that trestle tables were being set out and teenagers wearing simple homespun were staking out a large area. The wind shifted and brought the inviting smell of roasting goat. They made a note to return later in the day.

Sir Ewen went to pay his respects at the Larani Temple, and arrived just as afternoon service was finishing. He slipped quietly into one of the back pews and listened as the priest, standing below the altar to the reluctant warrior, gave the final benediction. He noted that the attendants were well dressed, and were clearly knights and other gentlefolk, though he did not recognize anyone. Before departing, the charitable knight added five shillings to the collection plate. “I’m afraid I don’t know you,” the priest said as he walked over to the knight, smiling and nodding in satisfaction. “I am Serolan Margon Irin.”

“I am Sir Ewen of Ravinargh, arrived for the wedding,” the knight replied.

“Sir Ewen of Ravinargh? Are you the same Sir Ewen who won the tournament last year?”

Sir Ewen nodded, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I did have that honor.” He idly noticed that other parishioners had begun to pay attention to the conversation.

“I am glad to make your acquaintance,” the priest said, and paused, a strange look on his face. “I must say I am surprised to see you here at Minarsas, under the circumstances.” The priest referred to the fact that Sir Ewen had killed the bride’s own brother tilting against him at the tournament.

“Tournaments are full of all kinds of occasions,” Ewen replied, dancing around the subject as delicately as he could, “and the family was good enough to invite me. I’m looking forward to the celebration.”

“You are newly arrived? Have you presented your compliments to his lordship?”

“I only arrived this morning.”

“And you came straight to services!” the priest said, his voice rising. “How admirable! If only all adherents to the Lady were so pious, as to come to services, foregoing all unnecessary pleasantries.”

Ewen coughed. “It do try to make it my discreet practice to visit upon the earliest occasion.”

Sir Ewen said his goodbyes and turned to leave, but realized he had gathered an expectant crowd hoping to speak with him. A knight of average mean with dark brown hair stepped forward. “Are you Sir Ewen of Ravinargh?”

“I am, to whom do I have the pleasure?”

“I am Lyndar Bastune.”

The knight’s eyes widened slightly. “The Baron of Kolorn’s son, no doubt. A pleasure to meet you.”

“I have heard a great deal about you.”

“Have you just arrived in town, Sir Lyndar?”

“My father and I arrived but the day before yesterday.”

“Do you hope to attend this year’s tournament?” Ewen queried, hoping to turn the conversation away from the direction he was worried it was going.

“I would like to,” Lyndar answered. “Acting, of course, as my father’s steward, I do not often find occasion to get away from the manor.”

“Burdened by responsibilities at such a young age,” Ewen complimented.

“Well, I trust Sir Ewen, that I will see you again.” Lyndar made to leave. “I understand you are staying at the Green Dragon?” he asked with muted heat. Sir Lyndar’s father had been quite put out that the party had taken the suite.

“I am indeed. It would be my pleasure to have a drink with you at some point.”

After Sir Lyndar departed, two other knights approached Sir Ewen. They were dressed in the raiment of the Order of the Lady of Paladins. “We overheard you introducing yourself and hoped to meet you. I am Sir Ferin Ubael, and this is my brother, Sir Celed.”

“You must be the sons of my lord the Baron of Uldien.”

“No, Sir Ewen, we are his cousins,” Sir Ferin, the elder brother, replied, a tad flummoxed.

“It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Our mother is the sister of Lord Vemion, and Maid Camissa is our cousin.”

“Do you know the respective groom well?”

“Yes, he’s our cousin,” Ferin said. “And has not yet arrived. We expect he and his father perhaps as early as tomorrow, but certainly no later than the day after. We came ahead with our lady mother. We wished to make your acquaintance, and hope we will have the honor of raising a glass with you.”

“Certainly,” Ewen replied. “Thank you for taking the time to introduce yourselves. We are acquainting ourselves with the town.”

“Well, have you received the schedule of events?” Ferin asked. “There will be a feast on the Wool Common on the twenty second. Perhaps we can raise that glass then.”

“Of course,” Ewen said.

“You seem to be quite popular, Sir Ewen,” Sir Baris remarked with a wry smile, with perhaps a bit of chagrin in his voice.

Remembering the unsubtle jab by the priest regarding etiquette, Ewen instructed Filen to deliver a note to Thilisa, informing her of their arrival and thanking her for the invitation.

Ewen and company made their way to the bustling market square. Many small shops, their jutting signs advertising their trade to the illiterate masses. In the center visiting merchants had set up stalls, their tables full of trade goods ranging from fresh vegetables to cutlery to sweetmeats. The wedding had brought many extra visitors to the town, and the square was especially crowded. Fortunately, Sir Baris muscled a path through the throng. Finally they broke through the crowd. Looking back, Sir Ewen noted that the crowd was focused around a shop whose sign showed a large black tent. Of course the local tentmaker was busy with preparations for the wedding, the knight mused.

Kaelyn was walking at the rear of the group in the wake of Sir Baris, and idly thought that at least he was good for something. She looked around, admiring the fine clothing many of the noblewomen wore. Over the crowd were the walls of a fine residence southwest of the market. “You there, child, come here.” she said to a passing urchin child. The little girl waddled over in shoes too big for her. The rotting leather was probably older than she was. Her face was dirty, her nose was running, and her clothes were filthy and there may have been grubs moving around in her hair. Kaelyn bit back a gag. “Who lives there, girl?” she asked, pointing to the walled house.
“A man does, my lady,” the little girl said, happy to be of service. She reached out her hand, waiting to be rewarded for her genius.

Kaelyn sighed. “What does he do?” she asked, ignoring the outstretched hand.

The girl shrugged. Clearly she was used to no one caring one whit about poor little her. She whispered, “It’s a secret. I’m bad with secrets.” She giggled.

Kaelyn took the hint and handed the girl a penny.

The little girl looked at it and exclaimed, “It’s the king!”

Kaelyn looked significantly at the house.

“That would be the house of Anerd of Harabor,” the urchin said smartly.

“What does Anerd do?”

“He’s a merchant! The richest man in town! Ceptin’ the Earl, of course.”

“Do you know what he sells?” Kaelyn asked. asked.

The little urchin’s face scrunched up in thought. “Wool?” she said hesitantly.

Kaelyn considered this. When it appeared that she had no more questions, the child ran off with a whoop and headed in the direction of the ostler on the south side of the market. She slipped a little in her ill-fitting shoes, but quickly recovered with the natural agility of one who had survived the streets.

Kaelyn returned to the group, who were watching a man juggling axes. Baris was the most entranced, Kaelyn noted. Of course. She told Sir Ewen what she had learned while the other knight grinned with a childlike look in his eyes. “Those Harabors are like rats; you just have to avoid stepping on them,” her patron noted.

Cekiya spoke up, “Are they show rats?”

“Yes, you dress them up and they dance around,” Kaelyn said dryly.

It was around two o’clock. Sir Baris mentioned that he wanted to find some ale – to dull some lingering pain from his wounds, of course. The party made their way back to the road heading to the Green Dragon. The knights went into the inn to slake their thirst. Meanwhile, the women headed right, towards the Stock Common and the commonfolk’s Feast.

The Stock Common was quite crowded, there being between one hundred and one hundred and fifty people gathered. Most had already eaten by the time Imarë, Cekiya, and Kaelyn arrived. Scattered about the common were various entertainers, including mummers, jugglers and the like, each giving one man shows. Towards the east several of the younger men, a few older men, and even a few women, were engaged in pigball. The game involved quite a bit of rough-housing and the passing of a ball made from a pigs bladder filled with dried peas. One man stood out, mainly because he was seven feet tall. He stood near the playing field, and appeared to wish he could join in. He idly munched on an entire goat leg. Kaelyn noticed that there was quite a bit of goat at the feast.

The elf noticed that the commonfolk had divided themselves into groups. Peasants were keeping themselves, as were the guildsmen. On the playing field, however, the groups mixed.

As the women gathered their food and tried to find a place to sit together, the large man began a story. He spoke of a “terrifying man,” a “demon-beast,” whom men called Agrik. Kaelyn had not really been paying attention, but perked up at the mention of that dark god. The large man told his story dispassionately, as if he were delivering a dull lecture. He spoke of eight acolytes to the god, and how they were sent out to build cairns in the corners of the world. The commoners eyes grew wide, and they began muttering. “Each of the acolytes took a book called the Balefire Chronicle, which contained this story,” the tall man continued. “The eight disciples traveled without haste, letting word of their doings precede them. Each selected eight followers, who in turn formed their own bands, and so they spread throughout Kethira unto this day.” Kaelyn recognized the story as that of the founding of the church of Agrik. Strange to see the god spoken of so openly in Kaldor.

“Fools,” Cekiya muttered.

Kaelyn listened to the conversation, hoping to learn how they other commoners were taking the story. She did not hear much, as all talk of Agrik was done in low tones. However, she did learn that this was but the first of several feasts sponsored by the Earl. The peasants were looking forward to the Feast of the Pig, the Feast of the Sheep, and finally the Feast of the Cow. They were especially pleased that the Earl had declared a holiday for the afternoons after the feasts.

Many peasants were from the villages of Lothlarny or the village of Runuld. These were technically not separate villages, but were treated as such by long custom.

“Cockfighting!” someone suddenly screamed, and ran off to watch. Imarë perked up at the mention of roosters, and raced after the peasant.

Meanwhile, back at the Green Dragon, Sirs Ewen and Baris had found themselves at a table by the fire consuming ales. They were alone as Arnys had been sent off to the tents to check on Ewen’s men at arms, while Filen had been left to his own devices. Presumably he was fit as a fiddle what with all the exciting protocol occurring all around him. Baris already had two empty mugs in front of him and was working on a third. Being wounded wasn’t so bad after all, he mused. Ewen was still nursing his first ale, and was idly wondering why he kept Sir Baris around. Perhaps it was to make himself look good in comparison.

Among notables in attendance was a reedy looking fellow sitting at the largest table whom Sir Ewen presumed was the Baron of Kolorn. He sat with Sir Lyndar, along with Sir Karison Dariune and another knight whom neither Ewen nor Baris recognized. After some time, a fifth knight arrived, but he too was not recognized by Sirs Ewen or Baris, although that could be because Sir Baris was not liable to recognize much at the moment, between the alcohol and the pain of his wounds.

As he was sipping his fourth mug, Baris’s eyes widened in shock and he choked on his ale. Sir Ewen deftly twisted out of the way of the flying spittle, which went into the fire with a crackle of embers. He twisted around to see what had so startled Baris, and saw what, or rather who, it was right away. Maryna of Sordel, the courtesan from Tashal, had just entered the inn and was making her way up the stairs accompanied by a large man wearing a falchion. The eyes of all the men in the room were on her.

Ewen tore his gaze away and looked back at his friend. “It seems, Sir Baris, that your retinue has followed you to Minarsas.”

“It seems so,” Baris replied. “I think that I may have seen him in and around the House of Courtesans in Tashal.”

“Such establishments do need muscle, I understand.”

Sir Baris nodded. “I wonder if she is one of the women our innkeeper alluded to? Or she is taking up the slack for those occupied by the good Baron.”

The knight’s thoughts regarding the logistics of ladies of the knight were interrupted because at that moment Sir Prehil swaggered in, hands on hips. He surveyed the room slowly, taking the measure of the men present. “There isn’t a man here I would drink with!” He said and everyone chuckled, although some with less mirth than others. He took a seat with Sir Lyndar, rounding out the sixth chair of that table.

“He already has a few under the belt already,” Sir Ewen remarked.

A wench brought Sir Prehil a glass of wine. “Oh, take that away!” he said a bit too loudly, waving the poor red-faced girl away. “It’s still ale time! Too early for wine!” The wench scurried off, muttering something silently to herself, presumably something unflattering about Prehil’s anatomy.

Later on someone at the large table must have mentioned the arrival of Maryna, though probably not by name. “Wait a minute! Short? Big guy with her?” Sir Prehil asked excitedly, jumping up from his seat. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have to go check on something!” He raced upstairs, a leer on his face. Apparently Sir Prehil had brought his own entertainment.

More time passed. Sir Baris was on his fifth ale. A lovely young page (everything is lovely after five ales) of perhaps fourteen walked into the inn and looked around. He doffed his hat and bowed deeply at the Baron of Kolorn, who turned up his nose. The page finally saw Sirs Ewen and Baris, nodded, and walked over. “Do I have the honor of addressing Sir Ewen of Ravinargh?” the page asked Ewen.

“You do,” the knight replied simply.

“The Earl’s compliments, milord, and he welcomes you to Minarsas.”

“I thank his lordship for his hospitality.”

“It is nothing,” the page said, as if he had something to do with it. “His lordship begs your attendance two days hence for the a feast on the Wool Common.”

“I shall attend.”

“Many thanks.” the page nodded. “I will convey your message.” He made as if to leave, but suddenly turned back to Ewen. “I hope to see you there myself!” With a grin, the young man left. Sir Ewen’s celebrity continued.

The reedy looking fellow, presumably the Baron of Kolorn, called over from the large table. “So, the famous Sir Ewen!”

“I am, milord,” Sir Ewen said, his voice breaking a bit.

“Indeed!” He took a deep swig of ale.

Ewen bowed in his direction.

“Why don’t you come and join us, famous Sir Ewen,” the Baron said.

Sir Ewen and Baris brought over their chairs and squeezed in at the table. Along with his chair, Baris only brought his current mug.

“I have been hoping to meet you, famous Sir Ewen,” Bastune said once the two knights were settled.

“I am surprised to find myself named as famous, milord,” Ewen said humbly.

“I understand you met my son earlier.”

“I did have that honor, father,” Sir Lyndar said.

“I have been meaning to talk to you Sir Ewen, about changing rooms.” Sir Baris rolled his eyes, but the Baron fortunately did not notice. “There seems to have been a mix-up! I, as a baron, rate much better accommodations than a mere hedge knight!”

Sir Ewen blinked, but let the insult pass. “Milord, changing rooms? I was told that I was assigned the suite given to me. I assumed you were given a similar suite.”

The Baron took a long swig of ale. “Well that, Sir Ewen, is the mix-up. I assumed I would have the suite, too.”

“Are your accommodations in some way lacking, milord?”

“They are lacking a suite!” Greon said, as if stating the dreadfully obvious.

Lyndar put his hand on his father’s arm. “Perhaps this is neither the time nor the place, father.”

“It’s always the time or the place!”

“I was told I was to sleep in the suite upstairs on the express instruction from the castle,” Ewen pressed.

“How could that be!” the Baron exclaimed, exasperated that the knight would not see reason.

“I would hate the offend an earl by refusing his gracious accommodations,” Ewen said tactfully.

“Bah!” the Baron said.

There was a lull in the conversation. Sir Karison changed the subject. “Ah, Sir Ewen, Sir Baris, it’s been too long!”

“Sir Karison, is your brother planning to be in town?” Ewen said perhaps a bit too quickly.

“He does not. I have the honor of representing our lord father here, for purposes of the nuptials.”

“Lucky you,” Sir Ewen said wryly.

“It’s not Tashal, but Minarsas does have some charms,” Karison commented. “I understand that the real action happens two months hence at the wool fair.”

“I hear it is quite the occasion,” Ewen agreed.

“Every shearer who is anyone is there,” Karison said, chuckling.

Karison introduced the other two knights at the table as Sirs Konath and Eadril, cousins of his on the Dariune side.

“This is Sir Baris, my friend,” Ewen said.

Seeing that Sir Ewen clearly was not going to be reasonable and simply give him the room, as was only right and proper, the Baron abruptly stood up. “I’ll be upstairs,” he muttered. Sir Lyndar had the grace to look sheepish.

“Are you going to attend the tournament this year?” Ewen asked the other knights.

“Of course, and don’t think you’re going to win a second year in a row!” Sir Karison said to Ewen.

“I am hoping to be unfree,” Eadril said.

“Just because the earl invited you doesn’t mean the lady’s going to pick you,” Sir Eadril replied.

Clearly these men were concerned with a prize greater than being named the First Knight of Kaldor.

“Other than the noble’s feast, are they any other diversions planned?” Ewen asked. He learned that the first noble feast was to be on the twenty second, followed by two more feasts over the next eight days. An archery contest was to be held on the afternoon of Soratir, the twenty fifth and a local playing troupe was to put on an epic at some point. And of course, the wedding was on the fourth of Peonu.

With the Baron gone, the conversation descended into knightly shop talking. Sirs Ewen and Baris recounted their recent training with the men at arms at Inbernel. They wisely left out any discussion of the battles against the vlasta in the dungeon. There was much drunken boasting. Sir Baris had to explain his wounds, and was about to reveal their secret, when Sir Ewen interrupted him. “Bah, the fool was just too tough to wear padding under his armor the day of our melee, claimed it was too hot, and look what it got him!” The other knights laughed.

When the women returned later in the evening, all of the knights were drunkenly singing the Midget and the Elf. The ladies shook their heads ruefully and slipped up the stairs to their beds.

Even later after that, the impromptu party finally broke up, and the knights started to stagger up to their rooms. Sir Ewen expressed his joy at meeting the other knights, and shook their hands. When he shook hands with Sir Eadril, he attempted to place a suggestion in his mind, but apparently Ewen had had too much to drink, because he completely failed. Sir Eadril put his hand to his temple. “I’m sorry, I must have had too much to drink! I just got a shooting pain in my head.” Sir Ewen expressed his concern while Sir Konath helped his brother upstairs.

Sirs Ewen and Baris staggered upstairs with the other inebriated gentlefolk and retired to their rooms. Filen came up to make a report, but Baris held up his hand and slurred, “Can’t it wait?” Filen’s lips tightened, and he nodded.

Nuzyael 21, 732
Morning
Minarsas, Kaldor
Green Dragon Inn

Come the dawn, Ewen awoke in a quite comfortable four poster bed. His head was still pounding from the night before, and he was quite thankful to have his own room, so he could have some peace and quiet. He rose carefully, used the chamberpot, and put on his robe gently. Sir Ewen could smell bacon coming from the suite’s common room, and upon his entry was surprised to see Sir Baris already sitting at the table. He had two glasses of water in front of him, although it was probably too late for them to do any good.

Filen marched smartly into the room, and Ewen and Baris winced as the door hit the wall. “Can I make my report?” the herald asked.

Baris nodded, and immediately regretted it because it only caused his head to pound harder.

Filen reported that he and Arnys had gone over to the tents so that Arnys could check on Roloch and the other men at arms. When the herald returned later, Roloch informed him that Arnys had changed into “ragged clothing” and left. For his part, Filen decided to look in on the other tents, to see who he could see, and noted the heraldic designs on the various shields. He noted the devices of Sir Coreth Lothlar, the constable of Zoben keep, Sir Tulath Kaphin, sheriff of Vemionshire, and Sir Eres Tereneth, constable of Baseta keep. Baseta and Zoben were both keeps belonging to the Earl of Vemion, Filen said with gravitas. He also noted that a tent was being erected with the arms of the Baron of Uldien. “I also saw Sir Gorbar Elorieth …”

“Didn’t I meet him?” Kaelyn interrupted.

Filen coughed, and continued as if nothing had happened “... and Sir Anzarn Verdreth heading away from the castle. For the record, each of them stand to inherit a barony. Gorbar stands to inherit Nubeth, and Sir Anzarn is the only son and heir of Ternua.”

“Are either of these men married?” Ewen asked.

“No,” Filen replied simply.

“Are they of marriageable age?” Imarë interjected.

“Yes.”

“Filen, do you know anything about Sir Eadril Dariune?” Ewen asked.

“Yes, Sir Eadril Dariune, is, obviously, a Dariune. He is a distant cousin of the Earl of Balim. He is the same generation as Sir Karison, but they are actually third cousins. As far as I know, neither Sir Eadril nor Konath have lands of their own.” Filen paused, then his face lit up as he suddenly remembered something. “The bishop, Cerdan Bantire, has been inside the castle for some time. He will officiate over the wedding.”

Ewen also asked about Anzarn and Gorbar, but Filen did not know much. He did know that Sir Gorbar had been living in Tashal since coming of age, and it was the herald’s impression that he acted as his grandfather’s eyes and ears in the capital.

Filen also learned by speaking to the Serolan that the Earl of Vemion had invited four potential suitors for Thilisa’s hand. So far, the party had only met Sir Eadril.

“Sir Ewen, what are you plans for today?” Baris asked.

“I don’t know. We need plans to further my prospects.”

They decided that they would have dinner at the inn on the twenty fourth, and they would invite Thilisa to thank her for the invitation to the wedding and for the accommodations. She could invite other guests, if any, if she wished. “This dinner will be the perfect time to present her with my gift,” Ewen remarked. “Perhaps you could subtly bring up the fact that should you marry Thilisa, your new manors will end up back in her hands. You could praise how well managed they are, and how you found them in such good repair,” Baris suggested.

Filen wrote a note detailing Ewen’s invitation, and busied himself attending to the details of planning the dinner. He kept his complaints about the late notice to himself.

After breakfast there was a knock on the door of the suite. Filen answered. A moment later he informed Sir Ewen that Sir Prehil requested the presence of the knights. “You have to see this!” Prehil said as Sirs Ewen and Baris caught up to him in the common room of the inn. Cekiya, Imarë and Kaelyn all trailed behind. The party followed Prehil outside, where they discovered that he wanted them to watch the Baron of Uldien’s grand procession as it headed up the hill to the castle. The Baron was a surprisingly elderly man, sporting a mustache and a shock of white hair. The son was a younger version of the man, but not as careworn, with a take the devil by the tail look about this face. He also bore a mustache, with a bit of chin fuzz. He looked in the group’s general direction, and then nudged his son, who looked back towards the party and scowled.

“That was quite a scowl,” Ewen said to Sir Prehil.

“I hope he didn’t mean me!”

“You are often quite the center of attention,” Ewen remarked.

“I know!” Prehil did not disagree. “And his father’s not in great health so he’s going to be baron soon! This sucks!”

Prehil stalked off.

“So, what now?” Baris asked.

“What was that scowl about?” Ewen asked.

“I would guess Prehil,” Imarë said. “Although, I wonder. Have you killed any of his relatives?”

***

That afternoon Cekiya taught Kaelyn how to properly use a dagger. They went to the tent, but ended up spending a lot of time trying to mend the tear Kaelyn inadvertently made. Sir Ewen spent some quality time in the Laranian temple: he practiced trancing.

Meanwhile Sir Baris visited the weaponcrafter. The man was linking together the mail for a hauberk when the knight entered. He was a master armorer, and his son was a master swordsmith. Together they supplied most of the Earl’s requirements.

Nuzyael 22, 732
Noon
Minarsas, Kaldor
Wool Common

At midday on Nuzyael 22 the first noble feast was held on the Wool Common. Sirs Ewen and Baris arrived, dressed in fine clothes and bearing their swords proudly. Sir Ewen bore his new sword, the one purloined from the unfortunate knight in the kyg. The ruby on the pommel glinted in the sunlight as he strode across town.

A large tent had been erected on the wool common, and nobles were already filing in when the two knights arrived. There were two braziers, with two tables on either side of each, for a total of eight tables, the high table surveying them all. Stewards at the entrance led the gentry to their proper places. Sirs Ewen and Baris were sat at the table closest to the far brazier. The others at their table were mostly Valador’s, relatives of the Thilisa’s lady-in-waiting Elena. Among these were Andro Valador, the Earl of Vemion’s brother-in-law, and his Lady wife, Milycia Valador. Sir Ewen noticed that Sir Prehil was seated at a lower table, one closer to the other brazier. A short time after the Baron of Kolorn appeared. Along with his son he was seated a table opposite Sir Prehil’s.

Applause greeted the arrival of Declaen Caldeth, Earl of Vemion, and father of the bride. He made his way up to the high table, took his seat, and promptly threw his arms up, signaling the gathered nobles to sit down. Minstrels who were gathered around the room, began to play. Water basins were brought in by servants, hands were washed, and the feast began. The first course was fish.

At the high table the Baron of Uldien was seated immediately to right of the Earl of Vemion, and Thilisa was immediately to his left. The bride, Lady Camissa Caldeth, was immediately to the Baron’s right, and the groom was immediately to Thilisa’s left.

“Ah, Sir Ewen of Ravinargh!” Andro Valador said, tearing Ewen’s attention away from the high table, and Thilisa. “I bet you hear a lot about that tournament!”

“Ah yes, Sir Andro, it comes up from time to time,” Ewen replied with a small smile.

“Tournaments come and go,” Andro replied sagely. “Next year they will have a new hero, and you will be yesterday’s wilted lettuce.” He paused. “Land, land is what matters!” He waved his finger to emphasize the point. “I’d like to talk to you about it. I understand you’ve come into some acreage.”

“I have been fortunate..” Ewen said carefully.

“Fortunate!” Andro exclaimed, turning to his wife and laughing. “I would say so you have been fortunate!” he said, returning his gaze to Sir Ewen. “By my count you have been fortunate to the tune of more than 6,200 acres! I don’t pretend to talk about just Varayne, I am talking about the fine manor of Inbernel, and to a lesser extent Claydon. Now, here’s the thing Sir Ewen, you have got some fine land there! I wonder if you would tell us the tale of how you snookered Harabor out of those manors!”

“He has already told that tale,” Ewen evaded.

“I wasn’t there!” Andro replied.

Ewen paused, gathering his thoughts. “As my lord Harabor has it, we had a wager. I do not remember this wager the way he does, but there you have it. He felt I bested him in the contest, and I can’t dispute that. I must say, Andro, they were higher stakes than I’ve ever played for, but I liked the sensation.”

“I don’t doubt it one bit!” Andro replied, smiling. “Here’s what comes to me. We’ve got six manors, more than ten thousand acres of prime land! And you’ve got four, that’s about two thirds of ours, that math’s correct, right? By my estimate, and I know it is gauche to talk about money, but it’s important. Money makes the world go round, after all. By my estimate you are a quite wealthy knight! In fact, I know something about that land, and your income must be pretty damn close to my family!”

“You do me too much honor Sir Andro,” Ewen said.

“Math isn’t a matter of honor, math is math!”

“There’s math, and there’s damned math,” Ewen joked. “I take your assumptions. Go on, Sir Andro.”

“Here’s how I see it,” Andro continued. “You win a tournament that everyone’s talking about. And you snooker Malden Harabor out of three manors, and the Archbishop out of one. These are some of the best, most profitable manors in the kingdom – and no one wants to talk about it!” he exclaimed in frustration. “Well, I do! I doth my helm to you, Sir! You are a dangerous man Sir!”

“I like to succeed at what I tip my lance to, sir,” Ewen said.

“I would better like to be your friend than your enemy!” Andro replied.

After that, the women at the table tried to talk about needlepoint. Andro continued to talk to Ewen about profits and how to run a manor, from the point of view of a steward. He was focused on what he termed “Yield management!” and could not seem to stop talking about it. Eventually Sir Ewen asked him about horseflesh, hoping to turn the subject away from the drudgeries of farming. “Ah, horses are all well and good, but the simple fact of the matter is that they don’t pull a plow as well as an ox does!” Andro replied, and Ewen sighed.

“The simple fact of the matter is, and you look around here, and between you and me, we are two of the richest non-barons in this entire damn kingdom! So I ask you, why aren’t we barons? I know why you aren’t a baron – you got here yesterday! But why aren’t I baron?”

“Where would barons of Kaldor be, if they all had your keenness for land management?” Ewen complimented.

“We need more land management! This kingdom could potentially be a gold mine! The nobles are too focused on parties, and not enough focused on home management. But pigs, have you ever seen a pig! A noble, clean beast, that we make wallow in filth!”

“I skewered one just a few months ago,” Ewen remarked.

“A boar! I bet he went down with quite a fight! Nothing wrong with hunting – but for food!” Andro said. “This kingdom has quite a bit of uncultivated land,” he continued. “The problem is labor! We don’t have enough labor. We have allowed our peasants to get uppity! Any peasant can escape to a city, and if he lives there a year and a day he is a free man! Is that justice? What about the lord of the manor who is counting on a certain amount of man-days per year!”

At that moment, Declaen Caldeth, the host, loomed over Andro. “Andro, Andro, this is not the time for the cause,” he chided.

Andro looked chagrined. “Hm. Maybe another time, Sir Ewen.”

Declaen Caldeth straightened up, surveying the tables. “Sir Ewen, is it not?”

“Yes milord, good to see you again milord.”

“Thank you for gracing my temporary hall. You have been well fed, I take it?”

“Very well,” Sir Ewen replied.

“Will you be staying for the wedding of my daughter, Sir Ewen?”

“Yes. If it please milord. I do congratulate your lordship on the upcoming nuptials.”

“Good health,” Declaen said. Declaen picked up Andro’s flagon, and then put it down and walked away. He didn’t drink.

While Sir Ewen was learning about how rich he was, the intricacies of land management, and the nobility of sowing, Sir Baris spent his time speaking with a younger member of the Valador clan, one not quite so interested in land management as his uncle. After a short but forgettable conversation, this man excused himself, and revealed one of his comely relatives. Sir Baris shifted his seat to sit next to her. He introduced himself, and learned that the lass was the granddaughter of Sir Andro, the Lady Emela Valador. She smiled easily, and laughed at Sir Baris’s jokes. Her nose was perhaps a touch too large for her face, but it blended in well. She had darkish blonde hair, and Sir Baris vaguely noted that her eyes were hazel, mostly because he was trying so hard to make sure those eyes were looking elsewhere when he glanced down, as she was rather well endowed. Emela was very broad shouldered, and had large arms. Sir Baris imagined those arms around him, and that was when he got himself in trouble. He stopped paying attention to what he was saying for a moment, and unintentionally insulted the Lady Emela. He knew this because she gave him the cold shoulder and stared at her food, as if she had decided that whatever she was eating was more interesting than Sir Baris. She was probably right. Later in the evening, Lady Emela changed seats so that she was not sitting next to Sir Baris.

Sir Ewen asked Andro about the Lady Elena.

“Oh, you mean my sister?” Andro replied.

“Has she known the lady Thilisa for many years?” Ewen asked.

“Truth be told, my sister, for some reason, never married. The right suitor never seemed to be available. When our mother died, she ended up being the lady of the house, if you will. But then of course, when I married my darling bride,” he kissed his wife, “she graciously stepped aside, and I gave her our town house in Tashal to live in, to enjoy herself- and perhaps find a man. Well, as time went on, she became great friends with the Lady Thilisa. And she had the experience, you know, running vast estates, and she’s very good at it, my sister.”

“A woman with a good head on her shoulders!” Ewen said, as if describing a rare bird.

“And quite beautiful,” Andro said. “Well, as I said, they became friends, and the Countess was in need of a steward and a chief lady in waiting. I have no doubt that the Countess’s lands benefited from her acumen. It does run in the family.”

“I am acquainted with her, she seems to be quite a lady,” Ewen replied.

“How do you mean acquainted?!” Andro fumed momentarily, but his wife calmed him with a touch to the shoulder.

“I met her when calling upon Lady Thilisa in Tashal.”

“Oh, I see,” Andro said, visibly calming as he took a swig of ale. “So you’re a hopeful, are you?”

“I confess, I have the highest esteem for the lady.”

Andro chuckled. “Oh, they all do! Have your eye on the earldom, do you?”

“My thoughts are for the Lady only, Sir Andro,” Ewen said quietly.

“Smart lad, smart lad!”

“You remember what it was like when you were young, I’m sure.”

“Yes, yes,” Andro said, as he looked wistfully upon his youth, no doubt remembering the beautiful young lasses he courted. “The pigs were better then. More meat on them!”

“I’m sure there was a day you only had eyes for your intended bride,” Ewen said helpfully.

“Oh, yes, of course, that’s every day!” Andro said quickly. Lady Milycia, his wife, looked decidedly unhappy, although she seemed resigned to her fate of second fiddle to pigs.

“How long have you been married?” Ewen asked.

“A very long time,” Milycia answered.

“You have quite stiff competition, young parvenu knight,” Andro said, changing the subject.

“I like parvenu knight much better than hedge knight,” Ewen mused.

Andro looked scandalized. “Did someone called you that? Did you call them out?”

“He was of a higher rank,” Ewen explained.

“If anyone called me a hedge knight I’d have his head on a hedge.” Sir Andro stated matter of factly.

Sir Ewen sipped his ale. “Tell me, what is your assessment of what you call the competition.”

“Well, look ye.” Andro pointed with a quavering finger at the table where Sir Prehil sat. “There yonder is the number one challenger, Sir Toren Curo. Oh yes, that’s an up and coming lad there, the seventh son of the Earl of,” he coughed, “Neph. Sorry, I need more ale.”

“I dined with the Earl of Neph once,” Ewen remarked.

“Ambitious!” Andro stated. “What does the Earl of Neph think of pigs?” he wondered.

Sir Baris barked a laugh.

“I think he consumes them on a daily basis!” Ewen joked.

Baris guffawed louder.

“I would tell you, he’s probably the next husband of Lady Thilisa,” Andro continued. “He squired with the Earl of Vemion, you know. They are quite close. He thinks of him another son, and hopes to make it true. And then there’s Sir Gorbar over there, and next to him Sir Anzarn! I don’t think much of their chances, they are much too chummy. But they each bring a barony into the equation, and that’s nothing to sneeze at! It would increase their profits by one thousand percent, and with proper land management, one thousand five hundred percent!” Andro got excited, imagining all the proceeds one thousand five hundred percent could bring in. “Then there is Eadril Dariune! He had no land, is not that close to the Earl of Balim, but who wants to be! He has a solid bloodline, and I don’t know why any would care but apparently they do, there is some connection to Melderyn! I understand it has something to do with the royal family.”

“So you favor Sir Toren?” Ewen asked, a bit crestfallen.

“Oh, yes, wouldn’t you?” Andro replied. “A son of the earl of Neph! You need someone of rank. At least that’s what our Lord Declaen thinks.”

“That could be different from what the daughter thinks,” Ewen replied, with perhaps a bit of hope in his voice.

Andro looked at his wife and the other women and then leaned across the table. “Who cares what the daughter thinks?” Milycia nudged him hard.

After dinner, the party began to break up, and dancing began. Sir Ewen stood on the edge of the tent, idly watching the dancing and looked up at Thilisa at her high table forlornly. Sir Rollard walked up to the lone knight. “Well, Sir Ewen.”

“Sir Rollard, good to see you again.”

“It does gratify me suh to lay eyes upon you once again,” Rollard drawled. “Ah am afraid, Suh Ewen, Ah have a most distressing message to delivah to you.” His smile was a mix of humor and smugness. “The Lady Thilisa has received your most gracious invitation to come and partake of bread with you – to break bread, as they say where Ah come from. But alas, she will be unable to keep that appointment. It wounds her deeply, suh.”

“Not as much as it wounds me, to the core, Sir Rollard, but I will take it manfully.”

“Ah’m sure it does,” Rollard replied. “Howevah, it does not wound me in the slightest.”

“I am sure you will convey to her ladyship my boundless esteem for her ladyship?” Ewen queried.

“You speak with a most honeyed tongue, but Ah see through you,” Rollard said knowingly. “Ah know you consider yourself one of her hopefuls! Ah must tell you suh, your chances are not good!” He laughed. “Perhaps some of these ladies are more keeping with your station! Adieu!” With that, Rollard turned on his heel and swaggered off.

Sir Ewen noticed that Thilisa had followed this exchange, but did her best to look as if she had not.

Sir Baris came over to Sir Ewen. He, too, had been listening to the conversation as he tried to apologize to the Lady Emela. Unfortunately, he could not pay attention to both conversations at once, and got himself into deeper trouble.

“Sir Baris, I have suffered a rebuke!” Ewen said evenly.

“It seems to me that the Lady Thilisa was much more receptive to your charms when her Lord father was not about,” Sir Baris counseled softly. “It is your turn to go to the lists, as they say.”

Shortly before sunset, the Earl and everyone at the high table made their departures. The minstrels kept playing, and the dancing continued on. There were still trestles to be sampled, after all.

“I don’t know what Lady Thilisa sees in him!” Andro complained to Ewen, referring to Sir Rollard. “No one knows where he came from!”

“He has a most odd diction, Sir Andro,” Ewen replied.

“That no one’s ever heard before!” Andro added. “And there he was, talking to Sir Eadril, and then coming over to you!”

“I wonder if he gave Sir Eadril the same upbraiding.”

“And Sir Eadril, he has no land!” Andro said, as if that took him out of the race forever. “What does he know of sheep, or goats? Whether to plant barley, or pasture sheep, it means nothing to him!”

“And Sir Toren he’s a – was it a seventh son?” Ewen asked.

“He is the seventh son of the earl of Neph,” Andro answered.

“What are his land prospects! He has lots of brothers.”

“He’s not going to inherit the earldom!” Andro stated.

“I’m sure some provisions have been made for him.”

“I’m sure he’s not going to get land – and that’s what matters – but I’m sure there’s going to be some revenue stream,” Andro explained.

“And you believe that Sir Toren, as a former squire of Vemion, will trump the land of the others?”

“Yes,” Andro replied, as if Declaen were mad to place mere friendship and fondness over land.

“Has Sir Rollard been in the family long? When did he come on the scene?” Ewen asked.

“I first became aware of him four or five years ago, but he has been captain of Lady Thilisa’s guard for at least as long, if not longer. They say he can read a language that no one else can read! He saw a particular inscription and could understand it, when none other could make head or tail of it!”

“I have seen the east of Hârn and the west of Hârn, and I have never heard someone who speaks like Sir Rollard,” Ewen stated. “I don’t think he’s Hârnic, at all.”

“There are some who say he is from the continent!” Andro said.

“Well, you can’t gainsay good service.”

“It’s like labor on a manor! Without labor, a manor is just empty land, fallow and useless ...” Andro went on to tell Ewen about a fellow lord who had foolishly overused his land, and now it lay useless, and his family was ruined because of a lack of land management skills.

Ewen mused that his prospects did not look great. But he took comfort in the fact that he noticed that she had not spoken to any of the other suitors.

***

Back at the Green Dragon, Sir Prehil had preceded Sirs Ewen and Baris. He was sitting in the common room by the fireplace, a flagon on the table beside him and a pipe in his hand. He seemed to be in a contemplative mood.

“Would you mind company?” Ewen asked.

“Never for you, Sir Ewen,” Prehil said, and Ewen sat down.

“Would you have a pipe with me?” Prehil asked.

“Of course.”

“A pipe and weed for Sir Ewen!” Prehil ordered.

“I must say, I have just had an exhausting evening with Sir Andro!” Ewen said.

“I would have rather had to have sat with Sir Andro than what I had to deal with!” Prehil complained.

“Who did you have to deal with?” Ewen inquired.

“I ended up sitting next to the Baron of Nenda, his Baroness, and Sir Arlbis Hernon.” He paused, remembering the horror. “Ugh, tedium, tedium. Sir Arlbis was formerly squire to earl of Vemion. A very droll evening, and I think I would have rather heard about pigs. And I did – I was only at the next table!”

Prehil’s look turned serious. “It’s true what he said you know – you’ve come very far in a very short time.”

“I have attracted a fair amount of attention for such feats,” Ewen stated.

“You have attracted much jealousy – you have plucked several prime manors, four that are worthy of any eight! For myself, I must say that I wonder – I look at all these people flitting about Thilisa. Would that I were not married – I’d go for her myself. I’ll let you in on a secret – my father thinks he should be an earl, and I agree with him! I don’t suppose you know anyone willing to do in my wife?”

Ewen’s eyes widened. As a matter of fact he did, know a person who specialized in such work, but he did not mention that.

Prehil must have noticed. “I’m just kidding, just kidding!” he said quickly. “I must turn in. In lieu of my wife, I have brought the most delectable courtesan in Tashal with me. I understand there is a little up and comer who does something called a ‘backflip,’ but she does quite well. I must make accommodations for her brute of a son, but that is beside the point.”

“Good night, Sir Prehil, you never fail to disappoint.”

Navek 23rd 732
Well past midnight
Minarsas, Kaldor
Green Dragon Inn, Sir Ewen’s bedroom

A Knife in the dark

Sir Ewen woke to an odd noise. Someone had opened the shutters to his room, and they were onto his bed! The knight was under the sheets, naked and unarmed. He drew upon his mental power and attempted to force his assailant away, but his mind was still foggy with sleep and the assassin didn’t budge.

In the moonlight streaming in from the opened shutters, a blade flashed as it headed towards the Ewen’s throat! He dodged, somewhat hampered by the sheets. The blade barely missed him, luckily striking cloth instead of flesh.

More awake, Ewen drew upon his Deryni powers once again, attacking with the full force of his mind, not caring if he hurt the interloper. There was a scream of pain, and the rogue dove for the window. For the briefest moment Sir Ewen got a clear glimpse of his attacker as he was backlit by the moonlight. The man was roughly his height, five foot six inches or so, bearded, with blonde hair and a medium frame. Most of all, though, Ewen saw that razor sharp dagger. The moment passed and the man grabbed the rope hanging at the window and scuttled up to the roof.

Ewen called for Cekiya as he headed for the window. At the same time Imarë, who must have heard the struggle, burst in.

“Tell Cekiya, an assassin just went up onto the roof!” Ewen yelled as he threw on a tunic.

Moments later Cekiya burst into the room, leaped through the window and climbed up the rope like a monkey. Sir Ewen and Imarë headed downstairs towards the outside of the inn.

Up on the roof Cekiya saw the rope was tied around the chimney. With catlike grace she ran to the peak of the roof and paused, scanning the area. She did not see or hear anyone. She noticed a window to the third floor, but it was shuttered and closed. Cekiya took a running start along the lip of the roof, crouched and jumped up to the third floor roof, landing with dagger in hand. She could not see anyone from her new vantage point. She sniffed the air.

Meanwhile, Imarë and Sir Ewen had made their way to the common room of the inn. The door was barred from the inside, but they threw the bar aside and burst outside, weapons at the ready. The streets were empty.

Imarë ran around the edge of the inn to see if she could see if anyone had landed from a jump from above. Beside the building opposite the front door, the elf saw two footprints facing inwards, clearly from someone having landed. However, because it had not rained for days, she could not see footprints from where the person had run afterwards. As she moved around the building, however, she detected another footprint, heading towards the fence.

Ewen tried to object read the rope, but learned nothing of value. By this time, Kaelyn had been woken up. She decided to check in on Sir Baris. She opened his door lightly, and heard his snores. He was still alive, no doubt dreaming about spoiling her spells.