Session One Hundred and Sixteen - January 10, 2015

Wherein the ongoing story of the FtF campaign may be found ...

Session One Hundred and Sixteen - January 10, 2015

Postby Matt » Mon May 11, 2015 1:58 pm

Agrazhar 23, 732

The sun peeked above the horizon of the Misty Isle, surprised to find no clouds dampening its rays. In the nation of Kaldor, in the city of Tashal, at the corner of Maranos Way and Chidena Street, lay Raven Hall. In the main hall breakfast was being served, and Sir Ewen and his companions were deep in conversation. Sotor was not in attendance, having gone to work in his lab. He would not emerge for several days.

Sir Baris and Sir Æomund were once again expounding upon the events of the recent tournament, in between munches of pork sausage. “Look, Æomund, I’m not saying you could take me or not. I mean, I’m certain I would have prevailed. I’m just saying, we did not face each other because I got farther than you, so we’ll never know.”

Sir Æomund’s eyes flashed, and he nearly choked on a particularly tough bit of sausage.

“I do wish that Prince Brandis had not killed his brother, though,” Baris said, changing the subject and taking a swig of what should have been small beer, but was in fact just straight ale. “Of course the death of Torasa is horrible, but it also meant that, once again, I didn’t get a chance to visit Selepan!”

Sir Ewen blinked. Yes, of course, that is what Baris would care about – whether he had visited his land. Not the fact that Meden Curo had once again out-maneuvered Ewen, or the fact that a prince(!) had been slain under his roof. Or the fact that the assassination had been carried out so deftly – at the hands of another prince, with half the peers of the realm in attendance.

“So what are your plans for today, Sir Æomund?” Baris asked.

Æomund raised his fork. “It is past time I attended services at the Temple of the Lady. I believe I will take my father.”

The fact that Meden had not even warned Ewen of his plans was galling. They were supposed to be partners, after all.

“What’s this?” Baris said, peering into his mug. “My ale, it’s gone!” The knight waved his mug at the nearest servant. You – he had a name because Baris knows these things – might I partake a bit more of my Lord Ewen’s stock this morn?” He grinned, a bit of sausage stuck between his two front teeth.

‘I need to seize the initiative, stop reacting to Meden, and make him react to my action’ Ewen thought as he took a bite of eggs and chewed thoughtfully. ‘Of course, Ewen would prove he was just as capable as Curo. Thus, another assassination was in order. Whom do I kill? Of course his father-in-law was a constant thorn in his side. Vemion Delenda Est, as Baris would say. No, his damnable new wife would block any use of my Power, and he is too well protected to attack by conventional means.’

“More eggs, my lord?” a servant asked Ewen, interrupting his train of thought. “Not now,” he said harshly, and whoever it was scurried off.

“Remember when that guy got hit by lightning?” Baris was saying.

“Sir Telberan,” Æomund replied.

“Yeah, that guy. That was great! Well, not for him, obviously, but wow!”

Æomund chuckled, then his face took a hard look. “The thing that interests me the most is the red-clad black knight. There was something unnatural about his blows.” He shuddered.

‘Of course, I have Lord Bastune under my “protection,”’ Ewen mused. ‘That puts me in nominal control of Kolorn, along with Ternua and Heru.’ Following this train of thought, Ewen thought that if only he could gain control of Querina, he could isolate Tashal when the time came.

“It was odd that the red clad knight departed when he did,” Baris said. “I don’t mind a bit of battle, but, by the gods! You’d think his tabard was dyed in blood!”

‘Oh, there will be blood,’ Ewen thought. ‘Whose blood was the question. A prince had already been killed, perhaps a princess? Yes, the Princess Erlene. Once she was dead, that would put the King in a difficult position. With Erlene dead, he would have no choice but to keep Brandis as his heir-apparent, despite the family blood on that Prince’s hands. Perhaps Ewen could arrange for the Sheriff who held Querina to be blamed for her death, and then he could have someone he controlled appointed?’

“Oh, I just remembered!” Baris said suddenly, “I haven’t tried on my new boar helmet!”

‘On the other hand,’ Ewen mused, looking at Sir Baris, ‘sometimes it is best to keep things simple.’

Having decided to murder the Princess Erlene, Ewen spent the rest of breakfast planning how he would get it done.

By the time Ewen was done eating, Baris had returned with his hideous new helmet. He put it on and was boarish the rest of the day.
Having worked all through breakfast plotting the assassination of the princess, the daughter of the woman who had just recently come to him for comfort after one of her sons killed the other, Ewen spent the rest of the day in bed; his attempt to scry upon his intended victim had given him a splitting headache. It was just as well. Abed, Ewen did not see Baris return with his new helmet, nor did he see the knight prancing around in it. Nor did he know that Baris refused to take it off, and was boarish the whole rest of the day.

Agrazhar 24, 732

“Mistress Kaelyn, you are expected,” said Garth’s steward Marald as he opened the door for the sorceress.

Kaelyn smiled and handed Marald some muffins she had purloined from Ewen’s larder. The steward passed these off to a passing servant and then led Kaelyn to the hall.

They found Garth seated by the hearth, fire blazing, despite the fact that the summer sun shone brightly in clear skies. The spate of beautiful weather was in fact the talk of the town; some were enjoying it, while others worried it was a bad omen. After all, a prince had just been slain by his own blood. Surely the gods had cursed the realm. The last time the weather had been this good, war had soon followed.

“Trying to bake yourself dry?” Kaelyn asked.

“Some of us have a cold,” Garth replied, sniffling. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“In my studies I have come across discussions of spells for wards,” Kaelyn explained. “I do not know much about them, and I hope you could expand on the theory behind them.” She smiled. “I am afraid I am beginning to look to you as a mentor, or a sounding board.”

“Let’s say sounding board,” Garth said. “Mentor sounds so official. We wouldn’t want anything put down on paper.” He turned his chair to face Kaelyn. “The theory behind wards; well it’s really rather simple: protection, of a person, place, or thing!”

“Yes, but they are broken so easily,” Kaelyn said. “Why?”

Garth shook his head. “Not that easily.”

A servant came in with the muffins delightfully arranged on a wooden platter. Kaelyn took one and handed another to Garth. “If I were to do it, it would be easy.”

“Thank you, Kaelyn,” Garth said, biting into his muffin. “Yes, but you are wet behind the ears.”

“Can you combine convocations on the wards?”

“A ward is a neutral spell,” Garth explained.

“But surely you could put a convocation on it …”

“No, it is a neutral spell, the universal giver and the universal receiver.”

“But the type of ward depends on the combination of convocations,” Kaelyn said, starting to understand.

“I do not know why you would want to specify a convocation with a ward – you use wards to protect something, and you would want to use it in its broadest sense. You protect things physically or by magic. However, the wider the protection, the easier the ward is to be broken.”

“Can you put wards on something that has an aura?”

“Yes,” Garth said. “You can also place them on something that does not have an aura, such as an animal. Wards placed on living creatures cannot be made permanent, however. Deryni can also create wards, but I do not know anything beyond that.”

“If something is protected from magical interference – for example a Deryni listening in – a Deryni could hammer through it with a blast of power. Maybe a member of our convocation could do the same.”

Garth shook his head. “No, the ward would probably protect against that.”

“Dispell would work, however,” Kaelyn said.

“Yes,” Garth agreed.

“Would anything else break the ward?”

Garth spread his hands and smiled. “Greater magic.”

Kaelyn returned the smile, and steered the conversation to other topics.

At one point, Garth raised his finger, as if he had just remembered something. “I believe there is another Odivshe in the city. While you were away, I was doing a working of my own. I detected the residue of someone else’s working – it was recent enough that I knew it could not have been you, as you were not in the city. The curiosity overwhelms me.” He smiled. “Well, not enough to go out and find out myself … but it is quite curious.”

Why did people keep coming to her with mysteries? Kaelyn wondered. “I will keep an eye out.”

***

Sir Ewen sat alone in his study. He had instructed his servants to avoid this room for the nonce; he required silence. He carefully prepared his mind, shutting out all distracting thoughts, walling them away so he could focus on the task at hand. Once again he stretched his mind out into the ether, seeking some sign of the mind of the Princess Erlene, but he could find nothing. Ewen did not hear the familiar warbling of the wards that were around the minds of some of the nobility of Tashal. He simply could not find her mind; it was as if when his earlier failure had muddied the ethereal path, and his mind simply could not reach that of the princess.

Ewen briefly considered going back on his plan, but after a moment’s hesitation determined to go ahead. He need not enter her mind to achieve his aims.

Agrazhar 25, 732

On the morn of Soratir, Agrazhar the twenty fifth, the residents of Tashal looked outside and saw the familiar overcast sky. Soon the heavens opened up, the rain began to fall, and did not let up all day. Some said their prayers were answered, bad omens had been averted, and that the harrowing days their kingdom had recently experienced were over.

The gentry and nobility of the city, Sir Baris excepted, made their way to the temple of Larani. Inside were seven rows of pews on either side of the temple, arranged in a herring-bone pattern. The first two rows were reserved for royalty, earls, and their families. Sir Ewen and his companions (those who worshiped Larani, anyway) generally sat on the right side of the temple, in the fourth row. As Ewen watched, the pews slowly filled; while the departure from the temple was regulated by custom, starting at the first pews and moving towards the back, the arrival of the parishioners was not.

Just then, Sir Prehil entered, accompanied, surprisingly, by his wife. As he passed Sir Ewen and Æomund, Prehil quietly complained, “Can you believe it, my wife came! She never comes!” Ewen nodded in sympathy.

Sir Ewen looked around, and saw Sir Scina and his wife, the Princess Erlene, already sitting in the front row on the right side. The front row also included Lady Donesyn, the Earl of Balim’s sister. On the other side was Maldan Harabor and his two sons. Sir Prehil and his wife took their places in the second row. Next to Prehil was Meden Curo and his sister Lady Meleine (who was supposed to be in Gardiren, Ewen thought idly). Ewen watched Prehil steal a glance at Meleine. Prehil’s wife either did not notice, or, more likely, was simply inured to her husband’s indiscretions. Immediately behind the Balim pew, on the right, sat the Ladies Cheselyne. Next to them was Lady Serli Ubael. Behind the Curo pair, on the left in the third pew was the Baron of Stimos, Sir Rohn, and Lady Brevlyn. In the row immediately in front of Ewen was Sir Romlach Ethasiel and Sir Tellas Valador, a knight Ewen remembered from the tournament. In the pews behind and around Ewen and Æomund were clergy and members of the Order of the Lady of Paladins.

Above the throng was a gallery that overlooked the congregation. This was reserved for the King, but it was always empty. On the opposite side of the chamber, above the altar and facing the congregation, was a gallery for the choir, who were presently singing a hymn expounding on the virtues of the sacrifices the gentry made to protect the commonfolk.

Soon the pews were filled, and the service began. The choir sang another hymn, and then came the prayers. The Serolan did a benediction, and then then the Serekela gave a sermon.

Ewen did not pay much attention to the sermon, as he was busy. He “accidentally” slipped, and brushed his hand against the lady love of Romlach Ethasiel, who was directly in front of him. Quick as thought, he invaded the mind of the poor woman and implanted a suggestion that, if, gods forbid something should happen to the Lady Erlene during or after the ceremony, the lady would cry out that the Princess had been poisoned.

That task completed, Ewen shut out the distracting voice of the Serekela, and went into a light trance.

“Before we depart, there is an announcement,” the Serolan said after the sermon. He stepped aside and the Serekela stepped up to the altar.

“I have been asked to announce tidings of great joy,” the Serekela said. “In this time of great tragedy, we have a glimmer of hope for the future. May I ask the Lady Cheselyne Hosath, the younger now to stand, and Sir Mirild Harabor, you too, please stand. Come before the Shield of Our Lady.” Those two rose from their pews and processed to the front of the temple. “Join hands, one over the other,” the Serekela continued. The two young folk joined their hands and faced the congregation. “I announce that the bonds of marriage between these two fruitful young people have been tied. They shall be, in the fullness of time, (after all the negotiations are complete) man and wife. I ask for a round of applause on the betrothed couple.”

After some halfhearted applause, the couple returned to respective their pews.

The Serolan gave a final benediction, but Ewen was not listening. Finally the recessional began and the Serolan began to lead everyone out, starting with the front rows.

As the Princess Erelene, escorted by her loving husband Scina Dariune, passed near Sir Ewen his eyes narrowed. The Deryni stared at her neck for a moment and flexed his will. As the Princess smiled and turned to say something to her husband, she suddenly began to cough. She doubled over in pain, and seized as another cough wracked her body. The watery sound sent shivers up the spines of those nearby. Blood covered her mouth, and stained her beautiful dress. The scent of copper wafted to Ewen’s nostrils. The Princess had just enough time to grab at her neck before she collapsed.

There was a moment of stillness, then pandemonium erupted. Scina yelled “Erlene!” at the same moment as someone yelled, “She’s been poisoned!”

The princess, lying on the floor, coughed once more, spewing blood onto Scina’s face and doublet, and then was still.

Next to Sir Romlach, a toneless voice repeated “Poison, poison, poison.”

***

“I’m beginning to think that family is cursed!” Sir Prehil said when he saw Sir Ewen in the crowd milling outside the temple and pushed his way over, wife in tow.

“Did you see what happened?” Ewen asked. “All I saw was she collapsed! And then the Princess was taken to the side chapel with the archbishop.”

“I’ve seen that happen before – but mostly with consumption!” Prehil exclaimed.

“My good people,” the Serolan was saying. “Another tragedy has occurred. Please, go to your homes, and pray to Our Lady.”

“As if prayers could help,” someone in the crowd said. “This is just like in Varayne.”

“Did Scina get hurt?” Ewen asked, his tone concerned. “I saw he had blood on him.”

Sir Prehil shook his head. “No, it was all hers! She bled on him.” Prehil’s wife gasped. “Quiet woman!”

“The red knight’s not around, is he?” Æomund wondered.

“That guy has it in for everybody!” Prehil blinked. “You know, he did choose red as his color. It could be symbolism!”

Through the crowd, Sir Meden approached, red haired Meleine on his arm. He nodded at Sir Prehil. “Pardon me, Prehil,” he said, and looking in Ewen’s direction, “but I really do need to get my sister away from this bloody scene of mayhem.”

***

Meanwhile, Baris was keeping watch on Lady Cheselyne’s home. Or, at least, that was what he was supposed to be doing. Neither Sir Ewen nor any of his companions had received an invitation to a post-Soratir soiree. Either they were on the outs, or a soiree so soon after the death of a prince was considered to be in bad taste. Baris was supposed to watch Cheselyne’s house to see whether there was a party Ewen and company had not been invited to. However, when Ewen and Æomund returned from the temple, they found Sir Baris Tyrestal, Knight, Lord of Selepan, sound asleep in a chair by the window, an ale cradled in one hand, slightly spilled on his jerkin. His boar helmet was pulled down upon his face to block the light.

Sir Æomund gazed out the window at Lady Cheselyne’s abode and watched as a distinct gathering of people, including Aethel Atan, entered the home. However, there were not many; it appeared to be a family affair.

Once he was situated in his study, Ewen instructed Kaelyn to pen a missive to Meden Curo, requesting a meeting. His plan had gone perfectly. Let’s see what Meden thinks about that, Ewen thought.

Shortly thereafter, a servant entered Ewen’s study with a message: “I have already accepted Sir Prehil’s invitation to the House of Courtesans. If you wish to meet, I will be found… there. MC.”

Ewen wrote a note saying that perhaps the following evening would be more opportune.

Mere minutes after that note was dispatched, there was a pounding at the door of Raven Hall.

Walin, well trained at this point, slipped the latch and jumped out of the way as Sir Prehil burst in.

“Ewen, Baris, Æomund, and any other magnificent bastards!” Prehil exclaimed. “I’m going to the courtesan’s, let’s all go!” He did something with his hips. “There are plenty of them!”

Baris, who had been dozing inside his boar helm, startled awake, and almost dropped his ale, but with far more dexterity than a man who had quaffed as much as he should have had, his right hand snapped down and caught the cup from the bottom, cradling it such that only a few precious drops spilled out. The boar’s head tilted up and looked at Sir Prehil. “Courtesans!” a voice echoed from within the helmet, sounding tinny. “I’M IN!” the knight boomed. He made no move to remove his helmet.

“Sir Prehil, I’m afraid I’ll have to beg off,” Ewen said.

“Aren’t you a magnificent bastard!”

Ewen chuckled. “I am, but not tonight. I spent the morning before Soratir reviewing my financial ledger, and I just don’t have my heart in it at the moment.’

“That’s so depressing,” Prehil said matter of factly. He thrust his shoulders back and smiled broadly. “That’s why I have my father do those things. But there is a solution, Sir Ewen, and you should adopt it immediately: there is this thing, they call them math- math-mathmicians.”

“Do you mean Magicians?” Baris said helpfully.

“No, no, people who are good with numbers!”

Æomund stood up. “Numerologists!”

“They are good with numbers and keep track of all your finances,” Prehil said.

“Are you saying I turn over all my finances over to a numerologist?” Ewen said wryly. “Do you have a recommendation?”

“Not yet, my father is still alive and handles all that.” Prehil took Ewen’s arm. “But the courtesans are lonely, and I think they are getting cold!”

Ewen shrugged. “Forget the budget! It’s all my wife’s money, anyway.”

“There’s nothing like getting laid on your wife’s money,” Baris thought wryly to himself.

“Speaking of that,” Prehil said. “Baris, you’ve been looking for a wife, how’s that going?”

“The last lady that was in Baris’s arms was the Lady Meleine,” Ewen remarked.

“Oh, you lucky bastard! Let’s not say that in front of Meden, though – he’s a bit stiff, and not in the good way,” Prehil confided.

Baris lifted his boar helm and smiled. “Well, someone had to protect Meleine; it was chaos when Brandis slew his brother!” he said, and ignored Ewen’s glare. And you can’t rely on a Curo to defend those who need it, he thought, but did not voice. Instead he said, “And if it gave me the opportunity to feel the girl’s supple freckled skin and breathe in the sweet perfume of her flame-red hair, well, that was a price I was willing to pay.” The knight grinned, showing his teeth, and enjoyed the brief flash of jealousy in Prehil’s eyes. “I’m in no hurry to be married, Sir Prehil. I’m waiting for the right woman to fall into my arms.”

***

After the men left, Cekiya prowled the great hall. She was musing on ways to make Prehil less loud that would not raise the ire of her master when a few of servants came through the hall. They were talking quietly when they came out of the kitchen, but fell silent when they saw the little adder. They bobbed their heads at her before headings upstairs together.

‘Odd,’ Cekiya thought. Silent as a snake, she followed the servants up the stairs, all the way to the third floor. Cekiya peered around the corner atop of the staircase. She watched as the servants went into the solar, and one of them pretended to dust something, before continuing up to the fourth floor.

Something strange was definitely going on, Cekiya thought. The servant’s quarters were on the fourth floor, thus there was no reason to pretend they had a reason to be there.

Cekiya went up to the fourth floor. Some Thardans sat a table dicing. She noticed the door to a storage room was just now swinging shut: no doubt the servants had slipped in there. In a flash she was across the room, and slithered into the storage room before the door closed. Silent as a shadow she darted across the chamber to hide behind a crate before she was seen.

Fortunately none of the servants she had followed were looking in Cekiya’s direction. They were crowded about the window, by the pallets. Just above the window was a crossbeam, and on the beam perched an owl. One of the servants had brought a small morsel of meat, which they took turns feeding to the owl.

Cekiya cocked her head to the side, and blinked, mirroring the bird.

***

Meanwhile, Sir Prehil led Sirs Ewen, Baris, and Æomund to the House of Courtesans. The building had three floors. The first floor was divided into four parts: there was a kitchen, rooms for the bouncers, a common room, and a communing room. The common room was a wide open space, the high ceiling open to the second floor. The second floor was where the action was; bedrooms lined a balcony that looked down onto the common room. Scantily clad women could be seen going in and out of the various rooms. The third floor was made up of more luxurious bedrooms.

The odd party found a table in the common room, and a beautiful girl clad in diaphanous silk took their drink orders. Sirs Meden and Ewen asked for wine, Prehil for an exotic brandy, and Æomund for Jarin aquavit. Baris ordered two ales.

As they waited for their drinks, the men contemplated the women on the stage as they sang and danced, their bodies weaving to and fro, silks revealing and shrouding their curvaceous figures.

Meden gazed upon Baris’s helmet and slowly shook his head. “Fortunately, you’ve already apologized to me.”

“Prehil, so pleasant to see you!” Maryna, Tora’s cousin, appeared at that worthy’s side and found a familiar place in his lap, an arm around his neck, a fine calf on the table. Her silks shifted, as did the boar helm. Maryna was quite exquisite, and unfortunately for Tora, had apparently got all the beauty that particular gene pool had to offer.

After greeting Maryna in his customary way, Prehil turned to the men. “You know, there’s a new girl! Ewen, you’ll forgive me, I don’t think she’s for you.”

“Pray tell, Sir Prehil, what qualifications does this young woman have that makes her unsuited for me?”

“Ewen, I don’t want to insult you, I wouldn’t want to make it sound like, uhm, that you weren’t just one of the guys …”

“But …”

“But, there’s Baris, and there’s Æomund!” Prehil said, sweeping his arm at those knights. The movement caused Maryna to slip, but he caught her in a part of her anatomy that would have been rude in most other locales.

Meanwhile, Meden Curo had sat back in his seat, a rare smile on his face.

“I don’t take your meaning, Sir Prehil,” Ewen said.

“Well, Baris is like me, except I don’t wear helmets like that, I don’t know anyone who wears helmets like that, come to think of it. Then there’s Æomund, that whole Order of the Lady of Paladins, they are very stoic. Then there’s you …”

“I’m still not following, Prehil.”

“She’s got a brain, which is kind of an extra. Æomund wouldn’t care, Baris wouldn’t notice, but you wouldn’t want the competition ...” Prehil’s voice petered out, but he suddenly realized what that might sound like. “I mean that in the best possible way! So you see, she’s really more suited to Baris or Æomund, because they won’t notice the brain,” he concluded.

Baris chuckled, and it echoed in his helmet. He tried to come to Prehil’s rescue: “Sir Ewen, I think what Prehil is trying to say here is that this is a night for base pleasures, and he doesn’t want you to be distracted.”

“Yeah, sure,” Prehil agreed timorously.

“In that event, Sir Prehil, I think you will need to make a suitable recommendation,” Ewen said.

“I however, have never been distracted by intelligence,” Baris said. Maryna snickered.

The proprietress, one Myrele, appeared out of nowhere beside Prehil. “Sir Prehil, Sir Meden, how good to see you. I haven’t seen you in quite some time, Sir Meden.”

“No, you haven’t,” Meden agreed.

“And Sir Baris,” Myrele greeted, eying the helmet quizzically. “We have a special brandy in. It is a pear brandy from Nubeth.”

The boar nodded. “I’ll have that, too.”

“Perhaps I could bring the bottle.”

The shoulders beneath the helmet shrugged.

“On Sir Prehil’s tab?” Myrele wondered.

“No, put it on my tab,” Meden corrected.

Prehil chortled. “Now that’s what I like to hear!”

A few moments later a serving maid appeared, carrying the pear brandy. That was appropriate, Sir Baris thought, for she resembled a pear, in quite a nice way. As she leaned over to place the brandy on the table, the woman revealed other fruits.

“When you are ready for entertainment of a more private nature, just wink,” Myrele said, and was off as mysteriously as she had arrived.

Baris did wink, twice, but no one noticed under his helmet.

The knight looked around at the other tables, his gaze falling upon a number of guildsmen and a handful of knights. The knights included Lady Peresta Bastune’s younger brother Sir Telberan Brailour (the one who was struck by lightning at the tournament, Baris remembered). Telberan’s companion was Sir Tellas Valador.

Sir Baris rose and walked over to Telberan’s table, taking the pear brandy with him. “Sirs Telberan and Tellas, a pleasure to see you. Sir Telberan, I’m happy to see you have recovered so well!” He offered the bottle to the man.

“We thank you, Sir … Knight?” Telberan said confusedly as he finished his drink.

Tellas laughed. “Sir Pig!”

It’s a boar, not a pig! Baris almost exclaimed. Instead, he removed his helmet. “It is I, Sir Baris!”

Telberan chuckled as he poured the brandy into his now empty cup. “Of course.”

“You almost have to be,” Tellas said. “Sir Baris, are you aware that you have flanges on your helmet?”

“I should hope so, those flanges cost extra!”

“If I were wearing something like that, I would have hoped the bolt of lightning struck me dead!” Telberan laughed.

Sir Tellas tsked. “Don’t be so harsh, it would probably have reflected the bolt into the ground.” He looked up at Baris. “But, Sir Baris, you do keep excellent company. You have the heir to a barony, an earldom, and the First Knight of Kaldor at your table. They must be very broad minded.”

“That is a member of the Order of the Lady of Paladins,” Telberan said, noting Sir Æomund. “Baris has religious sanction for those flanges.”

Baris grinned. “Aren’t they great?” He put his helmet back on. “No harm can become me in this most excellent helmet!” his voice echoed.

“Yonder companion of yours,” Tellas said, “the First Knight of Kaldor, is he not married to the Lady Thilisa Caldeth, my cousin?”

“I believe he is. So is Prehil – married, that is. Not the same woman though. That would be uncouth,” Baris said. He was an expert in matters uncouth.

“Would my cousin Thilisa have returned to Tashal?”

“I don’t know, you would have to ask Sir Ewen,” Baris said.

“You being his boon companion, I thought you would know.”

“I don’t watch his bedroom,” Baris said.

“A very gallant gentleman, despite the helm,” Telberan said.

“You have our thanks for the libation,” Tellas said. “You must tell us who your weaponcrafter is.”

Baris did so, and sang the armorer’s praises at length, but stopped short of inviting the pair to the Elf & Dwarf, before returning to his table.

As the evening wore on various members of the party winked and went upstairs, with Baris, Prehil, and Ewen retiring to the lounge, leaving Meden and Æomund alone at their table in the common room.

The Knight of the Order had not consumed many libations that night. He stared his brandy as it swirled in his goblet, but addressed Sir Meden. “I find myself in a difficult position, and I don’t know that to make of it.”

Meden gestured for a serving maid, and the buxom girl who had brought the brandy appeared. He waved at the table. “Clear away this syrupy nonsense and bring us some wine.”

Shortly thereafter two glasses of a dark wine sat before the two men. Meden gazed upon Æomund over tented hands. “I thought you were very happy in your service to the First Knight of Kaldor. Bloom off the rose?”

Æomund looked the earl in the eye. “I have only found myself in this position for a few short months. And outside of the drinking and revelry, there is somewhat of a lack of substance.”

“Why don’t you return to the Order? I’m sure they could find someplace for you.”

Æomund shook his head. “I am bound to the manor of Varayne.”

“That is a technicality, is it not?” Meden said. “Somebody could give you dispensation. If it’s a matter of coin, if Sir Ewen wouldn’t advance it, I could do so. It’s only money.”

Æomund took a sip of wine and ruminated. At length he said, “I hadn’t considered it in that light. That is a plan that deserves contemplation.”

Meden nodded. “You could return to the Order; I understand they are looking for a few good knights to refill the ranks. You could be a commander in a few years. The archbishop is my uncle, I’m sure a word in his ear would be sufficient.”
“Definitely something to consider.”

“How unfortunate for Sir Ewen to lose the services of a knight such as yourself,” Meden flattered.

“I must say, it chafes immediately to have thrown the tournament to that bastard Harabor.”

Meden’s eyes widened ever so slightly; Æomund would not have noticed if he had not been watching for it. “Thrown the tournament?”

“I’m clearly a better combatant than he was. Ewen never told me directly; but it was implied.”

Meden looked stoic. “Are you saying you did not do your utmost during the tournament? That you … took a dive.”

“That may be more harsh than I would have interpreted it.”

“It would not accord to the honor of the Order of the Lady of Paladins had you done so,” Meden said. “What would they say?”

“Duty is a heavy burden,” Æomund replied.

“To the Lady or to Sir Ewen?”

“I have pondered this question myself. Duty is an expression of my faith.”

“Go around again?” Meden asked.

“The duty to one’s lord is an expression of faith as well,” Æomund explained. “I have been trying to reconcile the two.”

“Your faith is more subtle than mine,” Meden gestured with his glass. “Why do you tell me this?”

“Prehil is a good man, he is a true son of Kaldor. But he is often distracted by, well,” Æomund gestured at their surroundings. “I find myself lacking in the company of true sons of Kaldor.”

“And neither Ewen, Baris, nor Prehil qualify.”

“Prehil does,” Æomund corrected. “He is just always distracted.”

“Well, you do have yourself in a pickle then, don’t you? What would you of me?”

“I needed someone to talk to. It has bothered me of late. Perhaps it was the brandy.”

“I am honored you felt you could vouchsafe to me.” Meden took another sip of wine. “If you like, I will speak to my uncle. I believe he intends to remain in Tashal. I could speak to him tomorrow morning.”

“You don’t feel such an approach would be disingenuous to my liege?” Æomund asked.

“Whether that is so is up to you.”

“That’s something I would need to think about,” Æomund hedged. This was escalating rather quickly.

“I can only relate the honesty and fervor of your plea, and beg him to give you a dispensation,” Meden said. “Whether he needs a pecuniary award will depend on his mood.”

“Spending so much time in Tashal is lessening the burden,” Æomund said. “It is good to be home.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the tragic and untimely demise of the Princess Erlene earlier today, would it?” Meden asked.

“I hadn’t quite thought of it in the perspective of the winnowing of the royal family.”

“Think about it, though,” Meden said. “The eldest son and heir, Prince Brandis, disgraced, the next son and heir, Prince Torasa, dead. The next heir, the princess Erlene, dead. How fortunate, that the young Prince Troda is in Kiban.”

“It’s possible that this tree is withering, both spiritually and physically,” Æomund said.

“Yes, I believe I could speak to my uncle. There could be some preferment for you. There will have to be a new Reblena, for example, of Vadan or Yaltako.”

“I’m glad I spoke to you,” Æomund said. “You’ve given me much to think about. I find it unique and intriguing.”

“Of course,” Meden said. “If you were to be found worthy of such a position, you would have to undertake certain obligations.”

“Obligations and knighthood are often bedfellows.”

Meden finished his glass. “Well, look, it is time to put up or shut up. Since I do not wish to entertain one of these ladies, I will shut up.” He rose. “A fascinating discussion, Sir Æomund Legith. I hope we can do it again.”

Æomund nodded. “Perhaps with less distractions.”

“Perhaps. Good night to you.”

“Good night, Sir Meden.”

As Neph’s heir left, his guards rose from a nearby table to follow.

Æomund sat in the common room for a few more minutes, deep in thought. Then he remembered that the night was on Meden’s penny, and he winked. Shortly thereafter he found himself upstairs.
Late in the evening, a young serving girl knocked on the door to one of the upstairs rooms to see if it was occupied. The guttering candles revealed three nude forms upon the bed, limbs entwined; two shapely women and one brawny man, all sleeping contentedly. Something glittered, and the servant corrected herself. They were not entirely nude. The man wore the strangest helmet she had ever seen.

Agrazhar 26, 732

The day dawned overcast and rainy.

“Where is Sir Baris going?” Ewen asked Æomund when that knight entered his study. “I saw him and Kalas packing some gear this morning.”

“I think he said he was finally going to visit Selepan,” Æomund said. “He was quite excited – almost as excited as when he got that helmet of his.”

Ewen groaned. “So what brings you to my study this morning?”

“I had the most interesting conversation with Sir Meden” Æomund said, and related his conversation of the previous evening.

“Thank you for telling me this, Sir Æomund, it does you credit as a knight,” Ewen said.


Later in the day Æomund donated a significant sum of money to the Vadan Chapterhouse of the Order of the Lady of Paladins, which had been completely annihilated during the barbarian attack on the Silver Caravan. Sir Kornuska Harabor had been gracious enough to return to Æomund the ransom that knight had paid him after he had been forced to throw their joust. At least something good could come out of that act, Æomund thought.

When he returned to Raven Hall, one of the servants directed him up to Ewen’s study.

“Sir Æomund, just the man I was looking to see.”

Æomund stood to. “My lord.”

“I wonder if you might pen me a missive. Kaelyn is indisposed, studying something arcane I believe, and while Cekiya gave it a try, the results were not quite what I desired.” He handed Æomund a piece of parchment, on which were written beautifully crafted words that made no sense. In the margin was a detailed picture of a man being stabbed. Blood dripped down the page to pool at the bottom in what was certainly a waste of good ink, no matter how realistic it looked.

“I see,” Æomund said, smiling nervously. “Who is the missive to, and what would you like it to say?”

“It is to Sir Tellas Valador. Let him know that it has come to my attention that he wished to call upon my lady wife, but as she is not present in Tashal, I would be happy to host him for dinner this evening.”

Shortly after the note was sent the messenger returned with a note that read, “I am happy to accept your gracious offer, Sir E. I will see you this evening.” It was signed “STV”.

***

That evening Sir Tellas Valador arrived at Raven Hall for dinner. Sir Ewen and Æomund enjoyed a pleasant meal with Sir Tellas, discussing the news of the day, and of course the recent tournament. After the board was cleared, the knights retired to Ewen’s study for a nightcap. (Ever vigilant of threats on her master, Cekiya had snuck into the study earlier and spied upon the proceedings through a peephole).

“I am glad you were able to contribute to the success of the first tournament of Varayne,” Ewen said as he handed Tellas a victual.

“It was an honor to participate,” Sir Tellas said. “I’m personally thankful that the tournament honored my dear aunt, the late Lady Ialny.”

“My Lady wife and I felt it did her honor.” Ewen sighed. “Unfortunately I did not have the opportunity to meet the woman before she fell ill.”

“She was ill for quite some time,” Tellas remarked.

“It was a hasty courtship,” Æomund said quietly.

Ewen cast a sharp gaze in Æomund’s direction. “You’ll have to forgive Sir Æomund’s humor.”

Tellas laughed, but it was toneless. He sipped his drink and turned back to Ewen. “I understand you had the honor of meeting my father?”

“Yes, he was an interesting interlocutor. We had a quite illuminating discussion about land.”

“He can go on,” Tellas agreed. “You know, he related to me a most interesting tale of how a table practically upended itself.”

“Absolutely, the Baron of Nenda took the worst of it and blamed his son and heir. It was a moment of levity for some of us at the table, I confess. No one was harmed.”

“My father did not present it as levity,” Tellas said. “He presented it as tomfoolery.”

“Oh, someone did attempt to assassinate someone at that very moment,” Ewen said.

Tellas nodded in agreement. “My father said that … he did say just that. He didn’t say who, however.” He took a sip of brandy. “I wish to talk to my cousin, but since you are her husband, I suppose you too are my cousin.”

Ewen raised his glass. “I’m happy to acknowledge it. I think you would find that in her confinement, my lady can find it a trifle taxing to take visitors.”

“Of course,” Tellas agreed. “You understand that I am acting upon the instructions of my father,” he said. “You know that my father, Sir Andro, is the Bailiff of Wynlis manor. Not the holder of our family lands. That is my uncle, Sir Kaery.”

Ewen nodded. “Redounding to your honor.”

Tellas waved his glass in vague agreement. “My father, if not my uncle, you understand, is uncomfortable with the situation as it now exists.”

“You speak of my banishment, Sir Tellas?”

“You are banished, Sir Ewen?”

“From Vemionshire.”

“No, I was unaware.”

“Ah, you are speaking of something else,” Ewen said.

Tellas looked directly at Ewen. “There is a certain unpleasantness at the heart of the fount of all of our family’s honor.”

“Yes well, we are all discomfited by recent events.”

“Some of us are wondering what that is going to mean for our future. This, my father, has specifically articulated.”

Ewen chose his words carefully. “His uncertainty is shared by many.”

“By many, indeed. For example, at your recent tournament in Varayne in honor of my Lady Aunt, who may or may not be sainted, I do not speak out of school to say that there is a small movement in that direction; may it wax.”

Ewen smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “It warms my heart to hear there are those so moved.”

“Your tournament gives her cause new life. Some of us considered that the Lady Ialny’s late husband … I mean the late Ialny’s husband, had sent a champion. We considered that the fate of that champion might reflect the will of the gods.”

“As any tournament should,” Æomund grated, glaring at Ewen.

“As any tournament should, well said Sir Æomund,” Tellas agreed.

Ewen ignored Æomund’s stare. “I think there may be many conclusions we will draw from the events of the tournament.”

“I and my father have drawn our conclusion – the gods have spoken,” Tellas stated. “And we believe the message is clear.”

“Yes?” Ewen gestured for Tellas to continue.

“My uncle, the Lord Kaery of Zutlin, as of when I saw him a few days ago, is unsure. But I and my father Sir Andro are not.”

“What is it that you and your father have concluded from those events of so recently?” Ewen wondered.

“That the gods have accepted the Lady Ialny into their brethren; that she is among the elect, a saint in the Hall of Tirathor. Her favor must therefore rest upon those who have honored her, and not those who have ridiculed her.”

“I know of no man who has ridiculed the memory of Lady Ialny.” Ewen’s voice rose. “If I did I would avenge her memory myself.”

“This alone tells us that you are the champion of her cause. Because was it not you who called the tournament?” Tellas asked.

“It was,” Ewen confirmed.

“Then my father and I pledge to her cause through you. May my uncle Kaery see the same light.”

Ewen clapped Tellas on the shoulder. “Sir Tellas, I am touched by and accept this pious pledge by you and your father, that we pursue and champion the cause the sainted Lady in every way we can. I tell you, this is only the beginning. I propose a toast to the sainted Lady Ialny, if you will drink with me.”

Tellas clinked his glass to Sir Ewen’s. They drank.

Tellas placed his empty glass on the table. “I have brought a priest, a family retainer, if you will, here to Tashal, to champion the cause. You may know him- the Matakea Garin Ertis.”

Ewen did know this man; Garin was the priest who presided over the knight’s wedding ceremony. For this, the priest had been banished along with Ewen.

“I have brought him here to champion the cause of the Lady Ialny, who is, after all, of the Clan Valador,” Tellas continued.

“I will take pains to see Father Garin again,” Ewen said. “I will lend any support I can to the cause that I have started here.”

“Then I was right to come, Sir Ewen. I thank you.”

***


“What a coincidence meeting you here, at the market,” Lady Alyce said, but of course it was not a coincidence at all. She had left Æomund a note to meet her in Mangai Square.

“It is nice to see you again, my lady” Æomund replied.

“Are you shopping for anything in particular?” the woman inquired.

“I wanted to enjoy the nice summer weather.” Æomund stepped next to the lady, who was admiring some fabrics. “We missed you at the tournament in Varayne.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.”

Æomund shook his head. “Many interesting things occurred.”
Alyce smiled. “Name one.”

“A man was struck by lightning. He did survive; he had the benefit of being succored by Sotor of Pelanby.”

“Is he alright?” Alycle asked.

“He is a physician from the continent.”

“Ah, succored, not suckered.” Alyce held up cream cloth embroidered with crimson thread into a complicated pattern of swirling vines. “What do you think of the pattern of this cloth? It is very intricate: you almost don’t know what you are looking at.”

“That is true of many things,” Æomund said.

“I understand you did quite well at the tournament.”

“On a personal level, yes.”

“But you didn’t win.”

“No.”

Alyce looked Æomund in the eye. “Did you intend to win?”

“I endeavored to go as far as my skill and faith in the Lady would take me.”

“A very careful reply, but one that does not answer my question.”

“Yes, I wanted to win the tournament,” he said.

“An honest answer.” The back of Alyce’s hand brushed Æomund’s cheek. “Sir Arren Lydel has not returned from the tournament. You haven’t done anything naughty to him, have you?”

“No, of course not.”

Alyce chuckled. “Tell me of your patron.”

Æomund sighed. “He is a most confusing man.”

“I meant St. Erkenwald.”

Æomund gazed at the cloth in Alyce’s hands, his eyes becoming lost in the twisting and turning of the vines. “The words, while simple, are difficult in their execution; as with many religious matters, doing one’s duty is not always clear.”

“The harder path is the greater reward, though not necessarily in this life,” Alyce said.

“This is true, but perhaps if I should survive it long enough, I will be more enlightened at the end.”

“Is that not a Save K’norian philosophy?” she asked.

“I am a child of two parents, after all.”

Alyce put the fabric back on the table. “My cousin is uncomfortable,” she said, changing the subject. “He has sent Sir Arren to this kingdom, but he is not convinced it was the right decision.”

“The wrong target or the wrong person to send?”

“The wrong person,” Alyce said, moving to the other side of the table and picking up a small wooden box. “Oh, what do you think of that, what a lovely casket. But the pearls, perhaps it is too showy.”

“The sun so infrequently shines. If you have a chance to bring light into your house, you should take it.”

Alyce smiled. “Yes, too showy. And yes, the wrong person to be sent.”

“I have been trained in being a knight and a squire, but I sometimes find myself lacking in these diplomatic matters,” Æomund said. “The Baron of Stimos said the same thing. He said he wasn’t sure where Arren was, only that he would return.”

“I like Stimos,” Alyce said. “I like his diction.”

Æomund chose a myrtle colored cloth. “This fabric looks nice.”

“Merchant, how much is this?” Alyce asked.

“Two pence per yard my lady,” the man behind the table replied.

Alyce turned to the knight. “What do you think Sir Æomund?”

“I am not a cloth merchant, but it seems a little high for such a lady,” Æomund replied.

“My knight here thinks you are cheating me.”

The merchant looked aghast. “No, no, of course not! Perhaps a penny a yard?”

Alyce nodded. “That sounds fair. Please send twelve yards to Habor of Sarlis, on the account of Lady Alyce.” As the merchant turned to measure and cut the fabric, she turned to Æomund. “Thank you Sir Æomund, you’ve saved me six pence.”

“I’m glad that my friendship is of some small service.”

“Oh, it is of service to me.”

“It must be interesting in the castle at the moment,” Æomund remarked.

“I don’t know, I have not been there,” Alyce admitted. “I understand there are some interesting people living in eastside.”

“My parents live in eastside as well.”

“I would like to meet them.”

“My mother actually has an observatory; I believe it is the only one in Tashal.”

“Your mother is a Save-K’norian, is she not?”

“Yes …” Æomund began.

“Then I must meet her.”

Æomund became flustered. Wasn’t it a little early to meet his parents? “Just name the place, or, the day. The day.”

“I love your eloquence. Send me another note.”

“Be forewarned, there may be dinner involved,” Æomund said.

“I am very fond of food, I find I cannot get through the day without it.” She turned to leave. “It was lovely to see you Sir Æomund.”

“I am glad the cloth merchant could be so COOPERATIVE …”

As Lady Alyce departed Sir Æomund’s company, that worthy noted a man-at-arms whom he had not noticed before move to escort her.

***

“I happened to run into Lady Alyce Dulye, cousin of the King of Melderyn, at the market,” Æomund said later, speaking with Sir Ewen in his study.

“I recall; a friend from your past,” Ewen replied.

“Yes, she is,” Æomund confirmed. “She informed me that Sir Arren Lydel is missing. She and Sir Arren share some sort of diplomatic mission here in Kaldor, and she revealed that her cousin, who I assume to be the king, sent Sir Arren to Kaldor. However, he thinks he may have sent the wrong emissary.”

“Why do you think he came to that conclusion?” Ewen wondered.

“That I could not say. Perhaps Arren is pursuing his own agenda, not following the king’s interests,” Æomund mused. “Alyce also revealed that she is here in an official capacity, and not at a mere whim. She is a less vocal diplomatic emissary here in Kaldor.”

Ewen stroked his beard. “Interesting.”

Later that evening a casket inlaid with pearls arrived at the home of the Lady Alyce. Inside was a note written in a certain knight’s hand, requesting the pleasure of her company at a home on the East Side of Tashal


Agrazhar 29, 732
Galopea’s Feast
Tashal, Kaldor


“It seems that things are moving rather quickly, Sir Meden,” Sir Ewen said.

“Quickly? How do you mean, quickly?” Sir Meden replied.

Sir Meden Curo, heir to the earldom of Neph, had agreed to meet Sirs Ewen Ravinargh and Æomund Legith at Galopea’s feast. Presently the three men were seated in a well-appointed private room sipping aquavite, having moved on from fine wine after a sumptuous meal provided by Mak of Ashel. The chairs and table were ornately carved in a woodland motif, and on the mantel above the hearth a statue of a satyr chasing a dryad watched over the proceedings; though doubtless their attention was divided.

“The unraveling of the royal children in this kingdom,” Ewen replied. He could speak a bit more freely now, the servants, including the one who Ewen knew worked for Hag Hall, had departed, and Meden had left his guards waiting in the common room, although Æomund was still present.

“You mean the death of the Princess Erlene?” Meden wondered innocently.

“I must confess I don’t understand that.”

Meden studied the knight. “Neither do I. But I must confess that I don’t understand the death of Prince Torasa, either. How tragic. Coming from a large family myself, I don’t understand how siblings can not get along.”

“Sometimes the combination of a woman and spirituous liquors can change the family dynamic. Have you ever found it so Sir Meden?”

“No. I take liquor in moderation.” Meden sipped his drink. “As for women; I am a dutiful husband.” He gestured at Ewen. “I was once tempted by one of the maidservants in Castle Gardiren. But I will say to you Sir Ewen, and this was I believe our Lady Larani’s intervention, I learned that this maid was the mistress of my father. And I shriveled at the thought and that was that.”

“Sometimes insight can prevent a fatal error from occurring,” Ewen said.

“I found it a life lesson, Sir Ewen. Never let one be distracted by something that is so easily obtained. But then you know that. You are of course married to Thilisa; I am certain that she would not allow you to … step out.”

“The Lady Thilisa is a strong willed woman, as you no doubt understand, Sir Meden,” Ewen replied. “I’m sure if I was to stray I would find myself tossed and gored.”

“I think you would be lucky if you were merely tossed and gored.” Meden put down his drink and looked directly at the knight. “So now that we understand each other on the matter of marital fidelity, perhaps we have more important things to discuss.”

“Absolutely. I believe you said you were expecting to stay in the city while returning your young and impressionable sister to the protections of Gardiren to the north.”

“I changed my mind. She is such a willful creature, you understand. My parents were so strict with all of us, except this last, youngest daughter. Willful creature, consigned to my care by my parents. They have made the most astonishing promise to her.”

“And what matter of promise could your doting parents have bestowed upon the lady Meleine?” Ewen wondered.

Meden shook his head in disgust. “The most irresponsible promise one could possibly imagine.”

“She gets to pick her own husband?” Æomund joked.

Meden looked at the knight. “You know, Sir Æomund, I do not like to have my thunder stolen. Yes, she has been permitted to choose her own husband. Can you imagine?”

“My lord, it makes me feel the flower of Kaldoric chivalry will slay each other before the altar,” Ewen said.

“Why would that be?” Meden asked.

Ewen gestured toward the castle. “Judging by the discernment by the late prince and his brother upon the attentions of the young lady, I doubt she will be lacking in eligible suitors.”

“I suppose,” Meden said. “But she has freckles you know.”

“I have never known that to be a hindrance to a comely young woman.”

“Personally I would just as soon she was out of my hair.”

“I’m sure as her eldest brother, Sir Meden, you should be able to prevail upon her to consider a candidate favorable to your eye?” Ewen asked.

“I’m sure I could, but she is a willful thing that has never paid attention to anyone. I would like her to make a good match; she is, after all, an earl’s daughter.”

Ewen nodded in agreement. “Of course. If things in this kingdom continue to go down the road they have of late, friends and allies will be all the more important.”

“I would take that as a truism.” Sir Meden sipped his aquavit, and then took several more sips. “Ah.”

“Does the death of Sir Scina’s wife change anything?” Æomund wondered.

Meden smiled in a most unpleasant way. “It is a terrible time for King Haldan.”

“So we find ourselves, Sir Meden,” Ewen agreed. “The tournament, a ringing success by any measure. The question arises as to how we should each apply ourselves to the troubles this kingdom faces.”

Meden smiled, and shrugged. “Difficult times, Sir Ewen.”

“Sir Meden, do you suggest difficult times confound their difficulties without the hands of men trying to change the trajectory of the wheel?”

“The wheel. The wheel, it always turns. I would say that we are all on the wheel, wouldn’t you Sir Ewen?”

“I for one am not content to grow so old for fortune’s wheel to turn at fortune’s pace,” Ewen replied.

“Ah, yes, make your fortune,” Meden said, as if it was quaint.

“I have not let grass grow under my feet since arriving in this kingdom not so long ago.”

Æomund spoke up. “It is true, you are new to Kaldor.”

Meden smiled the smile of an earl. “No, no grass under your feet. Yes, it is true you are new to Kaldor. You are, aiming, you are ready, to be Earl of Vemion, no?”

“I only wish my son to sit his rightful seat when the time comes.”

Sir Meden Curo smiled knowingly.
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