It felt that, suddenly, the road was awash in life as people began their daily business. Ornate carriages and peasants on foot all moved in concert between the settlements along the lakeshore. Towns and villages not protected by the walls of Verbosc sprouted along the border of the fortifications. Makeshift huts and tents littered the ground and formed their own small communities on the outskirts.
It was in this bustle that the pair disappeared, intermingled with all those that made entry into the city of Verbosc. Guards held watch at the portcullis and checked those that entered with carts. Those on foot or hooves easily purchased entrance. Under the arch of the thick walls, the echoes of feet and hooves and voices reverberated off of the stones and led the entrants into the main throughway of the city.
The southern section of the city was devoted to the markets. Multicolored tents lined the streets and peddlers finished their morning preparation to begin their calls to those walking past about the wares offered. The rich aromas of baking bread and sizzling meats and vegetables flirted with Valentin’s nostrils and made the boy’s stomach ripple with hunger. Fishmongers and spice merchants sprung from the docks outside the city to sell fresh catches and fermented sauces and their special blends of poudre douce.
Ferron stopped at a tent and purchased some sizzling sausages and gravy pies from an overweight man in a greasy leather apron. People gathered at nearby pavilions to eat their meals and discuss the gossip of the morning. The two sat at the closest pavilion with room and ate their breakfast with wooden spoons. Cracking the thin crust released a plume of steam into the air.
Valentin attempted to blow onto the spoonful to cool it down but the contents were still boiling and he had to nurse the molten meal into his mouth. Even those uncomfortable bites contained bursts of pleasurable flavors that satiated the stomach.
Vendors stalked the pavilions carrying pitchers of various liquids to try to sell to those that were supping. Ferron flagged down a vendor and ordered a couple of drinks. Valentin was handed a ceramic cup and he sipped the drink. The spiced honey beverage soothed his aching tongue and calmed the angry digestion of the pie.
Valentin watched as people moved about in pursuit of their daily lives. Verbosc was much larger than Roucotte and the activity that gripped the streets on a regular day trivialized Lunoult’s town even during its busiest days. He spotted two vendors arguing over the proximity of their tents and similarity of their wares. He watched a man with a goat over each shoulder try to navigate the crowds. He watched a distracted couple be filched by a pair of children.
His viewing was interrupted by Ferron rising to his feet and returning the cups to the drink vendor that continued to circle the pavilion.
“Come, Valentin. We have much to do.”
Ferron and Valentin rode down the thoroughfare of Verbosc. Cobblestones weathered by boot, hoof, and rain paved the major roadway. The bustle that Valentin had mistakenly assumed was just for the market continued all the way through the city. The dense traffic of bodies made traversing arduous for their mount and Ferron was constantly adjusting the direction of his horse to navigate a path. Eventually, he found a side street towards the east that seemed less burdened and urged the horse away from the madness.
Verbosc felt more like a gallimaufry of different towns put together than a unified settlement; like a quilt made of wildly different designs. The building materials varied wildly. The south was dominated by temporary wooden structures and tents. Lodges made of rough cut lumber and establishments of clay brick were replaced by more sophisticated buildings of stone of a more competent architectural hand. To the west, Valentin could see large stone structures that sprung from the sprawling network of low buildings to dominate the cityscape.
The eastern district that the pair traversed was bordered by a crumbling stone wall that was constructed to protect the ancestors of the denizens. Many areas of the stone wall were removed to build the hovels that gathered under its shade. Small decorative runes and faces were carved into the makeshift huts denoting the heroes and spirits worshiped long before Killik elucidated humanity about their mother. Moss and lichen grew on the porous stone and provided the area with an eerily abandoned feeling despite the activity within the district.
Druids addressed pious citizens in open air temples. The vines and natural nuisances considered welcome by those that preached the natural law of the Great Spirit. Architecture that survived the overthrow of the Oppressors still existed and was repurposed by those that lived there. Valentin could see people pass under the high stone archways to disappear into the large central structure.
A much smaller market was patronized by those that lived inside the exposed ribcage of the old city. The pungent, acrid scent of tanning ammonia invaded Valentin’s nose and caused the boy’s eyes to water. Ferron urged the horse forward to escape the scent assault.
The pair made significantly better progress along the narrow back roads. People scurried out of the way of the large horse in deference for the higher born riders. It was not long before more remnants of the abandoned wall appeared before them. Passing through the tears in the fortification brought them towards more ramshackle huts before gradually reaching a more reliably built stone and wood residential area.
Northern Verbosc was more heavily guarded than the other areas that Valentin had passed through. Guards lined the streets and interacted with the citizens that passed by. Their tabards were not a unified color or style. There were approximately five or six different styles that Valentin could pick up at a glance.
Ferron halted the horse at a stable next to a barracks. A sleepy-eyed attendant took the animal without question and led it to a stall.
A few minutes’ walk from the stables sat an estate of respectable size. It was bordered by a two man tall wall and staffed with guards at multiple locations along it. Ferron approached the front entrance and was immediately stopped by the soldiers. They wore cloaks of evergreen clasped by a crest of an elk looking towards the verdant sky.
“State your name and business,” they ordered, spears raised slightly.
“Ferron Martelle. I wish to hold an audience with your Mistress,” Ferron answered with brevity.
“The Matriarch is not expecting to entertain company today,” the guard responded. “We must ask you to leave.”
“Tell her I have something urgent to discuss and, if she wishes to remain knowledgeable of my actions, to allow me in at once.” Ferron stood with his arms crossed expectantly until the guards shared a look and one entered the environs of the estate.
Only a few moments had elapsed before the guard returned to their post with word from within. “She will meet with you, if you would please follow me.”
The pair were led through the front gate and into the estate. The building was constructed in a c-shape that enveloped the courtyard and rivaled, and likely exceeded, the size of the one that Valentin had grown up in.
Similarly to the city that surrounded it, the courtyard was abuzz with activity. Servants tended to fledgling plants within the garden, only the tiniest wisps of green visible from a distance. The main doors to the primary building of the estate were swung wide open to allow for servants and merchants to constantly stream in and out of the interior, arms laden with all sorts of wares from iron pans to fabrics.
A small group of people conversed and ate snacks in a white painted wooden gazebo. Some appeared to be engaged in a board game while others had books idly open in their hands, waiting for a lull in the conversation to return to what lies within. The group stopped momentarily to regard the new entrants before returning to their conversation.
They passed through the threshold and into the hall of the manse. Long wooden tables dominated the floor and a multitude of people were dining on their late morning meals. They were led through the gaps in people and furniture toward a room in the back of the hall.
A handsomely decorated bedroom greeted the trio. Various weaponry lined the wall to Valentin’s left. Intricately decorated hilts and rune carved blades adorned even the smallest of daggers. Different trinkets and trophies adorned the shelves of the opposite wall. Gold and gems and lacquered animal horns stood prominently on display. Two suits of plated armor of different sizes were arranged on wooden armor stands.
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“Please wait here and she will arrive shortly,” the guard informed with a bow before departing the room to return to his post.
Once the guard had left, Valentin leaned towards Ferron and spoke in low tones. “Ferron, who is this person we are visiting?”
“Someone that Gilles knew,” Ferron replied. “That’s all I will say until she arrives.”
Valentin didn’t bother prying further into his line of questioning but his mind did light up with possibilities. However, his thoughts quickly latched themselves onto the idea that the person was the Tiarna of Verbosc. It was the only thing that he could rationalize; who else could only such an opulent abode?
“Ferron, I wasn’t expecting you to taint my home with your unrivaled arrogance,” a deep feminine voice insulted. “I’ll have to have the servants scrub everything just that much harder today. Who is the boy?”
A graying woman dressed in a matelassé emerald dress entered the room. Her hair, arranged in two massive braids, snaked down her shoulders and rested at her stomach. Large bows of green and pins of gold climbed up the ropes of hair. The woman had hardened features that clashed with the delicate form of her decorative outfit. She walked with a gait that reminded Valentin of the measured steps of Hrost. When she stopped before the pair, it was clear that her stature matched that of the smaller set of armor nearby.
“Yvonne,” Ferron greeted the woman with a wide smile. “Are you still enjoying playing at being genteel?”
“Greetings, Tiarna,” Valentin addressed the woman with a bow. “My name is Valentin Duvin.”
Yvonne regarded the boy with an eyebrow raised in curiosity but seemed to decide against the question she had been considering. “So, what brings you to the Aranelle Quarter with such a cryptic message from my guards?”
“I have what I need to begin my plan in earnest,” Ferron stated with an undertone of excitement.
“What breakthrough have you made in your insurmountable quest?” Yvonne questioned with skepticism. “How many cycles has that dream been spewed by your clan? And, how many more times as it failed to materialize?”
“I have recruited a Storm Heir,” Ferron answered with a wide grin.
Valentin could feel eyes drift towards him and he shrunk slightly out of discomfort. He did not want his secret shared to strangers though Ferron didn’t strike Valentin as the kind of person to share information carelessly.
“Have you verified the boy’s power yourself with a stone?” Yvonne asked.
“I have not, but I have obtained something just as good,” Ferron replied smugly. “I had an audience with his pursuers. Hrost also attests to his volume of favor after many days of training.”
Yvonne walked past the pair and reached the threshold to the room. “Rella, please bring some refreshments for myself and my guests.”
“I would love to take this conversation to the fresh air of the gazebo, but I imagine this conversation to be too sensitive to take to a more relaxing place,” she continued. “I hope you don’t find an exception to standing.”
“You’ve grown more personable, Yvonne,” Ferron complimented in a snide way.
“Do you imply that I wasn’t always a cordial woman? I am the doting matriarch of the Guerros clan who cuddles her infant grandchildren with such tenderness. Doesn’t my household overflow with warmth and light?” Yvonne rebuked with eyes full of sweetness.
“That is interesting coming from a woman who once said to me that her love language was violence,” Ferron responded with a thin smile.
Yvonne chuckled and Ferron laughed in kind. “So, you wish to speak with me as the Marshal of Verbosc and not as the head of the Guerros clan?”
“This requires you to employ both stations, Yvonne.” Ferron gestured to the boy that accompanied him. “This is Valentin, and he is the special individual that I will help grow into a force that will crush Poten. However, I did not come here just to introduce you to the boy in an appeal for your future support. He is also someone that you may be interested in for a more personal reason.”
“Is that so?” Yvonne leaned forwards and inspected the boy’s face closely. Her harsh brown eyes examined every feature on the boy. She touched a finger to her lip in a look of vague confusion.
She continued to think idly while Rella had returned with three cups full of a reddish pink liquid. The servant was quickly dismissed and departed with a bow. Valentin took a sip and discovered a chilled diluted wine greeting his taste buds.
“You look like you are uncertain or in denial about why this boy seems familiar to you,” Ferron began and Yvonne made a face before nodding. “Allow me to fill in the gap. This boy is the son of Roland Guerros, he is your clansman. Your nephew to be precise.”
Yvonne’s eyes widened with realization. Her face twisted into a half scowl as she closely looked at the boy again. “Roland,” she almost spat the name onto Valentin’s face, causing him to flinch. “Now that’s a name I expected to never hear again. I see it now. You look exactly like my father if he was a Southerner.”
“The stone cracked with favor and the Bothair clan was already in the town,” Ferron briefed Yvonne. “Gilles then tried to lead him to me before being headed off in the Jerv Forest. He reached me on his own after that.”
“And Gilles?”
“One hundred days passed between Killicia and our departure from Lutant. Gilles never arrived,” Ferron answered.
Sadness welled in Valentin’s heart at Ferron’s stoic interpretation of things. He felt that he accepted it. But, each time he was reminded of what happened, renewed pain flowed through his heart.
Yvonne looked away from the pair before offering an apologetic look towards Valentin. “That’s too bad, I was always fond of Gilles. He possessed all of the kindness that his brother lacked. What news is there of Roland?”
Ferron shook his head, “I have few connections to the south, however,” Ferron leaned forward and whispered something into Yvonne’s ear. “I need you to accept him as a Guerros. Poten knows I have no mistresses from the region and too many of my warriors know he isn’t mine. Not to mention the stories I had to tell Bothair to make them go away.”
“I do not doubt the actions of that snake,” Yvonne spat. “So you want me to find him a suitable alibi? Then you claim him as a ward due to our relationship?”
“Precisely,” Ferron responded with a grin. “I can always count on your mental quickness. It matters little to me what the story is and how you do it. Make it work best for you and I will do whatever it takes to support that narrative. You can even change his name if it helps you.”
“That won’t be necessary, he already has a perfectly good name for our clan” Yvonne dismissed. “Am I permitted to share this information?”
“You may tell whoever you trust to keep it a secret. Any reveals of his identity complicates things for us,” Ferron responded and downed the rest of his drink.
“I just have one final question,” Yvonne began, sensing that Ferron was about to depart. “What is my reward for housing this boy during the cold days? Doesn’t hosting a person wanted by Rilleon count as treason?”
“You know,” Ferron considered for a moment, “I don’t think it was ever codified. However, you know as well as I do about the convenience of law. Do this for me, and answer my call when the drums of rebellion sound, and I will give you Verbosc. Not just the Aranelle Quarter, the entire city.”
Ferron handed his cup to Valentin and adjusted his boots. “I have business to attend to. Valentin, you stay here with Yvonne until I return in a day or two.”
“You understand that I cannot make this decision by myself,” Yvonne responded. “I will give you your answer when you return.”
Ferron offered a small wave of acknowledgement and left the room to pursue business Valentin was not permitted to join. The boy stood awkwardly with both cups in his hands, unsure of how to speak to his newly revealed family member.
The woman once again inspected him, as though there was something about the boy that was still amiss. “Do you get your personality from your mother?”
“I’ve been told that all of us siblings do,” Valentin responded. “I think Father was always a bit disappointed about it.”
Yvonne smiled, “We’ll get along much better that way. I must ask you to wait outside for a moment. The outfit I’m in doesn’t suit touring the area.”
Valentin quickly stepped outside and returned the cups to Rella, who took them off to the kitchen in a connecting room. A different handmaid entered the room to assist Yvonne with her changing.
Valentin waited patiently and occupied his time watching people pass him by. He wondered which, if any, were related to him. More people were filling the hall to eat their zenith meal. Valentin’s stomach grumbled slightly. Despite eating such a hearty breakfast, the escalation in his meal sizes had made him hungrier than he had ever been. However, the extra food didn’t really make him larger. Where did it all go?
“Thank you for waiting,” Yvonne said as she departed from her quarters. She now sported breeches with riding boots and a white blouse with a forest green half cape in an argyle pattern. “I may love that dress but it would have been miserable to traipse around in it.”
“My sister, Jeanne, often complained about the clothes Mother tried to put her in,” Valentin commented. “She dressed like me more than she did Louise. Louise would always pout and complain that they never matched attire.”
Yvonne chuckled. “I was the same way. I didn’t start wearing these things until I became Matriarch.”
Valentin was led through the hall while Yvonne seemed to be hunting out someone specific. Those in the hall gave the matriarch their undivided attention in the anticipation of a mandate. However, when it was clear that she was looking for someone in particular and not them, they returned to their tasks or meals.
They exited the building and into the courtyard. Yvonne spotted her target near the gardens, overseeing the transfer of flowers from pots into the soil. She made a direct path towards the man, passing the gazebo and renewing the interest and gossip of the occupants.
“Quinten.”
The man looked up from his tasks with a face of momentary surprise before composing himself. “Ah, Mistress Guerros, how may I be of service?”
“Notify all of the representative clansmen. I am mandating a meeting for tonight. An inability to attend is a forfeiture of their opinion in the matter,” Yvonne ordered.
Quinten grew a flustered countenance as he analyzed the task in his mind. “Mistress, you understand that it will be difficult to track everyone down with such short notice. Additionally, many will protest the immediate journey.”
“You know that they don’t leave their homes, Quinten. Outside of a trip on the lake or a hunting excursion, what could they possibly be doing that is more important than what I tell them to do?” She pointed at the gazebo. “I see five clansmen over there right now.”
“Hey!” Yvonne shouted, causing a few of them to flinch. “Go tell your parents to show up by Ortus’ fall or they don’t get a say!”
Once she saw the clansman leaving their lethargic posts, Yvonne returned her attention to Quinten. “Make sure messengers reach everyone. If they complain, remind them why I’m the Matriarch and they are not.”