Outremer; Chapter 1 - Two Brothers von Evereux
The castle of Itagur was, in all regards, the place where nothing ever happened. It was positioned strategically on a hill to watch over the Amian-Anarsius mountain pass leading to the North, but nothing ever stirred in the land of snow and ice since the Skin Walkers destroyed the Northern Princedom over three hundred years ago.
It was with a certain degree of surprise that the sentinels of Itagur were rudely awakened by a pounding on the gates of the castle on the side that faced the frozen North. Fearing it was a Skin Walker, the guards peered over the edge of the battlement with their arrows nocked in their bows. Imagine their amazement when they discovered their visitor was a man atop a grey mare on the frozen tundra below. Of course they let him in… after inspecting him from head to toe to make sure there was no trickery.
“Squire!” The rider’s voice carried over the frozen stone and howling wind. Even as the fourteen year old boy scurried across the slippery ground as fast as he could, the first rays of sunlight began to peer from the stormy clouds. As the rays touched the rock, the castle’s rough hewn stones began to take on a grey hue.
The squire reached out with a hand, finally arriving by the rider’s side, and steadied the rider’s towering horse. Still, as he was rushed from the warmth of the barracks, he began to shiver. The fourteen year old boy murmured a prayer to Himaya, their fallen god, for warmth as he shook.
“Where is the Baron Simon?” The rider asked, gathering himself in the saddle before he dismounted, the ice coating the weathered stones cracking underneath his weight.
“H-he is breaking his f-fast with his brother t-the Marquis Miles, s-sir.” The boy stuttered. As the rider brushed the snow off his shoulders, the squire craned his head to look at the man’s chest, which bore a burnished breast plate. “T-that…” He stammered.
“Where in the castle?” The rider interrupted him quickly. He wrapped his dark fur lined cloak around himself, hiding the breast plate from view.
“In the G-great Hall sir, b-but the Baron C-Simon gave explicit i-instructions not t-to be disturbed-“ The squire stuttered with cold clammy lips.
“Take her to the stables and see to her.” The rider dictated sharply as he walked off. “I shall be very cross if you have mistreated my Raniya.”
Still shivering, the squire led the horse into a suitable stall in the stables. Having done so, he immediately moved close to where the warm aura of the brazier within helped him thaw. “Himaya be praised for fire.” He murmured as he rubbed at his hands and held them close to the little brazier.
The grey mare neighed impatiently in her stall, peering at the boy with something like indignation in her eyes. The boy grumbled under his breath as he scampered into the stall. He began to remove the horse’s tack but stopped when he pulled the saddle cloth off Raniya’s back, revealing a brand. It was a crown of thorns atop a solid letter ‘V’ surrounded by a ring of laurels; the brand of the Spymaster, head of the Prince of Belarias’ secret police.
“God above…” The boy whispered, reverently running a hand over the brand. As his cold fingers made contact with the horse’s warm flank, the squire shivered again, but it wasn’t from the cold. Not anymore.
The rider, now safely in the warmth of the castle’s keep, pulled the sable scarf from his face. He pulled the hood of his fur lined cloak down, revealing a rather handsome face with dark hair and blue eyes. He looked young yet, barely into his thirties but already his eyes bore the look of one mature beyond his years. The rider stamped his feet, shaking the snow and ice from his boots. He kept his cloak close to his body before he turned and walked down the corridor.
The Baron Simon had done all he could to somehow make Itagur less of a frigid hellhole. Fires, maintained by a small army of servants, roared merrily in alcoves built into the walls to keep the entire keep warm. Velvet curtains, tapestries of battles and legends, rugs of various colors and designs lent a noble air in each and every hall of the castle. Overhead, the ceiling was supported by thick, oaken beams while the heads of trophy animals stared down at the castle’s inhabitants.
The rider, with quick purposeful strides, made his way down one of the less decorated service corridors and emerged into the Entrance Hall. Mounted on the walls were the various coats-of-arms of the different Barons who had held Itagur since the founding of the castle. The biggest coat-of-arms were the current Baron’s: a crowned golden lion rampant over a field of purple and golden ermine.
In the middle of the Hall was a massive fire pit, the flames casting a lively glow on the rosy stone. There were a multitude of other passages that led to other parts of the castle, but the rider was only interested in the massive, elaborately carved oaken double doors that led to the Great Hall.
The rider crossed the distance quickly with measured strides. Without hesitation, he reached up, gripped the two the wolf’s head door knobs of the double doors.
There were only two men, taking up a chair at opposite ends, dining on the massive, oak table. Servants stood discreetly in hidden niches in the Great Hall, watching the exchange between two brothers with some measure of fascination. Overhead, the Baron’s colors hung from the rafters.
“So, what brings you to my fair castle?” Situated at the head of the table, the Baron Simon von Evereux asked his companion with a sarcastic tone in his voice. He was a slightly built man with black hair that fell to his jaw and with the grey eyes typical of the von Evereux. He had a surly look to him and a slight frown that stayed on his face at all times. “Shouldn’t you be down in your Usarta dining on less frozen fare?”
“I hear you refused to attend the Council of Barons in Viratya II.” The Marquis Miles von Evereux began as he leaned back in his chair. In contrast, Miles was tall and muscular with reddish gold hair and a full beard. His eyes were grey as well, being the only facial feature the two bastards inherited from their mother. “Mother sent me. She would like to know why.”
“You and I both know Rachel only cares for you.” Simon drawled. “Why are you here, Simon?”
“Does it concern your holding?” Miles continued, ignoring his brother’s question as he gestured. “Itagur is a respectable barony. It has been held by many important nobles-“
“I like my holding.” The Baron interrupted. “Here, exiled at the end of the known world as a shield against myths of winged demons, it is as cold as Rachel’s heart. If you wish to talk, then spare me your machinations because I have no need for them. Why are you here?”
“Simon.” Miles said firmly. “I am here as Mother’s messenger, no more.”
“You don’t need to play messenger. You are a Marquis.” The younger brother growled, slamming his goblet on the armrest of his own high backed chair as he pointed with his other hand. “A Marquis, I might add, of a more respectable fief and a member of the Court of Magisters.”
Having been caught, Miles sighed and said. “Can brothers simply have a talk?” The more lion-like Miles asked, leaning forward in his chair. His grey eyes bored into Simon’s own. The dark haired of the two averted his gaze quickly. “Since when were you for talking?” Simon muttered under his breath. “All I remember were the pummel of your fists and the feel of the rough ground.”
“We were children, Simon.” The Marquis replied, having anticipated his reply. “Now, we are grown men. Can we not converse as grown men? Why did you not go to the Council of Barons?”
“…Converse as grown men? Between bastards? Never.” Simon snapped irritably, holding out his goblet to be re-filled by a servant. “I refuse to answer your questions. Why are you really here, Miles?”
After some time, Miles rubbed at his temples before he even spoke. “Reynald d’Agron wrote to our beloved princely cousin…” In the light of the fireplace, his face could have been etched in stone. “He spotted a Skin Walker at the fringes of castle Kerak.”
“A Skin Walker?” Simon snorted, spilling wine on the marble floor in his disbelief. “Gibberish! Don’t tell me you believe him? Everyone knows the Skin Walkers haven’t appeared for three hundred years. Even then, they are nothing but a figment of Reynald’s imagination! Tell him to burn that blasted book he keeps with him: Lycurgus was a drunkard and a fool.”
“You are forgetting, perhaps, that Lycurgus made our laws-“ Miles began, but he was cut off when the double doors opened. The rider wore a cocky smile on his face as he entered.
“Lord Marquis, Lord Baron.” The rider said cordially. A hand emerged from his cloak to cover his heart in the traditional show of fealty. “My liege lord sends his greetings.”
“Who the hell are you?” Simon burst out, the goblet falling from his hand and onto the floor. Miles was already standing, casting a wary eye on the rider.
“Who sent you?” The Marquis asked carefully. “What is your name?”
The rider removed his hand from his chest, his eyes scanning the room. Miles followed his gaze, noting that the ‘rider’ was looking at every corner, inspecting the room for exits and for possible eavesdroppers.
After a while, the rider gave a small sigh and then cleared his throat. “I was sent by…my lord.” The rider replied at length, clearly not satisfied with the rather public nature of the Great Hall. “My name is… unimportant.” He still held his cloak close.
“You insolent scum-“ Simon began, but Miles raised his hand. Simon fell silent, but the venomous stare he gave to the rider was enough to chill a normal man’s bones.
The Marquis looked at the rider from head to toe. He did not seem like a commoner from how he carried himself, though from the way he kept his cloak suggested he was a mercenary of some sort. Still, his cloak was made of a fine material, and his face suggested that he was of high breeding.
“You are a friend then?” Miles asked, tilting his head. “And you serve the Prince?” At the rider’s questioning look, Miles explained. “Even if you do not tell us your name, at least let your allegiance be established.”
“I am a friend.” The rider confirmed, smiling slightly. “I serve the Prince… indirectly. However, we are drifting to other concerns that need not be addressed. I am here simply to give you a message from my liege lord.”
“A message?” Miles asked, raising an eyebrow. His brother simply fumed in his chair.
“I was informed that the two of you would be here.” The rider gave a nod.”My lord thought it would save time if I intercepted the both of you.” The rider stated, taking something from a small pouch on his belt as he advanced. “He bid me to ride as fast as I could.”
“Where did you come from?” Miles asked as the rider took out a small, sealed envelope. He reached out hesitantly and took it while the rider once again clasped his hands behind his back. “From Eracis. Before that, Kerak.” The rider replied casually. “I used the Old Road.”
In the old days, the Old Road served as the primary highway by which goods from every corner of Belarias made their way to the capital of Viratya I. When the Skin Walkers came, the Old Road and every settlement to the north of the Barrier Mountains were abandoned. Even now, a full three hundred years since the first attack, no one dared to tread on the frozen way.
Miles glanced at the rider with an expression of disbelief in his face while Simon frowned sharply. “You must be jesting.” The Baron said. “No one goes by those ways. Not since the North was taken from us.”
The rider simply smiled.
Miles resumed his inspection. The envelope had somewhat frayed edges from being crammed inside the pouch. However, it was the seal that caught Miles’s attention: the crown of thorns, the bold letter ‘V’ and the ring of laurels. “This is…”
“That is my lord’s seal, Lord Marquis.” The rider interjected before Miles could even open his mouth to state the obvious. “Please, read.”
Miles glanced at his brother before he reached out and broke the seal, pulling out a slightly rumpled piece of paper.
To the Marquis Miles von Evereux and the Baron Simon von Evereux, may this letter find you both alive and well.
With the safety of the public in mind, the Prince has authorized the following orders based on Reynald d’Agron’s sighting of a possible Skin Walker at the borders of Kerak castle:
The Baron of Itagur is to begin preparations for a series of skirmishes into the unclaimed North. Soldiers from Cafarlet, Antopor and Terrateos are to arrive there within the following months. The Baron will be held accountable for the men’s welfare during the skirmishes. He is also to accompany the men.
The Marquis of Usarta is hereby given the responsibility of arming the soldiers of Itagur. Materials have been sent to Usarta’s forges. Expect at least thirty crates within the week.
In addition, both the Marquis of Usarta and the Baron of Itagur are to proceed to Viratya II for a meeting with the rest of the Court by the end of this month.
The Spymaster
“Brother.” Miles warned. He beckoned for his brother to come closer. “Come.”
The Baron of Itagur moved to his brother’s side, peering around the taller man. As he too read the letter, he took a step back. “And you… your master expects us to comply with this?” He hissed angrily. “He makes a mockery of us all! Himaya spit on the both of you!”
“Brother.” Miles snapped. “Cease.” Though he was still furious, the other man moved off, cursing underneath his breath. “All of you lowlifes leave!” Simon howled abruptly. At once, the servants bowed and departed.
Once he was certain that they were left alone, Miles cleared his throat. “The Prince and the Spymaster are aware that… the Skin Walkers are a myth? Their powers are the stuff of nightmares, ‘tis true, but they are not real.” He asked, leaning against the oaken table, breakfast forgotten. “Surely he can’t expect us to start immediately?”
“I believe my lord took your concerns into consideration.” The rider replied with a cheeky grin. “However, that does not allow you to ignore his orders. The Crown of Thorns stands higher.”
“You insult me!” The Baron Simon swept away all the silverware he had within arms reach off the table. “I will not play this game! I will-“
“Simon.” The marquis narrowed his eyes. The baron stormed off to the other end of the room.“Forgive my brother.” Miles said with a sigh, rubbing at his temples. “He is… ill.”
The rider gave another cryptic smile. “Be that as it may, Lord Baron. My lord expects your prompt reply. Will you stand for your sibling? I take it he is in no mood to write a reply.”
“Yes, I will. Our reply is given.” Miles said as the rider procured some writing materials and some sealing wax from his pouch, placing it atop the table. “I must advise against this folly. Winter is settling over the land. Exploring the northlands in this perilous time of year will only result in grave losses.”
“The Skin Walkers are unburdened by human concerns, Lord Baron.” The rider said with a serious air, speaking in a strong, sure tone. “When they invade from the northlands they will stab their icy claws and turn our verdant lands into nothing but patches of ice and snow.”
“Still…” Miles began to pen a reply. “I know my dear cousin.” He snorted. “He is only a boy. This entire endeavor is fueled by his fear of monsters underneath the bed. The boy simply misses his parents. Who wouldn’t at that age?”
“No one should be orphaned at that age.” The rider agreed. “Yet he is the Prince, and he is backed by his uncle, the regent. The claim itself is legitimate; Reynald d’Agron is a trustworthy man whose quality my master approves of and the lord Dietrich is a man of exceptional merit whom my master trusts implicitly.”
“But to spend so much money and to waste the lives of men…” Miles muttered under his breath as he inspected his reply. “I wonder what Uncle Dietrich said about this.” The rider peered over the Marquis’ shoulder, watching him write.
“All will be settled in the Court, I think.” The rider said with a smile. “I require your seal, my lord. There, at the bottom”
Miles said nothing of the rider’s insolent behavior as he dripped the sealing wax onto the letter, pressing his signet ring against the hot fluid. He then blew on the paper for a minute before he handed it to the rider.
“Will you be taking the Old Road once more?” Miles inquired as he scraped the remaining wax off his signet ring with a small wooden stick the rider passed to him.
“No.” The rider shook his head as he packed the writing materials back into his pouch. “I head south, to castle Parynias. My obligation to the north is finished for now.”
Miles gave a nod. “Well, I shall not delay you.”
The rider placed the letter into his pouch before he gave a bow and moved to leave.
Miles turned and reached out to a goblet of wine and drained it before he heard someone clear their throat behind him. The Marquis of Usarta turned, noting that the rider had not yet left the Great Hall. Indeed, his hands were still on the wolf’s head door knobs.
“My master lives to serve the Prince.” The rider stated, turning to look at the Marquis in the eye. “I suggest you and your brother do the same, Lord Marquis.”
“Usarta welcomes you next time you arrive at her gates.” Miles replied formally, although from his conflicted expression, his goodbye seemed somewhat hollow. The rider bowed again before he left the Great Hall. Miles von Evereux shook his head ruefully as his brother came back into view.
“Have you calmed down?” At the other’s nod, Miles forged on. “What think you of this whole endeavor?” He asked, watching his brother carefully.
“You could not have been a better doormat to agree so quickly to our cousin’s frivolous demand.” The Baron Simon hissed and pointed at his half-brother. “He is driving the Princedom into the ground with his skittishness!”
“Our cousin is backed by Uncle Dietrich. Have you forgotten that he is regent?” Miles pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. “Even with Almaric’s childishness and insecurity, I do not believe Uncle Dietrich would agree to this unless he has talked with the Spymaster.”
“You are idiots, the lot of you.” Simon hissed. “If I were the Prince-“
“Even if Mother were to be the firstborn, you would not get the princedom, Simon. I am first born. I inherit.” Miles said firmly. “And you should not forget it.”
“Of course.” Simon gave an ugly sneer. “You firstborns always get everything and leave the rest of us wanting. Never have we all gotten what we really deserve.”
“Simon.” Miles warned as the younger son stormed off. “What do you intend to do?”
“Itagur will not accept this.” Simon shouted. “I will not allow my men to participate in this folly! Let the Spymaster manipulate others who are willing to play his game!”
“What will you do, Simon?” Miles asked, his voice reverberating in the Great Hall. “Who are you to go against the Crown of Thorns?”
“I do not care!” Simon shouted as he opened a side door.
“Do not be stupid!” Miles roared.
The loud slamming of the door served as Simon’s reply.
Miles von Evereux rubbed at his temples.
“Well.” He murmured from beneath his hand. “Mother won’t be pleased.”