Lord LeMewn’s dining table was royally elegant. It had carved legs and an engraved pattern on its long surface, carefully filled with seams of gold and sealed beneath several layers of polish. There were candelabra along its length, tall enough not to obstruct vision of the other guests and able to distribute ample light so that they could see the delicate dinner setting with hand painted motifs which Judd suspected was the Lord’s crest. There was a medium sized plate resting on a large plate and on either side were pieces of cutlery that were polished shinier than his sword had ever been. The end of every piece was embossed the same crest.

Judd stared at the setting, terrified. He couldn’t fathom which fork to use, as there were several and when he caught sight of his bewildered reflection in the crystal goblet, he felt sick to his stomach.

He no longer resented Aalis’ lack of fortitude in coming.

He was beginning to wish he lacked it as well.

“I hope you are hungry, LaMogre, for my cooks are some of the finest from Astaril.” LeMewn announced.

Judd couldn’t fathom eating a thing.

“I am sure it will be delicious.” Giordi replied, making up for Judd’s silence. Judd looked up at his words and caught the sparkle in Giordi’s eye and then saw him breathe…which made Judd realise he was holding his breath he was sitting so stiffly.

“You seem a little tense, LaMogre,” LeMewn waved his hand, “some wine will relax you. A social lubricant, if you pardon the coarseness of my words.”

Judd couldn’t pardon what he didn’t understand but he found himself holding his breath again as the servant with the large glass jug of wine leaned over and poured the dark red liquid into his glass. There was silence as the servant did the same to all the glasses at the table then a stream of servants appeared, setting a bowl into the arrangement of plates in front of them.

Judd breathed out in relief. He knew how to eat soup.

“Please, enjoy.” LeMewn declared, waiting a moment to take the first mouthful. Only then did Giordi’s warning finger drop and Judd suspected it was safe for him to start to eat.

While soup was the easiest item to know how to eat, Judd found it was also one of the most difficult to do so elegantly. Lord LeMewn sat at the head of the table. To his right was cleric, or perhaps it was, Deacon Clariet and next to him was Caste and to the cleric’s dismay, Giordi was brushing elbows with him. Lia LeMewn was on her husband’s left, Judd seated next to her and Verne on his left. Giordi seemed to have a decent grasp of etiquette so Judd followed his lead and if he got stuck, he glanced at Caste whom he was sure would know what every fork did and even their proper names.

“One of your companions was not able to come?” Lia LeMewn asked so softly that Judd had to strain to hear despite sitting next to her.

“She was unwell after such a long journey.” Judd lied.

“Ah the feminine sex, how they do suffer all manner of malady.” Lord LeMewn said superiorly. “Before I was made lord of Quarre, I used to travel to Astaril three or four times a year but since my appointment here at King Rocheveron’s behest, I have not been able to make the journey quite so often.”

“Given that communities as large as Quarre tend to be under a knight’s command and not a civilian demonstrates a deep level of trust and respect of you by King Rocheveron.” Judd said, glancing quickly at Giordi who gave him a subtle nod of approval.

“Another knight’s appointment would only establish Quarre as a military establishment, rather than a community. I like to think that I have done my best to ensure the safety of the inhabitants of Quarre.”

“Lord LeMewn is too modest,” Clariet said smoothly, “before his appointment, Sir Ift, the knightly predecessor, had to make constant patrols of the mountains surrounding Quarre. Now, no such patrols are necessary.”

“Can I ask what kind of monsters used to roam the mountains?” Judd inquired, his half eaten soup whisked away, replaced by roast pheasant with a fragrant gravy and some very pretty and daintily arranged vegetables. He looked to Giordi for an idea on what fork and knife to use.

“Looking for another mark on your knighthood quest?” LeMewn waggled his eyebrows.

“I would be very careful in venturing deeper into the ‘Hump’,” Clariet warned, “the mountains are a breeding ground for basilisk whose stare will turn you to stone.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Judd looked at Caste. “I do need a basilisk kill on my list, don’t I?”

“Do I not?” Giordi correctly softly and Judd kicked himself.

“It is very dangerous to leave Quarre except by the main road.” Lia said, surprising Judd by resting her fingers gently on his arm for a moment while LeMewn coughed into the tablecloth. Judd felt a light squeeze from her fingertips before she withdrew.

“Whatever happened to that other young fellow who wanted to be a knight? He came…oh, about a month ago?” The LeMewns had no difficulty in consuming their pheasants while all Judd seemed to find were bones every time he tried to insert his knife.

“Fell and broke his neck.” Clariet said without missing a beat. “He was searching for a basilisk.”

“And his cleric?”

“Scuttled back to Astaril as fast as he could.” Clariet shook his head. “He was an unfortunate cleric. The Borre brothers told us they found the deserted campsite and some remains which they brought to us. I was able to identify Cleric Wann.”

“No,” Caste sat up, “but he was brilliant!”

“And yet, because of this knighthood quest foolishness, he is dead.”

There was a long, mournful silence. Caste stared at his plate and Judd swallowed, knowing Caste was probably counting how many times he came close to suffering the same fate as Cleric Wann.

“The Borre brothers spoke grandly of your assistance to Sir Jesa,” LeMewn drank more wine. Judd did the same, trying to wash down what he suspected was a bone lodged in his throat. “You killed goblins, cleansed the river and brought farmers back to their fields. Sir Jesa must have been truly put out.”

“I really didn’t mean to…”

“Have no fear, LaMogre, there is little love lost between myself and Sir Jesa.” LeMewn shook his head. “He made no small noise of opposition when King Rocheveron made me Lord of Quarre. He said, even though I am the King’s half brother, that I was unsuited to protect a city so far south…and to hear that he allowed an infestation of goblins in proximity to his own people, so close that they were being poisoned by them…I was quite amused.” Lord LeMewn picked up a pheasant drumstick and sucked the meat off in a single motion. Judd glanced at Giordi but it was Caste who shook his head, see the question in Judd’s eyes. “What monsters have you killed, LaMogre?”

“Oh…well, I…”

“Lady LeMewn,” Giordi spoke suddenly, “we would not wish to offend or disgust you…”

“Please,” she said, lifting her head and speaking softly, “pay me no mind.”

Giordi gave Judd the nod. “To this day I have killed an ogre, goblins, wrestled with a swamp monster, killed a cockatrice, narrowly escaped sirens, beheaded an orthros and killed a giant spider.”

LeMewn looked at him. “Truly? All those monsters?”

“I appeal to the testimony of my cleric.” Judd gestured to Caste who nodded.

“I can confirm that Judd has indeed done all that he has said.”

“Well…you are quite possibly the only success story of Sir Rylan’s interesting knighthood proposal.” LeMewn admitted and the plates with the half eaten, or perhaps only picked at, pheasants were taken away, replaced with a little silver bowl with some fruit in it. “Perhaps, if you continue in your accomplishments, you might return as a knight to my table.”

“I would feel as honoured then as I do now.” Judd assured him. “I would hope to do your table justice one day.”

“Well, I confess I was a little concerned by your appearance not two hours ago…but you are quite transformed. I suppose you only wear your good clothes for occasions like this as befits the table of one so connected with the throne of Astaril.”

LeMewn’s comment left Judd absolutely baffled as to who had sent them the clothes. He wondered if Lady LeMewn had done so yet it was impossible to tell.

“We have been inordinately blessed.” Giordi replied and Judd was so relieved he could hold his own in conversation. Verne was even more muted than Lady LeMewn and of no help when pauses stretched out into uncomfortable silence. “We hope to avail ourselves to the variety that Quarre holds.”

“We have an excellent range of wares here.”

“May I inquire, is there anywhere I could purchase a lute?”

Caste dropped his spoon with a clatter, his grape rolling across the table. Everyone seemed fascinated by it before Clariet turned to Giordi.

“A lute? Why in Terra would you wish for a lute?”

“Giordi Gavoli is an accomplished minstrel and lyricist.” Judd insisted. “He asked to accompany me on my quest and to document it in song.”

“Is not the painstaking and accurate documentation of Cleric Caste enough?” Clariet asked lightly but with a slight barb to his voice.

“Caste’s work will one day stand alongside other historical tomes, preserved for posterity,” Giordi said with his usual flare, “however, my songs will be sung for the celebration.”

They all jumped out of their skin, the grape Judd had been desperately trying to balance on his spoon flying behind him to be squished into the rug by an unsuspecting servant, when Lord LeMewn struck the table with a commanding fist.

“Let us have a song, then!”

“Alas, I have no lute with which to accompany me.” Giordi said sadly then lifted his head. “However, do I spy a harp in the corner?”

They all twisted or craned their necks to see the silk covered instrument.

“Lia liked to pluck away on it occasionally.” LeMewn said dismissively. “It got on my nerves.”

Giordi looked at Lia. “Perhaps we might attempt a duet?”

“Mr Gavoli,” Lady LeMewn said sadly, “I have not played in quite some time…”

“Perhaps a simple melody?” Giordi said, standing and walking around the table. “Do you know ‘Tomorrow never comes’?”

Lady LeMewn nodded then rose to her feet and removed the cloth over the harp. She sat on a small chaise, her ankles crossed daintily, her fingers gently caressing the strings. Giordi listened as a trill of notes cascaded from the strings.

“Though not played, it is clearly maintained and loved.” He nodded to her and she gave a small smile. “Whenever you are ready.”

Lia paused, her fingers hovering above the strings and for a moment Judd wondered if she would bow out but then, with accuracy and delicacy, she began to play. A gentle melody sung from the harp, soft yet strong. Giordi, without needing to be told, knew when to start singing.