They'd reached Gelvins by the following afternoon, and much to Roden's surprise, it was Ayvar who suggested riding through the night. Torian had minor complaints, but was soon shut up by the mustached man, who went by Cal. The other soldiers, Greer, Halle Burns, Alistair Derforgall- who'd recently returned from Avenia - and Deirdri Howden all came to the agreement to ride through the night until they came to the last Carthyan settlement before the mountains rose into the Gelynian border.
Lake was five miles from the border, but a day's ride from Whiterune. Whiterune sat nestled between two wide mountains, barely above the sea. It would be slow traveling down the mountain slope after Half-Moon Pass.
To Roden's surprise, instead of resting when they came to Lake, each one of his companions agreed to ride through the night to take advantage of the clear weather.
And so they did; Roden said nothing about the consensus.
He couldn't let his companions know he was impressed with them just yet. There was still a need to respect the differences in rank.
On the edge of Lake, they stopped by a tiny inn, and they were seen off with a meal of fried eggs, leftover rabbit, and a warning to look out for Gelynian bandits. The innkeeper who'd graciously donated almost all of their eggs mumbled something about keeping track of toes.
Roden had heard stranger warnings, but he'd heard kinder farewells too. Just yesterday morning, his niece saw him off with a thick cap she claimed to have made herself, though the black stitching inside the cap clearly labeled it somebody else's work.
It was the thought that counted.
The snow was thick on the landscape. Roden had been to the Gelynian mountains before during the battle of Half-Moon Pass, and to accompany Jaron and Imogen to peace talks with King Aranscot.
But he'd never been during the winter.
This far north, the oak trees so familiar to Drylliad had vanished, traded instead for leafless mountain ash and pine. The path from Lake to the border had been most likely stomped out by fur traders, much to Roden's relief. Travel to the border would be much easier than he expected.
Almost too easy.
Without the need to stomp through the ice, the entire party became more and more aware of the pristine silence. The snow, pure and unmarred, dampened the sounds.
Winter's cruel sun shone through a coverlet of clouds, shrouding the thick pines in light that was neither gold nor silver, but in dismal luster. Fat holly bushes crept their way through the pine and elm, looking like brightly dressed children trying to peek at a parade between their parents' legs. If it weren't for the occasional bird flying from bough to bough, Roden would've sworn that he and his companions stepped through into another world.
Ice and pine served as a kingdom between kingdoms, the only sign of any life being the trodden path to the border and the birds.
For a moment Roden swore he heard the soft thud of snow from a branch.
Night came and the road continued on without any care for its travelers. The path widened to a road made of stone once Roden and his companions passed a seemingly endless line of medium sized stones. Carthya was behind them now. Occasionally, a small group of hooded wanderers took their turn on the Gelynian road, but each one of them eventually turned off the path and vanished into the slow thinning pine forest.
"I've been here before, Captain," murmured Deirdri Howden from behind.
Roden turned to look at her. "Would you recommend that we stop and wait for daylight before continuing onwards?"
She paused, and then shrugged. "Sometimes the paths are lit, sometimes they aren't. Whiterune has changed over the years. I do not see any danger in pressing forward, but I also see no harm in waiting for light."
"We also don't want to be caught by a storm," said Cal, twirling the end of his mustache. "The Saints keep us all in the palms of their hands but they also can't protect us from our own stupidity."
"Seaside towns don't always get snow, Whiterune may be the same."
"We will ride as far as we can, but if the road down is too dark, we'll wait for morning," Roden urged his horse forward, without looking back at his companions.
Everything was dampening the closer they grew to Whiterune. Roden thought he saw a person in the murky night air, but once he was close enough to see, he found not a person, but a sign and a fork in the road.
To Half-Moon Pass, and then to Whiterune.
Roden shouldered on and took the low trail to Whiterune. The cold was much wetter than he'd expected. It was the type of chill no amount of clothing could protect against. It rattled Roden's teeth.
This was the freezing call of an almost tangible Eranbole Sea.
If somebody didn't want to be found, they'd come here to Whiterune in the dead of winter. Only fools would come this far.
Fools or Carthyans.
A distant note sounded, though Roden couldn't tell if it belonged to a person or to an animal. They'd been riding for so long, the sky was beginning to brighten.
But it wasn't bright enough for comfort. Roden still could barely see his hand in front of his face.
The road to Whiterune took a sharp left into pine and elm that were growing too close together. A glimmer of light flickered on the road to Half-Moon Pass, a goodbye from a person Roden would never meet.
It didn't take very long for the road to open up to a stone plateau. There were wood and knotted rope barriers along the cliffside, the only protection against accidentally stepping off to a grisly death on the rocks and salty river below.
"I think we could continue," Deirdri said. She was making her way up the line. "There's lit torches near the cliff descent."
"It'll be morning soon as well," mentioned Alistair.
To be safe or to save time. Roden glanced back at each of those he'd selected for this expedition, and they were all looking to him for an answer.
In the end, he didn't need to say anything, the answer came first with a slight clang, and then a shout, and then a cacophony of swords and shouts.
"It seems there might be somebody in need of our help," mused Cal, his horse shifting back and forth.
"We don't know who's fighting," Roden said, but nonetheless, he and his horse inched forwards. He could see a pair of wagons and a figure rabidly trying to light a torch.
Bandits.
Roden motioned for his companions to follow behind him as he led the charge. The road to Whiterune was steep and uneven, it wasn't fast enough. A wide gorge beckoned to the foolish on the right.
He regretted looking down.
Too many figures were fighting against each other. Roden could see uniforms. Gelynian royal guard. He didn't know who they were fighting against, but he did know that he had an obligation to defend any of Carthya's allies.
"We can't afford to lose anything else, move ahead!" Bellowed a man who held a lantern in one hand and a sword in another. Those around him were quick to obey.
A head poked up over the side of the wagon, only to be pushed down by another passenger. If the passengers had meant to be hidden, they'd failed. One of the bandits clambered over a rock and leapt for the wagon driver.
Once closer to the fight, Roden could catch the details he needed. The bandits responsible for the attack each wore a striped right sleeve, few were unmasked, and all bore the scars and markings of a thief's life.
"Let us pass!" Ordered Roden as he drew his sword, his horse now going fast enough to be considered a threat.
A striped bandit spun to the sound of Roden's voice, but did not move out of the way.
Roden cut upwards, and kept going, the bandit wouldn't be alive for much longer after that.
The wagon driver tumbled to the ground, taking the bandit with him. Roden dismounted and raced to the fallen driver. The other wagon soared past, piloted by a striped bandit.
"Get rid of them!" Ordered the man with the lamp. The guards around him leapt to his call, but it seemed that the bandits were leading a slow retreat.
They'd gotten what they wanted.
Slick stone and swift steps never mingled well. Roden scrambled to get to the fallen driver, and nearly barreled into the fighting men by accident. His sword would be useless in this situation.
Foolish Captain Harlowe, should've thought of that before racing off to save the day.
Foolish, foolish, foolish.
He dropped his sword, grabbed at the striped bandit's tunic, and punched him in the face. The striped bandit swung out both fists and caught Roden by the side of his ear. It could've been a sword match, but instead turned into a brawl on the side of a cliff. Roden pushed the striped bandit as hard as he could towards the ground, sending his opponent sprawling onto the mist soaked rock.
Where had this happened before?
Slipping to his feet, Roden launched himself towards the bandit, only to be met with stone beneath his gloved hands.
The striped bandit slipped off into the rising, clouded morning. Those he traveled with and the wagon they stole were long gone.
Something about the situation was eerily familiar.
"I can't thank you enough," said somebody. The lamp man. He was pulling Roden up by the elbow.
"Are you alright, captain?" Asked Deirdri, she led the rest of their traveling party behind her.
Roden found himself nodding, and he brushed off his rain soaked trousers. His hands stung beneath his gloves. "Was anybody hurt?"
The man with the lamp chuckled short and sharp. "Aside from my pride, nothing was injured, though we did lose two wagons of supplies."
"We can do our best to get them back," Roden offered. He moved to his horse, and looked back at the lamp man. "Does this happen often?"
"It wasn't always like this; Whiterune is still a respectable city. There's been a rise in bandit activity since perhaps last year. I personally suspect a thief lord made this place his home and we have yet to sniff him out."
That wasn't a yes or no. Roden prepped to mount his horse, but Deirdre cleared her throat, and nodded her head towards the man with the lamp.
"Is there anything else we can do for you, sir?" Deirdre said, bowing before the man with the lamp.
"I, ah, do have one favor but I would hate to cause inconvenience."
The man with the lamp stood firm, there was no nervousness in the rain filled silence. Only a question. Roden could feel seven pairs of eyes on him, waiting for an answer.
"It depends on what your definition of an inconvenience is," Roden finally said. He kept a hand on his horse's bridle.
"I need additional protection, this encounter helped me realize that I was not nearly as prepared as I thought I was," the man with the lamp tilted his chin up.
This man had to be nobility. Only nobles ever tilted their gaze up so they could seem like they had control over a situation.
Roden arched an eyebrow. "What are we protecting?"
"My nephew, Prince Rogier, the only heir to Gelyn's throne."
"Which makes you. . ."
A grin flicked across the man's face, "I'm Lord Stuart, and you're Carthya's iron hand, aren't you Captain Harlowe?"
Iron hand. That was a new title. Roden frowned, "We can do what we can to help, but there is something we came here to do."
"I can assist you in your efforts in whatever way I can if you will accompany Prince Rogier."
"Is he not safe in the city?"
Lord Stuart looked at Roden, and then flicked his gaze back and forth to the others. Too many listeners. Too many opportunities for somebody to hear something they didn't need to hear. No words were said, but that didn't matter. The answer was yes. Prince Rogier wasn't safe in Whiterune.
But why?
"We can accompany you," Roden said, and he motioned to his companions to follow what was left of Lord Stuart's entourage.
"And I can promise you a place to rest," Lord Stuart dipped his head, and turned to Halle. "How long has it been since you've slept, miss?"
Halle stiffened. "Night before last, sir, but we don't mind, sir."
"We do mind, actually, sir," grunted Torian.
"As would I," chuckled Stuart. He barked an order at his guards to continue marching into Whiterune and stepped into the back of the remaining wagon. "You will get your chance to rest, I hope you can wait just a little bit longer."
Soldiers began to move and the wagon rolled forwards. Roden swung into his saddle, which was soaked from the constant drizzle. His companions behind him followed suit. Deirdre and Cal rode at the end of the line.
What waited for them at Whiterune, Roden didn't know. There was somebody waiting for him.
He wanted to believe that whoever he needed to meet would at least listen to a little reason.
They were welcomed into Whiterune with the sound of the sea and a wide stone arch. The city began immediately after.
Vast buildings made of dark stone were stacked into the sky. Lines of frosty clothing hung from drying lines. People passed like apparitions through the opaque sea air.
They waved to Stuart, and a few pointed to Roden and the others intermingled with the Gelynians.
All kinds of warm foods beckoned to Roden. The scent of cooking fish helped him forget his aching hands. A gaggle of street urchins dashed away from a series of carts brandishing a fat, red apple. Finely dressed lords and ladies in platform shoes left taverns dressed in veils. Only horse drawn sleighs cruised through the stone city; there wasn't a carriage in sight. Tall posts curled over the streets every so often. A pair of chains supported an unlit oil lamp on every post.
Some buildings had been built to arch above the street, serving as a tunnel of sorts. One building seemed to sport an inn on one side and a tavern on the other, joined in the middle by a hallway or room with a single window. The curtains flung open, and a pale haired girl waved.
Roden blinked at her, and urged his horse to go a little faster. His fellow companions quickened their pace too.
"Whiterune has come so far over the years," Lord Stuart mused. He waved at those who passed by the wagon. "I have fought hard to keep control despite others trying to rip it from the crown."
"Others…?" Roden arched an eyebrow.
"The Court of Thieves, lone pirates, leftovers of wars from years ago. It is an ideal place to hide."
Three of the words from the letter came to mind. West of Munsk. Whiterune was tucked between the treacherous mountains- difficult to get to, and equally as difficult to get away from.
Who did Whiterune hide?
Were they even still alive?
The salt of the sea stung the air. A new layer of grime coated the days of travel already caked onto Roden's skin.
"Can I ask where we're going, sir?" Asked Torian from near the end of the troop. He'd shed his layers of scarves.
"You'll know it when you see it," Stuart chuckled to himself.
Perhaps Stuart thought he was the funniest person in the city.
It wouldn't surprise Roden if he did, the nobility had arrogant tendencies in one form or another.
His eyes were throbbing in his skull. The morning sun glinted ever so slightly through spaces in the deep grey clouds.
And then he saw a building. A wondrous eyesore in the middle of a bustling seaside city.
Lord Stuart's home looked more like a palace than any Carthyan castle. A large stone gate sectioned off Stuart's palace from the rest of Whiterune. A half-circle courtyard pointed towards an arching central building; two wings reached out to continue the half-circle. Both wings had multiple gates instead of doors on the bottom floor, while every other floor of the wings boasted numerous windows framed in pale grey stone.
Roden had never seen so many artistic decorations on the outside of a home before.
If anything, Stuart's small palace looked like a cathedral, and a luxurious one at that.
Faded sunlight glinted off a metal statue of a woman with a pair of wings in the middle of the courtyard. There were several other smaller figures boasting wings stationed at every corner of Stuart's palace. Stone arches boasted numerous dangling oil lamps. Large women in Gelynian hoods walked along the roof, both keeping one hand on the pale balustrade.
Did the Saints have homes like this one?
The gates slid open for Stuart's wagon, which followed the circular courtyard before rounding a turn near the marble stairs to the central building.
"There's no way they're letting any of us in," Torian sniffed. "Have you smelt Greer?"
"Have you looked at Cal's mustache? He's lost half of it," Greer shot back.
Cal insisted that he hadn't, in fact, lost his mustache.
The Gelynians who'd ridden with Stuart dismounted. An army of pages flooded out of the left wing, a pair going to each horse. Roden waved away the two pages who tried to help him from his saddle, but he still dismounted to let his horse be watered at the stables.
A pang of regret wormed its way through Roden's stomach. He wished he could've cared for his horse on his own.
Stuart climbed out of the wagon and motioned for Roden to come forwards. "Come along, Carthyans, I promised a place to stay, didn't I? What is a lord if he cannot honor his word?"
Silently, Roden moved towards Stuart, keeping a close eye on all of his other companions.
"Send for the prince," Stuart said to the man at his right side. "He deserves to meet those who will accompany him."
"Oh, please let us in," Torian quipped. He was breathing on his fingers. "I fear my hands are frostbitten."
"Maybe that's for the best," said Greer.
The great doors to the palace swung open, and Stuart ascended the steps leading inside. He turned back to beckon everyone to follow him. Roden stiffly obeyed, and motioned for his companions to do the same.
If they played the game correctly, they would make it out alive.
Warmth rushed past Roden as he stepped into the palace behind Stuart. His ears stung with new warmth. He tugged off his hat and gloves, trying to smooth down his hair in the process.
Each wall inside echoed stories of what the heavens looked like, a feat Roden didn't think possible. He'd never seen so many vases of roses and paintings and mirrors and pretty ladies in waiting and small curly dogs and-
Alert. He needed to stay alert and the first thing he did when walking inside was get distracted.
Thank the Saints he'd planned a short trip. If they stayed any longer than needed, they might never go home.
Stairs spiralled up into a second floor where a maid stood with her back to the door. She was waiting. Only silence seemed appropriate, until a brief knock on an unseen door reminded everyone that it wasn't a sin to breathe. The maid leaned forwards and pulled the door open.
A young man stepped out, swimming in a wide fur coat and flanked by men and women. His skin was paler than the alabaster walls. Prince Rogier waved from where he stood at the top of the stairs.
"Your Grace," Lord Stuart cleared his throat. "I must apologize for being late."
"I don't mind, but I did think you'd run into trouble, are you alright? Have you brought me guests?" Asked Prince Rogier, he clasped his hands behind his back.
"Carthyans, nephew, they've promised to protect us."
Rogier nodded slowly, and linked arms with the maid who'd opened the door. "We don't need too much protecting, though I hope they've brought Carthyan ballads. Have any of you got any favorite ballads? Favorite jigs? I haven't danced a jig in ages."
All eyes turned to Roden.
"I've- I'm partial to-," Roden cleared his throat. "A waltz."
Stupid. The second he heard Torian's suppressed snort, Roden knew he should've said something else.
But it did make Rogier grin, even if it did make the lords beside him frown.
"I take it you haven't had much time to rest, Carthyan friends, and it makes me a poor host to keep you standing without knowing a single name. This is one of my cities, my father entrusted Whiterune to my care. I like to call myself Rogier, king of the north sea, but there already is a king of the north sea so I must settle on Rogier, Gelyn's prince."
Roden dipped his head, "I'm Captain Harlowe, and these are my companions. We're here on business, but Lord Stuart asked us to assist you, and any friend to the crown is a friend to us."
"Business. I'd like to guess what business you're here for, but unfortunately, I tend to be the last to learn of things even within my own kingdom."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, but my bard knows the ins and outs of city streets above and below," Rogier tapped his chin. "Perhaps we can exchange stories as we ride north, Captain Harlowe?"
"I don't have much to share."
"Nonsense, everyone has a story to tell."
"Poetic words, my prince," said one of the men to Rogier's right.
"Do you think so? I've been practicing."
There was something here within the palace walls. Roden wasn't quite sure what it was. Everything was nearly perfect, but something was out of place.
He glanced back at Alistair and Ayvar, who were glancing at each other. Somebody else had to feel the same unease.
"My lords tell me I am in ill health," Rogier shrugged. "I must rest before travelling tomorrow, but I do look forward to our conversation. Perhaps you'll be able to meet my bard, she will be here soon."
And with that, he excused himself, and vanished back up the stairs with his lords.
Stuart stood taller. "I do fear for him, and please, follow me so I may show you our extra rooms. You all must be exhausted."
The sudden Gelynian kindness rubbed Roden's skin the wrong way, yet appeased his fear of watching the rest of his companions die.
Lord Stuart insisted on keeping everyone in the most esteemed guest rooms on the second floor, and then separated Halle, Deirdre, and Ayvar to give them their own private room. Roden was given a small room at the beginning of the wing. This way, he could see everyone that entered or exited the corridor.
He was too exhausted to explore, and much like a grumpy governess, ordered his companions to scrub their hair and get some rest. And as for himself, he fell back on his bed, lingering in a constant haze of dreaming and waking. He wasn't sure how many hours had passed, but his toes were still frozen.
Idiot, the first thing he should've done was take off his shoes.
The first part of his mission was complete. They'd come to Whiterune, now they had to locate both informants. Roden slipped off his soaked boots and traded them for thick wool socks. He needed to survey the rest of the second floor, then he'd rest, and then he'd finally bite the crossbow bolt and let Lord Stuart give a tour of the entire palace.
Laughter rippled from Ayvar and Halle's room; snores rumbled the door to the others' chamber. Good.
Stuart's corridor was as grand as the entry room, lined with vases on pedestals and trimmed with statues of winged personages. The windows lined the left wall, which pointed inwards toward the courtyard. Even the floor was finer than what Roden was used to at Drylliad. The stones were dark and colorful, obviously imported and obviously expensive.
And a perfect texture.
Roden glanced back over his shoulder, took two large steps, and slid down the hallway on his socks, nearly crashing into a potted plant in the process. He caught hold of the window sill as he slipped again, but pulled himself back up.
He could see the courtyard even better from above.
The gates were open again, this time for a wagon pulled by a wheat colored horse. A figure wearing a three pointed hat sat beside a figure in a tattered crimson cloak. The red cloak manned the reins.
Lord Stuart came out to greet the two figures. The girl in the red cloak leapt out of the sleigh, uneven black curls bursting from her hood.
Roden looked away, his desire to look through every corridor window suddenly drained. A fierce heat burned across his face. He'd seen that girl before on a warm summer's day.
In that moment, he knew exactly who he needed to be looking for.
Harlowe's informant was more than just a man boasting the name Jester. If his patterns mimicked what he'd done in the past, he always travelled with a companion.
And if his letter had been intercepted, it meant he was in terrible danger.