A Shade of Paradise

Chapter 3: Chance Encounters

Adriel's dappled mare was the only pair of hooves plodding along the sodden, earthen roads in this neighborhood. He had followed the steep incline the city had been built upon, gradually descending the cobblestone streets, which leveled out near the base of the Eastern gatehouse. The transition from stone paved avenues to wagon rutted dirt roads heralded the entry point to poorest part of Valonost, The flatlands.

Not even mapped as a sector of the city, the flat topography of the area, being at the base of the cliff face that the city walls scaled, became the general dumping ground of the refuse tossed onto the city streets, only to run off and collect in this forsaken pit of congealed, dark mud.

When did things get so bad? Adriel wondered, eyeing the local peasants who kept sharpened, rusted farming implements, even brittle short swords close to them as he passed by. People seemed to move more slowly here, as if the bleakness of their lot had leached into their bones. But it's not despair; they've lived too long like this to register the fact that there might even be a better life.

He turned back to his encounter with Darragh. His message had bothered him profoundly, for it was evident that the young blade master was part of a far larger picture, one that could only involve the younger nobility. What would that gain him though?

The younger lords were mostly out of the city, waging war on the S'ahuel raiders to the west, leaving court politics to the older generation. Was it possible that Darragh had forged other connections? Why was he still in the city, for that matter?

Adriel frowned. The harder he looked, more irregularities sprang up. Darragh had one of the largest retinues in the city and every man was needed to scale the walls of S'ahuel strongholds, where the raiders took refuge after ambushing Valonost supply lines to the north. Valonost had a large, healthy garrison and Adriel found it very hard to believe that Darragh would decline the opportunity to lead the vanguard of a host intent on spilling S'ahuel blood. It doesn't add up. Then again, he thought dryly giving an ironic, decidedly bitter smile, little does in this court.

Men in stiff black and brown jackets, caked in grime and stained with what Adriel hoped yet hardly belived to be sweat, skulked around the shadows cast by wooden tanneries and apothecaries, looking about and casting dark glances at the people walking by. Adriel relaxed his grip on the reins, remembering that his purse was still sown to the inside of his glove; he wasn't in the den of thieves, not yet anyway.

A group of men at arms walked down the battlements, following a winding stone staircase of massive stone slabs. Dull mail gleamed weakly in the sunlight, as their conical helms reflected off one another. White surcoats, dusty from early morning traders and merchants dragged across the steps as they moved towards Adriel. The garrison made their soldiers wear white as a statement of neutrality; they were seperate from the recruited, sworn knights and men at arms of the houses and they displayed it everywhere they went, keeping the peace and standing atop the cold, distant battlements for that moment that would finally test their mettle.

And that Adriel thought grimly, is the moment we finally find out if the city truly protects us.

"Good morrow to you my good Lord Adriel!" a junior officer shouted from the battlements.

Adriel smiled, a very junior one indeed.

" Hello Lloyd, " Adriel bellowed back, "How are the battlements today?"

"As cold as the devil's arse, and as lonely too, I reckon. " Lloyd replied with a smile.

The men on the ground began to pull back the gears that barred the city gate and controled the grim, iron portcullis.