Afternoon soon gave way to evening and work on the castle paused. Laborers of every discipline dispersed to go back to their homes in the valley below. Men-at-arms milled about the grounds in pairs, aimlessly patrolling and trying their best to look busy. The portcullis was shut with a heavy thud and the snapping of chains. There would be no more travel in and out of the castle grounds for tonight.
Alistair stifled a yawn as he marched his way back to the barracks. His day had been an exhausting one filled with the lifting of heavy stone and the rare excitement of visitors from a city many leagues away. To say he was tired would be an understatement. All he wanted to do now was to hang up his spear, rip the helmet off his shaved head, eat some grub and fall asleep on a pallet of straw.
That was the plan until a thick hand on his chest stopped him right in his tracks. Alistair was once again greeted by the sight of his sergeant. Taggard looked to be in a sour mood still. Perhaps he had come to chew him out again?
Taggard held up a single finger and pointed in the opposite direction of where Alistair was headed. He knew right away the sergeant meant to go to the lord's manor. A place he very much did not want to go.
The keep itself was like a shining torch surrounded by the dreary and poorly lit stone the rest of the fortress was made of. It had stained glass windows illuminated with warm candles from inside and the soft sounds of distant conversation could be heard coming from within. There was talk that lord Caldwell had wanted to celebrate with a feast to honor his newly arrived guests. To do otherwise would bring shame on his household.
“Yer wanted in the keep,” Taggard said.
There were no frills or extra jabs at Alistair’s expense. His superior seemed genuinely remorseful, apart from the permanent scowl stuck on his face. Something in his dark eyes told the boy something was wrong.
“But my shift-”
“Ain’t no room for arguin’, lad. Get in there.”
The gravelly voice threatened to unravel a bit at the end. Was the sergeant actually worried about him? But, he couldn't argue with him. The shifts and assignments were handed down from the marshal, then down to the warden and then further to the sergeants. A strict hierarchy that left little room for objection, at least from the commoner’s end.
Alistair swallowed the lump in his throat. What had he done to deserve this extra duty? Was this a punishment for his unwarranted gaze directed at the daughter of the Lady? The same one she chose to maintain of her own volition? He knew the answer and yet he still did not understand.
Only a select group of men-at-arms that were allowed to guard the inside of the keep and they very rarely rotated with those assigned elsewhere. The work came with it a small measure of prestige but also a considerable amount of stress. They had to deal with nobility on a daily basis which was a struggle all its own. Ultimately, only the most experienced and attractive men were selected for the esteemed duty.
A noble’s vanity extended to not just his wardrobe of clothes but to the lowborn he forced himself to consort with everyday.
For his trouble, the sergeant gave him a quick pat down to remove the dirt and dust that had clung to Alistair’s tabard. Then, the helmet on his head was leveled out and polished with a bit of spit and a hard rubbing that made Alistair’s head hurt. Before he went inside, he put away his thick work gloves that were still covered in grime.
The door lacked any guard or attendant and so he opened it himself. Once inside, there was still no one to greet him or show him the way. Of course his assignment must have been an afterthought the moment they sent out the order. Alistair sighed and then quietly shut the door behind himself. He would just have to find his own way forward.
Alistair made his way through the halls, his eyes focused only on what was directly in front of him. The soft red carpet beneath him felt like a luxurious massage on his aching feet. For a moment he fretted about leaving dirt behind but a quick glance down revealed that it was not a pristine piece of decoration by any means. His mother, a launderer for the keep, must have had her hands full with just the clothing of the family, let alone their decorative rugs.
As he traversed through the maze-like structure he noticed just how alone he felt. The feast had garnered all the attention of the residents tonight it seemed. A growing din of raucous laughter and spirited conversation was his only guide. It had to be the one place they would summon him to on a night like this.
Yet again Alistair asked himself, why him?
He knew very little about the Lady of the Lake and that lack of knowledge extended to the clergy who served her. She was the goddess of the Albani people and she had been that way for over a thousand years. Her powers were thought to come from nature and Alistair had heard tell that there were such things as groves of magic she lived inside of. He had never seen or spoken to the Lady, but he had been told all his life that she was the guardian of humanity and that made her a deity to be venerated.
Her daughters, well he knew even less than that. They were meant to be some sort of clergywomen of hers. All were girls taken in and raised by the Lady, but what she did to them or what they learned no one but them could say. Some stayed in one place, advising nobles or caring for shrines of heroes long past. Others constantly traveled in search of evil and corruption, and for the paladins who were meant to vanquish it.
This was all the information he had gathered from the sergeant and Heaf earlier, after that fateful encounter in the courtyard. Heaf had known more than he let on originally. Apparently it had been quite some time since a daughter had come out this far. Not since the last border skirmish with the undead horde. Their magical powers and holy blessings were a staple in any Albani army raised to fight such wicked foes.
The sound of a door creaking open woke Alistair from his errant thoughts. He stopped right in his tracks when he saw another man-at-arms enter the hallway from an alcove. One hand limply held a spear while the other furiously rubbed his already bloodshot eyes. This man was clearly in need of a rest.
The guard eventually rubbed away the spots in his vision, and it was then he noticed Alistair standing there. From all the noise coming from behind the small door this had to have been the dining hall.
“You the replacement?” said the man.
“I think so?” Alistair said, shrugging.
“Then get in there.” He pointed to the door he had just come out of. “I need to have a piss an’ somethin’ to eat.”
Alistair watched him go off back the way he had come in from. He turned to the door and took a deep breath. With any luck he could remain like a fly on the wall. Just a watchful observer, never called upon or noticed. Life was easier that way.
He made a great effort to quietly pull the door open so as not to draw attention his way. The door cracked open a few inches, just enough for him to peek inside. It was so bright from candle and torch light that Alistair had to squint first just to see. Whatever noise he made opening the door was easily drowned out by the sheer volume of the party inside. With that ample distraction he let himself slip inside.
The noble’s dining hall felt as large as the barracks and mess hall combined. A giant wooden table of considerable length was set in the middle. There were so many different kinds of food and plates that Alistair could not comprehend how it was all meant to get finished. Every chair had an occupant that busied themselves with frenzied conversation and hedonistic consumption of boar’s meat, goat cheese, and rich wine.
Alistair recognized only a handful of the nobles sitting at the dining table. There was of course lord Caldwell at the head. His balding hair and gaunt form belied the past war glories and honors he had earned, none more so important than his baronship. From the rare moments Alistair had seen him he was a man that rarely seemed satisfied with life. The sharp grin splayed across his scarred lip felt quite out of place.
Kevin Caldwell, his son, remained close to him, sipping wine and bantering with one of the knights from Isenfell. He was someone who fancied himself destined for greatness and he certainly had the haughty bravado to back it up. Kevin showed an active disdain for lowborn regardless of their station or appearance. It was rare for any noble, especially a noble’s scion, to show much more than passing respect for the people beneath them, but somehow Kevin had always been worse than that.
Alistair hated him with a burning passion for this.
There was a sharp banging that managed to overtake even the most boisterous courtiers. Alistair tightened the grip on his spear as he watched lord Caldwell smack his silver goblet onto the table a final time. Everyone’s attention was soon back on the baron as he stood up with his goblet raised high.
“Today is a very special occasion. Please raise your drinks with me as we celebrate the arrival of our most esteemed guests from Isenfell. May you find your stay in this humble keep an enjoyable one.”
“Hear hear!” said Kevin, the first to down his drink.
Other guests echoed the prodigal son’s sentiment and drank their fill. Servants were constantly moving in and out of the room, weaving intricate patterns as they pranced around filling cups and removing plates. Alistair glanced to his left and right and took note of the other men-at-arms scattered around the edges of the room. He felt an anxious weight grab hold of his gut when he failed to recognize a single other guard.
Was he really the only one singled out from the outside?
The older knight that had carried the duke’s banner, his plate armor gone and replaced with a comfortable tunic, in turn stood and raised his glass.
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“Thank you, my lord. Your hospitality is as gracious as it is plentiful.” He made a wide gesture toward the banquet. “The Duke of Isen sends his regards, and entrusts you with the care of the dukedom’s newest Daughter, Isabele. May she guide you and your people closer to the Lady’s holy light.”
Unrestrained applause filled the room as the nobles approved of the duke’s thoughtfulness for their backwater settlement. Surely it was meant as a token gesture of gratitude for their loyalty, but lord Caldwell and the others enjoyed the sentiment all the same. The only one that wasn’t swept up by the emotion of the statement was Isabele herself.
Alistair recognized her right away as she still wore her pristine white gown. She sat on the opposite end of the table from the Caldwell patriarch, resting between the women courtiers on one side and the men on the other. The distant look she wore from before seemed to be her resting face. She barely acknowledged her name had been called. Despite her youth, Isabele’s station clearly gave her leeway in how she was treated by the nobility and in turn how she could treat them.
In fact, with the way they had her seated at the far end it seemed as if they were afraid of her.
There was a harsh clinking as someone banged a fork against their goblet. Alistair was not surprised to see that it was Kevin who wanted his moment in the limelight next. His well cut blonde hair and handsome facial features certainly made him an easy man to stare at, and as much as Alistair hated to admit it, he had a way with speaking to his fellow nobility. He was so good at twisting words and their meanings he could probably make a man stab himself and believe it a good idea.
“Praise be to the Lady for blessing us with the presence of one of her daughters.” Kevin nodded to Isabele and offered her a lecherous smile. “If she shares but a fraction of her mother’s beauty, I shudder to imagine the difficulty our holy paladins have when they must part ways with the Lady and her perfect figure. If only we all could be so lucky as to catch a glimpse at perfection.”
The raunchy comment received a round of applause that thankfully covered Alistair’s snort of derision. He had never met a paladin before but he was sure one of the Lady’s holy warriors would have more restraint than Kevin’s claim. The Lady picked them herself, watching over these boys and girls and guiding their path to becoming one of her elite warriors like the Paragons of old. Obviously, Kevin had never met one either otherwise the shame of his comment would have gotten the better of him.
But if he had aimed to get a rise out of Isabele, it had failed. Her face remained stony and reserved in the face of the sauced nobles and their poor form. She was so still that Alistair thought she might be asleep even with her eyes open. Only when Isabele blinked and took the occasional shallow breath did she reveal that she was present for the conversation, physically at least.
Despite the applause he received, Kevin was clearly dissatisfied Isabele made little move to acknowledge his words. His smile shriveled away and he almost collapsed back into his seat. It was only the pat on his shoulder and a few words from the men beside him that got the young man to straighten up in his chair again. Alistair enjoyed seeing his ego bruised, if only a little.
Alistair wondered if Lady Caldwell had survived her affliction would Kevin’s personality have been a tinge more palatable. His father Hughe had been the castle’s blacksmith for some time now, and he often spoke about the years preceding the lady’s death as being some of the best. Both of the males of the Caldwell family were softer back then and the halls didn’t feel so dour to walk through. Hughe said that lord Caldwell believed his wife received the plague from a lowborn when she had gone to visit a nearby village in the valley, and since then the castle had never been quite the same.
The warmth of the room began to make Alistair’s eyes feel heavy. He could feel himself on the verge of dreaming. The thought of what his liege lord might do to him if he fell asleep on guard duty was enough to send a jolt up his spine. Alistair feverishly rubbed his eyes and prayed the party would come to a conclusion soon.
When he blinked to clear his eyes, he noticed that the party had gone silent around him. Alistair looked around to see what had caused the commotion and noticed that Isabele was out of her seat. Worse yet, she was walking straight toward him. He tried not to look at her, tried not to breathe. Maybe she was just getting ready to leave the party after Kevin’s words finally reached her ears.
Alas, whatever luck he had built up finally ran out.
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All eyes were on Isabele as she walked along the edge of the table and around the room to a quiet little corner. A quiet corner occupied by the same guardsman she saw earlier today. The one she had specifically asked the marshal fellow to summon to the dining hall tonight.
The marshal, a knight of some regard, had been baffled by her sudden request as they retired into the keep. Her companions, knights of the duke, had been just as confused. She had barely spoken at all during their long journey from the capital to this isolated hamlet of a castle. Now she suddenly felt the need to hand them orders, and worse requested the presence of a lowborn to join them during the feast.
Isabele cared little for the nobility and their misguided sense of heightened self-worth. Her only duty was to serve the Lady in whatever capacity required of her. That sense of purpose had been drilled into her since she was a young girl, when she had been taken from her family on the coast to the Lady’s home of Avalon. She had been found by a member of the clergy in her sleepy little village not so different from this one and selected for her untapped magic potential.
Now with her training finished, she had been sent by the Lady to serve a special purpose. These lands on the outskirts of the Alban kingdom had long been without the permanent presence of a daughter. Previous wars with the undead and the sparse population had seen to it that these people had been overlooked in the greater scheme of things.
No longer would that be the case.
Isabele walked past lowborn on her left and highborn on her right. She ignored their confused glances and nervous ticks. Her eyes were set on the young man she had spotted earlier today. The one she recognized that had been chosen by the Lady. No doubt he had little inkling at all of the potential that rested within him, no idea of what fate and destiny had in store for him.
But he would be made to know. The people in this hall would serve as witnesses to the Lady’s divine selection.
She stood before him now. The poor thing was just about shaking in his boots. Sweat or maybe tears streaked down his cheeks as he tried to stare past her, rigid in his stance. He was a timid boy on the outside but she could sense the potential for greatness on the inside.
“What is your name?” Isabele asked.
The young man struggled to will his mouth to open. The marshal never mentioned his name to her, even after she provided him with a description of the lad. She doubted any of the people in this room even knew his name. A pity they could not see what she could.
Blessed with the Lady’s magic, Isabele possessed what was known as the Sight. It was a power reserved only for those who had personally met the Lady and sipped from the holy grail. With it, she could see past what a normal human could witness. The Sight stripped away the meat and bone and left the soul to be viewed, naked and unguarded. A person’s potential, or lack thereof, on full display for those with the power to witness it.
“Answer her, boy!” Lord Caldwell shouted.
“The peasant has offended the lady with his presence. Sir Buckfeld, remove him!” said Kevin, the son.
“Stay where you are, all of you,” Isabele said, her gaze fixed on the young man in front of her.
The men were cowed by her unusually firm tone. A daughter of the Lady was meant to be respected, her word heeded in all matters that relate to the Lady and her whims. They did not understand, but they did not have to. Such traditions were codified into law long ago, before any of them had been but a thought in the Aetherial Sea.
“What is your name?” she asked again, a shade softer.
“A-Alistair, milady,” the young man said.
Alistair bowed his head to the floor and averted his gaze. His cheeks were flushed from the embarrassment of being called out in front of these strangers. It was not Isabele’s place to console him or shield him from their harsh thoughts and cruel words. He would need to find that inner strength himself. She had something much more important for him.
“Alistair, set your spear aside and stand at the end of the hall there.” She nodded over to where she had once been sitting. Her chair had been pushed aside and there was now a vacant place to stand before the crowd of bewildered dinner guests.
The young man looked around for some sort of guidance. A sign that he would not be punished or reprimanded for following her orders. He received nothing but scathing looks of hatred, disgust, and perhaps even hints of envy from her acknowledgment of his mere presence.
“Go on,” she said, coaxing him.
Alistair gently set his spear to lean against the wall at his side. He passed by Isabele and she stepped aside to allow him past. There was a look of sheer terror on the poor boy’s face. The way he shuffled forward with his head drooped low was as if he knew he was headed straight for the gallows. He awkwardly stood there at the end of the table, hands nervously laced in front of him.
He would not to be alone there for long.
Isabele turned toward the table guests as all of them stared back at her. Most remained confused at her bizarre actions and sat in silence. There were some that silently seethed in their chairs as they perceived her as the sole ruiner of an otherwise perfect evening. Her green eyes locked with one of those individuals, matching their glare with a passive gaze.
“Kevin Caldwell, son of the baron, Anthony Caldwell. Please stand.”
The noble’s face contorted with a variety of conflicting emotions as he weighed his options. Would he let himself be ordered around by a woman, even one with such a privileged station as the Lady’s chosen? One look toward his father’s scowling face sealed away any thought of rebellion. The young man quickly stood from his chair and smoothed his regal tunic of any creases.
“Stand beside Alistair at the end of the hall,” she said, gesturing toward the lowborn.
Kevin clicked his tongue in disgust.
“I will not sully my presence by standing anywhere near-”
“Silence!” Lord Caldwell was up from his seat. He pointed an accusatory finger at Kevin. “You will not dishonor me with more unbecoming tripe spewed from your mouth. Now, you will do as the daughter has requested of you. And you will do it now.”
Kevin looked utterly shocked and perhaps even betrayed by his father’s harsh words. His mouth was agape, searching for the right vocabulary to set their relationship back on track. Nothing came to mind, however, and he quickly and silently marched over to stand by Alistair. He made an effort to push his chest out and keep his head held high, but one look past the surface and he was just as mortified as Alistair next to him.
With the time for outbursts over, Isabele swiftly joined the two young men at what had become the center stage of this impromptu ceremony. From a small flask latched to her belt, Isabele dabbed its contents onto a few of her fingers. This holy water had been taken straight from the Lady’s residence, the sacred grove of Avalon. Contained within the liquid was potent magical energy that allowed those in possession of it to do powerful spells and lasting enchantments, as long as they were trained in the complex incantations and rituals.
The Daughters of the Lady were some of the few blessed with such knowledge.
“I call upon the Lady to bless these two young men with the supreme grace of her presence. For within their hearts I have seen the spark of destiny, the embers of fate. I, your daughter Isabele, beseech you, my Lady! Through this body as a humble vessel, with those gathered as witnesses to your divine command, impress upon these worthy supplicants your ultimate desire!”
Isabele’s voice grew louder with every word until her chant seemed to reverberate in the ears of those present. If one were to stare into her eyes as Kevin and Alistair had managed to, they would see the fey green shimmer and fade until nothing but white was left. With a sudden jerk of her arms, Isabele pressed her wetted pointer and index fingers onto the foreheads of the two men.
Then all became silent as Isabele left her body and someone else took her place.