Shadowmen

Chapter 13

13

By the time they reached Centre Square, it was teeming with countless nobles, making their way slowly toward the castle doors. A dozen or so of the castle-guard were taking names and referring to the gigantic guest list pinned on a notice board beside the oak doors.

Everyone was dressed in elaborate finery, the women wearing beautiful dresses of every colour, while the men were dressed in cloaks and tunics, most gilded with threaded designs and intricate patterns. Crests from the various families were emblazoned somewhere on many of the men’s clothing. Drake glanced down self-consciously at his own clothing. A wave of panic rose in him as he realised he was still wearing the dark-blue outfit he had been given on his first day of training.

But after a few seconds, he realised that the outfit was in fact quite smart. The clothes, though loosely fitted, were of the highest quality. Drake was also wearing his leather boots, which had been admired by many in the past.

‘Shame we turned up in the same outfit,’ he said to Scalworth, who was cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders, excited, ‘if we were girls there’d be war!’

Scalworth laughed. ‘Don’t worry about it, my father will insist on me changing as soon as he spots me. He’ll find me something from his quarters in the castle.’

‘You really are a spoilt brat, you know that?’ Drake gave him a shove, as they began to scale the steps toward the castle doors.

‘I’m well aware of it,’ muttered Scalworth. It always seemed to bother him when people called him spoilt or rich.

Two noblemen in front of them were talking animatedly about the harvest report. ‘Lord Ferdor raked in over five thousands crowns worth of produce so far this year. And it’s only early summer!’

‘Fantastic, is he intending upon extending his farm-holds?’

‘He’d be a fool not to!’

‘Indeed. Yes.’

And for some reason; Drake found himself confused by their humour, they started chuckling.

‘How, in any way, is that funny?’ Drake whispered to Scalworth, who shrugged.

‘They’re laughing at the idea of this Lord being a fool?’

‘Strange humour,’ muttered Drake.

Then he groaned. One of the guards taking names was the same one that had been on duty when they’d delivered the letter. He stood, leering at all the nobles, his helmet off, revealing a bad case of helmet hair.

‘Name?’ he said as Drake approached.

‘Drake Eveor.’

‘What’s that? Bum-wipe who?’

One of the other guards chuckled nervously and a few of the nobles turned to see if Drake would take the abuse.

If a guard insulted a noble, they could be severely punished, but it seemed this didn’t apply to the younger nobles.

‘Are you that stupid that you would insult a lord’s son?’

Drake demanded, his anger rising frighteningly quickly.

‘Take it easy, son, I’m only having a laugh,’ said the guard, though his smiled looked slightly forced now.

‘Careful, or you won’t be laughing for long. See what happens the next time you so much as talk in my direction.’ Drake’s face was inches from the man’s own as he finished the threat.

The man’s smile melted, replaced by distain crossed with embarrassment. Drake exhaled and ducked through the castle doors, ignoring the nobles stood watching.

‘You need some stout in you, my friend,’ said Scalworth as he caught up to him.

‘Hah! Bet they won’t even have any at this snob-fest.’

‘Hey, we’re snobs too!’ said Scalworth, laughing, ‘get used to it. And there should be stout here, don’t worry!’

A servant dressed in a white linen uniform flitted over to them.

‘Wine?’ he drawled, holding a silver platter under their noses.

Drake cocked an eyebrow at Scalworth.

‘Wine will have to do!’ declared Scalworth, taking two glasses and handing one to Drake.

Drake shook his head, stubbornly holding onto his mood. But he couldn’t help himself.

He took the glass and smirked. He looked around the hallway, and saw the nobles streaming through to the great hall and found himself grinning.

‘Party-time,’ mused Scalworth.