8th Day of Coldeven, 565 CY
The Cynewine House, Chendl, Furyondy
The painting was magnificent. Everyone said so.
It dominated the wall of the Cynewine guest bedroom on the second floor of their mansion.
It had been commissioned four years ago, from the very same painter whose portraits of His Royal Majesty, King Belvor IV, graced the walls of many buildings in Chendl.
It perfectly captured the essence of the entire Cynewine family. Sir Alexor and his wife Gella sat primly on their parlor sofa. Behind them stood the seven Cynewine children, all looking sober and serious, yet regal. In the background was hung a massive banner depicting the standard of Furyondy. A portable arbor, entwined with vines and flowers, surrounded the family. By the side of the sofa, an end table held a silver bowl overflowing with fruit. Engraved on the frame were the words every Cynewine child for the past fifty years had grown up with.
The Family That Protects
The painting was magnificent. Everyone said so.
Nesco hated it.
The ranger's eyes, green with a touch of hazel, roamed over the canvas, the sorrow and anger that they picked up going directly to her heart and settling there, blowing around in her chest like the cold wind that now blew outside the window.
The children were not lined up strictly by age, but by gender as well; the boys on the left, behind their father, and the girls on the right, behind their mother.
Helgin stood on the far left. In his mid-thirties, he looked absolutely magnificent. His achingly handsome face, his shiny field plate, sword in hand. His round silver shield, emblazoned with a pair of antlers on a blue field. The insignia of the Order of the Hart. The Knights of Furyondy.
Nesco remembered bouncing on his knee (but not her father's) when she was a little girl. His entrancing smile. Sir Helgin Cynewine.
Heir to the Cynewine name. Knight. Officer. Husband. Cavalier. Soldier. Father. Hero.
Dead.
Less than two months after he had paused for this portrait, Helgin's patrol had been ambushed in the Vesve forest by a band of orcs three times their size. It was said that Helgin had died heroically, saving what he could of the men under his command. While Nesco usually took such pronouncements with a grain of salt, this time she had no trouble believing it. That was the kind of person her oldest brother was. Fearless to the end.
She envied him, but most of all, she missed him, and she pitied his widow Leena, and his son Herkin. They were good people, and she never saw them anymore.
Miles stood next to Helgin, armed and armored as he was. Just as the painter had captured Helgin's confident air, so had he also put Mile's nervousness and uncertainty right there on the canvas, despite the fact that both brothers outwardly wore the same expression. If you knew the family, you could see it.
Taller but thinner than his elder sibling, Miles had been knighted only one month after Helgin's death. He was the new Cynewine heir. Miles had confided to Nesco that he didn't think he could live up to the new expectations on him, but he felt he had no choice but to try. And he did, to all reports. His commander in the Order had sent a glowing report of Sir Miles, so much so that he had been selected by King Belvor himself as part of the special task force sent down to the Pomarj three months ago.
None of them had returned.
Nesco looked to the right, where her own serene painted image stared off into the distance. She almost snorted. As good as he was with the rest of her family, the painter had missed her inner feelings completely. She was just a few days past her twentieth birthday in the portrait, and very unhappy. Clad in chainmail dyed brown, with brown boots and a green cloak, she had wanted to have her shield (also adorned with the antlers of the Order) and longsword in her hand, but it had been decided that, being a ranger rather than a "proper" knight, she would wield her longbow, an arrow notched as if to fire.
"We're indoors!" she had protested. "What am I supposed to be aiming at? Our servants? Are they even in season yet?"
Her siblings had chuckled, but her parents' faces had gone grim. Nesco had been publicly chided for her flippancy yet again and had been browbeaten into posing as instructed. She'd had to restring the damn bow afterwards, from having it stretched out for so long.
Nesco looked down at herself with a grim smile. She was attired today exactly as she was in the painting.
The longest four years of my life, but you wouldn't know it.
Joseph posed heroically next to Miles. Only seventeen in the painting, he was throwing out his chest, trying to fill out the plate mail armor that he had been fitted for only weeks before. He was obviously trying to be subtle about it, but the painter had nailed him, right down to the intangible air of cockiness in the tilt of his head and the glint in his eyes that belied his forced expression of nobility.
Joseph was not a knight yet, but everyone knew it was inevitable. Sir Alexor knew that Miles was dead, even if Gella could not yet accept it. Sooner or later, Joseph would be the newest Cynewine heir. Nesco felt a little sorry for him. Joseph was by far the foolhardiest of the Cynewine boys, and she could easily see an untimely end for him somewhere down the line. He never treated Nesco with much kindness, being smart enough to recognize her superior fighting skills but not mature enough to acknowledge that to her. The ranger thought that her throat would automatically close up and condemn her to suffocation rather than permit her to speak the words "Sir Joseph."
Bretagne, all of fifteen on canvas, stood next to Nesco. Clad in a silver gown of crushed velvet with matching gloves and jewelry that probably weighed more than her longsword, one hand rested upon the sofa near Gella's head, the other upon her sister's shoulder. Of everyone in the portrait, Bretagne alone came closest to smiling, probably because it was so much in her nature to do so. Nesco almost smiled as she remembered Bretagne constantly giving her small pushes while they were all posing, giggling more and more until their father had roared out an order for silence.
The teenager had obeyed instantly, as she always had.
But that hadn't lasted forever.
In fact, it had lasted until just about two years ago, when she had met Plisken, a lowly palace guard. They had fallen in love, and when Bretagne declared their intention to marry, her mother had raised the roof and banished Bretagne from their home. (Not only was Plisken a commoner, but he wasn't even a pure Oeridian; he was (gasp) Baklunish!) Of course, they had gotten married regardless, and now lived in his small shack in the city. All of the other Cynewine children- and even their father- had visited the couple from time to time, but had kept all of this from Gella, who refused to acknowledge her youngest daughter anymore. Nesco grew angry again, thinking how her mother ignored her live daughter to concentrate on her dead son.
Grimdegn stood next to Joseph. He was at least as old now as Bretagne was in the picture, but his painted image was that of a boy, the short sword held in his hand notwithstanding. He had the same hair as Nesco; brown, straight (holding close to the face as it came down, ending just below the ears, and several unruly bangs). His face had an unhappy cast to it. Grimdegn had never wanted to be a warrior, but when you were a Cynewine, what you wanted didn't always count for much.
He was a squire now, serving Sir Juntaros of the Order of The Hart. Sir Juntaros had been a friend of Sir Helgin's. If only he didn't keep sending marriage proposals Nesco's way every time their paths crossed, Nesco would have thought much more highly of him. She prayed to her "pagan god" that Juntaros would do his best to keep Grimdegn safe for as long as she could.
Lencon, young Lencon, stood in the middle of the portrait. A mere eight years of age in the portrait, he gave the appearance of trying to inch closer to Nesco than to Grimdegn. Nesco smiled again. Even at twelve, Lencon was still very much the baby of the family, and Gella had spoiled him something fierce, but fortunately that hadn't gone to his head. He was a page to some knight whose name Nesco couldn't remember. Lencon had covertly written poetry (poetry!) that he had shown to Nesco. The ranger didn't know good poetry from bad, but it had come from the boy's heart.
As far as she was concerned, that made it beautiful.
Nesco sighed and looked out the window, at the wide, scrubbed cobblestone streets below and the canals that flowed straight and clean throughout the capital. Chendl had numerous small parks and from here, at least one could be seen clearly. Her trained eyes spotted a chickadee taking wing from a nearby tree, a black-and-white flash that quickly flew up and away, lost in the sun.
Sometimes I wish I could do that, the ranger thought. Birds never have to worry about forgetting how to fly, or if they're going to do their parents proud, or if...
A quiet but distinct throat-clearing came from behind her. Nesco smiled grimly, knowing that her "alone time" was now over. She turned to see, as expected, Jeffers the butler. The elderly gentleman looked at Nesco, his expression the same blank face that it always was. He had a perfect air of subservience that hid his intelligent nature.
"Forgive me miliddy" he intoned in his mild accent, "But Comitello has arrived. Your family awitz your presence downstairs."
Nesco nodded. "Thank you, Jeffers. I'll be right down."
Sir Alexor was chatting amiably with Comitello when Nesco descended the stairs into the parlor. Joseph, the only Cynewine child other than Nesco currently home, was wandering around, fully suited up and trying to look relevant to the situation at hand. Gella was fanning herself on the sofa. Despite the fireplace roaring, it was chilly in the room, but Nesco's mother just seemed to like fanning herself, so everyone had long since stopped questioning her about it..
Comitello looked up and smiled broadly when he saw Nesco. Like Sir Juntaros, he often flirted with Nesco, but that never bothered the ranger. Both of them knew it amounted to nothing than verbal theatrics, as Comitello was happily married. Or at least married.
He was the youngest child of a minor aristocratic family, who had managed to secure a palace position of liason, which sounded much more dignified than "forty year-old messenger boy". Yet Comitello seemed perfectly content, even happy, with his lot in life. For that alone, Nesco envied him. A knock sounded at the front door, and Jeffers glided past her, down the hallway towards the entrance foyer.
"Nesco Cynewine! Always an honor and a pleasure!" Comitello beamed, taking Nesco's hands in his. He avoided his usual risque remarks in deference to Gella, who eyed him with the thinnest of polite veneers draped over a cold disdain.
"Well, you're here, so I guess this means they're ready for me at the palace?" the ranger inquired, unable to repress the nervousness she felt.
Comitello's eyes showed his concern, and his caring. He nodded slowly.
"You don't have to rush out the door this minute, my dear. They're expecting you sometime within the next few hours. I just came early," he finished with an embarrassed smile. He made a show of finding a serving girl and getting a glass of wine from her as Sir Alexor gave his daughter a look that she couldn't quite read.
Jeffers returned to the parlor; a green traveling cloak slung over one arm. "The honorable Sir Damoscene," he announced in a loud voice. "Rinjer and Knight of the Hart!" The butler then moved off as a handsome man clad in studded leather armor entered and bowed to all present.
Nesco was surprised. She hadn't expected to see her tutor again so quickly. She had only finished training up with him about two weeks ago and thought he had left shortly afterwards to join a border patrol. She moved forward quickly to greet him, then restrained herself so her parents could be the first. As always, protocol had to be maintained, no matter how pointless it might be. She was happy to see the same thought reflected in the elder ranger's eyes, and an unseen smile passed between them.
Sir Alexor moved briskly up and clasped his fellow knight's hand briskly. "An unexpected pleasure, Sir Damoscene! You are always welcome here."
Both Nesco and Damoscene understood his full meaning. Lady Gella, while approving of Damoscene's stature, ethnicity and status, had never forgiven him for "luring" (as she put it) her eldest daughter away from the worship of Heironeous, and not even to another proper Oeridian god, but to a diety that many felt was long overdue to fall into obscurity- Zeus.
Damoscene's hazel eyes gleamed under his long, graying hair. "Thank you, Sir Alexor. A courtesy I am sure I do not deserve." He took the hand of Lady Gella, who had slowly risen up off the couch to greet her newest guest. "Lady Cynewine. As always, I am honored."
Gella's voice was carefully neutral. "Sir Damoscene, may I ask two questions of you?"
The ranger-knight bowed again, slightly. "But of course, my good Lady."
"You are, and have always been, my daughter Nesco's primary teacher. Do you consider her skilled enough to be added to this expedition to the Pomarj?"
Nesco clenched her fists but remained silent. Damoscene's voice was steady. He did not take his eyes off Gella's. "As you know, it was I who added her name to the list of candidates to be considered by the king. She is indeed ready, Lady Cynewine. I would stake my life on that assessment."
Lady Gella's face momentarily lost some of its hardness. "And will you be one of those giving her these last-minute instructions, or briefings, or whatever term you use for it?"
The Ranger Lord assumed a wary posture. He shook his head. "No, my good Lady. I am newly-arrived back in Chendl and must head out again soon. I am needed in the Vesve for a time. I know not what latest information may have been gathered, but His Majesty's advisors are the finest to be found anywhere. They have my full confidence that they will prepare Nesco for her journey to the absolute best of their abilities."
The Cynewine matriarch licked her lips and continued softly. "If you could please instruct the advisors to give Nesco all the information that may be needed, so that she is able to find out what may have become of her brother, Sir Miles-"
Unable to stop herself, Nesco cut in before Damoscene could reply. "Mother- Miles is dead! If he wasn't, we would have heard something by now!"
Gella whirled on Nesco, her carefully groomed eyebrows furrowed in anger. "Indeed! And how exactly are you so certain of this, daughter? Did your god Zeus tell you this?"
Nesco literally trembled with rage. She felt as if her mother was insulting not only her, but Sir Damoscene as well.
"No mother, he did not. Pray tell, did Heironeous stop by while I was upstairs, to tell you otherwise? I'm sorry I missed him!"
"Enough!" yelled Sir Alexor, moving between the two women and firmly but gently pushing them apart. "There will be no blasphemy in this house!" His eyes blazed at both of them, then softened to offer contrition to Sir Damoscene, who offered a brief nod to indicate he had received the unspoken message.
Lady Gella leaned forward as far as she could, pressing against her husband's hand. Her features bore sadness, but her gray eyes carried a cold fury. "You think me deluded, my daughter?" she hissed. "You think me desperately clinging to false hopes?"
Nesco said nothing.
"One question for you then Nesco, if I may," her mother continued. "If Sir Miles, heir to the House of Cynewine, perished along with all his allies in their quest, what makes you think you will not meet the same fate?"
Having apparently seen the shocked expression on Nesco's face that she was hoping for, Gella whirled away and left the parlor, ascending the stairs out of sight. An uncomfortable silence descended. Sir Alexor was the first to break it.
"Forgive us, Sir Damoscene. As you can well imagine, my wife is still grief-stricken over-"
The ranger-knight raised his hand. "I understand perfectly, good Sir Alexor. Neither apology nor explanation is needed." His eyes shot over to Nesco, who really didn't want to concede this point, but nodded, yielding to her guest.
"Excuse me, Sir Damoscene?" Joseph, who knew from experience to stay at a safe distance from the storm all this while, now moved in for his official greeting. Damoscene smiled and offered his hand, which was accepted.
"A pleasure as always, young Joseph."
Nesco hid her smile better than Joseph hid his momentary scowl at the word "young." For once though, he chose to take the high road, and bowed low. "Thank you, Sir Damoscene. I was wondering if I might be so bold as to ask a question of my own?"
"The afternoon meal will be served in the dining room in five minutes," came a loud voice from behind.
Sir Alexor turned to the butler. "Thank you, Jeffers. We shall be along shortly."
Jeffers pivoted and strode briskly off down the hallway towards the interior of the mansion. Alexor turned back to his son, frowning, but said nothing. The Ranger Lord seemed to have no preconceived notions about what was to come, so he merely stated, "But of course."
Joseph cleared his throat. "I realize of course Sir Damoscene, that this was not your decision, but I must humbly request if you could possibly get those at the palace to reconsider their decision about this mission. With all due respect to my sister..."
Since when? Nesco thought. She said nothing however, knowing the inevitable outcome of this.
"I firmly believe that I am the most qualified to accompany, if not lead, this latest expedition. Surely it must be obvious that-"
"Those at the palace?" his father interrupted, glaring now at Joseph. "Your sister was picked for this mission by King Belvor himself! Are you questioning his judgment?" Sir Alexor's harsh quiery caused his son to step back a pace and rapidly lose confidence.
"Er, no, of course not," he stammered. "I merely meant to suggest that His Majesty's advisors may not have been given all of the information needed to make the best-"
"Joseph, get ready for lunch." Alexor's tone carried finality with it.
Joseph opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He finally closed it and moved off sulkily. "Yes, father."
As he passed by, Sir Alexor's hand shot out behind him and grabbed Joseph by his armor's shoulder plate. The young man paused.
"Where are you going?" his father asked in a level voice.
The younger Cynewine vacillated between confusion and indignation. "You told me to get ready for-"
"Are there orcs on the High Streets of Chendl today?" Alexor growled at his son. Nesco again hid her smile.
Joseph looked only confused now. "What? Er, of course not, father."
"Then remove that armor at once! It is for battle, not for strutting! Come to the table when you are properly dressed!"
Joseph took a deep breath to calm himself, shot a vicious glare at Nesco, and half-walked, half-stomped off through the rear door of the parlor.
Nesco felt a hand on her right shoulder. "A moment if I may," Sir Damoscene said softly. Nesco turned to her father, who nodded and headed off. Comitello bowed to the two rangers.
"An honor as always, good Sir Damoscene," he intoned, then eyed Nesco with a familiar smile. "I'll save a good seat for you at the table, my Lady," he said, then strolled off after Alexor.
"Would you care to join us for lunch, Sir Damoscene?" asked Nesco, hopeful and doubtful at the same time.
The ranger-knight shook his head and smiled sadly. "I would truly like to Nesco, but I must leave. I only stopped by to wish you well."
Nesco detected, or at least thought she did, very real concern in her teacher's voice. "Am I ready for this?" she asked in a quiet voice, looking straight into the older man's eyes.
Damoscene was, as Nesco well knew, not a man given to shaping truths to fit the mood of the moment. "I have done my best to teach you Nesco, as you have done your best to learn," he said with a slight sigh. "As to whether that will be sufficient, only the test of the moment itself shall tell."
Nesco was silent. Sir Damoscene offered a small smile. "You have made me proud, Nesco. I have confidence in you. To be sure, there is more I wish I could have taught you, but that was due to time constraints. No one's fault," he added, looking away at the fireplace.
Nesco tried to return his smile, but it was difficult. "I wish I knew more about the people I will be traveling with," she stated wistfully. "This group from Willip. They all know each other, while I know nothing about any of them."
The Ranger Lord raised an eyebrow. "You know one of them," he said, the smile still intact.
His student glanced at him curiously.
"At least from my ramblings. One of the rangers is Argo Bigfellow. The one I told you about?"
"Oh!" Nesco said, remembering back. "The one whose training delayed my own?"
Sir Damoscene's smile was tinged with guilt.
"The same. Remember, he too is a Zeus worshipper. You cannot help but to find common ground with him, and besides- he is married, so there will be no annoying flirtations to contend with!"
Nesco gave him a light chuckle. "That never stopped Comitello!" Her expression then turned serious again. "Sir Damoscene, tell me; is this Argo better, more skilled, than I am?"
The ranger-knight didn't hesitate. "Yes. And if he is to believed, so is the other ranger, Elrohir."
Nesco's eyes fell to the floor, but she sensed her instructor staring at her. Her conditioning made the ranger raise her eyes to meet his.
"As am I," he shrugged. "Does that make you uncomfortable? It never has before."
Cynewine considered. "No. I just..." she tried to find the words. "I want to be an asset on this journey, not a burden."
"You will be no burden, Nesco," Sir Damoscene said quietly, his face serious again. His eyes flickered down the hall. "You had best take lunch and then get over to the palace. You'll probably be leaving for the Pomarj tomorrow, the day after at the latest."
Nesco raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Are the others here already?"
"I have received word that they are but a few hours away at this point."
She frowned. "I'd hoped to be able to speak with them before we all appear before King Belvor," she said, then looked back at her teacher. "They must have made good time getting here."
Now it was Damoscene's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Isn't that one of the things rangers are supposed to do?" he asked, his smile returning.
Nesco shook her head, embarrassed. "Of course. Well," she said, a lump starting to swell in her throat as she saw Jeffers return with the Ranger Lord's cloak, "I suppose I shall see you-"
Sir Damoscene laid his hand upon Nesco's shoulder and squeezed. "I will see you as soon as possible after your return, Lady Cynewine," he said simply, then leaned in close to his pupil.
"Don't defer when you don't want to, don't be afraid to speak up, and show them how it's done."
He took his cloak from the butler and strode off down the hall.
Nesco stood for a while, her eyes blinking rapidly. She then glanced over at Jeffers, who stood impassively nearby.
"Are you ready, miliddy?" he inquired.
Nesco felt weak. "For lunch, or for the adventure of a lifetime, Jeffers?"
The butler shrugged. "Why not both, miliddy?"
The ranger considered, then smiled. She still felt weak and unsteady, but then...
"Why not indeed?" she asked, heading towards the dining room, the servant in tow. "I have to succeed at this, Jeffers," she said over her shoulder. "Can you imagine my embarrassment at having to be rescued by Joseph?"
The corner's of Jeffer's mouth twitched, just for a moment.
"I saw that."