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Lord Guerney lounged in front of a crackling fire, burning wood which his serfs had dragged in from miles away, his three mastiffs gnawing bones at his feet. He still had the craggy features I remembered, and the swarthy skin that hinted at an ancestor in the Wizardlands, but the years had gathered themselves around his waist and most of his pale hair had fallen from his head. Still, the eyes that flickered over me were quick and clear, warrior’s eyes.
He raised his golden goblet and drank deeply.
I stepped onto the dais, bowed, and extended Lord Reinard’s letter to him.
He gave me a flicker of interest, then stared past me down the length of the hall.
I waited, glancing surreptitiously around the hall as I did so. The heraldries of his knights, long woven banners, lined the walls so thickly that there was no need for tapestries. A gallery ran beneath the high, narrow windows, and wooden doors gave access to the towers. I knew, however, that there were many more passageways in the stone walls, to keep servants and soldiers out of sight. Behind every narrow slit a notched arrow might be waiting. The back of my neck itched with danger.
Eventually Lord Geurney grunted and reached out for the letter. I bowed and placed it in his hand.
He broke the seals, glanced over the note, and dropped it to the floor.
I bowed again.
"Does he want a response?"
I nodded and bowed a third time.
"I’ll give him one." Lord Geurney drained his cup. He frowned into its depth, and yelled, "Bring me more, fools! Are your feet filled with lead?"
A frightened servant pushed past me and hastily refilled his lord’s goblet.
"Hurry faster next time, or you’ll have nothing to hurry on."
Pale and trembling, the servant backed away.
Lord Geurney turned to me. "I’ll give your master his response, in my own time. Find someplace else to roost."
Charles stepped forward. "We beg your pardon, my lord, but we will need a place to keep ourselves in the meantime.
"Who are you?" Lord Geurney growled.
Charles drew his sword and knelt behind it. "Sir Charles, sworn to Lord Reinard, my lord. I am Master Gerard’s bodyguard and voice."
By identifying himself as my knight and as a knight of the realm, Charles put Lord Guerney into a delicate position. He could no longer insult me without insult my knight, and through that knight, the High King himself. With a grunt Lord Geurney pulled himself upright and bellowed for his steward.
Within seconds a little man ran up, gasping for breath. "Please forgive my tardiness, my lord, but I was in the tower rooms."
Lord Guerney scratched at his beard. "This emissary has come to us from Lord Reinard’s castle. Be kind enough to show him to the guest rom."
With that, I expected to be led out to the stables or down to the cellers. Instead we were shown to a room not far from the Great Hall. It had a window with wooden shutters which could be closed, a narrow bed pushed against one wall, a small writing desk against the other, and a cold brazier at the back. It didn’t seem small until Jason and Ison set down my trunk and piled their shields on the floor. Then there was but a little space left, in which we all stood.
"This will be fine," the steward said, more of a command than a question.
"Just as long as there are no rats under the bed." Charles drew his blade and thrust it under the mattress. He made several bold passes, then sheathed his sword. "Nope, nothing now. But I’ll check again later."
The steward swallowed, wrung his thin hands together, and ran from the room.
