~ The Council of the Knights of Rinder: [Archive] [Home] [Previous Turn] [Next Turn] ~

Emma makes note of the fact that most of the women are dressed in black. As for herself, she had intentionally dressed in her most formal robe, scarlet-colored with golden embroidery...the same one she had worn at Edryd's eulogy in Fort Dillend. Thoughts of the Sword-Bearer help to steady her resolve, but even so she quietly prays, "I could use your help now, Edryd. How do I go about addressing the Duke of my own homeland when I have proof that he is a traitor in our midst? The hounds of Anhur howl for justice...but it must be postponed for now...lest the true perpetrators remain in the shadows."

Naeron bows to Duke Elgar, his features and emotions under confident control, and in a rich, booming tenor voice, addresses the Duke. "Hail, Your Excellency. I, Naeron Thess, of the House of Frond, leige to Great House of Raimead, in turn leige to the King of Rinder, and in Times of Renewal, leige to the ancient Laws of Rinder as laid forth by King Japeth I and sworn allegiance to by every Lord and Freeman of Rinder save the Betrayer, Drinn Athos, defeated, as I recall, by your forefathers armies ages ago." He pauses to see if there is any reaction to this from Elgar, not really expecting any, then continues:

"As Your Excellency is aware, we are in a Time of Renewal, when the Knights of the Ancient Order of Rinder will select a new King. As is customary and lawful in such times, I humbly request a guarantee of safe passage for myself and for Rinder's Six until such matters are settled according to the Rituals, or until we leave your borders, whichever precedes the other." He waits for the lawful and customary response, truly unsure if he will even get that. He makes these statements to commit the Duke to a course of action and show his hand, else if he complies, to give ground for censure of his house should he break the Laws further. Of course, thinks Naeron, if we can better substantiate his past treacheries, so much the better.

"Naeron Thess, of the House of Frond and leige to the Great House of Raimead, you are hereby granted permission of free travel within the borders of the Seden Duchy until the matters of the Council of the Knights of Rinder are settled or until you depart from those borders," Duke Elgar says, deep voice resounding in the large hall, as if declaring the news to the entire Duchy. "Given, of course, you have the proper documentation granting you relevance to those said matters."

Emma looks to Naeron, doing her best to cover her surprise at the diplomat's ease in obtaining a formal blessing from Duke Elgar. The half-elf's speech rolled clearly and confidently off his tongue, giving her the extra time to gather her own thoughts on how to address the court in simple terms. Finally, as Naeron's invocation comes to an end, she nervously awaits the Duke's reply so she can address him as well.

"Your Grace," she finally begins, "We of Rinder's Six are honored that you would favor us with a tune from your minstrels, and appreciate your generous offer. These are trying times and depression can weigh heavily upon the hearts of those that serve along our nation's border with Caerloon...especially with the news of our King's passing still fresh to our ears. It is encouraging to see that your court can still be filled with enough gaiety to lighten the mood, even if but for a...short time."

Inwardly, Emma's sense of loyalty to King and country is somewhat angered by the knowledge of Duke Elgar's treachery and his attempt to turn King Garith's death into a cause for celebration, no matter how much it is disguised with the colors of mourning. Therefore, her words are carefully chosen to express her emotions and true feelings while keeping the mask of civility perfectly in place.

"And speaking of the border," she continues without missing a beat, "Alas, as you have noted, our responsibilities to our countrymen are great, and our skills will be missed in the battles to come. Unfortunately, there is a greater battle to be waged, and we find that our skills are put to better use upon a different kind of battlefield at this time. Put simply, Your Grace, we come before you at the request of the late King Garith III...or rather, his advisor."

Emma motions for Naeron to produce Sir Nigel's letter and deliver it to Duke Elgar's attendant for review. "We bring a message of great importance for the Knights of Rinder which His Majesty's advisors felt should be delivered at their meeting, here in Seden, while they are all gathered together. We appreciate your hospitality in receiving us and trust that you will present us when the meeting begins?"

Meanwhile, Cy has a very distinct way of dealing with politics and such court appearances: Stay on your best behavior and treat everyone like they were a station higher than they are. Most of all: say as little as possible.

With the Duke's suggestion, Cy bows slightly in his direction, acknowledging the point of honor given them. The Duke is obviously trying to place Rinder's Six highly... and try to get rid of them quickly. Cy polishes at a not-bright-enough section of his breastplate (the only part of his armor he is wearing) and waits for the Lady Emma or Naeron to do the talking and complete any and all the obligatory rituals associated with such appearances.

"Your attendance at the meeting of the Council of the Knights of Rinder meets with our approval," Elgar says with a slight nod and a smile. "But we aware Naeron Thess and..."

"Lady Emmalya Serralund, your grace," Emma replies.

Elgar looks to one of his advisors, who gives a slight nod. Then the Duke continues, "Lady Emmalya Serralund, that the matters pertaining to the Council of the Knights of Rinder are, by Laws traditional, not within a Duke's jurisdiction. Permission needed to attend the meetings in question is best secured from the Council itself."

Crayne looks to Emma and smiles slightly, as if to say, "Good thing we already have Sir Nigel's permission!"

Emma reads the mage's face and then returns her look to the Duke. "Thank you, your grace, for your permission and your wise advice in these matters. We will make the appropriate arrangements..."

The Duke smiles, shifting in his chair. "Now, perhaps to lift some spirits, a little music?" He snaps his fingers loudly, and the minstrels begin to strike up a tune. As the music begins, Cy begins to circulate through the crowd, listening all the while. He picked up a bit of etiquette in his childhood in nobility. Seeing some dancing begin, he picks up with the most neglected looking gossip he can find and play the strong silent type... to see what comes tumbling forth.

The girl he picks is one of the ladies in waiting. She seems to be constantly smiling and whispering among her friends. "Perfect," Cy thinks to himself. In but a few seconds, they are whirling around the dance floor.

At the same time, Emma begins to circulate among the few knights that are present in the hall. Actually, one of them finds her and Naeron soon after the music starts. "Naeron Thess and Lady Emmalya," the tall bearded man begins, "I am Sir Judd, of the Counicil of the Knights of Rinder..."

"Sir Judd," Naeron says with a slight bow, "your name has brought honor to our people for generations, since the Great Uniting so many years ago."

Judd smiles to Naeron, noticing his elven ears.

"And Sir Nigel instructed us that you would be here," Emma says to the Knight.

"It seems," Judd replies with a genuine smile, "that tricky ol' Nigel failed to inform the Council of your arrival. No matter, the meet at the forum tomorrow at high noon will proceed as planned. But your suddenIs there some pressing matter to explain your unannounced appearance and the urgency I sense comes along with it?"

"Oooh, a great warrior from Rinder's Six!" Gertrude wails into Cy's ear as they spin around the dance floor. Cy could barely stand the girl's piercing voice, but kept telling himself that sacrifices must be made both on the battlefield and off. "We have all heard of your battles with seven beasts in the mine! The Duke really enjoyed that story! Funny, his daughter Hannah failed to see you for the hero your are..."

"Just carrying out my mission..." Cy says stiffly through his teeth.

"Oh, what a dear," Gertrude replies softly. "But still that Lady Hannah ought to have enjoyed the story as much as her father did..."

As the official functions abate and the dancing begins, Crayne retreats into a corner of the chamber and exits into one of the anterooms. He quickly finds a quiet, out of the way spot, and proceeds to cast Invisibility upon himself. The corner of his mouth begins to turn up in a sneaky smile as his image fades in the mirror before him, and in no time he is back in the great hall, carefully avoiding collisions and heading toward the four doors in question.

"Which one to choose?" he thinks to himself, assessing the possibilities. The two closest to the Duke's chair are blocked by various nobles and advisors, talking in small groups and watching the dancers in the center of the room. "To get by them might take more than I can pull off without help from someone like Dire! But those other doors..." Crayne's gaze shifts to the two doors farther away, in the corners of the room, "...I can get in there without too much of a problem."

He carefully ambles across the hall, heading for one of those doors. With a quick glance around, he is through. He finds himself in a long hallway, running along the wall of the great hall. The floor is carpetted nicely, and there are paintings of landscapes and portraits along the walls. There are also a number of doors (not on the side of the hall, so they must lead to other rooms), most of which are closed.

Not sure which way to go, Crayne turns to his left, heading toward a large set of double doors about fifteen yards away. He hasn't taken more than two or three steps when a door on his left (from the main hall) bursts open, and the Lady Katherine walks briskly through. Three ladies in waiting follow her, and she heads through the double doors. Crayne catches a glimpse of the main hall as the door behind her is closed by some man inside.

She and her entourage arrive at the double doors. "Got to go for it!" Crayne tells himself, and sets off in a sprint down the hallway. He catches up with the women just as the last of the ladies in waiting passes through the double doors, and slips successfully into the chamber within before the double doors are closed.

Inside, Crayne can see a rounded chamber, perhaps twenty feet across. In the center is a table with some benches. On the table are various papers and an array of fabrics. Lining the walls are tapestries and luxurious chairs. Sitting in one of these chairs is another woman, this one older than Katherine, but also dressed aristocratically.

"Sister!" Katherine says, startled. "You are returned."

"I am..." the other woman says, not rising from her seat or unfolding her hands at her waist.

"Have you heard the grave news of the King?" Katherine asks innocently.

"I have," is the response. "Katherine, you must understand that this is a sign, an omen. A signal from the gods themselves and a change is coming." She rises from her chair in one fluidlike motion. "Don't get swept away by the winds of change."

"Hannah?" Katherine asks, not understanding.

"I haven't time to explain. But do this for me as a loyal sister..."

"Anything!"

"...a man will come to the castle asking for you tonight. Lead him to my private chamber where I will be waiting. His name is Rayton." With that, Lady Hannah picks up her dress and rushes to the double doors. "Do this. Do it for me." Then she is gone.

Katherine then turns to her ladies and after a brief pause, addresses them. "I am feeling faint, perhaps I will lie down in my bedchamber." The ladies nod and agree, leading Katherine out the double doors, with Crayne invisibly in tow. Crayne watches as the four women (Katherine and three ladies in waiting) walk down the hallway.

"Should I follow them? Or shall I go and find Emma, Naeron, and Cy? And who is Rayton?"

Meanwhile, across town and in a scene far from the pomp and circumstance of courtly life, the rest of Rinder's Six find themselves faced with the large thug.

Hannibal pauses for a moment, sizing up the big lug with a keen eye. He was big, that was for sure, but it was always the big ones that came down the hardest. Smiling a bit, hoping to calm the big thug, Hannibal motioned back to his two counterparts and stated plainly, "Do we look fancy to you?"

Hesitating for a moment, as much for effect as to try to size up the man's reaction, Hannibal shrugs and continues. "Besides, it's hard to steal from the rich so early in the morning...most are still asleep." He winks to the big man and chuckles a bit. Acting as if he had just noticed the figures behind the man, he nods in their direction. "Whatcha got goin' here? Anything three unemployed Jack of Trades could get in on?"

Storm stands behind Hannibal's shoulder as he talks, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. While Hannibal does the talking, Storm stands rather nonchalantly, though on his toes should the scene abruptly change before him. He glances down the alley briefly, and, perhaps with a little help from his infravision, he thinks he sees a small bag passed form one man to another. Storm's eyes go slightly wide for a second, and he changes his footing in excitement. He glances toward Canter, trying to give him sort of look like 'something's definitely going on here.' He continues letting Hannibal do the talking, hoping they can get in for a closer look.

The thug peers down at Hannibal, then casts a glance back to his comrades, who are now watching the situation from their position. "Eh...I ain't seen you folk around here. You new in town?"

Hannibal clears this throat before answering, partially for effect and partially to bide a little time. "Yeah...uh...yeah, we're new around here. From across the realm, over in Raimead. From the guild. Strunk's Guild."

The thug raises his eyebrows, looking back to his companions again. "Stunk's huh?" one of the men in the back repeats.

"Yeah," Hannibal says. "But they got a little soft, and we got tired of their baby jobs. We're here lookin' for somethin' to really sink our teeth inta."

"Sink ye teeth, eh?" the thug repeats. "What's yer name?"

"You can just call me the Grey Mouser," Hannibal says confidently.

"Grey Mouser, hmm..." the thug scratches the subble on his chin and thinks. "Okay, then, Mouser. You n' yer pals've come to the right place. Morden, open the door!"

One of the men in the back then stamps his feet on one of the stone slabs in the alley and takes a step back. A few seconds later, the slab seems to rise off the ground an inch or two, and then some fingers appear, pushing it aside from below. Morden smiles to the lead thug as the soft yellow hues of torchlight illuminate the alley from the hole.

"After you..." the lead thug says.

"First," Hannibal insists, holding up a hand. "Your name."

"Fair 'nuff. You can just call me Pale Thunder."

Hannibal ponders on the name, not recognizing it. "Allright." He looks back to Canter and Storm. "Let's go..."

They approach the trap door and peer down. There is a wooden ladder which descends perhaps thirty or forty feet in a small rectangular room. The vertical passageway down is narrow; near street-level it is stone blocks, but after about five or six feet it becomes dirt and clay, reinforced by wooden beams. Hannibal is first to climb down, followed by Canter and Storm. Morden, Pale Thunder, and the third man then follow.

After a couple of minutes of climbing, they reach the bottom and see a doorway leading into another chamber. It is slightly larger, square, about twelve to fifteen feet per side. There are some torches lit along the walls, lending the room a dungeon-like feel. Two more men are waiting for them below.

"Mouser," Morden says, emerging as the spokesman for the thieves. "I never heard that name before. But Strunk is legendary so I will let you come this far. But for you and your friends here to come any further, you must be proven."

"Proven?" Hannibal asks. He is feigning ignorance, but fears for the worst. He thought his days of proving his worth were over. Wasn't Melinda's life enough of a price to pay?

"Only one of you three need be proven," Morden's thin voice continues. "You choose."

"What's the test?" Canter asks, wanting to know the task ahead of him.

Thunder growls, breathing deeply and expanding his already large midsection to its full girth. He rolls up his sleeves and cracks his knuckles.

Morden raises his right arm, pointing to Pale. "Him."

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