The Sword of Stone - Sworn Honours

Chapter 3: The Crow Lord

The house guards escorted them into the lord's hall, where a hearth was alight, crackling gently as the flames danced along each log. Lucan stood distantly from it, trying to keep cool as his brow sweated furiously. Rolan saw a dining table at the centre, made of thick northern oak, golden with black grain intermingled. 

The guard bowed. 'The baron should be here shortly, sir,' he bid before leaving.

Lucan tried to move over to the window, desperate for cold air, yet as he did, he bumped into a pedestal, a golden horn placed atop it. It fell on the ground and made a loud bang. Lucan grabbed it frantically and held the pedestal with dear life; he put the horn back onto it and turned anxiously to Rolan, who was watching with an unamused expression.

The doors into the hall opened, and the baron entered. He was short, young, barely nine years older than Lucan, with short brown hair and gentle blue eyes. He wore an amber-coloured jerkin embroidered with silky grey crows. 

'Good paladin, it is a holy honour for you to visit our little corner of the world,' the young baron greeted with humility, giving a stiff bow to the knight. 'You must forgive me for the lack of a proper welcome. My land's are small, yet troublesome.' The lord sniffed the air, his face twisting with disgust. 'I do hope the road wasn't too hard for you.'

'No trouble at all, my lord,' Rolan replied courteously. 'Your lands are beautiful and peaceful. Something many lords would be envious of.' Rolan glanced over at Lucan, who was in disbelief. 'Now, if we may---'

'Forgive me again, but I must ask that we speak of this later. Perhaps over supper?' the lord said impatiently. Rolan didn't object and nodded. 'I shall have servants prepare you rooms...' his face twisted again, though he tried to hide it. 'Perhaps a bath as well?' 

Rolan ignored this lord's rudeness and said, 'As you wish, my lord.'

The baron left, leaving Rolan and Lucan with the servants who escorted them to their quarters. Once there, with the aid of Lucan, Rolan removed his armour, gave his squire his sword and ordered him to go to the blacksmith for sharpening. Afterwards, Rolan went to the baths, where he washed the journey grime off, cleaned his nails and pits, and had his beard trimmed by a maid. Once he had cleaned himself, he left, finding Lucan back in their quarters, finishing up the last of the polishing of his armour. 

'You finished your duties?'

'Yes sir,' he took Rolan's sword and pricked the tip of his finger on the tip, showing the sharpness. 

'Right, go on then, get yourself cleaned up. Can't go to a barons supper smelling like a horse,' he went over, helped the lad up, and pushed him out the door. Rolan grabbed his sword and looked at the blade, gleaming polish on the metal, Lucan's work. He rested himself up as he waited for Lucan to freshen up.

Upon his return, the knight and the squire were then escorted back to the lord's hall, where they found the baron already seated, waiting patiently. Amongst him was a man dressed in the priest robes, yet the robes were silky rather than the woolly robes of the priest in the hamlet, and he wore a small silver crown with a golden imprinted hand resting at the front. His green eyes threw a daggered look toward him, yet he smiled all the same. This man was far less warming than that of the other priest.

'Good sir!' the baron said, standing to bow. 'My courtesies were forgotten earlier. Please allow me to introduce myself properly. I am lord Simon Greycrow of the barony of Amberfall.' 

'My lord,' Rolan bowed. 'I am sir Rolan Coytak of the holy order of Farikesh. Thank you for the welcome you have provided me and my squire.' Rolan then turned his eyes to Lucan, who had forgotten himself before the lord. Rolan coughed slightly to grab his attention.

Lucan realized and quickly said, 'My lord. I-I, I thank you, m-my lord. For the hospitality.' He looked at Rolan, wondering if he had done that right. Rolan gave an internal sigh.

'Please, seat yourself, rest up and eat,' the baron said with a lax hand gesture. 

Rolan and Lucan did so, and not long after, servants rolled in with trays of food, delivering them onto the table. Trenchers laid out across the table, the meats still sizzling and steam rising over the air. Venison marinated in hot gravy, suckling pig, swan pies, and mulled wine to drink. All the sweet, meaty smells in the air made Lucan's eyes burst with excitement and mouth-watering. Rolan had seen better from other wealthier lords and regions yet took it humbly. The baron dug in, and everyone else joined him.

'So tell us, good sir, what brings you here?' the baron asked, chewing on a challenging piece of meat. 

'Dark rumours in your lands, my lord. Dark magic is about, or at least that is the word going around the capital,' Rolan said, washing down a dry piece of meat with wine.

The baron glanced over to his priest, who was looking sceptically over at Rolan with those daggers for eyes. 'I have heard rumours about it too,' the high priest said hushedly, guarding something. 'Yet we cannot say for certain that they are just that. The Redwood forest is large and dense, with communities beyond our reach. I have heard it said that the forest is godless the deeper one goes.'

'Godless, how?' Lucan asked, his mouth full. Rolan nudged him with his knee and glared quietly.

'Oh, in ways I couldn't know, lad, in ways most men dare not know. The little folk believe these lands are cursed by the old gods of the red elves who lived here before man came and slaughtered them all.'

'Superstitious nonsense, I'm sure. Isn't that right, good sir?' Simon asked queerly. He sounded like he was guarding something, too. Yet Rolan didn't know, nor care what.

'Everywhere believes they have accursed lands. Commoners blame their troubles on ancient woes rather than poor harvest or disease. Yet, it isn't my place nor my orders to judge them, but rather to listen and see if those words have any truth.' Rolan saw that making the priest angry, though he tried to hide it.

'Well, I do hope your task here is completed soon,' the priest said, sincere, yet not in the way he wanted Rolan to believe. 

Why is he being so hostile towards me? He wondered, chewing on a strip of pork. 

'Let's move on from this dry conversation of such dark and dreary tales. Tell us, good paladin. What is the word for the capital? Does the throne sit well with our new queen?' The baron asked, shifting the conversation quickly.

Rolan shrugged. 'I could not say. I was only there last time to collect this one,' he motioned to Lucan, who was too busy drinking a cup of wine to pay attention. 

'Ah yes, let us raise a toast to her then. To queen Evelyn Rexagaul, may the father above give her strength,' said the baron. 'And may she be accepted by Farikesh to bear the crown in his name.'

'Here here,' Lucan said, drinking the wine. Rolan saw his face flushing after the second cup, and when a servant went to refill it, Rolan put a hand over the cup and grabbed it, pulling it away from him. 

Rolan looked at them both, and these two men seemed rather distasteful of the paladin's visit. Whatever for? Rolan couldn't say. He told himself: whatever they hide, so long as it is not magic, it is none of my concern.

As the feast ended and Rolan began carrying Lucan off to his quarters, he was stopped by the baron, who had an intrigued look about him. 'Perhaps I can help you, good sir. I have heard rumours myself, yet these are from men I trust. Some bandits lurk around and in the ruins of Tem, and it is whispered that they conceal a sorcerer or some sort.'

Rolan smiled politely, bowed slightly, and said, 'My lord, you're too kind. I give thanks for the meal and this information. If there is anything I could do for you, I would gladly hear it.'

'Put in a good word for me at the capital, preferably in the queen's ear,' he smiled a serpent smirk.

'Gladly,' Rolan lied.