The island was covered in towering cliffs, which jutted out into the bay like the spines of some monstrous beast. The citadel was built atop the foundations of older fortresses dating back centuries. It was the seat of power for the Lords of the Black Sea, first Hynon the Cruel and later Lord Ghultramort of the Crossing.
Inside the fortress, the air was thick with smoke from thousands of candles burning around the great hall. Outside, the sea roared against the rocks beneath the ancient portcullis. On either side of the entrance arch, iron-banded sentries kept watch over the approach to the inner ward. Beyond those guards, more stood along the long, narrow bridge spanning the moat, while yet another pair guarded the drawbridge. Behind all these, the massive gates swung slowly open, creaking on their heavy hinges.
When the last of the guests entered, Lord Ghultramort descended the steps from the high table. His gold cloak hung heavily on his shoulders, and his beard and mustache drooped wetly down onto his chest. He wore a silver circlet set with rubies, and carried a wine cup in each hand. Beneath the ragged remnants of his nose, his eyes shone bright green.
"Greetings, good sirs and gentle ladies," he announced loudly enough to carry throughout the vast hall. "It gives me much pleasure to welcome you to the great citadel of the Grayguard. May the gods go with us."
Maeson Ahtradius went next. In spite of his white hair, the old priest seemed scarcely changed since they'd seen him last. And why should he have? When they were boys together, Maeson Ahtraduis had been the most fearsome warrior in Westmere. Now he sat before them, clad once more in black silks embroidered with the silver sigil of the Grayguard, and spoke softly and respectfully.
"... the Land of the Real. This land has known many kings and queens, and endured the passing of countless noble houses. But few rulers ever truly ruled alone. Our ancestors knew that true strength could only come through unity. So when strife threatened, we came together to defend our own. The Grayguard will forever defend The Land of the Real from the Half-Dead who dwell just beyond here on the island of Zhaghthoth for as long as there is air in our lungs."
He continued: “Today we welcome our newest face, one of the greatest men to walk among us, a Knight and Scholar, Ser Mahdek Seerner of Southmere.”
Mahdek stopped forward. “It is an honor to serve.”
Two knights brandished twin scimitars which looked almost identical except for the difference in length. They drew back their blades, and the Grayguard behind them did likewise. Then, without warning, they brought both swords down simultaneously toward the floor. As soon as the steel met the stone, a shower of sparks flew upward—and suddenly every sword in the room became dull and useless.
"Welcome, Ser Mahdek," said Lord Ghultramort. "And may the gods bless you and keep you always safe within our walls."
"Thank you, My Lord," replied the newcomer gravely. "May the same be granted unto you and yours."
Then, turning to the others, he added, "My name is Mahdek Seerner... but I am not what you might call 'a knight.'"
All eyes turned to the speaker. For the first time, it occurred to them that perhaps they shouldn't have expected anything else.
A man named after a blade would hardly bear arms himself, even if he happened to find a weapon lying about. Still, no one laughed or jeered. Some stared at this stranger with curiosity; a few smiled shyly. Others simply bowed their heads politely.
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A young girl seated near the front raised her head. She was the princess here, the daughter of Lord Ghultramort. Her brown skin glowed with health and vitality. She wore a gown of deep blue silk trimmed in crimson, and she held herself proudly erect upon a chair carved in the likeness of a stag's antlers.
"I know your name," she declared boldly. "You are the Seer of Southmere!"
Ser Mahdek nodded. "That is so, My Lady. And I thank you for remembering."
She giggled. "How can anyone forget such a tall man?"
Her laughter made Ahtradius smile too.
“Ser Mahdek,” Lord Ghultramort said, “we will have a small feast of sorts tonight, as a welcoming. Ser Erngrand will show you to your servant and chambers.”
A man rose up at this, tall and slender, clad in shining mail. A knight's helm crowned his head, polished steel gleaming dully under its dark bronze brow guard. As he stepped forward, it became apparent that he was nearly seven feet tall. His name was Ser Erngrand, the Golden Knight from the far away lands of Qhymere in the East. He had been a great friend to the Lords of Westmere for a decade, just as Ser Mahdek had been. His armor was plain, though well made, and his shield bore no coat of arms or other insignia. Even so, he moved with such grace and surety that none would have thought him less than a man born to the saddle. There was something about his bearing, however, that suggested otherwise. A certain hauteur, a sense of command, if you will. Perhaps even a touch of arrogance.
Ser Erngrand showed Ser Mahdek and Cindy their new chambers, a pair of bedchambers with an adjoining door. "We'll have the same servants," he said as they were shown through high arched windows onto a balcony overlooking the gardens below them. The air was sweet-scented; roses bloomed everywhere. A small stream wound its way past tall banks of lavender, and beyond it stood trees heavy with fruit that glittered like gold under the sun. In the bedchamber, a nightstand stood beside the bed, holding a candle, a vial of perfume, and a small pot filled with water. The scent of lavender tickled his nostrils as soon as he crossed the threshold.
After Mahdek left for his diner with his compatriots, Cindy remained in their chambers by herself and the few books she brought with her. She was excited to explore the Citadel and read all the books they had, but there was a fear that maybe she wasn’t allowed. In her mind she was no longer a proper whore. At the very least she was a Knight’s whore now, and if his future goals were met, she’d soon be a damn Lord’s whore. But she felt that she was properly a half-whore now, and if Ser Mahdek truly was falling deeply for her, maybe she would become his bride and she could be a proper Lady one day. But the fear wasn’t really if they would let a whore in the Citadel, it was if they would let a woman in the Citadel. All the places she had ever been, the Citadel was always reserved for men, and not just men but the best of men, the ones worthy of knowledge and education.
But all was the same, she supposed. Mahdek could bring her all the books she wanted from the Citadel, and she could read them in her chambers by the candlelight, and the comfort of her wool blankets and her thick cot. The cot wasn’t as thick as the ones they had in Edenfell, but they were fine and good. She supposed a lot of things weren't going to be as good as she had them back at Edenfell, but her future was fine.
She thought about what happened on the journey here. “You're my favorite girl,” He'd said to her, and she knew he meant it too, though perhaps it sounded more cruel than intended. And since coming to the Citadel, he hadn't called her anything but 'girl' or 'lady.’ It made her feel special somehow, even though she didn't know why.
This place held so many secrets and mysteries, and she hoped someday she might learn some of those secrets. Maybe being around such learned people would help her find out who she was, and where she came from, and why she was here. Or maybe she would never discover any answers to these questions, and that wouldn't matter either. What did matter was that she was safe, warm, fed, and loved, which is what she knew now.
And she also realized that while she may have lost her home, and everything familiar to her, she gained much more. Her father and mother were gone forever, but she was happy enough living among strangers as long as they treated her well. For all she cared, she could stay here until the end of her days, and she would be content. As long as she had books to read. That's all she needed.