PART II - SEEKING AN AUDIENCE
“Thorn,” Reynard said, “this is probably not one of your brighter ideas.”
“A complete mistake, if you ask me,” Jorin added.
“Marrying Ravina or coming to see the Kerr?” Thorn asked, looking at his friends.
“Both!” Jorin and Reynard clarified quickly in unison.
“Bah! You’re just sour on marriage, Jorin” Thorn said flatly. “We’re good for each other, though, and she makes me feel young.”
“Well, yeah, I get that,” Jorin agreed. “But you don’t have to be married to her to get that feeling. And given who Nevvik’s grandmother is …”
“That’s why we’re here,” Thorn replied with a sigh. “And because of who his grandmother is, and because it’s Cillisant, I’m going to do this properly.”
Reynard put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Despite all the grief we give you, we’re here for whatever you need.” Then, looking up and forward from where they were standing, he added, “However, if the two of us could wait for you at that little pub we saw back a ways, we’d both be perfectly fine being here for you from there, too. We’ll even save you a seat, on the assumption you’re able to sit when you return.”
Jorin nodded in eager agreement.
“Assuming you return, that is,” Reynard added with a teasing smirk.
Thorn swallowed, and looked down the wide, smooth-stone walkway towards the large estate in the distance. It wasn’t just large, it was huge, an obvious sign of who lived there. A stone-walled and well-manicured green lawn populated by several dozen trimmed and shaped trees flanked the walkway, and a pair of guards likewise flanked the iron gate that blocked entry. Thorn was just a mid-ranked officer in the Imor army, and he knew this was absolutely the last place he should be.
“So, what’s the plan?” Jorin finally asked, eyeing the two guards. He rubbed his hands together in eagerness as he grinned. “Should we go knock ‘em out or something? We’re all Platinum. I mean, Reynard just got it, but I bet we could do it.”
Slowly, Thorn turned towards the grinning Dwarf, disbelief in his eyes. “No! We will absolutely not knock them out! I’ll just politely go ask to see her. I’ve even got a nice letter to make the request.”
“She’s the cousin of the Queen, you idiot!” Reynard snapped.
“I thought she was an aunt?” Jorin said.
“It doesn’t matter! She’s related to the new Queen!” Reynard growled, before looking his Ratkin friend in hiis eyes. “Thorn, do you really think she’ll simply invite you in politely for tea and cookies? You know she despises Ravina, and Nevikk, for that matter. Plus, you’re a major in the army of another kingdom! She’s not going to have you killed, at least I don’t think she would, but she still might have you roughed up a bit for intruding on her dainty lifestyle. I’m sure you’re not going to see her.”
“One thing I can tell you, from what I’ve heard about her, the Kerr is far from dainty.” Thorn looked between both his companions, and you could see he was looking for their moral support. Swallowing, he then said, “Besides, I believe she’s the Queen’s first-cousin, once removed.”
“Isn’t that like an aunt?” Jorin asked. He tried counting on his fingers to figure out the relationship.
“It doesn’t matter who she is, it’s still unwise!” Reynard warned.
“I have to do this, my friends. Can I count on you both?”
Jorin was still counting on his fingers, but then seemed to comprehend what Thorn had asked. “Alright,” he sighed, giving up on the genealogy puzzle and throwing his arms out in resignation. “We’re with you, at least right up until she decides to kill you. At that point, I’m leaving. Don’t worry. We’ll have a very nice funeral and be quite sad. We’ll cry and everything, even. It will be very touching.”
Shaking his head and laughing lightly, Major Thorn tried to ignore Jorin’s implied warning under the joke as he started walking towards the wrought-iron gate, his friends quickly flanking him on either side. Inwardly, he focused, slowing his nervous heart and activating a couple skills to heighten his senses. He knew, politically, that the Kerr was powerful, and not someone you wanted to anger, and he was walking a fine line with his future. Truthfully, he wasn’t actually expecting violence. It was, in fact, even odds that he’d simply be turned away. But if this went wrong …
“Halt!” the Elven guard said, holding up his arm while tightening his grip on the spear he held in the other. Next to him, a junior guard, also an Elf, likewise came fully to attention. Inwardly, Thorn sighed and then scoffed. He could immediately tell by the way they moved that both guards couldn’t be higher than Bronze Tier, likely both Warrior classes. Hell, the younger one might only be Iron, still. They were simply a show of force, not an actual one. Next to him, Jorin, a Warrior class himself, squeaked with a held-back flippant comment, likely seeing the same inexperience. “State your name and business!”
“Good afternoon,” Thorn said, bowing his head just slightly. “My name is Major Tandis Thorn, and I’ve come on a matter of some urgency. I wish to speak with Kerr Sylbane.”
“And why would she deem to meet with you? I said to state your business. Better yet, you can just piss off!”
“I’m afraid it is a personal matter that I shant detail to you.”
“Look, Kerr Sylbane is not taking unscheduled meetings, especially with a Ratkin nobody like you, even if you are a major. Now, and I’ll suggest it politely again, piss off!”
Reynard and Jorin both tensed slightly, but Thorn kept his demeanor calm and focused. He’d expected this cold response, quite honestly. They had a job to do, and part of that job was to get him to ‘piss off’. “My friend,” Thorn said, putting on a false smile, “I’m going to hand you a letter. You are going to see that it gets to the Kerr, and then she will want to see me.”
“I’ll do no such thing! Now … for the last time … piss … off!”
Subtly, Thorn called on his Command Aura to make himself seem slightly more imposing. Part of him hated to use it against civilians, but this was a special circumstance and they were at least pseudo-military. “What do you think will happen when Kerr Sylbane finds out that the important topic we needed to discuss was turned away? What do you think will happen to you when she finds out that it was you that did the turning, choosing instead to be a simple, drimling fool? I assure you, you will no longer be working here. I hear the northern ice mines are always looking for warm bodies to dig for lead, however.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
There! Thorn saw the shadow of doubt pass across both faces. Slowly, and making sure they could see his hands, he reached into his vest, pulling out one of two leather letter sleeves. “Your name?”
The three stared at each other for several seconds. Thorn could tell the senior guard was getting nervous. He wasn’t used to someone standing up to his authority and surely thought he was doing the right thing. Still, the doubt was there and seeing the unflinching Ratkin, who said he was an army officer, calm before him, seemed to increase that doubt. His mouth strangely dry, the guard grumbled out, “Gosen. This here is Rilden.”
“Very good. Please see this is delivered, master Gosen. We’ll happily await a response.”
Hesitantly, guard Rilden took the sleeve. “This isn’t poisoned or something, is it?”
Almost rolling his eyes, Thorn shook his head. “That would be an act of war. It is private, however. I do not recommend you read it. It's sealed, and she’ll know if you have.”
“Fine! We’ll see it is delivered to her steward. He can decide whether to pass it on. Wait over there,” Gosen growled, pointing to a tree about thirty meters away. At least they would be waiting in the shade.
While the trio retreated to bide their time, Gosen put a whistle to his lips, blowing twice, aimed through the gate into the courtyard. Before long, a red-haired Pixie flew out, and after a few instructions, which Thorn and Reynard were easily able to hear, flew back into the manor carrying the sleeve.
“Now we wait,” Jorin scowled. “Odds?”
“Good odds, now. Getting past those two without incident was going to be the hardest part. I think she’ll see me.”
----------------------------------------
“Why are the doors so big?” Jorin whispered to Reynard and Thorn. “I mean, they’re half again the size of an Ogre. This makes no sense.”
“Just a pointless show of power and wealth, I assume,” Reynard replied.
“Seems like a waste to me. In fact, most of this seems like a waste.” He gestured in general at the posh surroundings.
“Farncoll Manor pre-dates The Escape,” a lanky male Elf said, walking stiffly into the foyer. “The Kerr didn’t have a lot of choice on the architecture.” He was impeccably dressed, with dark gray eyes, dark skin, snow-white hair, and tiny hints of age lines on his face. Without even needing an introduction, Thorn and the rest were immediately able to tell this was a person of some skill, certainly at least Platinum tiered, likely the steward that the guard had mentioned. “Thank you, Gosen. You may return to your duties,” the newcomer added, nodding in dismissal at said guard.
“You’re sure, sir?”
“They have no weapons?”
“No, sir,” Gosen confirmed. “We confiscated their daggers.” Then he looked at the troublesome trio. “You can have them back when you leave.”
Thorn couldn’t help but to inwardly scoff. Both Jorin and Reynard were Platinum tiered, as was he. Hell, he was a Martialist. None of them needed something so mundane as ‘weapons’ to fight, if they truly had to.
“If you’ll follow me,” the steward said flatly, turning to walk down the hallway. He led Thorn and the others, moving at a fast pace as his boots made loud, echoing, clomping sounds on the stone floors. Thorn focused on keeping his expression neutral and professional. Jorin and Reynard, however, weren't afraid to gawk at the indulgent decor around them. Detailed tapestries and paintings on the walls. Carved figures of rare stone, gold and strange metals, many inlaid with gems or glowing manastones. Even furniture so fine and detailed as to be masterworks.
The walk wasn’t far, and the trio was shown to a room, presumably to wait. It had a heavy, wooden door, with another pair of armed and armored guards flanking it on the outside. Thorn could see that both were breathing slightly deeper than one would expect, and suspected they had just come running to take up their positions. He started to suspect that a lot of the display of force was for show, and would prove ineffective if it came to that. Still, they’d made it this far, so that boded well that they would at least be able to leave without trouble.
“You may all wait here. The Kerr will see you shortly.” The steward said the second part pointedly to Thorn, making it obvious that the other two would not be part of that meeting. “In the meantime, refreshments will be brought. Try not to … touch anything.” That last sentence was said to everyone with a sneer, but seemed to be directed pointedly at Jorin and Reynard, and Thorn quickly put his paw over his the Dwarf’s mouth to silence him before he could make a snide reply. There was still a bit of a muffled snide reply.
“I guess we’re committed, now,” Reynard said after the steward had left the room. He then picked up a well-carved stone statuette, intentionally touching it all over. “Thorn, explain to me again why you think this is a good idea? You certainly can still be a father-figure to Nevikk without it. You don’t need to do this, and it’s taking on a lot of responsibility.”
“I can’t just be a father-figure, Reynard,” Thorn sighed, not wanting to rehash this again. “I have to actually be his father. You know that the fact that he’s the Kerr’s grandson makes it all the more important to do this properly. The three of us are going to be a family. I know you don’t approve of Ravina, but if in the end it's a mistake, it’s one I am willing to make.”
“It’s not that we don’t like Ravina,” Reynard said, setting the carving down, and then steadying it when it started to wobble. He moved on to touch the next thing. “She’s lovely, and usually sweet. But …”
Thorn raised an eyebrow. “But what?”
“Well, you’ve only been together for, what, about seven months?” Reynard said.
“Oh shut up! How quickly did you marry Talania? That’s a poor excuse and you know it.”
Reynard reluctantly nodded, conceding the point with a sigh.
“But she’s also not well,” Jorin added flatly. “I mean, we know it’s not her fault, but this marriage commits you to a lot more trouble than just fatherhood, in this case.”
“We can manage, and I’m not going to have this discussion again. Besides, who are you to lecture me on marriage? You once swore to everyone you’d never marry again!”
Jorin waved his hand dismissively, but with a sly smile on his face. “Bah! Nothing but trouble, if you ask me. So much trouble that I did it twice.”
“Three times,” Reynard corrected absently. He was now holding a tall vase and looking deeply into the neck, one eye closed in concentration, and then he upended it to see if anything would fall out. Nothing did.
“The one with Natala doesn’t count!” Jorin corrected back with a grin. “She never said ‘yes’.”
“She did say ‘I’ve got nothing better to do’, though,” Reynard reminded his friend. “That’s pretty close to a yes.”
“Nope! That doesn’t count!” Jorin growled defensively.
“She’d kill you if you said that to her face. She does actually love you, you know,” Thorn pointed out.
“Yeah, I know,” Jorin said with a sly, blushing smile. “I love her, too,” he reluctantly conceded with a sheepish nod. “She still never said yes, though!”
Thorn was just about to pile a little more good-natured ribbing on to his friend, welcoming the change of target away from Ravina, but the door opened to an Elf servant pushing a small cart. On it was a plate of finger-cakes and cookies, a bowl of bite-sized fruits, and a teapot, presumably with tea, along with cups. Wordlessly, the Elf quickly left the room, the door closing solidly behind her.
For about twenty minutes, the three were kept waiting. Jorin happily devoured most of the snacks, while Reynard largely puttered about the room, sipping tea and investigating anything he might be able to pick up or look behind, adding as much touching as possible. Thorn, for his part, had some tea before sitting in a chair to focus on calming himself, while reviewing what he needed to say. In fact, he knew quite well what he needed to say. He’d even practiced in a mirror on a few occasions, and with Ravina a couple times as well. He had his request all worked out, and knew it would be fine right up until Kerr Sylbane spoke. Ravina had warned him that the Kerr was one to take command of a conversation, often twisting words or meaning, making any formal preparation difficult and likely putting the person on the defensive. He’d have to stay focused and not get flustered.
“Major, the Kerr will see you now,” the steward said, eventually walking stiffly into the room. Jorin quickly swallowed the food in his mouth, while Reynard let the painting he was looking behind flop back against the wall, both trying to look innocent. You could see on the steward’s face that they failed completely.
Thorn rose from where he'd been sitting cross-legged in the chair, shaking himself mentally out of a slight, meditation-like introspection. Putting on a somewhat-false smile, he gestured forwards. “Please, lead the way.”