“Would that I had an unmarried son
to wed your Shauna,” Count Rembold grumbled wistfully, “then I would be here
negotiating their betrothal instead of demanding for the dozenth time that you
remarry and sire a son.”
Inwardly, Baron Raynes frowned, but
he kept his face cordial. This was his liege lord after all. Even though this
was far more than the twelfth time the count had ordered him to remarry. “I
have heirs enough in my three girls, my lord. Shauna is more than capable of
carrying on my legacy.”
Remobld harrumphed, clearly
perturbed at being defied yet again. “I am serious, Ian. The duke himself
mentioned your lack of a proper heir the last time we spoke. Your house may be
new, but the wealth accumulated since your grandfather was given this land has
upset the balance of power in the whole western half of the kingdom! You
remember what happened to your father.”
Ian could not quite keep himself
from grinding his teeth. Having his father’s murder thrown in his face as
though he did not recall every last detail was terribly rude, even for the
boorish Count Rembold. “I remember slicing open the man’s throat who thought he
could steal what my family earned.”
“Yes, the story of little Ian the
Miniature Murderer was often told over cups of wine for years afterwards.”
Rembold chuckled and swirled the expensive brandy Ian had offered him.
Ian’s grandfather had made a tidy
little fortune trading with the exotic lands across the sea and Ian’s father
had turned that into a veritable mountain of gold as well as the castle they
were sitting in. Unfortunately, his father had not been the skilled warrior his
grandfather had been and a neighboring baron had swooped in to take their land
and their fortune. Ian had been barely fourteen when he had rallied what few
fighting men his father retained and snuck into the keep to get revenge. House
Raynes had kept a large enough army to make nearby counts nervous despite Ian
being only a teenage baron.
“Indeed, my lord. I recall many
found the tale quite diverting.” Ian managed to keep a civil tongue.
Rembold laughed again, swirling his
brandy before taking another drink. The count was a pudgy man of forty-some
years with a patchy beard that he hoped would hide his second chin, but failed
to do so miserably. He wore rich clothing that it was whispered he cared more
about than his two grown sons.
“And yet it is the future I came
here to discuss, not the past. You must remarry and get yourself a proper heir
so every damn upjumped knight in the West stops scheming to get your gold!”
Count Rembold insisted.
“My lord, my late wife was the only
woman for me. My daughters are the future of House Raynes,” Ian replied.
The count shook his head
stubbornly. “I’m afraid not, my old friend. I assured the duke that I would
settle this matter once and for all. I will be hosting a tournament in honor of
my grandson’s first birthday and you shall attend and you shall find yourself a
bride.”
“My lord – ” Ian began.
“No more, Ian!” Count Rembold
interrupted. “This farce has gone on long enough. You will remarry or Duke
Tenbore himself will be here to settle this matter. Do you at least want to
choose your bride or have some ugly daughter of one of the duke’s toadies
forced upon you?”
Baron Raynes took a deep breath.
“Very well, my lord. I shall attend your tournament.”
“Excellent! Glad to have finally
persuaded you. You are a stubborn devil, did you know?”
*
“Good, keep your eyes closed. Now
picture it in your mind. Be the target,” Vera told the count’s nephew as she
rifled through his pockets.
“You’re sure you can teach me how
to shoot a bow with my eyes closed?” Horace asked. Horace was an ungainly lad
of fourteen with buck teeth that made him look much more like his father than
the count’s sister.
“Oh yeah! It’s a trick an old witch
taught my grandmother under the light of a full moon,” Vera explained. She
dropped a handful of gold coins into her jacket pocket along with some scraps
of parchment. Not her best haul, but gold could always pay for future
shenanigans. “Ready. Aim. Fire!”
Horace shot and the arrow flew
wide, but Vera’s friend from the docks, Pieter, popped out from behind the
target and jammed an arrow into the center bullseye.
“That’s amazing!” Horace gushed
when he opened his eyes.
“Yes, truly amazing. Now run along,
Horace,” Vera’s oldest sister Shauna said bemusedly. Seventeen year old Shauna
was tall and had broad shoulders and thick arm muscles that visiting nobles’
sons were sometimes unwise enough to mock. Those unlucky enough to do so left
with broken noses and bruised egos. Shauna had their father’s dark hair and
serious demeanor. As always, her hair was wrapped up tight in a bun on the
crown of her head, making her sharp featured face all the more severe looking.
She wore armor with the storm cloud of their house painted proudly on her
chest, and her favorite longsword on her hip.
Horace shuffled off eagerly. He had
had his nose broken more than once by Shauna. “Oh hey! Shauna, great to see
you. I was just going to go find father. He sent a servant. Said he needs me real
bad. Important business.” Vera tried to slink away quickly.
“Keep the coins and give me any
letters he had.” Shauna held her hand out.
“What? Letters? How would I know if
he had any letters? And how would I have them?” Vera asked as innocently as
possible…which she knew wasn’t that much, especially with Shauna.
“Very funny. Hand them over,”
Shauna said humorlessly. “Pieter! Don’t think you’re getting away that easy!”
Shauna snapped and Pieter froze. He had been trying to sneak away while she was
focused on Vera.
“Fine,” Vera grumbled. She handed
the pieces of parchment to her sister. “Now I’ll just be going…”
“Stay,” Shauna commanded as she
read the letters. Vera stopped in her tracks. Unfortunately, gigantic though
she was, Shauna could still catch Vera if she tried to run. Shauna could sprint
for a full mile even with her armor on. Vera had seen her practicing and
wondered who was madder, Shauna or their cousin Kaia who had inherited their
uncle’s actual madness.
“Anything good?” Vera’s middle
sister Millicent drawled in her usual bored monotone. Millicent – and it was
always Millicent, never, ever Millie – was by far the scariest of the Raynes
daughters. Where Shauna would happily break your nose and then stroll away,
Millicent would find the one thing about yourself that you hated the most and
with a few carefully chosen words have you sobbing like a baby for weeks. She
was much shorter than Shauna, that is to say a perfectly normal height for a
fourteen year old, and much more typically proportioned from not spending all
her time training in the practice yard like Shauna. Millicent’s hair was an
extremely dark red, Vera had heard that was a rare mix of father’s black hair
and mother’s bright red. Vera had mother’s red hair, of course.
“It seems our father’s liege lord
is hosting a tournament to celebrate his only grandson’s first birthday. Horace
was conspiring with some of his friends to have one of them enter as a mystery
knight.” Shauna chuckled. Horace was terribly awkward on a horse and it would
be a laughably poor mystery knight who was unhorsed in his first tilt.
“A tourney! Yes!” Vera cackled with
glee. “I’m going to make so much money!”
“We don’t have to go, do we?”
Millicent groaned. “Tourneys are so boring. A bunch of idiots on horses with
sticks. Why don’t they just strap the sticks to the horses and cut the idiots
out entirely?”
“Or pigs!” Vera exclaimed. “We
could strap training lances to pigs and make them joust each other! We’ll
charge admission and then take bets. I’ll make a fortune! Now what to sell for
the concessions? We’ll need ale of course. Can’t have jousting pigs without
ale…”
“Enough, Vera,” Shauna scolded. “I
think the count might have another motive for the tournament.”
“Oh?” Millicent asked.
Shauna nodded. “A simple letter
would have been enough to invite father to a tournament. The count coming all
the way out here just to see one of his barons is suspicious. He’s up to
something.”
Millicent rolled her eyes. She had
green eyes like the rest of them, but hers were just a little bit paler; a
little bit colder. “Wonderful. A tournament and
a mystery. My favorite.”
“What do you think he’s up to?”
Vera piped excitedly. “Is he training killer bees? Turning squires into vicious
bear-men? Breeding six legged horses?”
“No, Vera, knowing Count Rembold
I’m sure it’s something to do with our gold.” Shauna answered, a little bit
annoyed by her outburst.
“Maybe he spent his last penny on
fox-fur slippers and needs a loan from father to pay for this dumb tournament.”
Millicent snickered.
“Perhaps…” Shauna pondered
Millicent’s snide suggestion. “I’m going to go see what father’s spymaster has
to say.”
When Shauna was gone Vera turned
eagerly to Millicent. “Listen! I didn’t want to say my best idea while Shauna
was around, but I’ve a fool-proof plan to make some serious gold at the
tournament.”
“Not interested,” Millicent replied
blandly and began to turn away.
“Oh – ho! I think you will be! You
get to make prissy little knights and squires cry.” Vera chortled malevolently
at her own genius.
Millicent turned back, scowling at
having her rude exit spoiled, but curious about a new way to hurt people’s
feelings. “Fine. Whatever. I’m listening.”
“We place bets against the
favorites in a ton of matches and then right before they fight you make them
cry. It will throw their focus off and they’ll lose for sure!”
Millicent stared at her for a
moment. “That’s actually not a terrible plan. You can be less of an idiot than
most people sometimes, Vera.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to
tell you for years!” Vera squawked animatedly.
*
Baron Raynes rode at the front of
the column with his eldest daughter. They were leaving behind the grey drizzle
that perpetually loomed over the Soggy Citadel and its surrounding lands. So
named both for the weather and the rainy battlefield on which his grandfather
had saved a prince and thus earned his knighthood, the Soggy Citadel had begun
as a lonely watchtower at the tip of a remote peninsula and grown into the
mighty fortress and prosperous port it was today.
"Spymaster Jace tells me you
have been making inquiries regarding our beloved count," Ian began.
Shauna nodded. "He has plans
for our house in this tournament. Master Jace agrees with me."
Ian felt his lips quirk up into a
small smile. "Count Rembold schemes to have me remarry and bear a son so
that there is no longer an absence of a male heir to inherit. No doubt he has
some woman loyal to him in mind who he will want to influence me in his
favor."
"I learned as much from Master
Jace, but it's what he intends to do with that influence that worries me. The
count is an ambitious man and if we were more closely bound to him we could
further whatever schemes he has planned with our ships, soldiers, and
gold," Shauna insisted.
"Daughter, it is the
spymaster's job to be paranoid, but it does not become a baroness to see vipers
under every stone and stick," Ian chided gently. "No doubt the count
has some grand plan, but it is his place to have such plans given his lordship
over a sizable chuck of the West."
"And if he means us ill in
this grand plan of his?" Shauna asked stubbornly.
He looked down at the sword on his
daughter's hip. "Then you know what we will do."
Shauna smiled at him and they rode
on.
*
Vera quickly spun on her heel.
"AHA!" she shouted, but once again no one was there. She had been
feeling as though she was being followed all day and it was driving her crazy. She
was the one who was supposed to drive people crazy, not the other way around!
"Finally snapped, didn't
you?" Millicent asked from the lavish plaza terrified servants had set up
outside her tent. They had stopped for the night and Millicent was seated on a
cushioned throne ringed with lanterns of varying sizes and colors as a chef
specially prepared meals for her and a juggler twirled knives to the beat of a
string quartet. She even had potted topiaries scattered about on the rich rug
that covered her pampered little domain. One of the bobcats Millicent had
trained and domesticated sat in the middle of the rug grooming itself.
"What's all this?" Vera
gaped at the decadent display. She reached for a chocolate tart the chef had
set out and the man smacked her hand with a long wooden spoon, leaving an angry
red mark as he shouted some foreign gibberish at her and brandished the spoon
menacingly under her nose.
Millicent sneered, not at Vera per
se, but at the whole world as only Millicent could. "I dislike
travelling."
"Yeah...but all this!"
Vera gestured to the extravagant display. "How much did it all cost?"
"Nothing," Millicent
replied evenly.
"Nothing? NOTHING? Are you
crazy? With the gold this cost I could buy a ship and finally turn pirate like
I've always wanted!" Vera moaned.
Millicent shrugged. "It didn't
cost me a thing."
"But...but...but how?!"
Vera demanded.
Now Millicent finally grinned.
Whenever her middle sister grinned it gave Vera the shivers; like a fox
watching a particularly fat chicken waddle towards its hiding spot. "I am
owed a great many favors."
Vera wandered away, shaking her
head. Not for the first time she wondered if Millicent might actually be a
witch like some people whispered behind her back. But there was no such thing
as witches. Believing in them was for babies and old ladies!
Pieter had been conscripted by one
of father’s knights to help take care of the horses, so Vera was wandering the
camp by herself instead of with her usual partner in crime. Perhaps that was
why her cousin chose this moment to final jump out from behind a wagon and
startle her half to death.
“Lord Waters sends his regards!”
Kaia screamed as she dove from the shadows in a flying tiger tackle that drove
Vera into the mud.
Vera squirmed and twisted out of
Kaia’s grasp. “Who the hell is Lord Waters?”
Kaia shrugged. “How should I know?
He just sends his regards.”
“Right.” Vera wiped some of the mud
off of her face. Kaia’s father, Vera’s uncle Douglas, had been taken captive
when Vera’s grandfather had been executed and seeing his father beheaded had
driven dainty ten year old Douglas completely out of his mind. He would gibber
about shadows trying to steal his soul or insist that he could read the
servants’ evil thoughts. Father had kept Douglas close at hand as he grew up,
but once he was an adult father had finally relented and let Douglas sail the
world in a quest to vanquish his inner demons. He sought out various gurus and
holy men, but none could cure his madness. At one point he had settled down
with some madwoman he met and fell in love with in the sandy deserts of
Evernia. Kaia had been born, but neither Douglas nor his insane bride had been
capable of caring for the child so the crew of Douglas’ ship had brought her
back to the Soggy Citadel for Vera’s father to raise. Last Vera heard Douglas
and Kaia’s mother had still been traveling the world in search of a cure for
their madness.
Kaia was two years older than
Shauna, so she was nineteen, and while she had a fair amount of lunacy from
both her parents, father had set her to a rigorous training regimen that kept
her mind focused so she was far more functional than Uncle Douglas. Of a height
with Millicent, Kaia had her mother’s dark olive skin and oval eyes, but one of
those eyes was blue like Uncle Douglas and the other was brown like most
Evernians. She was well muscled, but she was lean and lightning quick rather
than burly like Shauna. Her hair would have been jet black if she did not keep
her head shaved bald.
"I didn't think you were
coming to the tourney," Vera said.
"I'm not." Kaia winked
conspiratorially.
Vera considered for a moment if her
cousin was being coy or crazy. She decided it was the former. "I see...and
what exactly are you doing while you're not on your way to the tourney?"
"Oh, you'll see!" Kaia
beamed brightly. "I just wanted to let you know you aren't the only one
with big plans. I'll be around if you need any help with yours." And just
like that Kaia flicked the hood of her robe back up and disappeared into the
darkness.
Vera sighed. Knowing Kaia she would
be trying to start a cult and hold the count's chapel priests hostage or
brewing a potion that she thought would transform her into a phoenix...Vera
just wondered how she could make some gold off of whatever insane plan her
cousin had in mind.
*
Baron Raynes received word from his
outriders early on their fourth morning of travel towards Count Rembold's Amber
Keep that one of his bannermen would soon be catching up to them. Ian nodded
and sent the scout away with his thanks. House Raynes had been granted its
barony after Ian had killed the treacherous Baron Hargrave and his three sons
for murdering his father. Count Rembold's father had transferred all of the
Hargrave lands as well as their title to Ian since there was no one left alive
to inherit either but for a few nephews from Hargrave's female line. Ian had
been rather hot headed as a young man and had been preparing for a protracted
war against all of the knights still loyal to House Hargrave when the old count
had come to call on him. Peace and loyalty to House Rembold was all the old man
wanted and in exchange he would give all Ian he hoped to win with his war of
vengeance.
Sir Garis Wandermann had been the
first knight to make the trip to the Soggy Citadel to swear fealty to Ian as
his baron. Sir Garis was ten years Ian's senior and more than half a foot
taller, meaning he had been a young man of six and a half feet at the time, but
unlike his Wandermann forefathers before him, Garis had a mind for science as
well as war. House Wandermann was know for its prodigiously large men and the
men of the West all feared to face them either in tournaments or on the field
of battle. Garis had taken the notion one step further, after having become
obsessed with breeding the perfect hunting dog as a young boy, Garis had
applied that knowledge to his own selection of a bride and subsequently the
brides of his sons and the husbands of his daughters. He had insisted on
marrying a woman over six feet tall and, though she had come from a poor family
with hardly any land, he had found her and sired eight children. All five of
the boys were more than six foot eight and the shortest of the three girls was
six foot two.
Wandermann had heartily approved of
Ian's devastating response to Hargrave's betrayal. Garis was a man who
respected force from his liege lord above all else. It likely came from living
on that island of theirs that was filled with such hideous beasts.
Once the scout was gone Ian sighed.
Even before all the nonsense that had come with Count Rembold's visit last
month, Garis had been eager to make a match between either his youngest
daughter and Ian or Shauna and one of his two youngest sons. It was Shauna he
truly wanted in his family, the girl was somewhat tall, but it was her strength
and ferocity that Garis admired. Ian was a consolation prize to Sir Wandermann;
if he could sire a daughter like Shauna with a mother as normally sized as his
first wife, no doubt Garis only dreamed of what one of his daughters produce.
Granted, there was a chance they might turn out average sized like Millicent or
scrawny like Vera, but Garis seemed willing to take the risk. As such, he would
be spending the next two days listening to Garis boast about how healthy and
talented his children and grandchildren were.
A small price to pay for having
a wrathful giant and his brood of warriors on my side, Ian reminded
himself. Perhaps he would marry Yolanda, if only to thwart Rembold's schemes
and relieve Shauna from the regular showering of gifts and letters from
Gregory. The girl was pleasant enough, but Ian could not help feeling like a
lecher at the thought of marrying a girl more than twenty years his junior -
barely four years older than Shauna!
Not that whoever the count and any
other would-be matchmakers at the tournament would be any better. In fact, he
would count himself incredibly lucky if he did not have girls as young as
Millicent thrust in front of him as potential matches. It was going to be a
very long week at the tournament.
*
"And then I kicked him in the
chest and sent him sprawling over the bow, but his tunic caught on the ram so
he was stuck dangling there, screaming his pirate lungs out the rest of the
voyage!" Shauna exclaimed over gales of laughter from Garis Wandermann and
his son Gregory. Father was pretending to have urgent business somewhere else
in the column riding east for the Amber Keep. It was small wonder Millicent was
so antisocial, given how their father dodged small talk as though it were one
of Vera's flaming bags of dog feces.
Sir Garis wiped a tear from one of
his big brown eyes. Like all Wandermanns, he was a great boulder of a man; more
than six and a half feet tall and at least half as broad across the chest. A
thick, wiry brown beard covered much of his homely face. A wide thrice broken
nose jutted out from above his moustache and bushy eyebrows so long they nearly
made up for his bald head. His son Gregory was eighteen, two inches taller than
his father, but not nearly so wide…at least not yet. Gregory’s older brothers
were veritable mountains just like their father. His face was certainly not as battered as Sir
Garis’, but he still had a great hooked nose and thick eyebrows that made him
look very much like his father’s son.
“Your stories are hysterical as
ever!” Gregory gushed.
Shauna nodded gracefully and
decided to change the subject. Gregory had a tendency to go overboard with his
compliments when given the opportunity. When the flurry of compliments had
first begun Shauna had been quite oblivious as to why Gregory was suddenly
showering her with courtesies. Father had explained it though and Shauna had
been thoroughly embarrassed. She had been thirteen at the time and enjoying the
new strength her growth spurt had given her in the practice yard. Marriage and
courtship had been the furthest things from her mind. Such nonsense was for
fripperous little tarts mooning over love poems until their fathers sold them
in exchange for an alliance or a water mill.
“What events will you enter at the
count’s tournament?” Shauna asked.
“The melee, obviously,” Gregory
grinned proudly. He and his brothers always formed an alliance at the start of
the melee and often as not one of them came away the victor. A wild free for all with blunted swords and
axes, the melee favored the gargantuan Wandermanns. “The joust as well, though
I fear my second oldest brother, Wallis, is the best jouster in our family.”
“I don’t know about that,” Sir
Garis cut in, “young Rowen will surely give him a run for his money if they
face each other this week.”
Gregory smiled pleasantly at his
father. “Perhaps…though I still think my eldest nephew has an overinflated
estimation of his skill with a lance. If they face one another I would place my
wager on Wallis’ experience over Rowen’s bluster.”
Shauna laughed along with Gregory
as Sir Garis harrumphed into his great bushy beard. Garis was incredibly proud
of his firstborn grandson Rowen…though not so foolish as to try and match him
with Shauna. Rowen was an arrogant ass of sixteen who thought himself God’s
gift to all things martial. There was a certain cunning in Sir Garis that
Shauna had come to appreciate over the years. He was proud of his children and
grandchildren, but he was not blind to their shortcomings as many proud lords
were.
“I plan to race one of the horses I
have bred as well,” Gregory continued. The Wandermanns bred massive beasts to
carry them into battle and no doubt they would have won every race if they did
not have to carry an equally massive Wandermann on their back. Knights wore
full armor to simulate a charge in battle.
“So every event but the archery
competition,” Shauna chided playfully. The Wandermanns were famously bad
archers. Perhaps their great giant hands were not delicate enough to aim a bow.
Gregory blushed. “Indeed. Although
there will also be a feast and dancing each night with a costume ball on the
final night. Will you be dancing?” Gregory blurted out in a rush.
Shauna saw Sir Garis purse his lips
at his son’s awkward halfhearted invitation. She tried to deflect as politely
as she could. “Would that we could dance as a team on the melee field where
I’ve seen you move much more gracefully than on the dance floor.”
“If only we could!” Gregory
exclaimed. “What a whirlwind we would be together! But I’ll have you know, I
have been practicing my dancing as well. I promise not to step on your toes
this time! Or…at least not as many times…” Gregory mumbled as he trailed off
lamely.
It was difficult for Shauna to
stifle a bark of laughter when she saw Sir Garis roll his eyes at his son’s
continued awkwardness.
“Come along, lad,” Garis commanded.
“I need to give you another ‘dancing’ lesson.” As they turned their mounts
around to join the rest of their family Shauna saw Garis clout Gregory on the
back of the head and begin berating him for his poor showing at inviting Shauna
to dance.
Shauna shook her head. She wasn’t
sure who she felt worse for, Gregory or Sir Garis.
*
“Witches’ charms! Guaranteed to
improve your jousting skill!” Vera shouted at the passing knights and squires.
“You won’t want to face an opponent with one, look at how powerful this old
crone is! She’s three hundred years old and laid the curse that felled the evil
wizard Girkopolis herself! Get your witches’ charms here!” They had finally
arrived at the Amber Keep and Vera had immediately set up shop in the quickly
growing open air market surrounding stands Count Rembold had erected to host
his tournament.
“What is it with you and witches?”
Pieter whispered. “And who the hell is Girkopolis?”
“Hush!” Vera hissed back. A
customer was approaching.
The young knight looked the elderly
beggar woman who Vera had given a hot meat pie in exchange for pretending to be
a witch up and down then rubbed the peach fuzz on his chin consideringly.
“Exactly what kind of powers will this charm grant me?” he asked.
“This one will help your lance
strike true, my lord.” Vera held up a twisted knot of horse hair.
“And will it help me in the melee?”
Vera guffawed. “Move along, sonny!
This witch only sells to serious knights, not cheapskates trying to get one
medallion that will help them in two events!”
“No! Wait! I can buy two! I was
only wondering! Please!” he begged.
Vera crossed her arms and walked a
lap around the hopeful teenager, examining him. “Well…maybe. But she’ll want an
extra silver each for your insolence.”
“Done!” The young fool heaped
silver into Vera’s outstretched hands and in exchange she handed him two of her
medallions made out of garbage.
“Man, knights are stupid,” Pieter
said as their latest happy customer walked away.
“And thieves are greedy,” a gruff
voice sounded behind them.
Vera and Pieter spun to see a
knight in plain, yet clean armor with his helm covering his face. His shield
bore a black stingray on a silver field. He was not quite as tall as father,
had broad shoulders, but was otherwise on the thin side for a knight.
“Lucky for you, I have need of a
greedy young man.” The Stingray Knight held a silver coin in front of Pieter’s
face.
Pieter’s eyes went wide at the
promise of coin. Not that Vera didn’t reward him for the parts he played in her
schemes, but this was silver all for himself.
“Yes, I see I have your attention.
I need you to enter me in the melee and the joust with the master of games,”
the mystery knight told Pieter.
“I…I can do that!” Pieter told him
eagerly.
“Of course you can.” The knight
dropped the coin into Pieter’s hand. “And two more when the job is done. Meet
me at my pavilion at the north end of the market.”
“A mystery knight!” Pieter
exclaimed when the stingray knight was gone.
“And everyone will think you’re his
squire after you enter him in the games! There has to be a way to use that…”
Vera pondered.
“We have to go to the master of games
now!” Pieter was hopping up and down with glee.
“Alright,” Vera told him. She
turned to the old crone and handed her five coppers. “Get yourself another pie
and meet us back here in an hour.”
Their witch tottered off and Vera
had to sprint after Pieter as he raced towards the Amber Keep. They darted
between the tents of butchers and blacksmiths and knights until they found
their way out of the vast sea of tents that made up the market.
The Amber Keep was an old fortress
overlooking a diminutive lake and an amber mine. The market and tourney stadium
were between the lake and the castle. Supposedly, the interior was as richly
decorated as Count Rembold dressed, but it was the exterior that caught Vera’s
eye. Perhaps she had been spending too much time with Shauna, but it seemed to
her that the walls and towers were not in good repair and the gate could have
been knocked down by one of Beany Bill the guardsman’s farts.
Pieter found the master of games in
the office he had set up just inside the keep across from the stables. “I need
to register my master for the joust and the melee,” Pieter announced proudly.
The master of games looked down at
Pieter suspiciously. “You are…a squire?”
“That’s right!” Pieter declared.
Vera had been teaching him to be confident when lying. “The Stingray Knight. He’ll
win the joust for sure and maybe the melee too if he can last until the
Wandermanns turn on each other.”
“And does this Stingray Knight have
a name?” The master of games inquired.
“Might be he does.” Pieter smirked.
“But giving away a mystery knight’s name to the master of games would make me a
poor squire, now wouldn’t it?”
The master of games considered
this. “Still…I can’t have every dirty boy who stumbles in claiming to be a
squire enter a supposed knight in my games.”
“This is my loyal friend Pieter! He
is going to be a knight someday!” Vera burst in. “I’ve known him as long as I
can remember and if you dare question his honor again I swear my father, Baron
Raynes, will hear of it! If you have half the brain between your ears this
squire has you’ll know that your precious count has plans for my father and it
would not do well to anger him!”
Frowning, the master of games added
the Stingray Knight to his list of jousters and participants in the melee
before gesturing for them to move along.
