Surveying downwards at the gentle descending slope from the raised town grounds, Cal watched as the last wagon joined the main road. The front of train long since hidden by tropical trees. With his head still thumping from the previous night, and stomach churning, Cal crossed the short stone bridge leading back to the gate. Leaning at the bridges edge, Cal retched into the spanning gully. Composing himself the mage straightened, thinking better than to condense water as to cleanse his mouth. For he was in no condition to safely work even a simple weave. Passing the lowered drawbridge at the end of the stonework bridge, Cal re-entered the walled town.
Blinking away the abrupt change in brightness from exiting gate, the Manor Lord and an attendant hailed Cal from atop horseback. As he got near them the attendant threw Cal a water skin, carefully as not to unnerve the third horse which he held in place by the reins. The mage proceeded to wash the bile out his palate as best he could, returning the half empty container after a final splash to his face.
“Shall we ride to the keep” said the Manor Lord, his thick beard failing to hide his mirth.
Drops of water rolled off the blue silk, the attire from home having been spared from attending the night’s revelry. “Wir?” asked the mage “You want me to straddle that beast”.
“Just get on the damn horse will you” said Mats, “I’m a busy man”.
Cal was reconsidering his choice in parting with the Tristanese, at the very least they knew their place. “I have never ridden a horse”, the heat was getting irritating now that he was doing naught to counter the celestial giant “Just bring a carriage”.
“If I may my Lord, I will assist Sir Cal” said the attendant, outfitted in plate with the visor raised.
“Fine” replied Cal and Mats in concert.
Dismounting, the armoured man assisted Cal atop the stallion. The mage nearly slid to the opposing side as he was boosted atop the saddle, securing his feet within the stirrup with little grace and much swearing. With the young mage atop his horse, the attendant mounted his own steed in a single motion. Handling the reins of Cal’s mount, the attendant started at a trot behind Mats.
The saddle roughed Cal’s inner thigh, “Must we really sit atop this things” grumbled the youth.
Juxtaposed to the man in full plate, Mats donned a white cotton tunic. Buckler and arming sword strapped at his hip. “Well you’ll be my guest for the next month” said Mats, “If you so much as look my dear Hilde the wrong way though, I will snap you in half. Mage or not” giving Cal a meaningful glare.
“The famous Acleshen hospitality I have heard so much about” replied Cal whilst massaging his temple, horse riding doing little to improve the hangover. “What of my employ?” asked the youth.
“As Lord of the Manor, I’m not allowed to personally hire mages” replied Mats, “I sent a messenger three days back” absentmindedly stroking his golden beard “Should have a reply from Vinar in two or three weeks”.
“Jarl Vinar, my Lord” corrected the armoured man, scanning the pedestrians about.
“Vinar would most likely hire you” Mats ignored the man, “We’ll draw your work conditions in due time. I’m sure Hilde would want to pen it herself”. A smile crept upon his face, softening his countenance “To that end, want rank are you?”.
“What are you on about” said Cal, shifting in the saddle as he attempted to spare his groin from the constant jostling.
“The Imperial Accreditation Convention, I believe that what it is called by the mage community, my Lord” the servant interposed.
“You’re spending too much time with Hilde man” reproached Mats, “I get enough court talk from Hirds and merchants as is”.
Cal brooded over the term, Rakhan Empire’s obsession with cataloguing had always caused him all manner of grief. “Oh, those idiotic little titles your kind like to flaunt. Those do not apply me” said Cal as he recalled the purported ranking system.
“Aren’t you a pretentious one? Fine, have it your way. I’ll judge for myself then” said Mats, bringing their group to a canter.
The accelerated pace coupled with the aroma of freshly baked bread aggravated Cal’s disposition. “Can we continue in silence, I am in no mood for an argument” said the mage through grated teeth.
Without exchanging another word the trio rode along the cobbled streets. Most denizens recognised their lord parted to the sides to allow free passage to him, and Cal by association. Between the sun, humidity and the accursed horse, Cal could no longer hold back the bile. Leaning to the stallion’s side Cal regurgitated, divesting naught but stomach fluids which burnt his throat between heaves. Unbeknownst to him, Mats and his servant had come to a stop. White dots danced at the edge of Cal’s sight as he once more accepted the water skin from the armoured man. As he cleaned himself, the mage saw Mats passing a handful of the peculiar note currency to a group of children. Perceiving the youth’s recovery, Mats resumed the group’s travel.
A dozen odd minutes later the three riders reached the castle, at the far end of town. Clanging of chains deafened Cal as the drawbridge lowered, spanning the fifteen feet wide ditch before the fortified wall. Dismounting within the lower baily, Cal urged the Manor Lord leave to retire.
“Fine. However, I’ll summon for you in three to four hours” said Mats, “Boy, come here” calling a youth in the early stages of puberty.
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The youngster placed down the sword he was oiling at a sloth’s pace. A Cra Aesmir traditional arms. Thirty inch iron blade, with a snug one handed grip between a fist wide pommel and guard. The freckled boy wiped his hands off a stained towel as he approached Mats.
“This here is Cal, our new guest and future court mage” addressed Mats. The formerly lethargic boy beamed at Cal, “Take him to our guest room of honour”.
Cal followed the boy through the open grounds, drawing stares from a score of men at arms milling about. The pair crossed the open dual portcullises gate to the upper bailey, which was bereft of any activity. Climbing the stairs to the Keep, Cal spied a small picketed garden nested at the corner of the fortified wall and the towering Keep. Landing at the top of the stairs, Cal wrinkled at the lowered six feet drawbridge leading to the entrance. I will never understand the madness of this pointless defences thought the mage through his pounding head, These wouldn’t even stand against a Lesser Drake.
Having been lead through a needlessly labyrinthine route through the building, Cal arrived at his chamber. A ten by twelve feet affair dominated by a large bed, enveloped by thin mosquito nets and a brass lined drawer at the bed’s base. Dismissing his guide, Cal poured himself a cup of zest flavoured water from a pitcher upon the singular table. Not thrusting himself just yet he left the sliced fruits and roasted nuts upon the silver platter untouched.
Refreshed, the young man undressed and eased into the bed. Enjoying the soft, hugging sensation of a quality mattress for the first time since he had been all but exiled. Streaming through the partially opened stained glass window, the early rays warmed the chamber. With a deliberate exhale, Cal pushed his discomfort to the far reaches of his mind. Eyes closed, the mage directed his thoughts to the sixty feet wide sphere of his mind’s eye. Limiting his attention to the bounds of his chamber, Cal spent the next half hour identifying and tracking the fluid flow of nitrogen and oxygen. And over the next half hour he infused spin within the threads, altering the weaves of the circulating air Cal reduced the vibration of the oxygen and nitrogen molecules, decreasing the temperature. Stabilising the process, Cal coerced the continuous weaving to his subconscious, drifting asleep within moments hence.
Sharp knocks disturbed the youth. Forcing heavy eye lids open, Cal winced at the bright room as he slowly got to his feet. “Einen augenblick!” shouted Cal through bleary eyes as he trudged to the door, wearing but his underpants. Sliding the bolt Cal unlocked the door and was greeted by a middle aged woman holding a vessel of steaming water.
“Lord Mats requests your presence, Sir” said the servant with a curt bow before entering the chamber, placing the vessel upon the table. After laying two neatly folded towels besides the basin, she collected the water pitcher and food plater before departing.
Freshened, the mage wore his silken attire. Considering the heat Cal left his sapphire hooded cloak and vest behind, their gold and platinum patterns gleaming from the sun’s rays. Settling for his ebony trousers and taupe shirt Cal exited his room, only to be met with an elder man.
“If I may Sir Calredraxt, my Lord Mats awaits” said the man as he led Cal.
Walking silently through the Keep with his queasiness substantially diminished, a mental map slowly formed in the youth’s mind. What he had previously deemed as the work of a mad architect appeared to actually be a deliberate intent to force specific access routes.
Arriving at their destination, Cal recognised the study from his second day in the town. The armoured man from the morning stepped away from the door to allow the pair access. Still encased in steel, the man had eschewed his earlier lance in favour of a short poleaxe. How does he survive the heat wondered the young mage. Similar to his previous visit the elder man introduced Cal to Mats and his daughter, and with Mats invitation the youth sat before the heavy desk.
“How fairs your accommodations, Sir?” asked Hilde, a curt smile plastered on her face.
“Passable, better than the road at least” replied Cal.
“Do inform us if you require anything”, Hilde brow twitched slightly “If it pleases you, shall we discuss your future role—”.
“Hold up” interrupted Cal “I was to understand that I was a guest for the time being, let us leave such talk to when, and if you’re Jarl decides to hires me”.
Hilde’s face slowly reddened. With the façade crumbling, it occurred to Cal for the first time that the woman could barely be older than himself, if even. “Shall we meet in the Lower Bailey?” she said through half clenched teeth before storming out the study.
“Did I miss something?” asked Cal, still staring at the door.
“I think you pissed her of” replied Mats, “At times I forget how young my little Hilde really is”.
“And why would she be angered at me?”.
“She’s a stickler for courtesy, takes that after my dearly departed wife” said Mats with a warm smile, “However, she takes her temper from me”.
Cal took a honey bun from atop the desk, “So what of meeting outside” the warm pastry melted in his mount with a touch of cinnamon.
“If I were to guess, she wants a duel”.
“Is that not a bit rash” said Cal, “Surely I am not the first guest to oppose her?”.
The broad shouldered man broke eye contact with the youth, twiddling his fingers. “Maybe the others were encouraged to go along” he finally said.
“And now I must contend with your excess doting”.
“Maybe I’ve spoiled her a wee little bit” conceded Mats.
“If I must, fine” Cal stole another bun from Mats’ desk, “Not like I have anything better to do” gorging himself as hunger took hold.
“One thing you should know” Mats pulled his plate away from the youth, “Magic aren’t allowed”.
The food caught in Cal’s throat, almost choking him “Wait what!”. The bearded man chuckled at Cal, almost daring him to protest. “So be it. Your games, your rules” said the youth as he capitulated.
Having donned the mail shirt with a padded jacket beneath along with the open faced iron helmet, Cal tested the Cra Aesmir sword and round shield. Hoisting the wide wooden shield awkwardly, the mage approached the similarly equipped Hilde. A ring of men at arms formed around the pair with Mats standing between the duellist as the arbitrator.
“BEGIN!” shouted Mats as he moved away.
Hilde charged the young man shield first, and in response Cal lowered his stance. The woman crashed against Cal’s shield, but he held fast. With his superior strength Cal shoved against Hilde, pushing her three steps back. Following the aggression Cal swung the sword in a wide overhead arc, his left hand swinging behind him like a counter weight. His sword slid across Hilde’s angled shield, catching upon the iron boss. Hilde pushed Cal’s sword to the side, trapping his sword outside as she stepped in. Before Cal could recover, Hilde held sword four inches to his neck.
“HALT” bellowed Mats.
“Are we done here”, Cal let the sword and shield drop to the ground “It’s bloody hot under this jacket”. The woman’s breathing grew ragged as she swung the dull sword with wanton abandon at Cal’s mailed mid-section. Sparks flew as the sword screeched against a translucent film half an inch from the mail.
“No magic!” shouted Hilde.
“The duel already ended” replied Cal.