Chapter one
Year 684.
Long and dark, the sturdy wall glistened in the dawn light as patches of frost caught the just risen sun. Tall and strong, the wall was older than any man or dwarf could remember and few elves cared to remember stone walls so it's origins were long forgotten.
It had never fallen to an enemy, never been breached. Enemies had gone round it, over it, under it or walked in through the open gates, but never had the walls been broken by an attack. Tall as three tall men stood atop each other and wider than the arm reach of two men with long arm,s it should have been powerful, a sight to inspire all who saw it.
But it wasn't!
The walls of Aldoon'arn were tall and white and magnificent as suited the ancient capital of all the lands, the walls of Caer Seril were stone, black as a demons heart and fearsome enough that the very sight of them made brave men tremble in fear at the thought of attacking them. But here, the walls did neither, instead they managed to squat on the landscape, old and tired like the city beyond them. These were walls that...
"Join the guard they said, be a hero they said, defend the land they said. Never said nothing about freezing ya sack off on a bloody wall." The voice broke the silence, rough from years of drinking the swill the villages round here called beer and heavy with the twang of the farms.
"What did ya expect, silver armour and one of them magic swords?" The second voice was old, tired, just like the wall both men stood atop.
"Them fellas what did the recruiting had shiny armour and good steel blades, not like this shit." The first man stomped his feet against the cold that had long since sunk into his cheap leather boots and numbed his toes. He walked closer to the watch fire that burned in the middle of the gatehouse roof, a tattered and dirt stained cloak over a munitions grade breastplate and shoulder guards, a studded club at his belt and much patched and stained trousers finished his look.
"Should a stayed in the village, least we had food and slept at night, a few silvers a month fa freezing me nuts off all night, should a stayed in the village."
The older man sighed, every night in winter it was the same complaint. Which of the many gods had he offended so badly that he had been partnered with the worst moaner in the wall guard. Dammed fool, too stupid to know about the guard and signed up when someone offered him a silver shilling and a flash of nice armour.
Wall guard. City Guard, Palace guard. Lowest to highest and treated as such, Wall guard and city guard got munitions grade armour, stamped out by some great machine at the old royal armoury far to the south, made by the mountain folk and still working centuries later. Say what you will about the mountain folk, they knew their craft, they were greedy bastards who would have the gold fillings from your teeth if you smiled at them but they made good stuff.
Massive machine, slide in sheets of metal heated till they glowed, arms moved, hammers slammed down and out came breastplate and backplate, shoulder guards and helmet. Thousands upon thousands of sets of armour, every city used them, every city used the emblem of the kingdom, no one wanted to spend the money to get the symbol in the middle of the breast plate changed, not with the price the dwarves charged.
Thing was, over the years the lords of the armoury worked out they could use steel that was a little bit thinner, save a bit of coin on each set of armour. A few centuries later and the breastplate and shoulders would just about turn a knife blade or thrown rock, but the helmets, stamped out of such metal, nothing more than tin sheet to keep the wind off your ears.
Then there were the weapons. Wall guard got clubs and some spears. City guard got short swords and pole arms, the palace guard got the shiny swords and the hand me down silver steel armour, though most of the magic was just glamour's to look shiny and hide the rust.
Both men stood in silence, shoulders hunched against the winter cold, most of their attention on the warmth of the brazier. Only a madman would be riding to the city this early in the day in mid winter.
####
The madman's name was Sir Giles De Bourcey, Knight Captain of the Royal order of the Crimson Serpent, loyal servant of the crown, and lord and master of the manor of Bourcey by the river.
Well wrapped against the biting wind, a fine woollen cloak covered his armour and hung down to the flanks of his riding horse, good leather gloves protected his hands, gleaming leather boots guarded his feet and lower legs and a thick quilted hood under his helm kept out the cold that had left frost on the bare metal.
Behind him rode a servant by his dress, huddled in a plain cloak and astride a horse more suited to pulling a cart.
The third and last rider was no more than a youngster, astride a fine pony and hidden within the folds of a man's cloak that left nothing but the bottoms of their boots visible.
The hooves of the three mounts rang on the frozen clay of the road or struck sparks from the few remaining cobbles beneath the snow, money to maintain the northern road was shorter than funds to clean the moss and vines from the walls of the city but at least in winter it was hard frozen, the spring thaw and autumn rains turned the road into a river of mud and led to fights when the farmers who held the fields to either side objected to wagons or riders who preferred to trample someone else's crops than risk mud that was belly deep on a horse in places.
Up on the wall both men hear the sound, the clip clop of horses drifting on the icy wind.
"Riders." The younger man's voice rasped against the cold.
"Ya reckon."
The older man grunted and reluctantly stepped away from the warmth to look over the gatehouse wall at the three figures drawing closer.
"Declare ya selves strangers!" The old man raised his voice then shouted when the wind stole his first try. The leading figure on the fine horse lifted his right hand and threw aside his cloak to reveal a knightly surcoat, the right side some complex coat of arms, the left side the rearing red snake of one of the old royal orders.
"Open the gates you fools, I have no desire to parlay with halfwits in this cold."
"Yea well who are ya then?"
The knights face flushed. "Can you not see my arms, the coat of Du Bourcey, the sign of a Captain of the most honourable royal order of the crimson serpent. Open the gate before I have you whipped for your insolence you grunting peasants!"
"Sounds like a noble."
"Ya reckon!"
"OPEN THE GATE, SOME KNIGHT WANTS TA COME IN." The old man bellowed down at the pair of guards who were sheltering from the wind in the gatehouse itself and one poked his head out.
"WHAT BE THAT?"
"OPEN THE GATE, SOME KNIGHT WANTS TA COME IN."
"WHAT SORT O FOOL WOULD BE OUTSIDE THIS WEATHER."
The grinding of noble teeth didn't carry well and so went unheard by all save their owner. Still after only a few minutes the smaller of the two gates rumbled and groaned as the pulley lifted the locking bar and the un oiled hinges creaked open, money to maintain the northern gate being about as common as good coin to repair the wall.
The three riders nudged their mounts into motion and single file, walked through the small gate and into the city where the lack of wind had them pushing back hoods and opening cloaks suddenly too warm in the still air.
Now revealed to the world, the servant was an old man, most of his teeth lost in the past along with the hair atop his head, the youngster was a lad, no more than twelve and slim of build, delicate features and pale blue eyes beneath a mop of light brown hair. The knight lifted his visor to reveal a face as craggy as a small mountain range, scarred across his cheek and forehead from blows strong enough to have buckled his helm and with dark eyes that glared at the world with an eternal anger.
"What be ya business in the city strangers?" The two guards inside the gatehouse had argued briefly before the smaller one was pushed out into the chill to question the visitors.
"I have business at court and such business is none of your concern." The words you filthy peasant weren't spoken but everyone heard them anyway.
"Right enough, just askin, don't get many foolish enough ta be outside this time o year, ye be needin..." The guard fell silent as he noticed he was now talking to the youngster's back as the lad rode after the other two. "Reckon ya don't want any directions then." With a quick glance around the guard ducked hurriedly back into the gatehouse and slammed the door.
####
The city of Lorn'arn and the castle of Caer Lorn were the northern most bastions of the kingdom of Spires, eleven great cities united under a single king after a series of bloody wars a generation ago. City and castle, the old prince of Lorn had sworn loyalty to the man who eventually became king, this happened early in the war though it changed sides no less than three times before returning to the control of men and women loyal to the pretender Prince Wardel. Who went on to become King Wardel the first, king of the eleven cities, master of the kingdom of spires. Unchallenged King, mostly because anyone else who wanted the throne was dead one way or another.
With the war over peace and prosperity followed and everyone had plenty of food, no one went poor and unicorns danced in the city parks. Well that's what the bards said. In the north the nobles were wealthy, nothing like a long civil war to generate a lot of demand for northern coal and iron. Till the war was over and some money grabbing bastards far to the east found new sources of iron that they could sell more cheaply to the rich southern cities.
Still there is always a good market for coal and those as made a fine profit from it lived high above the choking coal smoke that shortened the lives of every man, woman and child in the city.
The castle was a lump of stone, dropped into the middle of the city and left to glower at the houses around it. It's walls were as tall and strong as the city walls and it had half a score towers set around it where archers could rain down arrows on any attackers. But that didn't matter, the city had grown till buildings, houses and the like now reached to the walls and there were places where you could climb a building, walk across the roof and jump onto the castle wall with ease.
About its only real use to the prince of the city was as a wind break for the palace which sheltered behind it to the south, protected from the icy northern winds and open to the wane southern sun.
Inside the city there was some life to be seen, people on foot going here and there about their work, wagons hauling goods in barrels or hidden under canvas going to or from some warehouse or shop. The overnight snow sat thick on the roof tops but there had been enough traffic to turn it to slush on the streets.
Riders weren't common but the three were ignored until the knight at the front used his mount to push through any crowd that dared to block his progress. Loud voices and insults were stilled by his hand upon the ready blade at his left hip. A noble trading blows with a commoner would draw the guards like moths to a candle flame and no one had any doubt as to who the guards would side with. So people held their tongues and fists till the knight was past them and threw curses at his back.
Most of these curses were nothing but angry words, but enough of them carried the sting of real magic to be noticed and they all fell upon the young lad at the back of the small group. As they rode deeper into the city, circling around the walls of the castle and south to the palace that stood above the surrounding buildings the lad slumped lower in his saddle and suffered in silence.
####
"Riders comin in." The call came from the small wooden gatehouse beside the metal rail fence that blocked entry to the palace from the front, more ornate than defensive, it would keep out a small crowd or drunks but any serious attack would smash it aside easily. But then the fence, like the palace, was for show. Anyone threatening the city would find the Prince tucked up safely in the heart of the castle rather than the far more luxurious but defenceless palace.
"HO, RIDERS. DECLARE YA... OPEN THE GATES, KNIGHT APPROACHIN!" The guard on watch had been looking at the figures and as the lead rider turned from the street to the gate his open cloak had revealed his surcoat and coat of arms.
Another guard cursed and stepped out of the wooden shack to grab the metal gate and drag it open against the snow that had settled over night. The first rider didn't even slow down and the servant and lad followed, the three mounts leaving dark hoof prints in the clean snow.
Alerted by the shouting outside a groom pulled open the door that granted entry to the stables that were tucked away to the left of the palace, half hidden by a line of trees and a low brick wall. "Over here ya lordship, plenty o room fa ya mounts over here." The groom waved just in case the knight failed to understand, some of the nobles rode to the palace door and expected the grooms to walk across the front of the palace and collect the horses, some rode to the stable door and dismounted there.
In the middle of winter with a hand span of fresh snow on the courtyard in front of the palace and with the temperature cold enough to freeze puddles if there had been any, this noble did the former.
Cursing under his breath the groom stepped out into the cold and trudged across the courtyard, his shoulders slumped and his hands clenched into fists against the cold. The knight ignored the pitiful sight.
The three riders dismounted, the servant took the reins of all three animals while the knight stomped his feet up the steps to the palace door which was swinging open as the guard inside decided he was close enough to let in the cold and not risk the princes wrath. The lad looked around then followed the knight up the steps, slipping on one step but catching himself with some grace and continuing up.
Inside the door the knight stopped in the entry hall and looked around then walked confidently through one of the doors into the main part of the palace, the young lad still following him, the guard started to close the door again then stopped as the servant rushed in, the groom having finally arrived to take the mounts.
The door slammed shut within inches of the servant who scurried to catch up with the knight, overtaking the lad as he did so, no one noticed the look the guard was directing at the lads back, or more accurately at the wisps of black smoke that drifted around the youngsters back and shoulders.
The servant stepped around the boy, hurriedly, flinching away from actual contact but clearly anxious to take his place just behind the knight. The lad just followed along, his shoulders hunched as if under a heavy load and his eyes almost downcast as if he were nervous. Almost!
####
"My prince, a visitor." The man servant spoke loudly enough to be heard within the heavy curtains that sheltered the princes bed, his royal highness had been in his cups with friends until almost dawn and would not be rising till almost dusk, or a little sooner if whichever noble woman shared his bed today caught his attention.
"Bugger off!" The princes voice was a little slurred, somewhat angry and a touch muffled and was accompanied by a woman's giggles.
"Tell whoever it is to bugger off and come back later." More giggling. "Much later."
"It's Sir Giles De Bourcey my prince."
"Well then tell him politely to bugger off."
"Very well my prince, should I prepare a room for the knight and the young man?"
"What young man?"
"The knight is accompanied by a servant and a young man, a year or two shy of manhood, quiet lad, very fair."
"FUCK! Is it that year already. Fuck. Stop that, I need to get up."
A woman's voice was heard from within the curtained bed, saying that was the plan, then she shrieked as the sound of a hand slapping soft flesh came sneaking around the curtains.
"Set out my clothes, the formal ones and my surcoat. Send word to Sir Andorl to join me in the private meeting room as quickly as he can."
"Of course my prince." The manservant looked around the room, clothing was scattered on the chairs and across the floor, court shoes and ladies slippers, a man's shirt, trousers and jacket and a woman's dress and under garments, the servant picked everything up, he gathered the clothes and started to walk to the tall clothes cupboard then paused as a thought came to him and he checked the women's clothing.
"Too small, must be hers" After muttering to himself the manservant carefully folded the female clothing and placed it on a chair then took the rest to the cupboard and folded it away then collected a few items and laid them out on the closest chair. That done he scurried from the room and ignored the giggling that was coming from behind the curtains again.
####
The palace was warm and comfortable as befitted the hall of the prince who ruled a city of coal, servants had collected the knights cloak and that of the youngster, the knight's servant was lurking by the door out of the way
Sir Giles had examined the pictures on the rooms walls, just as they had been when he was last here many years ago. He had inspected the bookcase with its collection of hand written and printed books, exactly the same as it had been when he was last here. Even the carpet underfoot was the same, though getting more than a little worn now. Not that the prince would be wasting money on carpets, not like his father, the old prince knew the value of appearance and standing, not like the fop that...
"Sir Giles, it's been too long." Prince Adrian Seric Tal'Lorn the nineteenth, lord commander of the order of the iron shield, champion of Pelvaris, Chosen of the gods etc etc strode into the room, his every step intended to impose his princely will on all those who saw him.
Jaded and decadent fop prince met battle hardened knight far older, much stronger and somewhat taller, and everyone present knew who was going to be imposing their will on whom.
"It's time, I call on you to honour your fathers debt."
"Welcome sir Giles, what brings... Ah yes, that, well, never let it be said. Ah, what exactly is it you want, more than happy to take your lad into service, give him a decent education, my father promised to see to your son's knighting and I am, of course, happy to honour such an agreement."
"I want him trained as a knight. A martial knight, fighting order."
The prince tried not to cough in surprise, then gave up and turned the cough into an exaggerated throat clearing.
"Ah sir Giles, the knights these days, they carry duelling swords, most would hurt themselves if they drew them. They practice music and poetry to impress the ladies of the court. No one trains martial knights, hasn't done since, well since the queen had that accident and the princess took the throne. The new queen has no love for the knightly orders, at least the fighting ones, besides we haven't had a war since the king united the kingdom, not a lot of call for men to train as knights martial.
Times move on Sir Giles, I'll see your lad trained and knighted to a courtly order but..."
"Martial order, full training."
"Sir Giles, you must understand, it's been twenty years since the new queen took the throne, there are few left who could do such training, the martial orders themselves are all but gone, just a few old men upholding old traditions. There is no use for knights trained to such skill and strength in close battle, not when some rifleman or pistoleer with a fireoil weapon can pierce all but the best armour far outside sword range. There isn't an armourer in the city who could produce master worked coat of plate armour and the price to enchant a lesser set of armour to protect against bullet and shot would be..."
"Martial order training, full training, as the orders trained back when the king took the throne, my son will be trained as a battle knight, no son of my will be a mincing court jester spouting poems."
The prince started to respond angrily then remembered who he was talking to, prince of a great city who commanded less than two hundred guards and thirty men at arms, and a knight who, while old, was well known for being a ruthless warrior who had killed that many enemies in a single battle. Twice!
"Very well, I will honour the word of my father's oath to you, you son will be given quarters here and trained to knighthood, I will see to finding weapons masters who can perform such training. But my father made no promise with regard to equipping such a knight."
"My family crypt has plenty of old armour, a blacksmith can change the size. Train him, fully, honour your family oath, a knight martial, full battle training. That is what your father promised and that is what I expect."
"Yes, of course. Training, nothing more. I can arrange that, room and shelter and training for your fine young... Ah. Sir Giles, your son is a little, how can I put this, he lacks your warriors stature. Will he, that is can he, will he be strong enough to..."
"He takes after his mother, the gods keep her in the next life. Two living daughters and two sons still born before he arrived, dotted on him she did, what with the birth leaving her unable to carry another. She passed a month ago, time to try and make a man of him."
"I'll have my master at arms do his best and hire such help as needed, the oath will be honoured."
"Good. Remember though, your fathers oath was to see to the training of my sons."
"But. Your wife, you said she passed, do you intend to take another?"
Sir Giles laughed, the sort of sound a man makes when he is mocking someone else. "Marry again, at my age, bugger that. There are a few servant girls at my manor who are lively enough, a couple of good looking wenches in the town. I'm not beyond having any more sons."
"Bastards, you intend to acknowledge them as your sons then?"
"If any of them are strong and healthy, yes I'll acknowledge them. I want good strong sons to inherit, if that means siring a few bastards, well so be it."
The prince glanced at the young man, expecting to see some anger on the boys face, after all, his father had as good as said the lad wasn't worthy to be his heir and would be replaced with some bastard born to a servant or commoner. But there was no anger, the lads face was still, without passion, only the wisps of curses still drifting across his shoulders gave him any colour or movement.
The door opened again and Sir Andorl strode in, well dressed as befitted a nobleman and the prince's captain of arms, the man was tall but slim and of barely thirty years. His silver steel breastplate sat well over a richly embroidered tunic and trous above fine knee boots. His left hand was resting on the hilt of the long sword that rode at his left hip, the very image of a fighting man but stand him next to Sir Giles and that image would fade faster than the mist on a hot day.
"Ah captain. Sir Giles, I accept your son into my court, to be trained as squire and knight martial. My family acknowledges its debt and acts upon it."
Sir Giles nodded. "Good, I'll leave him in your care then." The knight nodded to the captain and spun on a boot heel then marched to the door and out, the surprised captain hurriedly stepping sideways. Sir Giles's servant hurried to catch up and suddenly the Prince and his captain were looking at each other and the twelve year old son of a famously lethal and harsh knight.
"Captain, this is Sir Giles's son, to be trained as a squire and knight. His father was very insistent that the lad be trained as a knight martial, in the way of the old fighting orders."
"Ah, yes my prince, I think the old weapons master is still alive, he trained knights for your father during and after the war. Though the lad seems, well, scrawny. It takes someone both strong and tough to fight in that old battle plate. Not that anyone sane would want to these days, what with alchemical fireoil weapons punching holes in metal armour at sixty paces."
The Captain turned toward the young man,
"Alright lad, this way, I'll get you settled into the squires quarters and... What is your name?"
The young man looked the captain in the eye and it was the captain who looked away from the others pale blue eyes first though the grown man couldn't say why. "Michael, my name is Michael."
"Well then Michael, this way." The captain reached out a hand to guide the youngster then flinched as his fingers brushed the curses trailing the boys shoulders. By the gods, who did this to you boy, for curses to linger like this, is there a witch or warlock in the city."
The boy shock his head. "People were cursing my father, curses sort of come to me and stay for a long time." The voice sounded weary, far beyond so few years, and the Captain stopped his fingers forming a ward against evil before anyone noticed.
"Well this way, I'll ask the Prince's Enchanter to visit you and remove them when he has some time. My prince." The Captains voice was neutral but his face betrayed his concern and he tried to send a message without words to the prince. Curses come to me and stay for a long time!
But the prince had deliberately turned away and was looking out of the frosted windows, so Captain Sir Andorl, commander of the Prince's military such as it was, turned and walked toward the back of the palace, leading a young lad called Michael to his first day as a squire.
The smoky trails of curses drifted along behind the lad, staying for a long time.
Year 684.
Long and dark, the sturdy wall glistened in the dawn light as patches of frost caught the just risen sun. Tall and strong, the wall was older than any man or dwarf could remember and few elves cared to remember stone walls so it's origins were long forgotten.
It had never fallen to an enemy, never been breached. Enemies had gone round it, over it, under it or walked in through the open gates, but never had the walls been broken by an attack. Tall as three tall men stood atop each other and wider than the arm reach of two men with long arm,s it should have been powerful, a sight to inspire all who saw it.
But it wasn't!
The walls of Aldoon'arn were tall and white and magnificent as suited the ancient capital of all the lands, the walls of Caer Seril were stone, black as a demons heart and fearsome enough that the very sight of them made brave men tremble in fear at the thought of attacking them. But here, the walls did neither, instead they managed to squat on the landscape, old and tired like the city beyond them. These were walls that...
"Join the guard they said, be a hero they said, defend the land they said. Never said nothing about freezing ya sack off on a bloody wall." The voice broke the silence, rough from years of drinking the swill the villages round here called beer and heavy with the twang of the farms.
"What did ya expect, silver armour and one of them magic swords?" The second voice was old, tired, just like the wall both men stood atop.
"Them fellas what did the recruiting had shiny armour and good steel blades, not like this shit." The first man stomped his feet against the cold that had long since sunk into his cheap leather boots and numbed his toes. He walked closer to the watch fire that burned in the middle of the gatehouse roof, a tattered and dirt stained cloak over a munitions grade breastplate and shoulder guards, a studded club at his belt and much patched and stained trousers finished his look.
"Should a stayed in the village, least we had food and slept at night, a few silvers a month fa freezing me nuts off all night, should a stayed in the village."
The older man sighed, every night in winter it was the same complaint. Which of the many gods had he offended so badly that he had been partnered with the worst moaner in the wall guard. Dammed fool, too stupid to know about the guard and signed up when someone offered him a silver shilling and a flash of nice armour.
Wall guard. City Guard, Palace guard. Lowest to highest and treated as such, Wall guard and city guard got munitions grade armour, stamped out by some great machine at the old royal armoury far to the south, made by the mountain folk and still working centuries later. Say what you will about the mountain folk, they knew their craft, they were greedy bastards who would have the gold fillings from your teeth if you smiled at them but they made good stuff.
Massive machine, slide in sheets of metal heated till they glowed, arms moved, hammers slammed down and out came breastplate and backplate, shoulder guards and helmet. Thousands upon thousands of sets of armour, every city used them, every city used the emblem of the kingdom, no one wanted to spend the money to get the symbol in the middle of the breast plate changed, not with the price the dwarves charged.
Thing was, over the years the lords of the armoury worked out they could use steel that was a little bit thinner, save a bit of coin on each set of armour. A few centuries later and the breastplate and shoulders would just about turn a knife blade or thrown rock, but the helmets, stamped out of such metal, nothing more than tin sheet to keep the wind off your ears.
Then there were the weapons. Wall guard got clubs and some spears. City guard got short swords and pole arms, the palace guard got the shiny swords and the hand me down silver steel armour, though most of the magic was just glamour's to look shiny and hide the rust.
Both men stood in silence, shoulders hunched against the winter cold, most of their attention on the warmth of the brazier. Only a madman would be riding to the city this early in the day in mid winter.
####
The madman's name was Sir Giles De Bourcey, Knight Captain of the Royal order of the Crimson Serpent, loyal servant of the crown, and lord and master of the manor of Bourcey by the river.
Well wrapped against the biting wind, a fine woollen cloak covered his armour and hung down to the flanks of his riding horse, good leather gloves protected his hands, gleaming leather boots guarded his feet and lower legs and a thick quilted hood under his helm kept out the cold that had left frost on the bare metal.
Behind him rode a servant by his dress, huddled in a plain cloak and astride a horse more suited to pulling a cart.
The third and last rider was no more than a youngster, astride a fine pony and hidden within the folds of a man's cloak that left nothing but the bottoms of their boots visible.
The hooves of the three mounts rang on the frozen clay of the road or struck sparks from the few remaining cobbles beneath the snow, money to maintain the northern road was shorter than funds to clean the moss and vines from the walls of the city but at least in winter it was hard frozen, the spring thaw and autumn rains turned the road into a river of mud and led to fights when the farmers who held the fields to either side objected to wagons or riders who preferred to trample someone else's crops than risk mud that was belly deep on a horse in places.
Up on the wall both men hear the sound, the clip clop of horses drifting on the icy wind.
"Riders." The younger man's voice rasped against the cold.
"Ya reckon."
The older man grunted and reluctantly stepped away from the warmth to look over the gatehouse wall at the three figures drawing closer.
"Declare ya selves strangers!" The old man raised his voice then shouted when the wind stole his first try. The leading figure on the fine horse lifted his right hand and threw aside his cloak to reveal a knightly surcoat, the right side some complex coat of arms, the left side the rearing red snake of one of the old royal orders.
"Open the gates you fools, I have no desire to parlay with halfwits in this cold."
"Yea well who are ya then?"
The knights face flushed. "Can you not see my arms, the coat of Du Bourcey, the sign of a Captain of the most honourable royal order of the crimson serpent. Open the gate before I have you whipped for your insolence you grunting peasants!"
"Sounds like a noble."
"Ya reckon!"
"OPEN THE GATE, SOME KNIGHT WANTS TA COME IN." The old man bellowed down at the pair of guards who were sheltering from the wind in the gatehouse itself and one poked his head out.
"WHAT BE THAT?"
"OPEN THE GATE, SOME KNIGHT WANTS TA COME IN."
"WHAT SORT O FOOL WOULD BE OUTSIDE THIS WEATHER."
The grinding of noble teeth didn't carry well and so went unheard by all save their owner. Still after only a few minutes the smaller of the two gates rumbled and groaned as the pulley lifted the locking bar and the un oiled hinges creaked open, money to maintain the northern gate being about as common as good coin to repair the wall.
The three riders nudged their mounts into motion and single file, walked through the small gate and into the city where the lack of wind had them pushing back hoods and opening cloaks suddenly too warm in the still air.
Now revealed to the world, the servant was an old man, most of his teeth lost in the past along with the hair atop his head, the youngster was a lad, no more than twelve and slim of build, delicate features and pale blue eyes beneath a mop of light brown hair. The knight lifted his visor to reveal a face as craggy as a small mountain range, scarred across his cheek and forehead from blows strong enough to have buckled his helm and with dark eyes that glared at the world with an eternal anger.
"What be ya business in the city strangers?" The two guards inside the gatehouse had argued briefly before the smaller one was pushed out into the chill to question the visitors.
"I have business at court and such business is none of your concern." The words you filthy peasant weren't spoken but everyone heard them anyway.
"Right enough, just askin, don't get many foolish enough ta be outside this time o year, ye be needin..." The guard fell silent as he noticed he was now talking to the youngster's back as the lad rode after the other two. "Reckon ya don't want any directions then." With a quick glance around the guard ducked hurriedly back into the gatehouse and slammed the door.
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The city of Lorn'arn and the castle of Caer Lorn were the northern most bastions of the kingdom of Spires, eleven great cities united under a single king after a series of bloody wars a generation ago. City and castle, the old prince of Lorn had sworn loyalty to the man who eventually became king, this happened early in the war though it changed sides no less than three times before returning to the control of men and women loyal to the pretender Prince Wardel. Who went on to become King Wardel the first, king of the eleven cities, master of the kingdom of spires. Unchallenged King, mostly because anyone else who wanted the throne was dead one way or another.
With the war over peace and prosperity followed and everyone had plenty of food, no one went poor and unicorns danced in the city parks. Well that's what the bards said. In the north the nobles were wealthy, nothing like a long civil war to generate a lot of demand for northern coal and iron. Till the war was over and some money grabbing bastards far to the east found new sources of iron that they could sell more cheaply to the rich southern cities.
Still there is always a good market for coal and those as made a fine profit from it lived high above the choking coal smoke that shortened the lives of every man, woman and child in the city.
The castle was a lump of stone, dropped into the middle of the city and left to glower at the houses around it. It's walls were as tall and strong as the city walls and it had half a score towers set around it where archers could rain down arrows on any attackers. But that didn't matter, the city had grown till buildings, houses and the like now reached to the walls and there were places where you could climb a building, walk across the roof and jump onto the castle wall with ease.
About its only real use to the prince of the city was as a wind break for the palace which sheltered behind it to the south, protected from the icy northern winds and open to the wane southern sun.
Inside the city there was some life to be seen, people on foot going here and there about their work, wagons hauling goods in barrels or hidden under canvas going to or from some warehouse or shop. The overnight snow sat thick on the roof tops but there had been enough traffic to turn it to slush on the streets.
Riders weren't common but the three were ignored until the knight at the front used his mount to push through any crowd that dared to block his progress. Loud voices and insults were stilled by his hand upon the ready blade at his left hip. A noble trading blows with a commoner would draw the guards like moths to a candle flame and no one had any doubt as to who the guards would side with. So people held their tongues and fists till the knight was past them and threw curses at his back.
Most of these curses were nothing but angry words, but enough of them carried the sting of real magic to be noticed and they all fell upon the young lad at the back of the small group. As they rode deeper into the city, circling around the walls of the castle and south to the palace that stood above the surrounding buildings the lad slumped lower in his saddle and suffered in silence.
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"Riders comin in." The call came from the small wooden gatehouse beside the metal rail fence that blocked entry to the palace from the front, more ornate than defensive, it would keep out a small crowd or drunks but any serious attack would smash it aside easily. But then the fence, like the palace, was for show. Anyone threatening the city would find the Prince tucked up safely in the heart of the castle rather than the far more luxurious but defenceless palace.
"HO, RIDERS. DECLARE YA... OPEN THE GATES, KNIGHT APPROACHIN!" The guard on watch had been looking at the figures and as the lead rider turned from the street to the gate his open cloak had revealed his surcoat and coat of arms.
Another guard cursed and stepped out of the wooden shack to grab the metal gate and drag it open against the snow that had settled over night. The first rider didn't even slow down and the servant and lad followed, the three mounts leaving dark hoof prints in the clean snow.
Alerted by the shouting outside a groom pulled open the door that granted entry to the stables that were tucked away to the left of the palace, half hidden by a line of trees and a low brick wall. "Over here ya lordship, plenty o room fa ya mounts over here." The groom waved just in case the knight failed to understand, some of the nobles rode to the palace door and expected the grooms to walk across the front of the palace and collect the horses, some rode to the stable door and dismounted there.
In the middle of winter with a hand span of fresh snow on the courtyard in front of the palace and with the temperature cold enough to freeze puddles if there had been any, this noble did the former.
Cursing under his breath the groom stepped out into the cold and trudged across the courtyard, his shoulders slumped and his hands clenched into fists against the cold. The knight ignored the pitiful sight.
The three riders dismounted, the servant took the reins of all three animals while the knight stomped his feet up the steps to the palace door which was swinging open as the guard inside decided he was close enough to let in the cold and not risk the princes wrath. The lad looked around then followed the knight up the steps, slipping on one step but catching himself with some grace and continuing up.
Inside the door the knight stopped in the entry hall and looked around then walked confidently through one of the doors into the main part of the palace, the young lad still following him, the guard started to close the door again then stopped as the servant rushed in, the groom having finally arrived to take the mounts.
The door slammed shut within inches of the servant who scurried to catch up with the knight, overtaking the lad as he did so, no one noticed the look the guard was directing at the lads back, or more accurately at the wisps of black smoke that drifted around the youngsters back and shoulders.
The servant stepped around the boy, hurriedly, flinching away from actual contact but clearly anxious to take his place just behind the knight. The lad just followed along, his shoulders hunched as if under a heavy load and his eyes almost downcast as if he were nervous. Almost!
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"My prince, a visitor." The man servant spoke loudly enough to be heard within the heavy curtains that sheltered the princes bed, his royal highness had been in his cups with friends until almost dawn and would not be rising till almost dusk, or a little sooner if whichever noble woman shared his bed today caught his attention.
"Bugger off!" The princes voice was a little slurred, somewhat angry and a touch muffled and was accompanied by a woman's giggles.
"Tell whoever it is to bugger off and come back later." More giggling. "Much later."
"It's Sir Giles De Bourcey my prince."
"Well then tell him politely to bugger off."
"Very well my prince, should I prepare a room for the knight and the young man?"
"What young man?"
"The knight is accompanied by a servant and a young man, a year or two shy of manhood, quiet lad, very fair."
"FUCK! Is it that year already. Fuck. Stop that, I need to get up."
A woman's voice was heard from within the curtained bed, saying that was the plan, then she shrieked as the sound of a hand slapping soft flesh came sneaking around the curtains.
"Set out my clothes, the formal ones and my surcoat. Send word to Sir Andorl to join me in the private meeting room as quickly as he can."
"Of course my prince." The manservant looked around the room, clothing was scattered on the chairs and across the floor, court shoes and ladies slippers, a man's shirt, trousers and jacket and a woman's dress and under garments, the servant picked everything up, he gathered the clothes and started to walk to the tall clothes cupboard then paused as a thought came to him and he checked the women's clothing.
"Too small, must be hers" After muttering to himself the manservant carefully folded the female clothing and placed it on a chair then took the rest to the cupboard and folded it away then collected a few items and laid them out on the closest chair. That done he scurried from the room and ignored the giggling that was coming from behind the curtains again.
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The palace was warm and comfortable as befitted the hall of the prince who ruled a city of coal, servants had collected the knights cloak and that of the youngster, the knight's servant was lurking by the door out of the way
Sir Giles had examined the pictures on the rooms walls, just as they had been when he was last here many years ago. He had inspected the bookcase with its collection of hand written and printed books, exactly the same as it had been when he was last here. Even the carpet underfoot was the same, though getting more than a little worn now. Not that the prince would be wasting money on carpets, not like his father, the old prince knew the value of appearance and standing, not like the fop that...
"Sir Giles, it's been too long." Prince Adrian Seric Tal'Lorn the nineteenth, lord commander of the order of the iron shield, champion of Pelvaris, Chosen of the gods etc etc strode into the room, his every step intended to impose his princely will on all those who saw him.
Jaded and decadent fop prince met battle hardened knight far older, much stronger and somewhat taller, and everyone present knew who was going to be imposing their will on whom.
"It's time, I call on you to honour your fathers debt."
"Welcome sir Giles, what brings... Ah yes, that, well, never let it be said. Ah, what exactly is it you want, more than happy to take your lad into service, give him a decent education, my father promised to see to your son's knighting and I am, of course, happy to honour such an agreement."
"I want him trained as a knight. A martial knight, fighting order."
The prince tried not to cough in surprise, then gave up and turned the cough into an exaggerated throat clearing.
"Ah sir Giles, the knights these days, they carry duelling swords, most would hurt themselves if they drew them. They practice music and poetry to impress the ladies of the court. No one trains martial knights, hasn't done since, well since the queen had that accident and the princess took the throne. The new queen has no love for the knightly orders, at least the fighting ones, besides we haven't had a war since the king united the kingdom, not a lot of call for men to train as knights martial.
Times move on Sir Giles, I'll see your lad trained and knighted to a courtly order but..."
"Martial order, full training."
"Sir Giles, you must understand, it's been twenty years since the new queen took the throne, there are few left who could do such training, the martial orders themselves are all but gone, just a few old men upholding old traditions. There is no use for knights trained to such skill and strength in close battle, not when some rifleman or pistoleer with a fireoil weapon can pierce all but the best armour far outside sword range. There isn't an armourer in the city who could produce master worked coat of plate armour and the price to enchant a lesser set of armour to protect against bullet and shot would be..."
"Martial order training, full training, as the orders trained back when the king took the throne, my son will be trained as a battle knight, no son of my will be a mincing court jester spouting poems."
The prince started to respond angrily then remembered who he was talking to, prince of a great city who commanded less than two hundred guards and thirty men at arms, and a knight who, while old, was well known for being a ruthless warrior who had killed that many enemies in a single battle. Twice!
"Very well, I will honour the word of my father's oath to you, you son will be given quarters here and trained to knighthood, I will see to finding weapons masters who can perform such training. But my father made no promise with regard to equipping such a knight."
"My family crypt has plenty of old armour, a blacksmith can change the size. Train him, fully, honour your family oath, a knight martial, full battle training. That is what your father promised and that is what I expect."
"Yes, of course. Training, nothing more. I can arrange that, room and shelter and training for your fine young... Ah. Sir Giles, your son is a little, how can I put this, he lacks your warriors stature. Will he, that is can he, will he be strong enough to..."
"He takes after his mother, the gods keep her in the next life. Two living daughters and two sons still born before he arrived, dotted on him she did, what with the birth leaving her unable to carry another. She passed a month ago, time to try and make a man of him."
"I'll have my master at arms do his best and hire such help as needed, the oath will be honoured."
"Good. Remember though, your fathers oath was to see to the training of my sons."
"But. Your wife, you said she passed, do you intend to take another?"
Sir Giles laughed, the sort of sound a man makes when he is mocking someone else. "Marry again, at my age, bugger that. There are a few servant girls at my manor who are lively enough, a couple of good looking wenches in the town. I'm not beyond having any more sons."
"Bastards, you intend to acknowledge them as your sons then?"
"If any of them are strong and healthy, yes I'll acknowledge them. I want good strong sons to inherit, if that means siring a few bastards, well so be it."
The prince glanced at the young man, expecting to see some anger on the boys face, after all, his father had as good as said the lad wasn't worthy to be his heir and would be replaced with some bastard born to a servant or commoner. But there was no anger, the lads face was still, without passion, only the wisps of curses still drifting across his shoulders gave him any colour or movement.
The door opened again and Sir Andorl strode in, well dressed as befitted a nobleman and the prince's captain of arms, the man was tall but slim and of barely thirty years. His silver steel breastplate sat well over a richly embroidered tunic and trous above fine knee boots. His left hand was resting on the hilt of the long sword that rode at his left hip, the very image of a fighting man but stand him next to Sir Giles and that image would fade faster than the mist on a hot day.
"Ah captain. Sir Giles, I accept your son into my court, to be trained as squire and knight martial. My family acknowledges its debt and acts upon it."
Sir Giles nodded. "Good, I'll leave him in your care then." The knight nodded to the captain and spun on a boot heel then marched to the door and out, the surprised captain hurriedly stepping sideways. Sir Giles's servant hurried to catch up and suddenly the Prince and his captain were looking at each other and the twelve year old son of a famously lethal and harsh knight.
"Captain, this is Sir Giles's son, to be trained as a squire and knight. His father was very insistent that the lad be trained as a knight martial, in the way of the old fighting orders."
"Ah, yes my prince, I think the old weapons master is still alive, he trained knights for your father during and after the war. Though the lad seems, well, scrawny. It takes someone both strong and tough to fight in that old battle plate. Not that anyone sane would want to these days, what with alchemical fireoil weapons punching holes in metal armour at sixty paces."
The Captain turned toward the young man,
"Alright lad, this way, I'll get you settled into the squires quarters and... What is your name?"
The young man looked the captain in the eye and it was the captain who looked away from the others pale blue eyes first though the grown man couldn't say why. "Michael, my name is Michael."
"Well then Michael, this way." The captain reached out a hand to guide the youngster then flinched as his fingers brushed the curses trailing the boys shoulders. By the gods, who did this to you boy, for curses to linger like this, is there a witch or warlock in the city."
The boy shock his head. "People were cursing my father, curses sort of come to me and stay for a long time." The voice sounded weary, far beyond so few years, and the Captain stopped his fingers forming a ward against evil before anyone noticed.
"Well this way, I'll ask the Prince's Enchanter to visit you and remove them when he has some time. My prince." The Captains voice was neutral but his face betrayed his concern and he tried to send a message without words to the prince. Curses come to me and stay for a long time!
But the prince had deliberately turned away and was looking out of the frosted windows, so Captain Sir Andorl, commander of the Prince's military such as it was, turned and walked toward the back of the palace, leading a young lad called Michael to his first day as a squire.
The smoky trails of curses drifted along behind the lad, staying for a long time.