Sebastian frowned in thought as his horse cantered easily along the broad path that led from the riverside road up around the city walls, his mounted guards riding easily along behind. He'd headed out early this morning to go and look at two of his nearby properties that might be suitable for housing the mages. There was a large manor house some miles downstream from the city, which had been his first thought as a place to put them. It was in reasonably good condition, but it was located quite close to the river and had no real protective walls, being more of a casual summer retreat for members of the Vael family than anything meant to hold off any sort of intruders.
Coming back they'd stopped by a old hill-top keep, also a holding of the Vaels, which might do for housing the mages except that it was in rather deplorably shabby condition. It had a caretaker living there, and a small force of guards that lived in a small barracks within the wall and saw to it that the place didn't become home to squatters or bandits, and apart from that had been gently going to ruin for decades. The caretaker was senile and should have been replaced long since; the place was thick with dust, debris and cobwebs, the man having done nothing to keep it secure against weather and wildlife for some years. Though apart from its filthy condition it was well-placed and quite defensible. It was perched on top a steep wedge-shaped hill, two sides of which had sheer drops down to the confluence of two small rivers below as they flowed together on the way to join into the much larger Minanter river, allowing easy approach only from the third side. Of all the places he'd checked this week, he thought it might be the best possibility, though cleaning it and rendering habitable again would be a lengthy task.
He turned in through a gate in the city wall, nodding to the guards on duty there, turning uphill at the first corner to continue up to the castle. He slowed and frowned, noticing a disturbance in front of the castle gate. Stopping his horse, he sent a guard ahead on foot to find out what the problem was. The man returned quickly. "A group of refugees from Ansburg that are apparently asking to speak with you, m'Lord," he reported. "They were told you were not here, but have been refusing to leave without seeing you. Some of them have become quite heated about it."
Sebastian frowned, then nodded and started forward again. "I suppose I will have to see what it is they wish," he said. "Be ready in case of trouble."
The gate guards and the group of refugees – all relatively well-dressed men, either well-off merchants or nobles, by their appearance – quickly grew aware of his approach and quieted. Sebastian reined to a stop some little distance from the gathering.
"I am Prince Sebastian Vael," he called out, clearly and calmly. "You wished to speak with me?"
"Yes," one of the more well-dressed men answered, stepping to the front and looking belligerently at Sebastian, arms akimbo with fists resting on his hips. "We demand to know what you intend to do about the Maker-cursed mages!"
Sebastian tilted his head questioningly at the man. "Demand, is it? And by what right do you demand an answer of me? You are no man of Starkhaven, to whom I would owe protection in return for sworn loyalty. And even if you were, phrasing your question as a demand is hardly likely to win my support for whatever cause it is you espouse."
A second man pushed to the front, glaring angrily at the first for a moment. "Your pardon, ser – no, none of us gathered here are men of Starkhaven, or at least we were not before arriving here, refugees from the fighting and destruction at Ansburg. Many of us lost everything we had when Ansburg burned; homes, wealth, family members... and now find ourselves reduced to paupers, dependant on the generosity of relatives here in Starkhaven, or charity of the townspeople and chantry. Some among us had already fled similar problems elsewhere – we number not just people from Ansburg, but people from Wycome, Ostwick, Kirkwall, and other cities among us. We worry that the same tensions that have destroyed our old lives will follow us here, as well, and destroy whatever safety we might hope to find here."
Sebastian nodded. "That is well-spoken," he said approvingly. "Believe me, the fear that such troubles may spread here has been uppermost in my mind since I returned from Kirkwall to take my throne, after witnessing the destruction there..."
"Sebastian! Down!" a long-unheard but still familiar deep voice shouted from nearby. Old reflexes, unused since Kirkwall, kicked in, and Sebastian flattened himself against his horse's withers, registering the distinctive whisper of an arrow or bolt passing close overhead even as he dropped.
He quickly slid sideways down out of the saddle, hearing his guards shouting as they realized he was under attack, drawing their horses protectively around him, the gate guards shouting and rushing forward to drive back the group of men he'd been speaking to. Most of them were already falling back, looking shocked and horrified, but some few of them were pulling weapons out of concealment, cursing as they charged toward him.
"'Ware the rooftops, there's at least one archer about," he quickly called out to his guards, looking around and trying to pick out where such might be hidden. He caught a glimpse of a familiar white-headed form racing along the house-fronts nearby, before disappearing down a narrow lane-way between two of them, and then the men reached his guards and all became chaos.
He cursed that he didn't have a weapon to hand, his bow being strapped to the far side of his horse from him, only a single small-bladed dagger on his belt. Being down at ground level among the crowding horses was not particularly safe, the horses dancing around in agitation as his guards and the men on foot exchanged blows. He quickly remounted his own horse. His bow, while now in reach, was unfortunately not going to be of any use to him in these conditions. For now he concentrated on maintaining his seat and keeping a wary eye on the nearby houses.
As quickly as it began, it was over, most of the attacking men down or dead, the surviving attackers and the men they'd apparently used as camouflage both being held at swordspoint by his guards, more guards hurrying out of the castle to assist.
He looked around, and saw Fenris re-emerging from the lane-way he'd vanished down, a bloodied sword in hand – a longsword, not his usual two-handed weapon – and limping painfully. A couple of guards noticed him at the same time and quickly moved to cut off his approach, drawing swords.
"Hold!" Sebastian thundered after them, then quickly guided his horse that way. "The elf is known to me," he called out loudly. "Stand down!"
His guards uneasily sheathed their swords. He halted near Fenris, frowning as he took in the elf's bedraggled, exhausted appearance. He quickly dismounted, tossing his reins to one of the guards, and strode forward. "Fenris! It is good to see you again, man – where have you come from?"
The elf looked up, and blinked, apparently having trouble focusing. "Ansburg," he said tiredly. "I think the knife was poisoned," he added softly, then dropped to his knees.
Sebastian exclaimed and hurried forward the two steps still separating them, catching the elf before he could crash face-first down on the cobbles. There was a bleeding wound in his left forearm, and he was looking pale and shocky. Sebastian noticed in passing he'd been leaving bloody footprints on the cobblestones as he walked; the one glimpse he had of the elf's bare feet as he lifted him up showed that they were worn red and raw, as if he'd walked his feet to blisters and beyond.
"You!" he ordered, turning to the closest guards. "The pair of you, ride to the garden gatehouse and tell the guards to bring the prisoner to the clinic as quickly as they can. Quick, my horse..."
He was soon remounted, Fenris held in front of him. Seeing Guard-Captain Cerin was now there as well, he shouted orders in passing for everyone involved in the disturbance to be held, and for the captain to find him at the clinic afterwards, then set his horse at its best speed through the gates, turning aside to gallop through the grounds to the clinic, his mounted guards racing along in his wake.
He owed the elf his life for that shouted warning, he was sure; let them not be too late to save him in turn from whatever poison was at work in him now.