Nineteen
Pol Trulant, from what Marcus had been told, was a true kingdom in every sense of the word. Its borders stretched from the northern mountain range referred to as the Homestead Mountain Range due to the many dwarven nations calling it home all the way down the eastern edge of the Dead Forest to the great river Lysterfran that created its southern border. It was a large swath of land several times the size of the city-state of Lorenth and its surrounding small villages. This much territory naturally came with a vast number of resources that the kingdom could take advantage of, and by looking at the large town growing in the carriage window Marcus could see that it did so.
Its walls were tall and constructed with quarried stone of varying shapes and sizes, giving it a pastoral look that blended in well with the surrounding plain. Outside of the wall were miles of carefully maintained fields that created a multicolored quilt-work of luscious vegetation swaying in the early morning breeze. An army of fieldhands was already hard at work within the high fields, picking weeds, spreading manure, or chasing out large rat-like creatures attempting to eat the crops.
Marcus watched as they perked up, observing the carriage for a moment as they passed by, only to quickly get back to work or else be disciplined by the few men watching over them. He wondered if they were perhaps slaves like he was.
The road smoothed out as they drew closer to the city. The town had actually bothered to pave it with large flagstones up to a certain point, offering a much easier ride compared to the rutted mess inside Lorenth. The paved road led all the way up to a large opening, a portcullis suspended above with large chains anchored to a hidden mechanism inside the wall. A long line of people, animals of all types, and wagons full of various goods waited to enter the town, but a quick word from Sir Caldwell from atop their carriage allowed them entry without having to wait.
“So, what’s the plan?” Marcus asked Sir Caldwell as their carriages rolled to a stop just inside the town’s gate. He wasn’t wearing his armor. It was still strapped to the roof of the carriage and covered in crusted, black blood and bits and pieces of bones and guts.
Sir Caldwell looked over the seething crowd of people parting around them as they entered or exited through the gate. His eyes were harsh and tired. The scar running down the side of his face looked more jagged than usual as he rubbed at his temples. “My men are injured, and their wounds are starting to fester. They will need to be treated.”
Marcus looked over to the soldiers slumped atop the other carriages. Sir Caldwell was right, they didn’t look good at all. The few that didn’t get injured by those monsters just looked exhausted, but the ones that had been bitten or scratched had a pallid complexion and a sheen of sweat covering their faces. He couldn’t help but be concerned about the men turning into one of those monsters.
“They should be quarantined,” Marcus suggested, looking back at Sir Caldwell. “You don’t want whatever they have to spread.”
Sir Caldwell actually didn’t argue with him at the suggestion, causing Marcus to think that the man might actually agree with him, but then again, he might have been just too tired to argue. “We will head to Lord Mayweather’s manor. He is this town’s overseer and will provide us with aid and assistance. From there, I will contact a healer to look after my men, and they will decide what is to be done with them.”
The city was lively. A constant din of shouting voices competed with the sharp clangs coming from the blacksmiths’ hammers, the rumbling from the many pairs of rolling wagon wheels moving over rough cobblestone pavers, and the discordant clacking of the horses’ hooves against the stone street as they pulled the carriages. The many smells wafting in through the open windows were just as overwhelming as the sounds. The stench of human waste was the prevalent odor, quickly followed by the acidic tang of coal-fueled fires from the countless smithies nearby.
Marcus wrinkled his nose, wishing that they could push through the crowded streets faster so as to escape the clinging smells, but even with the people slowly parting for them as they moved, they only did so at a snail’s pace. Eventually, once they emerged into a less populated section of the city, they were finally able to move much faster, and it was only another hour before they approached the overseer’s home.
It was large and gaudy as if the overseer only cared that people knew exactly how wealthy he truly was. A deep fountain with abnormally blue water was the first thing that caught Marcus’ eye. Its centerpiece was a hard-looking man carved from the purest of marble. He was adorned in full armor, completely covering his body except for his head. His off-hand held a scepter topped with a gleaming emerald as large as Marcus’ fist, and in his other was a sword held high, forged from solid gold. He stood atop a small mound of his slain enemies, the white stone so expertly carved that Marcus could almost feel the sting from their wounds, the azure water pouring out of them like blood back into the pool below.
The main house was constructed from the same white marble as the morbid fountain. It was so bright in the waning sunlight that Marcus could scarcely look at it. Large pillars, inlaid with gold, supported a wide eave that canopied a small drive. Over two dozen leaded windows faced them as they pulled up underneath the eave, and a double door twelve feet high with gold ornamented around its frame opened as an aquiline-looking man rushed out to intercept them.
Lady Alissa had , at some point, fallen asleep. Nudging her gently, Marcus prodded her awake. “We’re here.”
Breathing in sharply as she stirred, the demure young woman attempted to fight off a yawn but failed. Her golden hair was a mess and had lost some of its luster. Still, her natural beauty shone through the days of grime that had built up, and Marcus had a difficult time keeping his thoughts from wandering in a dangerous direction.
“Where is it that we are again?” She asked, her mind still foggy from sleep.
“Lord Mayweather’s… home,” Marcus answered her as he tried to overhear Sir Caldwell’s conversation with the man who had come out to greet them. “He’s supposed to be the overseer of whatever town this is.”
“Ah, yes,” Alissa muttered as she sat up and straightened out her rumpled dress. The chiffon fabric had taken on a mind of its own while she was asleep, and she was doing her best to get it back under control. “Marquis Reginald Mayweather. His holdings include this city, Kilnfire, and a large coal mine to the east.” Lady Alissa recited the information to him as she combed out the tangle in her hair. Her many lessons must have included the politics of the surrounding nations. “His wife is Abigale, and he has two sons and three daughters; all of them are of age; the oldest is nearly thirty years of age, but the youngest had only just turned seventeen.”
“Will we need any of that information?” Marcus asked with a teasing smile.
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“You must always be prepared when dealing with nobles.” Alissa sighed, “It is exhausting.”
The sudden movement of Sir Caldwell’s remaining men dropping down from the carriages brought their attention away from each other to back outside. Sir Caldwell had finished his discussion with the hawkish-looking man and was directing the others. Preemptively, Marcus left the carriage and walked over to where he was talking quietly with his second in command.
“Can we go inside?” Marcus interrupted them, eliciting an irritated glare from Sir Caldwell.
“They are preparing for our arrival,” he growled back, clearly displeased with the interruption. “Go back and collect Lady Alissa. Lord Mayweather’s servant will alert us when they are ready.”
“Whatever…” Marcus grumbled as he walked back to the carriage. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but a ‘please’ would have been nice.
A mob of servants and maids soon burst through the double doors, swarming over their small group of injured men, tired horses, and beat-up carriages. Marcus and Lady Alissa were split off from Sir Caldwell and his men, ushered into the house, and up the stairs to the second floor.
Pure white marble made up the majority of the interior. The bright stone was obviously the Marquis’ favorite building material. If the soft light coming from the enchanted sconces had been any brighter, Marcus doubted anyone would have been able to keep their eyes open. Gold trim outlined the seams between the walls and sterile ceiling, and the floors were polished to a slippery sheen.
If it weren’t for the long, aureate runners creating a path for them, Marcus doubted they would have been able to keep their footing.
“This place is giving me a headache,” Marcus complained as they walked through a wide corridor.
“Your rooms are not like the foyer or main thoroughfares,” the male servant guiding them said in response to Marcus’ not-so-quite remark. “The décor is much more… graceful.”
Marcus nodded his head, relieved to hear that he wouldn’t have to keep his eyes shut the entire time he was there in order to avoid the glaring white marble. “Do you get a lot of complaints?”
“No,” Came the clipped reply as the servant stopped in front of a door. “Not openly, at least. Here is your room, Lady Dresden. There are servants awaiting any commands you give them. Just ring the bell on the end table if you require anything at all.”
“Very well,” she said, keeping her face a mask of stoicism. “When shall I have an opportunity to meet with our host?”
“Tomorrow evening. I pray that you can forgive Master Mayweather for this oversight, but we were not expecting to host such a lady of your esteem and are woefully unprepared.” The servant admitted as he bowed low, his upper body nearly parallel with the ground.
“All is forgiven. I was not anticipating the change as well but must look upon this as an opportunity presented to us by the Gods and their infinite wisdom and benevolence.”
“Praise the Gods.” The servant uttered before righting himself.
“Praise the Gods.” Lady Alissa echoed flatly as Marcus looked at her with confusion.
He either must have missed her being a devout worshipper of whatever religion dominated this world, or she was putting on a show for the man in front of them. Marcus wanted to ask her what was going on but knew better than to question her motives out in the open , so he followed along. “Praise the Gods.”
Alissa gave him an imperceptible nod before walking through the open threshold held by the servant. Once she was inside, he closed the door behind her and turned towards Marcus. “Follow me.”
They continued down the hall until they reached the next closed door. It was more than fifty feet away from Alissa’s and hinted at how extremely large her room must have been on the inside.
“This one is yours,” The servant said as he immediately turned to go back the way that they had come, not bothering to explain anything further.
“…thanks, I guess,” Marcus called out after him, his deep voice carrying down the hall but not getting any reaction from the man. He supposed he was now on his own. The door put up no resistance as he turned the gilded knob, opening it up on silent hinges. He squeezed through the narrow doorway, the smell of oiled leather and cold ashes greeting him as he entered.
A four-post mahogany bed sat facing him on the far wall, and a matching end table held a candleholder off to the side. On the other side of the bed was a high-back leather chair with golden rivets running along the heavy seams of the hazelnut-colored covering. An empty chest took up a small amount of real estate at the foot of the bed; it was made of the same dark wood as the bed and small table and was lined with soft leather, providing a comfortable place to store all of his nonexistent possessions.
Closing the chest, Marcus walked across the small room and poked at the dead ashes piled at the bottom of the fireplace. It was a small affair, only big enough to hold a fire barely capable of heating the room. Luckily, it was still in the throws of summer, and Marcus wouldn’t need to test it out.
Firey light streamed through the narrow window in his room, signaling the end of the day. His stomach rumbled violently as his body finally started to relax from the trauma of the previous few days. He hadn’t realized how little he had eaten. Nobody wanted to stop and cook after being attacked, which had led to no one eating at all. He looked around for a little bell like the one the servant had mentioned to Alissa, but there was only the candleholder resting on the small table waiting for him.
He guessed he was also on his own when it came to food.
The hallway was empty as he poked his head out and looked up and down the excessively bright corridor. He figured that there would have been at least one maid waiting outside, ready to fulfill his needs, but then he remembered that he was just a ‘slave’ and didn’t warrant any special treatment at all. He at least had Melody to help him out at the duke’s manor.
The soft fibers of the runner crunched underneath Marcus’ heavy footfalls as he walked down the hall. With his long strides, it only took him a few moments to find his way back in front of Alissa’s door, the dark wood contrasting greatly with the stark white wall.
Three loud knocks echoed down the empty hall.
Marcus half expected a maid to answer the door. He figured they must have been close by to hear Alissa's bell, but he was pleasantly surprised when a petite blonde greeted him with a wide smile and happy eyes.