The Iron Hound

3.1 (Part Two)

Pulling the door shut behind her, she allowed her eyes to adjust to the much darker surroundings before moving inside any further. She felt the wood behind her shudder as the bolt was secured back into place.

Alcoves lined the feasting hall, housing carved willow sculptures of the five Caronist deities, each raising hands towards the skies. The entrance to the plateroom sat in another of the alcoves, aside from a long shutter that would allow the platebearers to serve food directly to the hall's attendants.

Peering out from the cubby, Rhon searched the hall, placing three separate attendants hovering away from the centre, from the tables and the landgraves. The servants blended into the feasting hall's decor, with their rich brown tunics, embellished with shades of deep gold and green. The whole hall looked as if it had been excavated from ages past, with its somber timber beams and slabs of dull grey stone arrayed in an attempt at ordered chaos.

Rhon felt no eyes directed her way, so slipped from the alcove and began the circuitous route around the outer reaches of the room. Three swinging chandeliers threw light onto the middle of the hall, illuminating hair and bald spots alike. Thankfully, the corners and crevices remained largely absent of the orange glow. She dipped into the space between the sculpture of Segeri and the bulky beam supporting one of the staircases that led to the colonnade above.

She raised her eyes upwards. The smooth timber pillars concealed much, but she was certain the Council or their kingsward had yet to arrive.

Placing her back against the wall, she took to watching the special few who had been invited to enjoy the festivities of the Froarsgate in the presence of the Council of Kings. Of the twoscore guests, she could easily place name to face for all but one or two, and those exceptions could be explained away as new fancies to be wowed and seduced.

The arching doors, slightly curved to match the odd shape of the citadel's east face, took four men to move. It was a task that was impossible to perform silently. The door's groaning rumble drowned out all chatter in the room, and heads turned to stare at the interruption.

From the sliver the brief movement had allowed, came three men, dressed in the traditional whites of the citadel's staff, a beacon in the gloom. In their hands they held lyre and bow, bullpipe, and flute. Once the doors were closed behind them, the drinking continued and conversation sprouted easily. Rhon tracked the musicians as they took to standing near the foot of the stairs. The ceremony was about to begin. She pressed her back against the wall, eyes returning once more to the colonnade.

It was a single note from the flute that initiated the Calling of the Braig. Smooth, sultry, quiet, it slithered amongst hushed voices and hoarse laughing. Soon, the note changed, and the harsher tones of the bullpipe joined the burgeoning melody. Movement on the colonnade focused Rhon's attention as the lyre began to pluck out its own tune.

There was a doorway beyond the pillars, Rhon knew, though it couldn't be seen from her position, and over the noise from the lower hall, the creak of old hinges had no hope of being heard. Between the timber posts, she glimpsed flashes of white and grey and blue. Tempering the impatience, she took a breath and continued to follow the agonisingly slow procession.

Once past the final pillar and onto the sweeping staircase, the first of the kingsward appeared. Upon their head was placed a mask of bone, a horse's skull, draped in fine, white silk, with rings of gold swinging from bands of blue and brown leather about the neck. The mask hid all of the kingsward's face and the costume of layered silk revealed very little as to their identity.

Five kingsward descended the stairs, each wearing identical braig costumes. The braig was a fierce but benevolent creature sent by the gods to cleanse the land. The first of the skulls turned to face her, eye sockets hollow, dark. She stared into the depths, suppressing a shudder. They proceeded around the outside of the feasting hall, much like she had earlier, watched in silence by the landgraves and their companions. Soft leather boots tapped the stone floor, adding a beat to the mellowing music.