Caste was in heaven. Bede, the cleric to Sir Alaykin, had insisted that a member of the Order of the Grail had to be given appropriate accommodations in the keep of the fort and treated as an honoured guest. And after three weeks of sleeping on the ground or in common houses where their floor was still just glorified ground or on the floor of the coven of swamp witches, Caste felt not a twinge of guilt at farewelling Judd and following Bede to his room.

It was beautiful. Dark woods, rich tapestries, a mattress that was so soft it felt like sleeping on a cloud and duck down pillows that caressed him softly and restored his battered and weary soul.

He woke with sparkles drifting elegantly along the beams of sunlight through his narrow window, announcing gently that morning had come yet did not demand that he rise and begin to trek endlessly across the wilds with his unrefined, uneducated companions.

Caste hadn’t been worried about them in the slightest. They were accustomed to lesser living. To them, sleeping outdoors was common, even natural. But Caste had never been comfortable with the outdoors and did everything he could to separate himself from it.

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He was just starting to feel the press of his bladder and wondered where his bedpan was when music reached him, a voice singing in tune with the melody. Caste sighed and got up, padding across the thick rug on the floor that covered the cold stones, his nightshirt drifting around his ankles. He was going to pull the window closed when he paused, hearing the name ‘Andigre’ in the melody.

Curious he leaned on the narrow sill and peered out of the window to see a minstrel with hair like the colour of straw and playing a lute, was playing in the lower bailey of the fort. He was leaning against the inner wall, close to the entrance to the fort, catching the attention of all those coming and going on their early morning business.

“Andigre and his Four Spire Knights,

Held back the demon hoards of Maul.

With fire and spire from their Sorceress Grail,

They kept the land safe for all.

One by one the knights did fall,

Yet Andigre’s might did not waver.

And when the dust of battle settled,

Grail’s delights he was eager to savour…”

Caste rolled his eyes at the crass implication and closed the window.

“Minstrels tell nothing but fiction set to music.” He quoted and went hunting for his bedpan before it was too late.