Nesalen frowned in disgust as the city came into view. It resided at the end of a vast valley, with mountains climbing around it. There were some farmers on the outside, but few passed up the protection of the city walls. Through the valley was a river that ended in a lake just before the walls. He wished that he could just dive into the cool waters; the heat was murder in warm Scanra leather. Of course as soon as the thought entered his mind it was declared irrational and erased as if it had never been. He would settle with splashing some on his face.
The coarse walls were a gray stone, lightened by age. Large stonewalls marked the Southern entrance. He had been here once before. It had not been a pleasant experience. The building's inside were mostly stone, even more weathered by time, with occasional a wooden, lower class building. The streets were wide, with merchants lining the edges. It was a city to watch your purse. Last time he was here he was pick-pocketed, twice! He heard that there was a hierarchy of thieves in the city. How shameful, and within the their capital no less! The palace, he had to admit, was truly beautiful. It resided in the heart of the city, with its tall walls reaching high above the outer gateway. The palace it's self was bordered with buildings just as impressive as the palace. A small convent, recently founded, stock-holds, training centers for knights and the royal army, separate of course, and some residents of high-class nobles. And around that was a garden that made Corus famous.
He muttered under his breath. He had heard of the garden, even in Scanra. Really it was not that good. An ember besides the sun, compared to Scanra's royal garden. Nesalen was trained to remember details, even as minor as these. As they came into sight of the city he heard gasps float up behind him at the view. He stopped his horse and turned around. The soldiers stared blankly at him. There were only ten. Ten! The king, blessed be his name by the great Goddess, insulted him with this! Nothing near the amount suited for his honor guard! He made his voice stone, "You few are those chosen because you are whom the King can spare. But try, try, to get this through your head. You shall not dishonor yourselves! Why?" he chuckled cruelly, "Because if you dishonor yourselves, you dishonor me. If you dishonor me you dishonor Scanra and the King himself! So I will not tolerated such open awe! We must be seen as stone and just as unapproachable as one. Do you idiots understand me!?" They thumped their fist on their heart, "Yes, sir." He sneered, "What are you doing standing here?" He motioned them forward and turned towards the city.
As they went on toward the city there was silence. Good, as it should be. He set his mind on the task before him. The grass was faded to a pale brown, dieing from lack of water. He could see that the river was down by at least a foot. Still it was summer here, with flowers blooming and trees full as if to spite the heat. It was also hot as hell. They had come from Scanra with no expectations of the flaming heat. Nesalen had no memory of such murder. He would be punished for that when he returned of course. He was trained to remember such things. Failure was not acceptable. As they came closer it became obvious that travelers stood outside the walls. Probably waiting for some people. Along the city walls were small openings with men at each. To enter the city you had to name your destination and time of stay, things like that. Then they gave you a paper that allowed you to enter the city. He could tell already that some of the travelers in front would forage these papers. The solders eyed them suspiciously. Some shook their head as they approached him. A knight was talking to a near by peasant. He could not believe it, a peasant!
He dismounted and gave the soldiers behind him a look that clearly said 'stay'. Still muttering underneath his breath he approached the window. The clerk was hunched over a good amount of papers and scribbling away. A couple books were open, obviously for research; lay around him opened, with bookmarks in them. Bookcases lined the walls of the small room with untidy papers and books filling them. An identical window sat on the opposite wall along with a small door. He cocked an eyebrow, how attentive these Torillians are. "Ahem", nothing. Nesalen couldn't believe this. How could they allow people like this working here? Untidy and slow, it's preposterous! "Ahem" The clerk glanced up at him and quickly looked back down. He dipped his quill back into the ink and wrote something hastily. The clerk put the quill down and came to the window, not without a regretful glance at his writings.
The clerk picked up a quill and wrote something at the top of the paper. "Name?" he said in a monotone voice. How cheerful, Nesalen thought. "Nesalen d'Joar et'aface." The fellow scribbled away and sighed when he had to re-dip his quill. Rage filled him, "Do you not like my name, Little Man?" He said taking out his dagger; from it's metal case and putting it beneath his chin then skillfully pressured it to lift his face. The hilt was jeweled and reeked of money "N-no, sir." He smiled sadistically, "May I ask what yours is?" Why the fellow looked as if he wanted to wet himself. "Nuli Banashe." His smile widened. "Now, Nuli, continue." He withdrew his dagger. "Y-yes, sir."
There, he thought cheerfully, I bet he'll be more attentive of the next person. Really, he should thank me. "Where have you come from, sir?" he said and looked up at him. Much better. "Scanra." He said, turning back to the soldiers. They sat gawking at the surroundings, maybe his little speech didn't do as good as he thought. They look like a bunch of fools sitting on their horses. He clicked his tongue in vexation. When he turned back the fellow was looking at him, eyes wide. Nesalan made a writing motion, impatiently, "Write, write." The clerk look startled and inhaled as if to say something but only went back writing. Nesalan had no patience with surprised vermin wasting his time. Nuli looked up and then back down again at the paper, clearly nervous. "How long do you plan to stay in Corus? Uh, sir." He thought for a second, the orders didn't specify. "A month at the most." These plans should be a cinch with this King. He was a fool noble masquerading as a king. The clerk stamped the papers and hastily wrote his signature. He handed the quill to him, quite obviously relived to be rid of him, "Will you sign here, sir?" he said pointing on the paper. Nesalan signed his name elegantly, with much practice perfecting it.
Paper in hand, he turned to his soldiers. The knight stood behind him, the same one who had been conversing with the peasants, looking at him distastefully. He was a tall man with large shoulder and firmly muscled. He was lightly tan and was obviously an active Knight. His hair was black and cut unevenly just above his shoulders. His age showed with the gray wings in his hair and the small lines on his face. There were small lines at the edges of his mouth showing he laughed a lot. You could see inn his brown eyes that he was a kind man. He wore plain breeches and a plain tunic; the only thing that gave him away was his sword. It hanged loosely at his side and it looked as if it suited him. A merciful man, weak, his eyes flickered to his sword, weak, but still dangerous. Nesalen managed a thin smile and tipped his hat, "Good morning, Sir knight."
The knight replied with a bow, "Sir, perhaps you do not know the laws of Corus? The make it clear that no man, at any status, cannot be threatened by blade." The Scanran cocked a cool eyebrow at the knight. "My apologies, sir knight, I was not clear on Corus law. But if you will excuse me I must make haste to the palace." With that he moved around the knight and to his horse. He could feel his eyes on his back as he walked away.
He mounted his horse and turned toward the entrance, motioning the solders to fallow. The Knight had turned back toward the clerk but glanced sideways when he approached the entrance. Intrusting, very intrusting. The gateway was tall, almost as tall as the wall it's self. Two guards stood at the entrance and behind them was a thick wooden bar, blocking the entryway. He handed the paper to one of the guards. He looked at it quickly, Nesalen could tell that he didn't really read it; he would have showed some surprise at seeing the name Scanra on the paper. He tucked the paper in his pocket, glanced at the soldiers behind him and motioned to let him in. The other guard turned a wheel and the board retreated into the wall. Nesalen's eyebrows rose in surprise. I wonder what kind of contraption that is.
As he walked through the gateway the buzz of the city overtook him. People lined the streets with no order among them. No one in sight was on horseback, and people looked at him as he passed, whispering to the person next to him. He frowned, that was not good, he didn't want to attract interest. Sighing, he realized it was futile. He did not have to turn around to know that the soldiers were gawking like idiots. The streets were no longer just edged with merchants but now stalls took up almost half the street. Colorful objects, beautiful jewels, charms, and fruits of all kinds all filled the stalls. Nothing of interest, except at the amount of foreigners that now resided in Tortal. It had not been so when he was here last. Soon the market district ended and was replaced by tall magnificent buildings that were obviously temples. The buildings had faded a little more, and more vibrant buildings took the place of some. Groups of soldiers walked passed making the flow step around them. He noticed some shady looking characters moving through the crowd.
Turning his head to the side he yelled back to the soldiers, "Watch your purses!" he saw them jump in surprise. Perhaps this honor guard was a larger insult then he thought, if they were competent he might have accepted ten. For the Goddess' name he didn't know what he did to deserve this. First the King, blessed be his name by the Goddess, assigns him to this inane project and then just to slap him in the face gives him an honor guard of ten fumbling idiots! He muttered under his breath as they approached the place. The temples faded and turned into residences and inns. He noticed the buildings steadily getting better as he went forward, obviously the richer you were the closer you lived to the palace. The walls of the inner city were a glimmering white, and much higher than the outer city walls. Thousands of figures mounted the walls and were etched in gold. In the mid morning light they glimmered magnificently. Read and gold clothed guards moved along at the top, peering down at the people walking by. With a grunt, he moved forward to a soldier with a list. The soldier eyed him up and down his frown deepening even more. Nesalen sneered. Sure travel had caused him to dress less nice and he hadn't bathed for a while but his mount should tell him who he was. "Nesalen d'Joar et'aface of Scanra." His frowned even deeper but looked on the list. He eyed him again then the men behind him and yelled, "Let him through!" Nesalen nearly jumped in surprise at the sudden yell. The doors opened from the inside.
As he went through the gate he once again heard a gasp from behind him and then murmured conversation. A sharp look to the side silenced them. The garden was simply stunning. While the countryside faded to a brown shade the Castle gardens were a vibrant green. Flowers bloomed everywhere, making a beautiful painting of a fairyland. The tree's fruit had not come in, but the blossoms remained. Nobles strolled through pathways with chilled wine in hand. Fountains that sprouted water, pond, gazebos, benches and statues were sprinkled throughout the garden. A single broad stone pathway was paved to the inner city, as it was called. The rumors served it justice; it was much better than Scanra's. He admitted it in his mind but never out loud. Still it was no reason for the soldier's behavior. Never should they act like that. They had not gone far when a man approached him. By his clothing he was an upper servant. "M'Lord?" He dismounted. His inquiring look said it all. "My name is Nesalen d'Joar et'aface. Of Scanra." He added the last as an afterthought. Realization dawned on the man's face. "The King has ordered that you be brought to his chambers as soon as you arrive." The servant turned to the man behind him, "Duward, escort these fine men to the stables will you?" Turning back towards him, his face looked as if something bit him, "You see it is policy to have quests greeted at the stables, but dressed so…" The man trailed off. Nesalen nodded, eleven shady looking men with swords, perhaps the guards made a mistake. It was natural to think so. At least these people have good help. "I understand," he said smiling, "No need to be so nervous." He dismounted and handed the reigns to the other servant standing beside him. The servant looked confused at why he was now holding reigns. The servant clicked his tongue in exasperation, "Duward, now!" The man called Duward bowed hastily and began to move down the path. Perhaps he spoke too soon. His solders fallowed without complaint.
The two watched them go for a second before the man gave a graceful bow – perfect to his stature. "If it pleases you, fallow me, m'lord." Nesalen nodded grimly, his mouth tight. They walked down traveled paths that lead steadily to the west, to the King's chambers. Nobles whispered to their servants behind fans, not bothering to hide their source, pointing to him. Whatever they asked the servant always shook their head, eyeing him distrustfully. The nobles knew where this path lead and knew there was no place else he could be going with that escort. They did not bother to show him any formal signs of respect and when he gave a bow worthy of his stature their eyes went as big as saucers at his "insolence". He would have laughed out loud if he wasn't so preoccupied. He was confident, and knew that he reeked of it, that it would be no problem to convince the King, considering the recent events, but it was always good to be sure.
Raoul of Goldenlake was let through the gates with an impatient wave. He had been fallowing the Scanra fellow since he was let through the door. It was odd – what was a Scanran man of such obvious importance doing here in a time of war. Unless he was an ambassador. It seemed unlikely with what he had seen on the Northern border. The Scanrans showed no signs of peace. Filthy people, those Scanrans. When he reached the inner gate he asked for the name of the Scanran man. The fellow flipped through his papers and gave him a badly pronounced name – "Nesalen d'Joar et'aface" Raoul's face went pasty white at the name. The guard looked at him anxiously. "Is M'lord alright?" Raoul looked up at the man and waved him off walking through the gates. Raoul raked his hands through his ebony hair, what is HE doing here? Nesalan, he was second in command in Scanra. With ten guards to accompany him? What had he done to offend the King? With such a low number perhaps he was no longer second. He walked through the gardens giving his horse to some servant. He would usually tend to him himself but he wanted to know about this man. With that name he knew where he would be heading. Raoul wanted to talk to Jonathan when he finished with the Scanran. He walked the stone path oblivious to the people and landscape around him. His eyes were downcast and it made it obvious that he was deep in thought. Because of that and the fact that he was on the path to the king no nobles addressed him.
The royal chambers were far apart from the main palace and nearly impossible to find unless you stayed on this path. It was assumed that the reason was to confuse enemies, but it was doing a good job confusing locals. When you finally reached the building, it is truly beautiful. It was all a white marble stone and carved into the walls were statues edged in gold. The first room was something of a waiting room with ornate chairs and servants to serve them tea or chilled wine. Raoul sat on one of these and dismissed the servant to offer him these. He knew he was in for a long wait. When they did come out they strolled easily side bye side and both wore smiles. The Scanran's seemed to have something beneath it.
Jonathan ran his eyes along the room and came to rest on Raoul. "Raoul! When did you get back?" He stood and came forward, "Just now. Who is your guest?" Jonathan turned to the man beside him, who answered crisply, "Nesalen d'Joar et'aface" Raoul bowed, "And I am Raoul of Goldenlake the commander of the King's Own." A smile crossed the man's face, "Ah, of course, you caused us quite a bit of trouble." Raoul smiled. If he was talking like this it could only mean peace. Enemies did not say such things. "As did you." Jonathan waved their talk aside, "Raoul – Nesalen has told me great news. Scanra and Tortal are to have peace. He came to summon me to the border where we can negotiate a peace treaty." Raoul made himself grin. "This is indeed wonderful news." The Scanran nodded respectfully "Yes, it truly is. Now if you will excuse me, I must see to my men." Raoul looked blankly at the retreating figure, no one excuses himself from a king in that manner. He was fingering a jewel on his hand while he talked. He turned to Jonathan to tell him of this but as he began to talk and all of his worries faded and washed away as if they had never been. They began to talk of the best knights to send to the border to accompany the King.
Only the Story line and plot is mine.