Thanks no doubt in large part to the imposing presence of a squad of dragoons all in black, the journey through the northern provinces passed without incident. Any roving brigands, or for that matter static brigands such as overzealous tax collectors, were handily deterred by the heavily armed Guardsmen.

The rolling fields gradually gave way to foothills as the mountains loomed higher overhead, open grassland and cultivated fields yielding to stands of slender birch and pine and a dozen other kinds of tree. The sunlight filtered through the sparse canopy in scintillating patterns of green and gold that shifted and shimmered with every breath of the wind, our shadows washed away by the gentle ambience. Leading Munter along while we rested the horses, I had to resist the urge to just stare upwards at the leaves playing in the light.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Kaczmarek commented. “It’s not home, but I don’t mind this.”

“Mm,” I wordlessly assented. Home was something of a nebulous concept for me, but I could certainly agree to not minding this.

The next dawn saw us winding around the base of a spur to begin ascending the Zagory Pass, the low pass which would take us through the majority of the mountains. The peaks here were thankfully low enough not to have year-round snowcaps, a mercy without which this journey would have been far harder. As it was we had only to plan to contend with ordinarily low temperatures, rather than glacial ones that would have compelled us to pack warm winter clothing, never to be worn again after this. The climate only warmed as one went north towards Afamacia, after all, even if we were once again inevitably being drawn towards the mountains at Tarima.

Snow, however, was not the only precipitation the Heavens sent down upon the mountains, and it was with some measure of concern that I watched the sky that morning. The sun was late to make its appearance; that was normal, here where the horizon climbed gracefully above its usual level, obscuring the sun’s domain. But even the blue light of the sky was dimmed by a heavy head of cloud hanging over those reaching crags; unfortunately, also normal.

“It seems we’re cursed not to have good weather in the mountains, your Highness,” I said. “Although with luck it will stay just clouds, and not too much rain.”

“That shouldn’t be cause for concern, though, should it?” He asked.

I glanced at Kaczmarek, who shook her head.

“No, your Highness. It might be a bit wet, which isn’t great for the footing, but it should be alright. Sir.”

“Well, then, at least it’s not so cold as it was then,” the prince said. “It shouldn’t be as bad this time.”

I suppressed a grimace, and Kaczmarek discreetly reached back to touch the stock of her arquebus.

Despite my immediate misgivings, the weather held up for the day as we alternated riding and hiking through the mountains. The vistas, where they appeared through the tree cover, were stunning, but for the most part i had to keep my eyes fixed before my feet to watch my footing. The slight slick of drizzle was just enough to make the roadway tricky.

As the fled the thin cover of the clouds for the weightier shelter of the mountains, we crested a ridge and the village of Zagory came abruptly into view as more than thin spires of smoke. The gentle arc of a lake bordered it to the north and west, littered along its shore with cottages, and fields spilled down the slopes to the east like a blanket draped over the irregular ground. A narrow road curved around the southern extreme of the lake to wind its way up to a stone keep standing sentinel over the village, its single lofted tower reflected in the still water below.

Down in the village, the single road was empty. Each of the cottages stood with its door resolutely closed, setting me in some consternation. The only inhabitant in evidence was a liveried coachman waiting at the head of a most misplaced carriage, in this rural environ. I hailed him as we approached.

“Good day! What is the matter? Has the village been attacked?”

The coachman stood and bowed, no concern evident in his bearing – although his hat concealed his features somewhat, so I couldn’t be certain. “Good day, milord. No, milord, not such thing — it is only that Baron Zagory had coach sent to meet you, and people have some childish superstition. Please do not concern.” He spoke in poor but comprehensible Ostdialekt.

“Milords must be tired,” he continued, stepping down to open the carriage’s door. “Baron would be delighted to entertain you for the night, and begs you accept his hospitality. Please, rest from your journey, and allow me to drive milords to the castle.”

I looked to the prince. “I confess I should like a break from riding and walking,” he said. “I fear I’m not quite so sturdy as the Guardsmen. And of course, the hospitality of the Baron tonight would be most welcome.”

“Very good, sir.” I nodded. “Magus? Yourself, as well?”

“A change would be pleasant,” he agreed, face as unreadable as ever.

Thus settled, the prince and the magus transferred themselves to the carriage. The coachman bowed and scraped even deeper upon discovering the identity of the prince; I supposed it was not only unexpected in this remote part of the world, but doubly so to find him travelling on horseback.

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An invitation to the carriage was extended to myself as well, but I chose to decline. I harboured doubts of the true comfort of riding a coach up that winding path; besides which, I was still a little uncomfortable with the quiet, and the boxy interior of a coach had never agreed with me.

The forest thickened as we climbed the winding road to the castle, the trees closing ranks and marching ever nearer to the shoulder of the roadway. The wide corridor of the highway, its sky only lightly screened, passed into memory as the boughs began to stretch overhead. When we reached the castle, the coachman drawing back a titanic bolt from the gate and opening it with a screech of rust-tormented iron, the grey light had yielded to full night and a chill mist had formed in the air.

The castle bore an intangible aura of decay, insofar as I could discern through the mist and the light of the lanterns. It was as though what was present was solid and enduring not through proper maintenance, but simply because everything else had perished.

The coach rattled away into the darkness, followed by Kaczmarek, Johanna, and Otto’s dragoons leading the horses — all those neither officers nor gentry. The door confronting those left behind typified the situation of neglect. Its mighty beams were weathered and splintered, the iron studs binding it together weeping red trails down the wood, but it held its ancient form with neither gaps nor sagging. A bronze knocker shaped after a wolf clutching a ring in its jaws adorned the door, itself darkened by a brown patina.

With the four of us — myself, the prince, the magus, and Otto — left waiting outside the door without explanation, I hesitated for some time. When it became clear that nothing was forthcoming on its own initiative, I grasped the knocker and rapped out two knocks. It was the span of only a few breaths before the door was answered with a rasping of metal and another tortured cry of the hinges, swinging outwards and obliging me to step back smartly lest my hat be swept from my head.

“Good evening!” Exclaimed the gentleman behind the door, who I surmised by his appearance to be the Baron Zagory himself. “Be invited in, and enter, if you will.” So saying he removed himself from the doorway to stand beside the threshold, gesturing towards the entry hall. Golden light spilled out, a welcome contrast to the eerie atmosphere of the courtyard.

Playing the role of a steward, I bowed, announcing the dignitaries. “His Highness Prince Franz of Immerland, and Magus Alemayehu of Afamacia.” After a moment’s pause, I saluted and added “Ritter Friedrich zu Zerheim, and Leutnant Karl Otto.”

The baron bowed deeply as we entered, before springing upright to take the prince’s damp cloak from him, hurrying to hang it up in time to take Alemayehu’s. Does the baron not have servants besides the coachman? I wondered for a moment, taken aback by his personal solicitude. It was not as though he were somehow young and naive either.

Without the detriment of the light silhouetting him directly, I could make out his his features properly. Although of only middling height he had a slender frame, even excessively slender, that gave him the appearance of someone substantially taller — only seen from a distance. His physiognomy too was on the verge of gauntness, with a thin white moustache perched beneath a narrow hook of a nose. The whole was exacerbated by his bone-white hair being brushed back so it was quite nearly hugging his skull, leaving the prominences of his temples to catch the light without the protective veil of any form of fringe.

Despite this, his eyes carried a vitality that decried any accusation of frailty the rest of his figure might provoke. They were so dark as to be almost black, with heavy brows swooping above them, and when he spoke there was no trace of uncertainty or the lethargy of age in his movements.

“I must apologise for my own indignity,” he explained in excellent, though strongly accented, Ostdialekt. His voice was a little high, and exceptionally smooth. “It is difficult for me to keep servants at the moment. After some activities of wolves in the winter the villagers have become afraid of the castle, and I do not wish to compel them.” He spread his hands as if to say “But what can one do?”

“That is unfortunate, but I commend your attitude,” the prince said. “It must be very difficult for you.”

“Oh, not so much so, your Highness. I am fortunate to have the services still of Tomasz, my driver, and of an excellent cook.” He moved swiftly to usher us through the passageways, guiding us to a dining chamber on the first floor, where the table was already spread with an excellent repast. “Please, enjoy. Tomasz will see that your men are quartered as well. Please excuse me for not eating; I already took supper earlier.”

We set to with a will, being hungry from the day on the road. I enjoyed the quality of the meal; though of course I was long accustomed to hard rations and we had eaten much better than that on the road, the cooking of an inn or a hostel could rarely compare with that of a cook for the nobility.

“Pardon my asking, Baron Zagory,” Prince Franz said, after we had dined, “But how did you have this prepared? Our arrival wasn’t announced.”

The baron gestured towards the ceiling. “Ah, your Highness, it is my habit to watch the horizon from the tower of an evening. That is how I came to notice your group travelling, and I thought that I must send Tomasz to invite you, and have a meal prepared. Forgive my imposition; this is a lonely barony, only made more lonely over the years.”

With that explanation it seemed churlish to make haste, so we stayed and spoke for a while. There was no clock in the room, so I had difficulty marking the time, but at length I ventured to voice my concern.

“It has grown late, sir, and I fear we must be on the road again early tomorrow. I think it should be for the best if we were to retire for the night.”

Something passed across Zagory’s face at that, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. “But of course,” he said, standing and moving to open the door. “I shall show you to your rooms, of course. Only, I pray you not to move about the castle overmuch tonight; much of it is dark or locked up on account of how few its inhabitants are, and I should hate for you to become lost.”

So saying, he led us a short way through the halls to a set of chambers in the wing, indicating one to each of us. “Tomasz should have brought your luggage to your chamber, so there should be nothing wanting for a restful night. Your guard is quartered below on the ground floor as well and should likewise be well attended. Then, good night, gentlemen.” He made a small bow, and after a brief return of pleasantries excused himself.

The room I found well furnished, with my saddlebags and weapons — besides my scimitar, which I had kept about me — carefully hung from a rack near the door. A basin for washing sat on the dresser with towels and some toiletries, missing only a mirror of some kind for shaving.

I made a quick check of my arquebus and dragonets, and that the content of my bags was correct. Eased by their presence and correctness, I turned in for the night.