After Rightshaw the road again met the border of a forest, where travelers likely poached from whichever lord held claim. Adria could soon see that there was some sort of disturbance ahead — dust rising above the horizon, the sounds of work, of metal and stone, and sun glistening off of steel. Finally, black and violet standards waving in the wind and sunlight.
Knights of Darkfire, Adria realized, wondering, How many? An army?
She reined in a moment just off of the road to consider.
There was certainly more traffic on the road than before, and Adria could soon see it was diverted a little to the east, onto a fresh dirt path now muddy and already half-blocked by merchant carts glutted in the mud, where Adria could almost hear the curses of the wagon master as his guards and servants worked to lever and push the vehicles back onto safe purchase.
Adria looked straight ahead and now saw the source of the dust itself. “They’re fixing the road,” she realized. For a moment, she felt a sense of satisfaction, seeing that the Knights were being put to good use, remaking the old stone road which had been laid down by a Somanan army some hundred years before.
Then she remembered the purpose to which the Somanans had put the road, and the likely purpose for its current repair. They cared far more for moving armies than trade caravans. Her father had ordered similar repairs, she remembered, when she had been only a child. He had even built the first northern road to the Violet West.
Each coin I give paves the way for a swifter victory, Adria shook her head sadly. This will indeed be a banner year for the Knights of Darkfire, and I will not be standing among their enemies.
Adria pulled her palfrey away to the right, a little into the forest itself, preferring wolves and poachers to either Knights or merchants.
It was slower going, to be sure, but the underbrush was not too thick, and Adria had a good sense of how to avoid the brambles and inclines most unwelcome to her horse. Before long, Adria again had the sense she was being watched, even as she welcomed the familiarity of the environment.
Still following? Fleeting?
“What do you sense, girl?” Adria asked the palfrey, whose name she had not been given. Adria stroked her mane a little, and before long the sounds of stone and men and metal from the road grew louder as they neared the long procession of Knights with their squires, attendants, and baggage.
Adria had to admire the methodical procession as she passed. Spotters on horse at the fore made a note of how many upcoming flagstones were broken or missing, and the messages were passed to alternate teams in the middle of the column, who delivered stone tiles to a steady rotation of workers who set them in place.
Behind these teams, another team used weighted rods and dull plows to tamp down the flagstones and then even the entire road across its breadth. Behind the baggage, younger workers with cloth masks swept the tiles of dust. It was all done very slowly, but very steadily, and fully half the retinue walked at a relaxed pace, ate, or rode upon the baggage carts while the others worked alternately.
They will likely go the entire day like this, only stopping to camp, Adria marveled. An efficiency learned from the Somanan legions.
Once out of arrow range and Knightly notice, Adria and her palfrey rejoined the road, where fresh flagstones proved easier passage, despite their likely ill use.
When she at last neared Windberth, Adria found that the repaving of the King’s Road was not the limit of their recent projects. Where the Old North Road which spanned the breadth of Heiland joined the King’s Road from the south, a large gatehouse had been raised. At each of the four quarters, Knights checked the contents of packs and wagons, interviewed travelers, and of course collected the requisite tolls.
From the ramparts above, bowmen watched over the countryside for any who would evade the gatehouse in favor of a cheaper path through the pine-clad foothills. A Banner of Knights also patrolled the stretch of road leading to the tower, no doubt for the same purpose, as they attended the tree line foremost, and paid little attention to Adria or other travelers on the road.
Adria rested for awhile near the gatehouse, dismounting and tethering her mount to a nearby hitching post. She considered the gatehouse and the switchbacks beyond, wending slowly up the mountain to the city, still high and far in the distance. The crossroads were filled with travelers, and a number of tents and stalls had sprouted up alongside the roads around them, though no permanent settlement had been created, apart from the Knight outpost and a shrine of the Sisterhood with a typical pool, fountain, and cloaked faceless figure.
Here visitors prayed to the nameless god and The-One-Who-Comes. For a few copper coins, they were allowed to drink from the spring or wash their hands or face from the pool below.
It is cold enough that they should worry more for frostbite than for any blessing the ritual clearing of the eyes might provide, Adria frowned.
Despite her need for haste, Adria could not help but watch the passers-by for awhile. Pack mules, hand carts, oxen or horse wagons... lone wanderers, families, and caravans... Aeman, Somanan, and even Jeruscan — many passed this way in a very short time.
Far more travelers than three years before, Adria remembered. It seems the engines of war and of economy keep a lock-step, and this is truly the nexus of my father’s Heiland.
From the west, lumber, stone and marble, gemstones and precious minerals, iron and steel all made their way down from the Greyward Mountains of the Erentian Northern Divide, or from the Violet West beyond.
From the east came fish and imports from the seaward cities — wool brought from the islands of the Northlands, and wine, olives, and grain from Somana.
The southern road brought grain and hides and meat from the heartland, honey and herbs from the temperate forests of the center and south not held by Aesidhe.
In the stalls, merchants from Windberth and its surroundings cried to traders waiting to enter the gates, hoping to have first pick of their goods, offering to save them a toll. As likely as not, these hawkers turned around and sold the same goods to those exiting the gates, as well. Just another toll, in its own way.
It will only be a matter of time before this becomes its own village, and the bounds of Windberth grow beyond and below its stony shelf, Adria thought. I wonder why Father or Taber has not already signed a charter?
When there was at last a little lull, Adria untied her palfrey and entered the line leading to the southern gate, preparing herself for a more detailed inquiry than she had received thus far.
Although watching the spectacle had been one thing, being within the mob was another, but she tried to calm herself as she neared the toll keep.
I am simply unused to being in such a crowd of strangers, she told herself. If I am not anxious, neither will the guards be. Strange dress or no, I have nothing to hide… though I would prefer to return undiscovered, instead of in the accompaniment of Knights, regardless of my status.
And she felt more defiant with each step, regretting more and more the coin she had given at each toll, and she determined not to pay another farthing. And though she grew more anxious the closer she came to the tower, with its violet flags and watchful archers, her will grew even more.
A full banner of Knights stood guard at the south gate alone, turning a surprising number of prospective visitors away, forgiving neither too little coin nor their own suspicions. In fact, it appeared that the Knights took the names and origins of each traveler and wrote it down on parchment, a log of all who crossed the intersection. The only travelers let through with little inquiry seemed to have some sort of official documentation, a scroll the Knight officiant unrolled and nodded summarily.
They’re teaching the Knights to read? Adria wondered. But then it was obvious that they approached their Sergeant when there was any question of propriety. The Knights themselves likely only recognized the seals.
She let a few people go ahead
of her while she considered her path.
Without her horse and were it after dark, she had full confidence she could make it into the forest and around the other side without drawing notice, but she neither wished to delay nor to abandon the palfrey. It’s worth to the Marbury family would be great, and she would not repay their kindness with sacrifice unless no other option presented.
She felt certain she could steal someone’s pass. Though careful with their coin, plenty of merchants seemed less watchful of their papers. But again, to bring misfortune to another for fear of her own was not a favorite choice.
Perhaps I can talk my way through…
When at last Adria was beckoned forward, her palfrey in tow, she had gathered her confidence and her wit, and in the end continued her original lie.
“I have neither papers nor coin, Brother Knight,” Adria said boldly, before the Knight who would challenge her could even speak. The man blinked once, smiling a little at her defiance. But instead of turning her away or taking offense, he lifted his spear slowly, and with the butt of its shaft, gently turned the hem of her cloak aside, revealing the coin purse at her belt, beside her blade. He tapped it with the iron of his spear, and the contents within made an unmistakable sound. Adria did not flinch, but simply held his gaze, crossing her arms.
“Good Brother,” and Adria raised her hand to her mouth and chin, giving a Sister’s greeting to a lesser Knight. “I am afraid I do not quite look the way you would expect of me. I am, I now believe, among the last of the Sister-Journeywomen to the Southern Wild. I have been too long on this road and on far wilder paths before. I would seek the counsel of the Matriarch and the comfort of the Temple before dark.”
The Knight frowned then, shaking his head as he lowered his spear, saluted, then beckoned over his shoulder to the Brother Sergeant who stood in the shadows of the gateway arch.
The violet plume of the Sergeant’s helm was more decorated than the rest, and in the Somanan style — a line from front to back, rather than the simple central bloom of the others. This seemed to be a recent innovation, something they had added since Adria left. Similarly, a row of leather flanges, studded with gold buttons, hung from one shoulder.
Otherwise, he dressed similarly to the other Knights. His leathers were all black, his armor polished to a high silver sheen, and wherever cloth shone, it bore her father’s violet, embroidered here and there with his silver hexangle.
Adria had of course been taking in the details of her surroundings as she had approached, noting obstacles and enemies, plotting her method of escape if necessary. It was simple habit by now.
As the sergeant neared, Adria turned to her palfrey and smiled a little, apologetically. I am sorry if I am unable to return you... but I wish you a good fate if I cannot.
The Sergeant was younger than she might have expected, and after saluting the Knight attending Adria he nodded to her respectfully, probably in polite response to her gender, but then his eyes examined her rather more than she might have liked, though about as much as she expected.
Adria watched his expression change, as few would be likely to notice. He noted the particulars of her strangeness quickly, and the things which set her apart even beyond her obvious appearance — she could tell the subtle pauses where his eyes rested.
“Good day, Brother Sergeant,” she nodded.
He repeated his earlier nod, and then asked, without any motion or pretense of formality, “What is your name, Lady?”
Her vision widened to encompass the other ten knights within range, her hand ready to cross the space to her blade, though she knew she remained placid on the surface. Without blinking, and without expression, she answered.
“I am Sister Esyllt. Stand aside, Brother Sergeant, so that I may pass.”
Without the slightest bit of surprise, and with only a moment’s further hesitation, he nodded once more and then carefully, obviously, reached to the pouch on his belt. He produced a parcel of parchment, handing it to her. She took it, and the Sergeant waved her inside without another word.
Adria marked his face for remembrance, and she whispered a quick Aesidhe prayer, thankful that she had not needed to flee — or to take his life.
The noise of men and animals grew horribly loud within the tower, and the stench with it. Though the interior was respectably large, the convergence of four passages, not to mention the twin stairs leading to a second floor, caused quite a convolution. Along with many of the animals, Adria’s palfrey showed some reluctance, but fortunately her smaller size allowed for swifter passage than most, and Adria found her exit to be rather more swift than her entrance.
Adria was relieved to find a courier station as she exited the gatehouse on the Windberth side. It was small, with stalls for only three horses, and a booth at the front where men sat awaiting their duties. She greeted the station master, ignoring the eyes of the pages and gathered couriers, “Sir, I have business for you.”
The man doffed his hat and inclined his head. “I am pleased to hear it, young mistress. How may I serve?”
“This little palfrey has served me well on a long journey. See that she finds her way to Sir Marbury of Chester, in Monmouth County. He is expecting her, and knows to check this station soon, if it is not delivered.” Adria showed the master the initials on one hoof, then paid him the rest of her silver. She hoped the name of a knight would suffice as encouragement, but was certain the excess of coin would guarantee the delivery, regardless of the current esteem of minor nobility in the south.
Relieved now to have only herself to look after, she opened the parchment the Knight Sergeant had given her, finding a wax seal within which bore the emblem of the Matriarch.
“Well, this should get me inside,” she whispered as she started up the long serpentine path. Though I fear this is all too easy.
Paper Leaves
It was often said that the city of Windberth was impregnable to an army. In truth, no foe had yet found the chance to challenge this claim, and the last Heiland city which had claimed this, Highreach, had certainly proved a disappointment to the many who dwelt therein.
Windberth was, under the best of circumstances, rather difficult to reach no matter how innocent the purpose of the traveler. Although it was the capital of Heiland, its relative remoteness and lofty perch were perhaps more suitable to the hunter birds nested atop its spires than to the dwellings of men, which made it a less favorable destination than its status should have implied.
Adria had come to believe, in the years since she had left, that the effect was desired. The city, after all, was not large, and had no room for further growth within its walls. It was designed for imposition, and for the remoteness her father and the Matriarch enjoyed.
It bore the unapproachable elevation of a ruler who had never been close to his people, and the aloofness of the unnameable god of the Sisterhood, whose High Temple shared the citadel with the royal keep and a bastion housing the elite Knights of Darkfire’s First Battle contingent.
Windberth was also a particular oddity among the cities of Heiland in that it had been completely planned and constructed before a single soul had lived within its walls. Its origins, though only twelve or thirteen years past, were a curious mixture of history and myth.
Like the ghost stories of Kaye, Adria had chosen not to believe much of it as a child. After her time with the Aesidhe, though, she was more inclined to give such stories credence. She had heard the tale more than once by now, and though it was likely hearsay by necessity, something in the spirit of it rang truer the more Adria learned of the world beyond her childhood towers.
The citadel itself, with the spires of its keep and the High Temple rising up above the battlements of its concentric curtain walls, had been built first. It rested flush against the mountainside on a second plateau overlooking the rest of the city.
This plateau, like the one below, had been partia
lly natural, and the rest had been cut away. In fact, much had been excavated behind and below this, to provide for the vast space needed for construction, as well as the massive amount of solid stone blocks and slate tiles required.
Even as construction of the citadel began, the town with its own significant fortifications was already planned, and the materials needed for its construction were brought in from across Heiland and beyond.
Only outside and beneath the plateaus, in the area at the foot of the cliff and north of the Old North Road, were any workers allowed to live. A village in its own right sprung up out of the earth here, built from the lumber harvested in clearing the foothills.
In these structures the more prominent among the workers lived for the five years it took to complete the project — the castellan and his engineers, the master smiths, and representatives of the Matriarch of the Sisterhood and the Grand Marshal of the Knights of Darkfire.
The journeyman masons, carvers and smiths, along with all their apprentices, laborers, support workers and hangers-on inhabited a ring of tents and ramshackle outbuildings amidst the trees and against the facing cliffs alongside the road.
Construction had begun soon after Lord Ebenhardt’s return from the War of Scars, and while many among the Heiland nobility had remained abroad for the war and the spoils of its aftermath. The citadel city arose while the armies of her father conquered county after county in Northern Heiland, and was paid for in ransoms, tribute, and the pillage of lesser lords.
When Ebenhardt and his Knights of Darkfire returned victorious from the fall of Highreach, they brought with them the means to finish the last of the spinnerets, the mandate of the One True God, and a newly-minted crown of Heiland.
Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 Page 12
