Iron and Wood #Wattys2017

Chapter Two

Leather boots clacked on the hard stone floor of the dormitories beneath the Fortress.  A gloved hand was raised, rapping on a wooden door.  

The door swung open a foot, and Shal Sung's dark eyes peered out.  They traveled up and down the body of the human guard.  

"Yes?" she asked in a short voice, raising an eyebrow.

"Lord Avaldr has requested to see you," the guard said, just as curtly.  She could see a vein working in his jaw.

"Excuse me?" Shal demanded.

Her eyes fell to the bulge of a purse hidden under his sleeve. She bit her lip.

"He is in the first room of the West Wing on the third floor," the guard continued.

With that, he turned on his heel and left.  Shal watched him go.

The hallway was empty after his footsteps faded.  It was a long, narrow space lit with torches, the floors, walls and ceilings identical grey.  The torchlight was garishly orange, uncomfortable.  Shal shook herself out of her unease, pulling on her coat and boots and starting down the hall to the stairs.

The West Wing of the Fortress was as ornate and extravagant as the Cathedral, with ceiling-high windows overlooking the gardens and a deep wine-coloured rug laying on the floor. The sky outside was navy now, with a few stars appearing on the horizon.  Shal paused for a moment by the window, watching soft orange lights appear on the pathway below as the lamp lighters made their rounds.  

Her head turned as she looked down the hallway, hearing male voices mutter.  Someone was coming up the stairs.  Glancing over her shoulder, she hurried on her way.

There were two guards outside Avaldr's room. One of them was the one who had brought the message.  He nodded to her as they opened the doors.

It was customary for the Chosen to spend the last night before the ceremony apart from their families. Avaldr was alone in the front room of the apartment, pacing in front of the fireplace when Shal entered.

He was a tall man, with a receding straw-coloured hairline, dressed head to toe in mourning black. The rooms were comfortable- a roaring fire silhouetting him against the hearth, a rug on the stone floor, and wool covering the functional furniture. The curtains were closed, but Shal knew the windows were barred from the outside.

"Templar Sung." Avaldr turned to her as soon as the door shut. There was desperation in his voice that was purely human, the sort she'd hardened her heart to years ago.

She inclined her head slightly in affirmation.

"As soon as I heard your name, I knew I had to see you." Avaldr came over to her, wringing his hands. "I know you."

"I am an Imperial Templar, sir, you must have mistaken me for someone else," Shal replied quietly.

"I know who you are," the old man insisted in a whisper, even though the walls were two feet of solid stone. "I needed to speak to you alone."

Shal was unsure how to respond.

"Have we met, Lord Avaldr?"

"No. But I knew your father." Avaldr went over to a nearby end table.  The firelight shone through a bottle of deep red wine and two glasses. "He is a good man."

"Good enough to sell me to the Templars when he was short of coin."

Avaldr paused. "I'm sorry."

He uncorked the bottle, pouring red liquid into two glasses.

"Lok Sung sailed with my men on two trips between here and Dangyong. His navigation skills were excellent." Avaldr came back with the glasses. "I knew him very well-- or so I thought."