Julian Rothwell felt the carriage come a halt. He sat forward in his seat and drew back the curtain to peer outside.
“Driver,” he called as he knocked the inside of the carriage, “Why have we stopped? I told you to take us to Sir Perry’s manor!”
The carriage driver fumbled with his words as he answered.
“T-this is far as I can get us, Master Rothwell.”
“What?”
Rothwell’s face scrunched up in disbelief. He looked for a second at Julius, whose nonchalance offered him no sympathy. Rothwell then moved passed him and opened the door. As he stepped out onto the road and looked further south, he realized that the driver was correct. In the distance, perhaps a few hundred feet or so, he could see the stone walls surrounding Perry’s barracks rising above the street; the gates to his compound were wide open and crowds of townsfolk were gathered at the threshold. The entire street, from Perry’s gate to where Rothwell now stood in the mud, was filled with citizens, carriages, carts, pitched tents, beasts of burden, and congregations of all sorts. Beneath even the rising bustle of these street goers Rothwell could hear the sound of music and merriment coming from within Perry’s compound.
“What the devil is going on?”
Rothwell heard the carriage axles groan as Julius exited after him.
“It seems as if someone is throwing a party.”
“Did you know about this?” Rothwell asked, looking over at the carriage driver.
The man shook his head frantically.
“Relax,” Julius said as he clapped Rothwell on the back, nearly knocking him over. “They deserve it.”
Rothwell readjusted his coat.
“Regardless, I have business with Perry.”
“Perfect,” Julius boomed as he brushed passed Rothwell and started walking toward the crowds. “You have your talk, and I’ll find some ale!”
It had been around noontime on this day that the last of the rubble was cleared from the town square. The empty plot that remained was a far cry from the assemblage of busy homes and storefronts which previously stood tall and proud; but it was better by any measure than the wasteland it had been. Day after day, the people had toiled about the market district and town square in an effort to clear out the debris and begin planning for the reconstruction. When at last the area had been cleared, it was as if new life had found its way to the haggard denizens of Viemen. They could, for the first time in what had felt like an eternity, see a glimmer of hope for the future. Yet despite this new wave of excitement, it was too soon for the burden to have lifted. They had, after all, toiled both day and night, endlessly and with single-minded purpose, on this one task. Now, after such a length of backbreaking labor, they wanted to rest. But for many, there was no safe place for them to lay their heads. They had no hearths beside which to keep warm. No tables to gather around while sharing in company, food or drink.
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So, how then, did they all come to be here on this night?
What started as a joke — an off-handed comment made by the young nephew of Sir Perry— had turned quickly into something more.
Following a suggestion by Ellis, those without homes had been invited to gather on the grounds of Sir Perry’s estate. The Starspawn could not offer lodging to everyone, but there was space to leave tents for sleeping, enough food to get by, and walls within which to feel safe and secure. It was mere hours after this invitation had spread that others, who were fortunate enough to still have their belongings, began to offer food and provisions to those without. Then, with one hefty contribution of ale from the matriarch of the Lonely Song, a simple humanitarian effort had ballooned into full-fledged festivity.
As Rothwell crossed the threshold of the Mannigold estate, he was struck by the scene. From person to person, group to group, and plastered across the faces of nearly every man, woman and child, was a grinning smile.
Laugher.
Joy.
It was all here.
Somehow, the dark and death of the recent past could not invade this place. Even Rothwell, despite his shrewd and jealous nature, could not help but marvel at the outcome. He had yet to meet another nobleman that could compete with Sir Perry’s innate charisma. Even if he had wanted to, Rothwell would never have been capable of transforming the sorrowful demeanor of an entire town into anything resembling joy. No one else could instill such a confidence as to make these people feel safe enough to laugh and smile and dance as they did.
It was indeed a celebration.
Rothwell followed the openings between the crowds as best he could. He had hoped recognition of his arrival would afford him easier passage; but it seemed that the masses were either too drunk or too distracted to care. Luckily, there was an obvious centerpiece to this festive gathering. A dense crowd had formed in the front yard, which sat beneath the steps to the manor entrance. Several large tables had been hastily erected without time enough to fashion benches or other seating. Large barrels of ale had been brought and flagons were being passed beneath their spouts with frightening speed and efficiency. A few men stood atop the landing, hooting drunkenly at the people gathered below. As Rothwell got closer to the clearing, he could feel a change in the dynamic of the crowd. People began to swarm the base of the staircase, packing themselves near on top of one another in anticipation. A chanting then began: a jubilant singsong cheer with the wholesome and unmistakable flair of intoxication.
“Dragon slaying knight! Gave us all a fright! The bread is stale, so grab some ale, let’s drink till morning light!”
Hundreds swayed to and fro, with arms wrapped tight around each other, all joined in voicing this impromptu shanty.
Rothwell continued to move slowly toward the front yard as their voices swelled around him. He quickly spotted Julius’ rugged heft among the crowd; he was beside the table of ale, rocking playfully in tune with the rising lilt as the froth spilled over the top of his cup. Beside him were two busty women with rosy pink cheeks and adventurous hands. Rothwell left Julius to his primal urges and continued to squeeze through the crowded yard, making little progress in the end.
“Perry! Perry!”
A sudden uproar swelled as the drunken masses beckoned their savior forward. Then came a loud cheering as Perry managed to hobble his way up the stone steps. He soaked in the moment with a boyish grin and shook his empty cup in the air, much to the people’s enjoyment.
“Dragon slayer!”
“Savior of Viemen!”
These exaltations and more were laid at the feet of Sir Perry Mannigold. But, although he was proud and thankful, he was above all else an honest man.
Perry raised his open hand to the crowd; and as they quieted down, he took one final look out into the manor grounds. Then, he spoke.