Indecision broke the housecarl’s stolid expression.Torin urged his mount forward, wondering if the man might seize his reins, or draw his sword, or motion for one of the halberdiers to drive his weapon through Torin’s chest.Instead, he stepped aside, though anger burned in his eyes.
Antagonising the count’s retainers was perhaps not a temperate act, but Torin’s patience had been spent on the long, unexpected journey north from their scheduled meeting place.His stomach growled, having been filled with nothing but trail biscuits and water all day.More, he could not afford to let this insult to the Mortal Church stand.Despite what the count had been led to believe, Torin’s purpose here was not to place Afondir on the throne, but to open Parwys to the Church’s influence.This corner of the world would be scoured clean, its people led into lives of virtue and flourishing, freed of their dependency on the leavings of the First Folk—ancient powers that enticed like roses, only to sting the soul with poisoned thorns.Afondir may serve as the Church’s tool in this mission, for now, but only if he proved pliable.No king stood above the sacred Anakriseion of the Iron Citadel, let alone a backwater count.
They traversed the impromptu camp on the First Folk Road, passing retainers in mauve and gold finery to the left and folk in hardy foresters’ garb—muted greens with the rare stitch of silver trimming—to the right.A few watched them with curious eyes, but it appeared that, having made their way past the perimeter of the camp, the common soldiery saw no need to challenge them.The southern edge of the Greenwood reached down to the east, whence an occasional shout or baying hound sounded.At a word from Torin, Orn raised himself up and peered in that direction.
‘Some kind of search party,’ he reported.‘Scattered groups combing the woods.Unclear what they’re looking for.’
‘Whatever it is, it better be bloody vital,’ Anwe muttered.
A sentiment Torin shared, and a question that would be answered once he brought Afondir to heel.
As they neared the pavilion, two more housecarls moved to intercept them.
‘Who goes there?’shouted one, a whip-thin young woman with a scar-seamed face.The only sign of her office was a stag’s head badge on her chain mail.Her sword was half out of its sheath.‘Stay back!’
‘Sir Torin of Tarebach, and his retainers Sir Orn and Sir Anwe,’ Torin replied, and made a subtle motion to Anwe lest she reach for her own weapon.‘We have travelled far, chasing news of your kingdom’s troubles, and intend to offer our aid to the count and your king.’
‘What troubles are those?’the woman snapped.
The other housecarl—a round man with a curled black beard and gold on the embossing of his breastplate—fixed Torin with an accusatory glare.Like the man who had challenged them at the edge of the camp, he likely knew something of Afondir’s machinations.‘Tell their Lordships of these new arrivals,’ he said.
‘We should take their horses, wallop them silly, and send them away,’ his counterpart snarled.
Anwe burst out laughing.Torin fought the urge to glare her into silence.
‘Not for us to decide, is it?’the Afondish housecarl said.‘We serve at their pleasure, and their pleasure may well be to meet these folk.’
The Glascoen woman muttered under her breath, but slammed her sword back into its sheath and turned on her heel.When she was out of earshot, the Afondish housecarl reached to his neck and pulled an iron chain from beneath his gorget.A medallion hung from it, emblazoned with three nested triangles.
‘You are bold to change the plan in this way, Inquisitor,’ the man said quietly.
Torin smiled down at him, offering a small, silent blessing to this unexpected servant of the Church.But of course, given the welcome Afondir had offered to the Iron Citadel, it would follow that some of his servants and retainers had come to embrace the light of virtue.They could not all be as pig-headed as their count.
The other nobles of Parwys were even more hostile.Tomos, Count of Forgard, who ruled the lands to Afondir’s immediate west, had once sent his housecarls to gather up the iron stars and triangles of the faithful in his domain.Sacred objects he ordered melted down and cast into ammunition to feed the cannons of his fleet.Emissaries from Tarebach had managed to briefly secure a place in the late King Elbrech’s court.Long enough to convert a few courtiers and civil servants, by their report.But under pressure from the druidess queen, they had been sent back to the Iron Citadel.Driven from the kingdom with whips and hounds at their heels, and bearing a decree that neither templar nor missionary would be welcome again in the court of Parwys.
‘The Count of Afondir changed the plan,’ Torin said.‘I would like to learn why.’
‘He may yet send you back to Templar Unwith.’
‘He may try.’Torin let some of his anger leach into his voice.‘And then I will decide whether or not to do as he wishes.I am an anakriarch, and only the Iron Citadel itself commands me.’
The housecarl dipped his head and ran a finger down the curls of his moustache.Before he could give any answer, his counterpart returned and begrudgingly bade Torin, Orn and Anwe dismount and follow her to the pavilion.
To his credit, however slight, the Count of Afondir rose to meet them.
Eurion of Afondir was an imposing man.Taller even than Anwe, with a mane of fiery red hair and a well-groomed beard to match.Eyes like flakes of emerald burned fury at Torin even as the count offered an open smile and outstretched arms.
‘Be welcome, honoured guests,’ he said, gesturing towards three camp chairs which a pair of servants were hastily setting up.He and Ifan—the young, dark-haired, angry-looking Count of Glascoed, who pointedlydid notstand—had been sitting together at a round table bearing a map of the surrounding forests, riven through with logging paths, hunters’ runs, and dirt roads for wagons from the mines.‘Ifan’s bondswoman tells us you have come to lend your aid in our time of need,’ Afondir went on, running a finger down the white streak in his beard.‘I wonder how word of our current troubles reached Templar Unwith so quickly!Or was that not the issue of concern?’
Though he wanted to invoke justice and strike Afondir square in his haughty jaw, Torin dipped his head, performing the role he had assigned himself—of a stranger come for charity’s sake to lend aid to a kingdom in distress.
‘Word of the haunting that bedevils this land reached the Iron Citadel not long ago.The Ecclesiarch, in his compassion and wisdom, dispatched we three—templar knights of a high order, skilled in such affairs—to lend what aid we can.On our arrival, Templar Unwith relayed the deepening of this tragedy in the death of your king and directed us to seek you out, knowing that you are a friend of the Church and would vouchsafe us to court.’
‘We are, of course, grateful to your Ecclesiarch,’ Afondir said, gesturing to include the Count of Glascoed—who seemed far from grateful, glaring at the newcomers from the shadow of his prominent brow.‘Alas, it may be some time before I continue on to Parwys.There is a matter of some importance that must be dealt with first.’
‘And do we deal with it by lingering here, sipping watered wine while our soldiers comb the forest?’Glascoed snapped.Torin kept a mental catalogue of the virtues and vices of those around him and addedintemperanceto the young count’s ledger.‘My housecarls and I should ride out, Eurion.We know the woods well.We know they are nearby.Gavron and I might have found these bandits hours ago, on our own!’
‘My huntsmen and your foresters are more than sufficient to the task, I think,’ Afondir cut back, his smile twisting in annoyance.‘We ought to be here to receive any reports, and to dispense justice to any of these bandits our men take prisoner.’
