After they passed beyond the gates, a pair of horses, not unlike Quell and Zeke used to be, harnessed to pulley system, drew the drawbridge up and the gates closed across it, all of it locking into place with a sense of finality. It left a distinct impression that the guards and soldiers of Fort Omra took their safety and duties seriously.
Inside the gates, Verne grabbed Caste and dragged him aside. “What in Maul is wrong with you?”
“Let go of me.” Caste snapped, trying to disentangle his cappa clausa from Verne’s vice grip.
“Are you out of your mind? You nearly got yourself and Judd locked out of the gates if not for Suvau’s quick thinking!”
“I never asked for his help!”
“Before we start tearing strips off each other,” Giordi interjected, “could we please find somewhere a little more private first? Then by all means, let the strip tearing continue.”
“I will take you to my home, unless you wish to pay your respects to Sir Fereak?” Suvau asked.
“We should probably do that first.” Judd admitted although he was tempted not to. He knew Caste was insistent upon Judd’s introduction to every knight and lord in the hopes that the cleric who assisted them would offer Caste accommodation. He weighed up the spiteful pleasure of forcing Caste into staying a night in Suvau’s home against the uncomfortable manners the cleric would probably produce.
“This way.” Suvau led them from the closed gates up the winding main streets, lined with houses built of yellow, grey and white stone with thatched roofs. The main street of Quarre had been quite wide, allowing for carts of stone cut from the quarry to pass through unhindered until the alternate route was built. Fort Omra’s main street was not so wide and Judd and his companions were part of the throng going about their business between the end of the daylight shift and the blackening of night.
“My home is up there,” Suvau pointed to one of the buildings against the side of the cliff face, “but we will take the elevator to the fort.”
“Elevator?”
Suvau grinned and led the way to what appeared to be a tower dotted with arched windows up its length. At its base it had three open sides except where it was built against the wall of the south. There was a wooden floor and low railings around the interior, the front facing ones open as a gate. Several guards were standing watch.
“Your face is new to us. Who are you?” One demanded of Judd.
“Judd LaMogre of Astaril,” Judd said when Suvau nodded at him to speak, “and my cleric, Caste Undern and my travelling companions.”
“What business do you have in Fort Omra?”
“We have come to pay our respects to Sir Fereak and resupply our provisions.”
The guard eyed all of them, Aalis keeping her head down. Judd licked his lips, feeling nervous.
“Do you vouch for your companions?”
“I do.”
“Proceed.”
Suvau gestured for them to enter the tower which was empty apart from themselves and their packs and closed the gates behind them.
“Hold tight.” He warned and before anyone could ask what he meant, the floor shifted beneath their feet and lifted into the air.
Aalis let out a shriek of terror and Caste whimpered.
“What…what is happening?” Judd gasped as the city disappeared behind the tower’s solid walls, bursts of light occurring where there were windows. “What is this?”
“An elevator. Built for speedy and mass provision and soldier transportation to and from the fort.” Suvau chuckled.
“You might have warned us.” Verne grumbled, straightening his shirt.
“It is over almost before it has begun. Look.”
The elevator stopped with a jolt, the side they had entered from now closed off but the one to the left was an open arch that emptied onto the lower bailey of the fort. Suvau was able to manoeuvre his wagon off the elevator with ease, the entire thing built so that mobile transportation like his wagon was able to take the strain of many supplies from the shoulders of soldiers and workers. Judd stepped off the elevator, feeling a strong degree of relief to be on solid footing.
“And just like that, you are in Fort Omra.”
The view was obscured because of the walls the predecessors of the fort felt were necessary despite the height at which the plateau it was built upon stood. The lower bailey was a large space with covered walkways that were lined with arches. The ground was not dirt nor was it paved. Rather it was covered with pale yellow gravel, finer than pebbles but coarser than beach sand and it crunched underfoot. Suvau motioned for them to head further in, past the guards who were going about their drills.
“I’m surprised we’ve been allowed to just walk in.” Judd whispered.
“I am known to the guards,” Suvau explained, “I am the weaponsmith’s second and they are aware of who I am and the work I do.”
“You are trusted?”
“As much as can be expected and a little more perhaps than many of my people.”
From the lower bailey they entered the upper where the keep, a castle no less, was built up against and in some parts, into the mountain the plateau was a part of. There were sloped rooftops of tiles, large stretches on the bigger buildings and pointed peaks on the towers and the windows were all narrow slits anywhere above the wall line. The mountain loomed above and further south and if Judd tried to see the pinnacle from so close, he would have fallen over backwards.
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“There is the main entrance.” Suvau pointed and they approached it.
Two guards eyed their advance, dressed in armour that had been well looked after, even surviving the skirmishes that had left several dents and scratches that had been unable to be polished or battered out. On their right arm they bore dark green fabric sewn with the insignia of Sir Fereak which was the memorable plateau with Fort Omra atop it.
“Suvau, who is this stranger you have brought to the keep?” The first guard asked. Judd noted it was the first time someone had spoken to Suvau even though he was obviously known in Fort Omra.
“Judd LaMogre, a knight in training who has come with his companions to pay his respects to Sir Fereak.”
“Sir Fereak is not here.” The guard explained. “He has taken a regiment of soldiers west on a patrol.”
“That’s torn that, then.” Judd sighed, almost hearing Caste’s internal groan of despair.
“What about Sir Fereak’s cleric?” Caste pushed forward. “Cleric…”
“Severo?”
“Yes, him.”
The guard barely hid his snort. “Oh yes…he’s always in.”
“Well, he’ll do.”
The guards allowed them into the foyer where there were several sets of staircases leading to various parts of the keep. The fort was made of stone but the interior supports, doorframes and staircases were made of dark woods, similar to the manor house in Quarre but without large windows and elegant drapes to soften and lighten the mood. There were also very few finishing touches. There was no carved detail, no ornate banisters or grand chandeliers. It was rustic and solid, smooth from wear and not from polish or care. The windows were so small that they didn’t warrant curtains, nor were there any carpets or tapestries in the foyer.
It was spartan and practical as though it was always ready for an attack.
The steward was quick to appear and upon learning their business, scurried up the stairs to locate the cleric. Judd caught sight of Aalis, clutching tightly to her hood.
“Fall back behind Suvau.” He whispered and she nodded, her small frame dwarfed by the giant weaponsmith.
Cleric Severo took a long time to appear and when he did, Judd noticed two things about him. One was that, out of all the clerics they had seen, he was the oldest with grizzled grey hair and skin mottled with age spots. The other was that he reeked of wine, as though every pore of him was saturated in it. He clutched the banister lest he tumble headfirst down the stairs.
“I hope there is a good reason for disturbing my studies.” He grumbled.
“Cleric Severo,” the steward, who had accompanied the elderly man, possibly to make sure he didn’t get lost on the way, “this is Judd LaMogre.”
“Who?” Cleric Severo peered at him then fumbled about his person. “Where are my spectacles…ah!”
He drew the lorgnettes out from his sleeve and used the handle to hold the magnified lenses up to his eyes. “Judd who?”
Judd wondered if he needed an ear trumpet as well.
“LaMogre.” The steward repeated.
“And who is he?”
“I am from Astaril, Cleric Severo,” Judd explained, “I am on a quest to gain my knighthood.”
“One of Rylan’s follies?” Judd tried not to grind his teeth. Severo mightn’t have been able to hear it but the steward would. “Well, if you’ve made it this far south, I am almost certain Sir Fereak would wish to meet with you but he’s not here. He’ll be back…” Severo turned to the steward. “When…when would he be back?”
“Not tomorrow, possibly the next day.” The steward said.
“Two days at least.” Severo repeated loudly though they had all heard the steward. “If he wants to speak with you, I’ll send word to…wherever you are…huh…where are you staying?”
“Well, we have been offered accommodation in the house of your weaponsmith, Suvau but…”
“That’s worked out perfectly then!” Severo announced, waving his hand. “I’ll send word there.”
Judd looked at Caste and shrugged.
Caste swallowed and stepped forward, separating himself from the others. “Cleric Severo,” he announced then when he saw the elderly man was still leaving he increased in volume, “Cleric Severo!”
“Who’s shouting?”
“Ahem,” Caste bowed, “I am Cleric Caste of the Order of the Grail.”
“Well, in those robes you would be.” Severo’s tone was a little condescending.
“I hoped we might discuss some of the latest theories that have been approved by Bishop Peele. I have my own books as well to share and have heard that the library of Fort Omra contains some of the oldest documents in Terra history.”
“What a wonderful idea,” Severo nodded, nearly toppling sideways with the force of the motion, “we must have supper sometime…come back tomorrow and we’ll sort…some…”
He teetered away, taking the stairs one painfully slow step at a time.
Judd swallowed. “I think our audience is at an end. Sorry, Caste.”
Caste’s shoulders slumped and he turned and followed them out. Judd felt his sleeve grabbed and paused as Verne leaned close to whisper. “Not that I want to encourage his behaviour…but perhaps we ought to pay for Caste to stay in a tavern?”
“I think all the taverns would be served by those Caste would prefer not to have anything to do with.” Judd replied softly. “He’ll just have to knuckle down. Suvau’s not a bad man. Neither’s Caste. They’re just…”
“Very different.”
“Oh so much so.”
They left the foyer, the upper and lower bailey, heading for the elevator but took the gates to the right of it, down the decline that would make its way into the village portion of the fort. There were steps as well as slopes. Judd marvelled that Suvau was able to hang onto his wagon so well.
“This is quite a sharp decline.” He called.
“My home is just there,” Suvau promised, “otherwise even I would not like to wheel this contraption all the way to the bottom.”
Suvau’s home was the top storey of a three storey building but because of the cliff face and the way they were going down, not up, they reached the front door without taking a single step up to it. There was a small nook behind the third storey of the building, overgrown with greenery, giving the illusion they were nestled in the countryside somewhere and not perched on a cliff. They unpacked the wagon and he tipped it up onto its end, pushing it past the door so it wasn’t in the way. Then he opened the door and went inside.
They were immediately within a kitchen where a benchtop started just shy of the door striking it, running along the side wall and then across the front wall which faced away from the cliff. On their right was a large wood cabinet and shelves for typical kitchen oddments and taking up a substantial portion of the floor space was a large table with long pews for chairs down the sides and two chairs at either end. A woman with skin several shades lighter than Suvau’s and hair, which fell in a single, long sheet of black, was at the window, her back to the door, chopping vegetables.
At least, she was. Upon their entrance, she had stopped.
Suvau put his hand out to pause their entrance. “Yolana…”
She turned, her eyes rimmed red and her cheeks streaked with tears. She strode up to Suvau and slapped him as hard as she could. Suvau took it without reserve.
“I have been sick with worry!” She blurted. “Two weeks, you said! Two weeks at the most and yet you have been gone over three and you promised me! You promised…”
“I promised I would always come home to you.” Suvau said gently but firmly.
Yolana stifled a sob, backing away from him. “You think you can get out of this…you think I would welcome you back after what you put me through…”
Suvau took her face in his hands and kissed her soundly and without consideration to those who might be watching, blushing in their embarrassment. Yolana only resisted for a moment before she slid her arms up around his neck, his arms circling her waist until there wasn’t even room for air between them.
Judd wanted to say or do something and was thinking about ordering a retreat to let the rather passionate couple reconnect when a voice said,
“Please excuse my parents. They are notoriously tactile and still act like adolescents in their passion for each other.” A young woman stood on the single step that led out of the kitchen into the rest of the house. Her shoulder blade length hair was in numerous braids, just shy of black and each braid was adorned with metal beads that made a light tinkle when they clashed together. Her eyes were bright and intelligent and she smiled at them with full lips, wearing a simple gown over her slight form, a leather apron tied around her waist. “My name is Emeri. Welcome to our home.”