The young Prince spun around and locked his eyes on a burly old war veteran. Gathering in front of him was the remainder of the 7th Infantry, along with some fresh reserves bringing them back up to an even fifty. They all stood beside horses packed for a long ride. Captain Robertson came forward, leaving a new young Lieutenant holding the reins of his horse. He came to attention in front of the young Prince and saluted.
Tristan returned the salute.
“Captain. You’re a little farther east than I would expect.” He observed.
“The 7th had nothing better to do your Highness.” Robertson replied with a smirk.
“I’m not sure if I want your ragged band tagging along with me, but I assume I’m stuck with you.” Tristan replied smiling widely.
“Seems fate is a heartless bitch my liege.” He replied. Dion cleared his throat darting his eyes at the women present.
“Pardon my candor m’ladies. I’m used to less civilized company.” The Captain added quickly.
Everyone laughed as Tristan descended the steps to stand in front of the Captain. He regarded the old warrior sideways as the two of them moved towards their mounts.
“Well Captain we’d best be off, we’re burning daylight.” Tristan commented as he mounted his horse.
~
After four days in the saddle Tristan was glad to have a large city in sight. He enjoyed riding Pava and taking in the sights of his new countryside but four long days in the saddle had his backside more sore than he cared to admit.
A few hours later the convoy approached the city gates, the guards made close inspection of the wagons until Captain Robertson produced their warrant naming Tristan the Duke of Durshire. The soldiers stammered their apologies as the convoy was ushered through the gates and into the city proper.
Everywhere Tristan looked he was amazed. Metao, Irudin and Kenting had nothing on this city in his opinion. There was nothing gaudy about the buildings; they all seemed to be made of the most amazing polished wood. It was as though the entire city was occupied with keeping itself beautiful. Most of the buildings were a single story with a peaked roof, with a window just below the peak. Tristan assumed this was a room, or collection of rooms for the owners of the businesses below them, or possibly rooms rented to tenants. The main street, which ran east to west, was periodically broken up by large market areas which crossed with other roads going north to south.
The city might not have been as defendable as Kenting, but it was very organized. Great thought and effort had gone into its planning and it made Tristan feel at ease. Durshire Keep stood on a small mound in the center of town and was surrounded by a wall and moat. The keep itself wasn’t overly large; being smaller than the others he’d been in. It was cleverly built though, instead of one building inside the walls there were many buildings.
The group made their way over the draw bridge as the sun set behind them. Tristan noticed that there were buildings along the wall just as there was in the other keeps. Instead of dismounting in front of the main building they were directed forward through a large archway into the central courtyard. Captain Robertson ordered his Lieutenant to see to the men and baggage. The young man saluted and stopped, turned his horse and motioned for the men and wagons to move along the wall.
The path through the archway and throughout the central courtyard was made up of bricks similar to those used for the keep, large grey stones flecked with color, as if the stones themselves were rich in gems. Tristan and Robertson brought their horses to a halt in front of a delegation of richly dressed men. The Captain made a disgusted sound causing the young Prince to smile and cast him a warning look.
The most gaudily dressed gentleman stepped forward offering a bow which was followed by the others behind him as he welcomed the young Prince to Durshire. Tristan was eager to be done with formalities and get some rest in a real bed so he dismissed the delegation, asking them to assemble the council in the morning when he was rested and prepared. After they all had left Tristan turned to Robertson.
“Well Knight-Captain, I’m for bed.” Tristan said with a dramatic yawn.
“Kni…? Oh fine.” Robertson replied darkly. “But I’m not dressing up and marching around like some peacock.” He accused, shaking his finger at the young man.
Tristan raised his hands in supplication. “I wouldn’t ask that of you. Besides, I don’t think I could keep a straight face.” The young Prince laughed as the old man mumbled a curse and walked away with his horse, leaving Tristan to be ushered away to his rooms.
~
A few weeks after his arrival, Tristan strolled through Durshire alone. He was dressed comfortably in black leather trousers and a simple blue short-sleeved shirt, his sword, as always, hung at his hip. He made his way slowly down the street, enjoying the energy and comfort that had become his city.
After meeting with the business owners’ delegation Tristan assumed command of the city. He hired a few administrators from among the citizens of Durshire and started work. The city had collected no taxes in the last few years so the first time he held court he made it clear to the business owners that the free-lunch was at an end. The sewer system was in a terrible state and the standing army was poorly equipped.
When the Terum soldiers had raided the countryside the city had simply locked itself in and waited out the month long siege. Tristan re-organized what was left of the Durshire military into four companies under Knight-Captain Robertson. The older man quickly whittled out the lazy soldiers, turned the older veterans into peace constables for the city and named one of them Sherriff. Despite his harsh style, the constables in particular took to Lance Robertson and were often found within the keep walls sharing war stories and drinking ale with the Knight-Captain.
After a week, Tristan’s scribes had created a payment schedule for the local businesses to collect over a year’s worth of taxes. Most of the business owners were prepared and paid them in full; others now supplemented their tax submissions with extra coin to offset the arrears. Tristan had been shocked to find that there were two staff members in the entire keep, a middle aged married couple who had served a cousin of Tristans when he had been the last Duke years ago.
Peter was a powerfully built, but short man who oversaw most of the duties outside as well as repairs to the keep, his wife, Rhonda, was an avid gardener, took care of the inside of the keep and much to Tristans pleasure, was an excellent cook. The new Duke immediately hired more servants to take some of the growing number of tasks from the older couple. Peter resumed his favorite post of horse master, and Rhonda took over the kitchen.
Within days they had the keep running efficiently, which made the other changes Tristan had implemented run flawlessly. His new chief aide, a no non-sense sort of fellow named Grant, was a loud and stubborn man that easily put the more fracas merchants in their place when they came complaining about taxes being re-imposed on them.
Any further complaints ceased when an engineering crew entered the city after a few days and began clearing the sewers and expanding the system to accommodate the increase in population. Already the city smelt better in the poorer districts and those citizens treated Tristan warmly when he went on his daily walks around the city.
Today as Tristan walked past the largest marketplace he noticed a group of brightly dressed strangers putting up signs. As one such man finished hanging his sign from a nearby lamp post Tristan approached it and read;
The All Rivers Bards Guild is proud to present “Only the Finest” a theater presentation for the whole family! Playing all week in the theater district of Durshire, seating begins at seven bells. Admission is only 2 coppers.
“Your Highness?” A familiar voice called to him, followed by an echo of giggles.
Tristan sighed; the vapid merchants’ daughter had taken every opportunity to flirt with the young monarch since the morning he visited her fathers’ jewelry shop, looking for gifts to send back to his mother and sister. He carefully hid his annoyance because her father w
as one of the few merchants who supported his reinstatement of taxes and other changes. The young Prince turned to find that Stephanie had brought along two of her friends today, each of them was in a dress of the latest fashion.
The three girls curtsied politely to Tristan. Stephanie quickly stepped forward and wrapped her arm around his. As always she was flirtatious and completely infatuated with herself and the hottest gossip seemed to pour out of her like a waterfall.
The young Duke barely paid attention, merely grunting positively every few moments as she chatted on without end. Tristan noticed out of the corner of his eye that Robertson was shadowing him. He narrowed his eyes towards the Knight-Captain as he slowly steered the young ladies over towards a bakery.
“Of course…” He answered out of habit.
“Wonderful! I’ll see you tonight at seven bells then!” She squealed before releasing his arm and walking away with her giggling friends.
“Wait…what?” Tristan asked too late.
“You should be more careful what you agree to Your Grace.” The Knight-Captain chuckled, walking out of the nearest produce shop.
“What exactly are you doing Lance?” Tristan demanded.
“Doing my duty, you pup.” Robertson replied in a whisper. “I’m sure you’d like to think you’re indestructible or some other young foolish non-sense, but I’ve had escorts following you all week.”
Tristan hid his surprise, though inwardly he chastised himself. He hadn’t noticed anyone following him. Of course he was wrapped up in exploring this new world of his, so he rarely paid attention to what was going on around him when he felt safe.
“Now, what’s this news I hear of a date my Lord?” He asked, biting into his pastry.
“Nothing, I simply didn’t hear the girl.” He replied, blushing.
“Well, as second son you’re free to marry whoever you wish….” Robertson replied sarcastically. “But I’d recommend someone with a little more intelligence and a lot less cleavage.”
Tristan hadn’t even been paying attention to how low cut her fashionable dress had been. Recalling the image in his mind he realized that he had been so distracted by his curiosity he hadn’t been paying proper attention to anything around him. Robertson was right; his fascination with his new world was making him reckless.
“Point made Robertson; I’ll try and be more attentive.” He replied laughing.
The Knight-Captain regarded him while slowly chewing his sweet roll, “You’ll do then lad. You’ll do.” Then he chuckled and popped the last bit in his mouth. “Now, let’s head back to the keep before you agree to marriage, shall we?”
Tristan scowled as Robertson tossed his arm around him and laughed as they walked back up the road to the keep. Tristan’s thoughts drifted to his pending date with the vapid girl. It dawned on him that he’d never been on a date before, at least as much as he could remember at any rate. His darkening mood was lightened as he entered the keep walls to hear Sergeant Frose and Peter arguing about the care of the soldiers’ horse. Tristan and Robertson laughed as they headed deeper into the keep.
~
A knock came at the door and Tristan turned around in his chair. He had been staring out of his window lost in thought. It seemed like so very long ago he’d been eight years old, a downtrodden little wretch. Here he sat, the Duke of Durshire, answerable to no one within a hundred miles. His musing had been interrupted by the knock though.
“Enter.” He called.
He rose, already fully dressed for his date with Stephanie, as Rhonda entered the room. She looked him up and down, her expression darkening as she chastised him.
“You can’t go out dressed like that!” She shouted, as though scandalized.
Tristan still had on his black leather trousers, a simple green short-sleeved shirt and he’d pulled his hair back and tied it in a tail. Rhonda headed towards his wardrobe, evidently knowing exactly what she was looking for as she moved items out of the way on her quest. She grabbed a red shirt that buttoned half-way down the front. The shirt had a v-shaped neckline, but was flattened a few inches above where the point ought to have been. It hit Tristan in the face as she threw it to him.
Chuckling he began to change shirts as a pair of stylish trousers and a matching tunic hit his exposed chest. Next she pulled out a pair of fashionable boots and dropped them in front of the young Duke as she made a dismissive noise and headed to the door.
“I’ll be back in five minutes, be ready.” She commanded.
Tristan laughed, she’d never been afraid to treat him as though he was her own child. He enjoyed the by-play more often than not and Peter’s attitude was much the same with him. As he changed into the soft tan leather trousers he thought back on all of the timid servants he’d met to date and was thankful for the help he had.
An impatient knock was followed by Rhonda’s head, as the matron peered into the room. Tristan was just putting on the matching tunic. The boots were very comfortable made out of supple leather that would have been useless for riding, but was more than adequate for daily wear. She motioned for Tristan to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of his room, which of course, he’d never used before now.
She pulled the tie out of his hair, allowing his long hair hang loosely. Tristan was forced to admit that the woman definitely had a knack for fashionable dress. He fidgeted slightly, not entirely being comfortable in the clothing, not due to physical reasons, but more having to do with the need for the pomp. As always, Tristan loathed being the center of attention, and it was a foregone conclusion that he was bound to be tonight.
After Rhonda fussed endlessly over his clothes, she deemed him ready and dismissed him from the room where she began to tidy up, muttering half-heartedly under her breath. Tristan walked through the long hallways of the keep to the main entrance where Knight-Captain Robertson stood, pulling at the collar of his dress uniform.
“You’d best at least pay attention to the girl my Lord; this damned dress uniform is strangling me.” He commented.
“Maybe third helpings of Rhonda’s cooking should be avoided then.” The Prince shot back, smiling.
Robertson shot him a dark look as they made their way to the waiting carriage. The cart was pulled by two draft horses down Main Street. It made its way along the street as the citizens of Durshire headed home from their last minute errands. The sun settled below the rooftops as the driver turned down a rather wide side-street and came to a stop in front of an impressive looking house.
“Well.” Robertson grunted. “Off with you lad.” He elbowed the Prince in the ribs.
Tristan sighed as he slipped out of the open carriage and walked up to the front door. He had just raised his hand to knock when the door was pulled open by a finely dressed servant who bade him enter into an extravagantly appointed waiting room.
“The Lady will be down momentarily.” He commented before turning on his heel and marching off into one of the larger rooms.
The Duke stood there, not knowing exactly what the proper procedure was. He was saved further musings as Stephanie appeared at the top of the large staircase. She smiled warmly as she carefully made her way down the shallow steps. Her dress, Tristan noticed, was cut absurdly low, as her dress this afternoon had been. Silently he hoped that his sister didn’t dress this way for her suitors.
“Duke Vallious. How wonderful to see you.” She said. Her voice was pleasant, though he couldn’t bring himself to understand fully why.
The Prince offered his arm, as he’d been instructed, and escorted her out to the waiting carriage. Her smile faltered slightly when she saw the Knight-Captain sitting next to the driver, where he had apparently moved when they had stopped. Tristan held out his hand for her to grasp as she mounted the steps into the carriage.
The trip to the theater district was quiet; Tristan was still distracted by the simple quality and beauty that was his town. He still had a difficult time accepting the reality of that he was in charge of a town a
nd its surrounding countryside. He was thankful for the feeling though. It instilled in him a sense of responsibility that he make Durshire into a place those in Vallius would love to live. A small cough brought him out of his reverie.
Tristan exited the carriage and escorted the young lady into the largest and most decorated amphitheater. The porter taking tickets and coin at the door recognized Tristan and motioned for an usher to come and take the pair down to the front row. The pair of them made themselves comfortable as the guitarist and pianist played a light happy tune off to the left of the stage.
Even the most softly played noted reverberated around the theater. Tristan assumed it was due to the construction of the building but made a mental note to ask one of his staff about it later. A heavy velvet curtain obscured most of the stage from view, but at this distance Tristan could hear workers behind it getting the last bits of the set together in anticipation for the show.
The theater slowly filled with the rich and influential sitting around them, the more modest seats a little further back and the cheapest seats rising on the wall behind them. The music came to an abrupt halt, and then started again as the audience applauded politely. A lone man entered from the right, walking slowly across the stage and looking out into the crowd.
“Ladies and Gentlemen.” He began, his voice, just as the music, echoed throughout the hall. “Welcome! Welcome to the All Rivers Bards Guild’s presentation of Only the Finest!” More polite applause responded to his announcement, but Tristan was transfixed on what he saw dangling around the man’s neck.
A thick silver chain was dangling between the folds of his open shirt, he caught sight briefly of something black attached the end of the chain. After a few more moments the man shifted forward again and this time Tristan was able to get a good long look at it. A black roaring dragon, attached to a silver chain. One of the few memories that surfaced after Tristan’s attack had been the appearance of his assailant, who wore an identical pendant.
Draconis' Bane Page 14
