The page bowed and left quietly, closing the door behind him. "Shall I get the Strigiol Lord?" Rodan asked.
"No, let him wait a little longer." Dovan adjusted the pin on his tartan. "Have you any word on the baron's strength?"
"A hundred men, maybe more. It is hard to say. Most of his men are still onboard the ship and so far they are staying out of sight."
Dovan frowned, "I would have secured the town first. However a hundred men could not take this castle, nor could they even sufficiently besiege it. Within two days we could have three times as many soldiers. They are either overconfident or up to something."
"Perhaps you are right, and they underestimated the abilities of a rural county," said Rodan.
"A pleasant thought," replied Dovan, "but I do not think so. No, the Lord of Risca knows what he is doing." Thinking to himself, the count paused, then after gathering his thoughts Dovan had made his decision. "After you let the Strigiol Lord in, I want you to head for the garrison in town. If we have to move, I want to be able to move fast. If I give the order, I want you to secure the docks first. And no one is to get off the ship until you have word from me. A few dozen men should be able to keep them from landing."
"Yes, my Lord."
"And where are those sons of mine? They should be here."
"I'll find them," announced Kytherin. "I would rather be somewhere else, anywhere else." After giving Dovan a kiss, she crossed the room, her long white dress flowing behind her.
Dovan wished he could go with her. Then he called to her before she could leave, “Kytherin, while you’re looking for our children, find Elwin too. Tell him to meet Rodan in the stable. Rodan, I want you to take him to the barracks. Once there, I want you to hide the boy somewhere safe, and place a guard on him. I have a bad feeling about this.” “Yes, love.” The countess replied and slipped quietly out the door.
Slowly, Dovan walked over to his desk and sank into his chair. Taking a deep breath, he started shuffling through the stacks of papers. After looking at several different documents, he finally picked one out. The paper was large and slightly yellowed. It had something to do with watering rights, but that really did not matter.
"Okay, Rodan," he sighed, "let's get this over with."
While Rodan was gone, the count closed his deep-set eyes and tried to relax.
A few minutes later, Rodan returned. Holding the door open, he stepped off to one side.
Bowing, he said, "Lord, Count Dovan Murray of Reidh, I present his Lordship, Raytand Stanford, Baron of Risca."
Like a conquering hero, the baron entered the room. Eyeing the count, he slowly removed his black leather gloves, shoving them beneath his elaborately engraved silver belt. With a sour look on his face, Rodan pulled the door closed, leaving the two lords alone.
Looking over the top of the document, Dovan studied the baron. The baron was a big strong man in his mid to late thirties and carried himself like someone who demanded respect. His eyes were dark and cold, suggesting a cruel streak.
Swaggering arrogantly across the room, Raytand came up to the desk. Dovan had seen his type before. Stanford was the kind of man that tried to belittle others to make himself appear bigger, in truth, Stanford was a small man. Not in size, for he stood over six feet tall, but in spirit.
Ignoring the baron, Dovan pretended to be reading the document. The count, who was an excellent judge of character, knew he was not going to like this man.
The Baron of Risca was not accustomed to being kept waiting, and he quickly became impatient. Irritated, he finally asked, "Count Murray?"
"I'll be with you in a moment," replied Dovan, his eyes never leaving the document.
Lord Stanford's attire matched his personality. He wore a dark brown silk shirt with embroidered decorations that was woven in silver thread running along the sleeves. The embroidery was matched by several long silver chains that hung from his neck. Upon every finger was a large tasteless ring. Blazoned upon his breast was the green boar of the Stanford coat of arms. He wore no sword, but an empty sheath as extravagant as his dress hung at his side. Rodan would never have allowed the baron in with a weapon. Count Dovan took his time with the document. Let him wait. This is still my county... for the moment, at least.
"Count Murray!" snapped the baron, "If you please! I have waited long enough!"
The count looked up at the impatient Lord. Slowly, he put the document aside. "Yes, can
I help you?"
"I hope I have not called at an inconvenient time," replied the baron, regaining some his arrogant composure.
"Actually," Dovan waved a hand over his desk, "You can see, we are busy today, very busy. It would be more convenient if you could call another day. Tomorrow perhaps, or the next day." Or never.
The baron looked down his hawk-like nose. "I regret that's quite impossible. My business requires your immediate attention."
The count looked displeased, but not surprised. Dovan sat back into his chair, folding his arms across his chest. His deep blue eyes met Stanford's. "Then," said Dovan, sounding a little irritated, "I shall ask again. What can I do for you?"
"I am not here as your enemy. You need not be hostile."
"Hostile? Of course not, but one must wonder why such a distinguished lord as yourself would visit our small county."
"The war, as you may or may not know, is now over. Peace has been restored. Now order must be restored as well."
"To what war are you referring to? We get little news out here." Dovan, of course, knew of the war. As soon as the mountain passes were clear of snow, he would be marching himself off to war. He and his knights would lend what aid they could offer to their king and country, but for now, he wanted to see Raytand's reaction.
Raytand Stanford frowned. The thought of being stuck out here in a county isolated from the rest of the world obviously did not appeal to the Strigiol Lord. Dovan found that unsettling. It suggested that Raytand Stanford was planning to stay for awhile, at least longer than either one would like.
"There was a brief war between our two countries," explained Stanford, "but as I said, it is now over. The war was a misunderstanding that thankfully has been corrected. Cluain and Strigiol are now friends and allies. I am simply here to help restore order."
Doubtful, thought Dovan as he nervously tapped the desk, it sounds like our good King Lyon has buckled under to King Jerran,... just like him, too.
"As you can see, we have no disorder," pointed out Dovan. The count sounded much calmer than he truly was. "We were not even aware there was a war. Reidh is a quiet place. We have no need of your help." Noticing his tapping, Dovan nonchalantly put his left hand over his right.
"Perhaps," responded Stanford doubtfully. He turned and walked towards the glass doors. With his back to the count, the baron went on. "And perhaps not. We have reason to believe there is an enemy of the crown in your county... an enemy that poses a threat that could disrupt the peace that both our kingdoms have and continue to strive for. That is why I am here. I am to apprehend the individual and see that peace is maintained." The baron quickly spun around as if trying to catch the count's reaction. He found none. Despite what he was feeling, Dovan managed a lethargic expression.
That's it, thought Dovan, He knows Elwin is here, but how!? Then he said out loud, "Of course we shall help you locate this person. If on your way out, you would give what information you have to my Sergeant-at-Arms, we will then conduct a thorough investigation. Reidh will not rest until this threat has passed."
"I don't think you understand what I mean. I am here to take over." A sly smile crossed the baron's face. The smile reminded Dovan of a weasel in a chicken coop. Then, as if Stanford were grinding the count under his heels, he walked back to the desk. Looking down at the count, Raytand's smile broadened.
"Since when does a Strigiol Lord give orders in the Cluain Kingdom?" Dovan demanded.
"High King Jerran’s orders are all the authority I need!"
"High King Jerran?!
" Dovan leaned back into his chair. "What is this nonsense?"
"I hope I will not be forced to confine you to your private chambers," Stanford said bluntly.
"Confine me!" shouted Dovan, coming to his feet. "This is my castle! My land! You have no authority here!"
Once more, the baron's thin lips curled into a smile. "Very well, my good Lord," gloated Stanford as he pulled out a scroll. "I think this might answer all your questions."
Dovan snatched the scroll from Stanford's outstretched hand. Immediately, he recognized King Lyon's seal. As he broke the wax and unrolled the scroll, his hands shook slightly. As Dovan read, his eyes widened.
To our dear Lord, Dovan Murray, count of Reidh.
The kingdoms of Kambrya are once more blessed with a High King. King Jerran of Strigiol has graciously accepted the burden of High King. The land cries out in joy and praises the peace of the High King. We (the crown of Cluain) have gratefully and warmly embraced our sovereign, the High King Jerran. This is welcome news. Rejoice, my count, for peace has been restored!
The days of old are back. The High King has returned! You and your sons are to go to Gildas at your earliest convenience and swear fealty to the High King. We also request you give his Lordship, the Baron of Risca, every respect, and courtesy. Lord Stanford speaks for High King Jerran, and you are to obey his word as you would mine.
Long live the High King.
Signed,
Lyon de Brodie, King of Cluain.
Crumbling the scroll in his hand, Dovan dropped back into his seat.
After a long hesitation, Dovan composed himself. "What is it you wish, my ... my Lord?" he asked, nearly choking on the words. He knew he could have Raytand imprisoned, and he could probably do the same to his men still aboard the ship, but that would only be a short fix. When news got out, King de Brodie would label him an outlaw and traitor, and more soldiers would be sent, more than the count's small county could hope to deal with. No, Dovan would have to find a more subtle way of dealing with the baron, and to do that he would have to play along.
"It is not all that bad, my count. This need not be a permanent situation. The sooner I find my man, the sooner I leave. So you see, by helping me you'll be helping yourself. If somehow you could hand him over today, then I could be gone by morning. A pleasant prospect, no doubt."
No doubt, thought Dovan, but unlikely. You will get no help from me. Do you really think I would betray Elwin just to have my county back? Fool!
"What is it you want from me?" Dovan asked out loud.
"Good," replied the baron. "Shall we cooperate then?"
"It seems I have little choice."
"Ah yes, that is true," said the baron as he adjusted one of his rings. Then he looked straight at the count. "Let us start with the traitor Prince of Ceredigion. Where is he?" Dovan raised both his eyebrows in what he hoped was a look of surprise. "Prince Elwin here? What makes you think a prince would be here in Reidh?"
"Cooperation, remember?" said the baron patronizingly. "I know he is here. How I know does not matter. What I want to know is where he is."
"I have no idea where the Prince is," lied Dovan. Actually, it was not truly a lie. He did not know “exactly” where the Prince was.
Suddenly and unexpectedly, Raytand Stanford went into a rage. The veins in his neck bulged and pulsed. Violently, he cleared the desk with a sweep of his arm. Papers went flying across the room. Placing his hands flat upon the desk, he leaned forward. His face was only inches from Dovan's.
"Do not play games with me!" threatened the baron.
Trying to stay calm, Dovan swallowed his anger and replied, "I told you, I do not know."
"WHERE IS HE?!!"
Dovan frowned. "Do you doubt my word?"
"Yes, I do! You are a liar and we both know it!" Stanford's eyes were hard and cruel. Then just as unexpectedly as his sudden rage, his eyes softened, and the baron stood back up.
Surprised by the baron's sudden mood change, Dovan stared silently, not knowing what to say. He's quite mad.
"Yes, you are lying, but I expected no less," the Baron said, becoming so calm it was eerie. "That is where the challenge lies, does it not? And in the end, it will not matter. I will find and take what I want."
"You cannot find what is not here."
"Oh, he is here, all right," smiled Stanford, "We both know that. But for now, all I need is your obedience."
“You shall have it."
"Of course, I will. I demand nothing less," declared Stanford, "and you will begin by ordering your men to obey my soldiers. I would hate to have a conflict."
"You brought soldiers?" Again Dovan already knew about the soldiers.
"Yes, and it was a wise choice on my part. I doubt if your men would be any more helpful than you have been."
Dovan shrugged as if it did not matter. "You, of course, may do as you like, but I have held nothing from you. I can only tell you what I know. Search the castle if you like."
Stanford gave him a doubtful look and laughed. "You cannot fool me, my count! I see right through you!"
"If there is nothing more," said Dovan, coming to his feet, "I should get word to my men that you are in charge and to obey your soldiers. As you said, we do not want a conflict. Then I will have the east wing prepared for your stay."
"Yes, that will do."
With a smirk, Raytand added, "Oh, there is one other thing. Have this study cleaned out by tonight; I will be needing it."
Dovan bit his lip. Using the pain to control his anger, he answered with a stiff nod of his head and hurried out of the room.
CHAPTER THREE
Taking advantage of the warm day, Elwin and Pallas decided to walk into town. It was only a few miles from the Keep to Port Murray, and they figured it would only take a couple of hours.
“I don’t want to get muddy,” said Elwin, looking at the road that lay before him. The warm sunny day had melted much of the snow, turning the dirt into mud.
Pallas pointed to the grassy edge of the road. "If we walk along the edge, we will be all right."
But Pallas was wrong. They had only gone a short distance when a wagon headed for the Keep approached. Heavily loaded with barrels, the wagon kicked up a thick muddy spray.
Realizing what was about to happen, Elwin shouted, “Watch out!”
Elwin’s warning came too late. The passing wagon showered them with a wave of muddy water. Elwin and Pallas looked down at their soiled clothes and laughed. From head to toe, they were covered in mud. From a glance, they looked like a pair of vagabonds.
Laughing, the two youths had almost forgotten why they were headed into town. Elwin and Pallas were on their way to the Dryrot Inn. At the inn, they figured on finding one of the sailors that had arrived aboard the cargo ship. The Dryrot was a gathering place for fishermen and sailors alike. It would not be too hard for the boys to discover when the ship was going to sail. Once Elwin determined when the ship was to way-anchor, he planned to become a stowaway and began his journey home.
Ignorant of what was happening back in the castle, and in high spirits, Elwin and Pallas had started off towards town, but their mood was now quickly changing. Their short walk to town was taking much longer than they had originally thought. The wet, muddy conditions were slowing down their progress, and the two-hour stroll was already into its third hour. As the sun sank over the horizon, the first day of Spring was coming to an end, and the temperature began to fall. To top it off, clouds rolled in over the mountains, bringing rain. Weather in Reidh often changed quickly. Overhead, a thunderbolt cracked releasing the rains that now poured down. Muddy, wet and cold, they pulled their hoods tightly over their heads and struggled on.
"We should have ridden into town after all," Pallas murmured beneath his hood. "This rain will be changing to snow before long." As if to make his point, Pallas pointed up at the darkening sky.
"Wonderful!" shivered Elwin. He began to walk faster. Elwin knew that if Pallas said it was going to snow, i
t would, and the sooner he was in a warm, dry place the happier he would be.
The rain made a constant slapping sound as the large drops hit the already-drenched earth. Miserable and soaked to the skin, Pallas and Elwin walked in silence. Both were too cold and tired to hold a conversation.
Hearing something, Elwin lifted his head. He glanced over his shoulder. “There is a rider coming,” he announced loud enough for Pallas to hear over the rain.
Pallas stopped. “Coming from the Keep,” he observed, looking back the way they had come. “And he is in a hurry, too.”
Kicking up mud, the horse and rider were rapidly approaching. Already soaked to the skin, Elwin and Pallas did not try to move out of the way. It did not seem possible that they could get any wetter.
Without slowing down, the horse and rider raced past.
"Hey, that was Lord Rodan!" Pallas exclaimed. "I wonder where he is going in such a hurry." “Someplace warm, no doubt,” returned Elwin between chattering teeth.
Pallas tried to laugh, but he was too cold. “I am surprised he did not recognize us.”
Elwin smiled weakly from the dark shadows of his brown and muddy hood. "Dressed like this," he pointed to their muddy-looking clothing, "who would?"
Pallas nodded in silent agreement. But why was he in such a hurry? Pallas had a strange sensation that something was not right in town. “We better hurry, if we are going to beat the snow.”
By the time they reached the outskirts of town, night had taken a firm hold over the countryside. The streets of Port Murray were deserted and quiet. The weather seemed to put a damper on the activity. The first ship of the year was securely anchored in the harbor. Typically, the first ship of the year caused excitement. The town should have been alive with festivities and merrymaking, but on this night the citizens of Port Murray seemed to be more concerned with staying warm.
“Something is wrong,” whispered Pallas. His feelings becoming stronger with every passing moment.
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