“Are you waiting for the d’Gauval envoy as well, young Duvin?” A voice from behind Valentin caused the boy to jump and turn around to see an elderly man sitting atop a stool.
“Hello, Grégoire, you gave me a shock.” Valentin remarked in relief and approached his senior before giving him a slight bow. “Yes, I thought I would watch my clan’s guest approach. I was curious what sort of person they are.”
Grégoire chuckled and waved off the boy’s display of respect with a hand dried by Ortus. His eyes drifted back towards the horizon.
“Then we are of the same mind. Never in mine, my father’s, or even my grandfather’s life has a member so high up in the court of d’Gauval visited such a place as this. I did not wish to miss something as interesting as that.” He beckoned Valentin to his side with his weathered hand. “How about we watch the arrival together?”
Valentin nodded and the two waited in silence for a time. No movement on the horizon betrayed an imminent arrival. A breeze pressed over the fields and the distant bleats of sheep being herded back towards nearer corrals were the only sounds that reached Orsulie’s ear. Zenith had arrived and the heat of the flame above removed any of the chill of the morning.
“If my mind serves me as I hope it does,” Grégoire ventured, breaking the silence, “this will be your twelfth Killicia.”
“It is,” Valentin confirmed. “On the last day of the festival I will have my blood tested and see the worth the ancestors have given me.”
The boy idly kicked around the dirt at his feet. Little plumes of dust floated and settled back to the ground. Waiting was the least fun part of anything. Perhaps, woe as he would be to admit, worse than working in the vineyard.
“I remember when my eldest had his Bloodstone Ceremony.” Grégoire remarked, staring forward with a twinkle in his glassy eyes. “Oh, how badly he wanted to be strong enough to join Tiarna Lunoult’s army and protect me and his mother. Just like all the other talented children that come out of the villages. He cried the whole night when he was found to be unfavored. I had to apologize that his mother and I were unfavored as well. I felt as though I had let him down, but he needed to understand that power from the spirits and the ancestors is uncommon and given in a way that we cannot hope to understand. Though when our second had his ceremony and was unfavored as well, his brother was the first to comfort him.”
Valentin only grunted in acknowledgment to Grégoire’s tale. He had given the ceremony much thought over the past few months and how he would feel if his blood offered no power. Neither his parents nor his sisters had triggered a reaction from the stone and he was told to expect much of the same, despite his uncle’s strong glow. But that hadn’t stopped him from appealing to the ancestors during the last Lana Sincear to grace him with strength. Even the smallest glow from a bloodstone was better than nothing.
However, what he truly wanted, was a glow one that could light up the room. Legends are rarely told about those that barely got the stone to react at all. Valentin couldn’t help but feel as though there was no other reaction but bitter disappointment to be anything short of such heights.
“It is also customary to provide a child preparing for the ceremony with a gift.” Grégoire informed as he reached under his stool and dug around in a small sack beneath him.
“As it so happens,” he continued, his face changing to a smile when his hand found the right object. “I had been spending much of this morning working on it and had only finished up recently.”
In Grégoire’s slightly trembling hand was a wooden carving of a man on horseback. The carving itself was blocky and seemed to have been crafted with unsteady hands. There was a large knot on the wooden man’s head with the knife marks of a failed removal diced around it.
“Thank you, Grégoire, you did not need to give me anything.” Valentin said as he took the figure gently from the old man’s hands and looked at it closely.
“It is exactly because you said you needed nothing that I felt compelled to create this for you,” Grégoire said. “It has been some time since my last one but it brought me great joy to bring out my knife once again.”
“Thank you again,” the boy reiterated and squirreled it away in a pouch that he kept tied to the belt of his breeches.
“Think nothing of it,” was all Grégoire said in response.
Silence once again returned to the two of them. Valentin strained his eyes against the horizon for some time in an effort to see anything. It was very clearly zenith and Ortus baked down on the two from above. Valentin began to feel restless at the wait and had noted he had been tapping his foot for quite some time. Was now the correct time to head back or should he wait just a little longer?
Finally, the patience had been rewarded. On the horizon, Valentin could see a mass of silhouettes in the distance. He rubbed his eyes to be certain and the images he had seen remained.
“I see them!” Valentin shouted excitedly and Grégoire leaned forward in his stool in hopes of getting a better look.
The unfortunate truth for Valentin and Grégoire was that even if the procession could be seen, it would still take a considerable amount of time for it to reach the entrance to the village. It took a few minutes for Valentin to learn this lesson and he slumped forward in disappointment.
However, they would not be waiting without additional company for long. The herders and field hands that had been hard at work for the morning had finally returned to the village. They approached the entrance with food and drink and sat at the mouth of the road waiting for the procession. Each family that arrived paid respect to Grégoire and the young Duvin before breaking into their own groups and eating at their meals.
“There you are, father,” a middle aged man approached Grégoire and grasped his hands. “Elle said that you were just going for a walk but never returned.”
“Ah, Greg. I found the weather nice and did some carving.” Grégoire looked at Valentin with kind eyes. “Then young Valentin Duvin arrived and we spent the rest of the morning together.”
The son looked at Valentin and bowed slightly. “Thank you for spending time with my father.”
“Oh, we were just both waiting,” Valentin responded, unsure of how to handle the thanks he had received.
“Waiting?”
“Have you forgotten, Greg?” Grégoire chimed in. “The envoy will be arriving soon. You should grab Elle and the children and come back. There should still be a bit more time before the procession arrives.”
“There was more work we had to do before we could finish for the day and I was hoping for a short meal.” Greg replied, scratching uncomfortably at his collarbone. He looked at the gathering of villagers near the pair, “But it looks like everyone I’d be working with are already here.”
A group of shepherds and field hands began to congregate along the side of the road. Baskets with warm bread and cheese were placed on the ground. As Greg looked over, the group waved at the shepherd.
“Come on, Greg, it’s not every day that some important noble drags his cart through our lowly mud. I want to see what kind of man made Duvin nervous.”
Greg sighed, “I suppose Elle would be furious if she missed seeing a high noble.” To which the others made a small cheer. “Father, wait here and I will bring you something to eat.”
Grégoire smiled and nodded in understanding and his son ran off to his home.
“Isn’t he such a dutiful boy?” Grégoire lovingly said and Valentin only nodded, finding the fatherly affection to be something foreign to him.
Moments later Greg returned with wife and children in tow. In his calloused hands were a steaming bowl that he was carefully carrying to avoid spilling. The kids were covered in the dust and dirt that was typical of those that were up to mischief in the fields around the village.
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Greg handed his father the bowl and joined the other villagers to talk about the day and what would soon come to pass. Grégoire sipped idly at his soup and Valentin had found himself as the only one not eating.
The strong aroma of the stew made Valentin’s mouth salivate and he became much more aware of the increasingly growing hunger inside of him. He touched his stomach a bit and wondered if he could persist until the later meal.
“Has your meal been denied to you until the envoy’s arrival, young Duvin?” One of the spectating villagers called out, drawing attention toward Valentin.
Valentin turned to see a circle of people around a large cloth covered in bread, cheese, and vegetables. A humble spread but one that Valentin would wolfishly devour if given a chance. However, he attempted to remain composed.
“I wouldn’t want to spoil my meal,” Valentin said willfully.
“Oh we’re certain whatever is being prepared would make a Rilleon King blush,” another one of them replied with a wide smile crossing her face. “But would you turn your nose to some buttered bread? Will you stave off your hunger with thoughts?”
The woman sliced a small loaf down the middle and spread a large chunk of butter inside. She looked at the loaf and back at Valentin. “There is no need to be so shy. Consider it a Killicia gift from me to you. Besides, how would we face your father if he found out his prized son keeled over before our eyes?”
“Enough of this teasing,” Valentin responded sheepishly and approached the group. He took the bread from the woman’s hands and bowed. “Thank you.”
The assembled group just smiled in a way that Valentin found to be almost mocking. Perhaps that was just his pride speaking. The loaf only had the faintest warmth of the stone oven remaining but it mattered little. He took a large bite of the bread and chewed. The slightly nutty flavor of the barley combined with the richness of the butter washed over his taste buds. He quickly took another bite and another until the loaf had quickly disappeared, much to the amusement of the viewing villagers.
“It seems that you outdid yourself today, Barbe. That might have been fit for the envoy.”
“Let it be known that I am the most skilled baker in all d’Gauval. When you see me next it will be in the throne room beside the High Tiarna,” Barbe announced proudly.
The group fell back into their own conversation and Valentin once again stood quietly next to Grégoire. The carriage had made significant progress and was close to entering town. Valentin could now identify the figures of horsemen flanking the vehicle and creating a buffer.
To the villagers of Orsulie, the envoy appeared as something outside the realm of common existence. Even Valentin, who was no stranger to some of the niceties the world had to offer, had never seen a creation as opulent as this. The carriage was painted the same azure and gold tinctures as the d’Gauval coat of arms. It glossed and shone as though the paint had been enameled. Golden embossed stars embedded with carefully carved rubies adorned the sides and created the appearance of a constellation on the sea. Four massive white horses pulled the jeweled treasure with an effortless trot. Even after presumed days of travel, their coats were still lustrous and well-groomed creating a harsh and noticeable contrast to the grimy audience below.
The escorting horsemen similarly wore azure capes over their metallic armor. Barded horses in blue trim caused the warriors to tower over everyone before them. Their eyes observed the villagers arranged before them, hands hovering near gilded blades at their sides. Despite the display, there was an impression that the arranged warriors would be normally insufficient for such an expensive caravan. Instead, it appeared more as a fixture in a parade procession. Perhaps there were more armed soldiers guarding the following wagons carrying the Steward’s belongings and servants or perhaps there was no brigand in d’Gauval lands brave enough to try to attack such a man.
Valentin could see three men and a woman inside the carriage conversing. The curtains that would normally be drawn to shield from the elements were thrown open, allowing the breeze to flow through and for those that listened carefully to overhear the discussions of those of upper standing. Villagers waved at the incoming carriage but the occupants did not return the greeting.
Valentin was confused by the sight before him for he swore he could recognize two of the individuals inside. As the carriage passed nearer Valentin he found there to be no harm in calling out to see if he were correct. If he were not, then he would run away and hope he was not recognized. How many rowdy boys would be shouting towards the carriage? Too many to keep track of Valentin hoped.
“Vincent!” The call cut through the general chatter and all three men turned their heads in Valentin’s direction.
“Valentin? What are you doing out here?” Vincent returned the shout upon spotting Valentin amongst the crowd.
“I don’t know.” Valentin answered and shrugged.
Of course, he did know, but it would have been too long a story to pass back through shouting. Additionally, he was unsure as to whether or not his story would get him in any sort of trouble. In many instances, not knowing was the best path to take even if it could sometimes be the most frustrating.
Vincent spoke to the other three and the carriage came to a halt. The driver hopped down and opened the doors. He placed down a step stool and gestured for the boy to enter. Valentin ran up the steps.
“Our Master Duvin was on his way!” Called the villagers in teasing voices; a gesture not appreciated by the boy stepping into the carriage.
Before fully entering, he turned around. He scrunched his face and stuck out his tongue, making a petulant face at the crowd. Unfortunately, the action delighted the villagers, and a greater deluge of calls came cascading onto Valentin and the carriage occupants. The door closed behind him and Valentin found himself in the presence of four people.
The carriage was upholstered in dark brown leather with golden buttons. Valentin sat himself next to Vincent and found that seat to be padded with a spongy material. Valentin settled into the seat and shifted to test the comfort until he found a satisfactory position. The carriage then lurched forward towards the Duvin estate.
“Hello Valentin,” greeted the other man that the boy had recognized.
“Good day, Tiarna Lunoult,” Valentin replied with a short bow in greeting of the local lord. “I was not expecting you and Vincent to be making the trip from Roucotte.”
“Come now,” the ruler of Roucotte dismissed. “It is barely a half day’s trip from my estate to yours. I have some business with your father and Steward Tressavie was magnanimous enough to allow us to accompany him down to Orsulie.”
Tiarna Lunoult gestured at the man across Valentin. Before him sat a large man of soft body. He wore the blues and golds that surrounded him and clasped a gold cloth that he used to wipe at his face and neck. His skin was of a much paler color than anyone that Valentin had seen and possessed a hue that appeared to be unfamiliar with the heat of the days. He had a friendly face and inviting smile but sharp eyes that seemed to be inspecting Valentin intensely.
“My greatest apologies, Steward Tressavie.” Valentin lurched out of his seat and bowed deeply before the man. “I should have addressed you immediately.”
The man waved a great hand ushering Valentin to return to his seat. The short exertion proved to be taxing to the Steward as he wiped his face with the cloth.
“It is of little concern, son of Roland,” Steward Tressavie assured. “As it so happens, I was thinking to myself just a couple hours ago that perhaps this journey needed an addition of youthful enthusiasm.” He gave Valentin a closed-lipped smile. “It appears that I was correct, no offense to you, young Vincent.”
“None taken, Your Eminence,” Vincent replied cordially.
Valentin, determined to make a strong first impression, thought back to the advice that his father had relayed to him about impressing a customer. The first lesson of any self-respecting merchant or statesman imparted to Valentin was flattery. A compliment made towards the client’s status seemed to work best according to the boy’s memory.
“Steward Tressavie, your carriage is more beautiful than any I have ever seen. I did not know they could look like this and I felt as though I was lost in a legend.” Valentin rubbed the leather cushion for extra effect.
“This is the long distance carriage,” The Steward explained with a chuckle. “Compared to the one that I use personally in my daily activities, this one is gutted of the typical trappings that I normally enjoy. This is no better than a pauper’s carriage that would attract the interest of not a single individual in Briste. But it seems that out here, I could have ridden in a wagon coated in shit and the people would have cheered. I did not know the people here were of such modest tastes.”
Valentin, uncertain how to respond, chuckled in kind. The boy fell silent as he considered where he may have erred in his compliment. The Steward did not seem offended but he was clearly upset at the state of his carriage. The woman giggled at the boy’s confusion but offered no comments.
The woman appeared to be unlike the other three that were already in the carriage. Her skin was fair but not in the way that the Steward’s was. Her light hair displayed to all her northern roots. As opposed to the Tiarna of Roucotte, his son, and the Steward of Briste who all wore vibrant clothing of high quality, the woman was wearing a simple white blouse and some brown breeches. An outfit not wholly different from the clothes Valentin would wear when he had to work and not unlike what he was wearing at the moment. Compared to the opulence of this carriage that was worth more than the entire village, the pair appeared to be offensively out of place.
“My name is Valentin Duvin,” Valentin introduced himself regardless.
“Euna,” the woman greeted in return.
Without clan name or title, Valentin was uncertain how to proceed with introductions. Fortunately, Vincent, noticing Valentin’s consternation, stepped into the conversation in his place.
“Steward Tressavie, you must certainly be quite starved after such a long journey,” he noted. “Valentin, do you know what will be on today’s menu?”
“Oh, I believe,” Valentin began to respond but the Steward spoke instead.
“I am peckish to be certain,” Steward Tressavie acknowledged. “But please, do not speak on our courses, young Duvin. I wish to be surprised.”
The boy nodded and kept the information to himself. But to tell the truth, Valentin was not all that certain himself. He had been spending most of his recent days away from home and was not informed on the details of the meal.
The carriage soon entered the familiar environs of the Duvin Estate. The villagers that previously working were made scarce and all signs of work had disappeared. Instead, standing before the manor was his father, Roland Duvin, flanked by Valentin’s mother and elder sister. Valentin could not see the looks on their faces but he hoped that he was not in grave danger. A pit of worry formed in his stomach but he endeavored to suppress it.
As the carriage came to a halt and the door was opened by the driver, Valentin cleared his throat and the boy addressed the three nobles and traveling woman sitting before him.
“Shall we?”