The succession is in doubt. The challenge is announced. The adventure begins.
Lorcan embarks on a quest with his servant Cokelli and two tiny gnomes to slay the dragon Fierelled and win the crown of Heftreeke. When a chance encounter with a witch le...
A fanfare erupted from within the high curtain walls of the castle at Naceaster as the riders entered the barbican gateway. The westering sun glinted off the tips of the spears and halberds of the castle guards and a brisk breeze blew, fluttering the flags that lined the tops of the walls.
The pack-laden man on the shaggy dun gelding scratched his balding head. "That's not for you, Lorcan." He straightened his grey woollen mantle as the sound of the trumpets faded.
"Shut up, Cokelli," said Lorcan, tossing his wavy black hair. He sat up straighter on his noble chestnut stallion as some curious maidens approached them. He grinned, his jewelled silver brooch pulling his green velvet cloak downwards at his neck. He shrugged a little, which opened it up to show off his broad, muscular chest and shoulders, and smirked as the maidens giggled and blushed, nudging each other as he rode past with a wink and a smile.
A guard approached them as they dismounted. "This way," he said, jerking his head toward the stables. "You'll have to wait to be presented to the king. You're not the only one who wants to slay the dragon."
At the entrance to the stables, a clerk sat at a desk. He looked up when they had almost reached him. "May I take your names, please?"
"Lorcan son of Belclam, chieftain of Clan Arkela at Dun Daingen in Soduane, and this is my thrall Cokelli."
"Are there any others in your party?" the clerk asked with a slight smile.
Lorcan shook his head. "No."
"We can give you a small room of your own. May I take your banner?"
Cokelli reached into one of the saddlebags and pulled out a roll of green cloth.
The clerk nodded.
Cokelli put it on the clerk's desk while he wrote their names down.
Servants came to take their horses, then one of them led Lorcan and Cokelli to a tall stone building, up the stairs, and into a room with a small square window. Two sleeping pallets made of sacks stuffed with straw lay on the floor, and there was a tall rough waist-high wooden box by the window. The servant put the saddlebags down and left with a bow.
Lorcan and Cokelli changed out of their travel-stained clothes, went down the stone stairway into the bailey, and followed the throng of noblemen, knights, lords and ladies into the inner courtyard, where the King and Queen sat on high-backed thrones on a covered balcony attached to the keep, far above the crowd. Guards in shining armour surrounded them, their spears at rest with their butts on the ground, but ready to use if necessary. A set of steps on either side allowed people to approach the thrones, then go down on the other side. A large crowd had gathered, each person craning to see what was happening as knights took their places in a line in front of the balcony.
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Flags adorned with heraldic devices fluttered from poles on the ramparts. Lorcan strained to see his, a red mailed hand holding a sword upright with four white lilies on a field of green. He spotted it somewhere near the back between a boar's head on sable and a golden eagle on blue. The guards had their backs to him; he could see them looking over the tops of the walls, the failing sunlight glinting off their armour and spear tips.
