Jeanne, Cid, Silvius and Benkin followed Sigismund and his men on horseback as they rode through the village of Teeg-Upon-Avon. Jeanne spotted the large farmhouse to the north end of town. She could see the smoke filtering through the slots of the opened shutters, almost certain some of the women were busy making rushlights from sheep fat. Jeanne felt a ping of relief that she wasn’t given to experience the wondrously horrid stench they produced when lit, or when left alone.

Some men were putting up new wattled fencing to keep their gaggle of geese from exploring too far from the roost. Others were tending to crops of peas, barley and wheat, one poor soul was trying to convince his cattle to move forward in a straight line. If they were the two heifers she remembered, the fact they were moving at all was a miracle by itself. Over the doors of the buildings were a small shepherd’s crook hanging from the protruding wooden nubs along the rafters.

“That’s an interesting design?” Cid said looking at them.

“Wonder what they mean?”

“It’s the main symbol of my faith, Viamgregism, the Way of the Flock.”

“Right,” said Silvius, “to send off evil spirits and find refuge in bountiful harvests and golden summers, if I remember the saying correctly.”

“Certainly fits with well with farmers and animal keepers,” Cid replied, fidgeting a bit in his seat.

“Something on your mind?” Jeanne asked.

Cid calmly waved the question off. “Nothing really, it can wait until we’re done with this.”

“We’re not that much farther now,” Sigismund said, pointing towards a group of alder trees. “Just up the path and a short way up to the keep.”

Jeanne was silent, spotting the people now taking notice of the riders moving through the village and up to the keep. Some gave short glances, others watched the group move with anxious fascination, a few stepped away from their errands and began murmuring to themselves. Jeanne noticed a few pointing to her in direction with hushed breaths. Children poked their heads out and left their doorsteps to trail behind the group as they rode.

“Seems you have a following,” Cid said to her.

“Yeah,” Jeanne said, confused. “Not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.”

“Usually if it’s bad something filthy is thrown at you,” Benkin replied.

“Perhaps their cordial in their discontent,” Silvius followed.

“Let’s not linger,” Cid said to Silvius, “lest their patience runs short.”

The keep of Teegs-Upon-Avon was situated on a high hill, the squared shape of the keep itself had a tower on each corner. Flags of the Kolville crest, a red cross with a split flaring at each extension, with a white and gold background. Jeanne scowled as she looked at the heraldry. She fought the urge to spit on the ground, gripping the reins tightly to stay her hate.

The inner wall was made of grey stone, extending out from the central building, tall crenellations running along the length of the walls and circular towers. Arrow slits dotted the surface of the walls, Jeanne seeing the occasional person passing by as their body blocked the light from inside. Guard patrolled the walkways with a careful pace, a vigilant aura in their posture.

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“These men look professional,” Cid replied.

“More so than when I was last here,” Jeanne followed.

“As I said,” said Sigismund, “much has changed since you left. Come, the guards will let us without issue.” Holding his hand up, Sigismund made a circular motion and the guards stationed at the gate quickly moved to allow the group entrance. Once on the other side, Sigismund turned to the Wolves. “If you will follow me, I’ll bring you to Lord Kolville.”

The Wolves nodded, Jeanne giving a sharp growl as trailed shortly behind Sigismund. As the two wide doors into the keep were opened, The Wolves were greeted with a flurry of activity. Servants moving back and forth tending to their daily errands. Jeanne spotted one woman tending to the fire in the middle of the room, placing logs and smaller branches into the flames.

Two people, both dressed with monkish robes and adorned with small wooden crooks on their necks, were discussing to themselves over a pile of sheered wool. Past the main dining hall, a woman was carefully drawing up an agreement with elaborate calligraphy while a man was painting around the lettering of another document with the aid of a glass orb filled with clear water.

Several of the servants greeted the captain, lifting their hats and bowing their heads forward. Sigismund lifted his hand politely and gave them all warms smiles. Jeanne found it hard not to recall the man’s predecessor, a foul brute who would beaten into a pulp anyone who looked at him funny. Shephard knows what would happen to a person if they were a status of a thrall or worse.

“Not easy to find someone idle in this place,” Benkin said aloud.

“The lord believes in everyone doing their part. If one begins to slack, it could bring hardships innumerable to our community,” Sigismund replied. “So he makes sure to reward good service and to correct slothful behavior as quickly as possible. Though usually the specter of starvation alone is enough to keep everyone busy.”

“And of the guards who keep the place safe?” Jeanne challenged.

Sigismund turned around. “We ensure these lands are safe for all who dwell here, settled or passing. Besides, most of us have our own plots of land to till and harvest.”

“The lord has your guardsmen on rotation then?”

Sigismund nodded. “Aye, we’re not always having to man the walls, and that means more food in which to eat and wood to keep warm during the winters.”

“How lovely,” Jeanne muttering to herself as they moved up the stairs.

Down a hall they saw two guards standing at attention by a door. Both saluted the captain as he approached. “The lord has a guest,” Sigismund said to them, the two men lifting their spears upward.

“Guest?” Cid said.

“I apologize, but Lord Kolville wishes to speak with Lady Marais alone. We will need to wait out here.”

“I’m a grown woman,” Jeanne said to Cid, “I can take care of myself.”

“If anything happens –”

“I’ll murder the lord and then call for help,” Jeanne said walking towards the door.

“Could we not threaten my lord in front of me,” Sigismund asked.

“We’d appreciate that, too,” one of the guards followed.

Jeanne gave them all a stern glare before she moved once more towards the door. Sigismund grabbed the door handle and after a twist, pushed his way into the room. Inside Jeanne squinted for a moment as the light from a fire resting in a fireplace to her right touched her sight. To her left were shelves lining the entirety of the wall in width and height. Doc, Sil and Hy would all be properly giddy if they saw this, Jeanne thought to herself.

A chandelier with candles illuminated the room, a bearskin rug covering much of the floor as it rested between several finely made wooden chairs, themselves covered in elaborate etchings. At the far end of the room was a wooden desk with a man standing the other end, looking out across the vast grasslands of Teeg-Upon-Avon.

He had raven hair, with a slight scar along a small section at the back of his skull. His hands were clasped behind him, his stance was at attention. Someone who had been in the army, she thought, the Eustace she knew had been a soldier in his youth against the Ahliaman Empire, but anything of that time had long since left when she saw him. This was another man entirely.

“Lord Kolville,” Sigismund said in a courtly manner, “One Lady Jeanne Marais of our village is here.”

“Very good,” Gareth said solemnly. “If we could have privacy, please.”