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

Emma is relieved to hear the Duke's acceptance of Naeron's formal request. Her eyes narrow imperceptibly though as she considers that Elgar is simply agreeing out of tradition and not a heartfelt desire to insure their safety or free travel within his realm. Besides, the man had shown himself capable of treachery of the highest order...so what would one more lie matter to him?

Then, Emma responds to the questions of Sir Judd, a Council Knight: "Now is not the time to discuss the particulars of our message for the Knights of Rinder," Emma explains, conspiratorially glancing around the room, "There are eyes and ears about this place that should not be privy to that information."

She puts one hand reassuringly on the knight's arm, though, and continues, "Nigel thought it best not to inform anyone of our appearance in Seden. Rinder's Six has already been ambushed once before, though we survived the encounter...still, it would seem to indicate that there are forces that seek to undermine our efforts in the rising conflict with Caerloon."

Naeron then bows formally and intones, "Greetings from the Great House of Raimead, Sir Knight. Perhaps after we have spent an apropos time at court, we could retire over a drink, on Lord Bryant, of course."

Sir Judd looks over Naeron, head to toe. Then, with an approving nod, replies, "Perhaps we could..."

Emma then invites Sir Judd to come with her onto the dance floor, mostly to keep up appearances, but also because she relishes the opportunity to practice her dance skills once again. Over the course of the song, she watches the room and chats softly with the knight.

"So tell me, Sir Knight," she asks, "How did you come to join the ranks of the Knights of Rinder...and how do they perceive the problems that assail our country? The brewing war along the border...King Garith's passing...what do these things mean to all of you?"

"So many questions, Lady Emmalya," Sir Judd replies with a smile. "Well, if you must know, I was raised of the nobility. My father was a Knight of Rinder, and his father before him. My lineage can be traced back to the days of Garith the First." With that, Judd dips Emma slightly, smiling at the way her formal robes sway behind her.

"As for my opinion of the current war," he continues, lifting her back up and continuing the dance, "I'd say the situation is delicate, wouldn't you?"

"Mmmm..." Emma replies, feeling her hair dancing on her shoulders as the two spin across the floor.

"Yes, delicate. At the moment, the Kingdom of Rinder is hardly prepared. Put simply, we are caught with our breeches beneath our knees in the outhouse. Rumor has it the Duke of Raimead has finally opened his adamantine mine, and that is good, but it will take weeks before that ore can be refined into armor for our men. And men is the other problem, we simply don't have them. Yet."

"Yet?"

"That is on the agenda for tomorrow's meeting, my Lady. Men, how many we need, and from which Duchies. A very delicate matter. But once we have the men, I firmly believe the gods will see Rinder prevail and Caerloon crushed. But there is one thing missing..."

"A king," Emma interjects politely.

"Exactly."

"And how exactly, according to the 'Law traditional,' as Duke Elgar put it, is the new king chosen when no heir is apparent?"

"In generations past, the task fell upon the Council of the Knights of Rinder. That is why our meeting was moved up to tomorrow from later in the season. We will debate and make a recommendation."

"Recommendation?"

"Yes, to Dukes and Duchesses. We will recommend to them who we feel is best fit to assume the throne."

"And they must accept it, yes?"

"In a perfect world, Emmalya, in a perfect world they would that..." His voice fades as the music slows and finishes with a final cadence.

"My darling," Cy says to Gertrude, trying not to breathe in too deeply lest his entire nasal cavity be contaminated with the smell of those soaps, "I will leave you now. It has been a pleasure, and an honor..."

"Oh!" Gertrude responds, clutching his hand, "It is I who am honored...my hero of Rinder's Six..."

Emma is then surprised by Cy's reappearance. She had thought that the ex-cavalier would also be working the crowd for information, but had lost track of him during the dance. "How are things on your end?" she asks him, keeping her voice low, while she watches the Duke across the room.

Cy, dispite his now developing headache, leaves the girl with the feeling that he is a tall, strong, hero type to which she can come to for help. Well, you have to have allies in the strangest places. Propriety aside, he rejoins Emma and the others.

To Emma, en sotto voce, he says: "Milady, I have never been so glad as to hear your melodious voice."

Emma smiles and looks more directly at Cy, curious as to what could have elicited that kind of response. "Well...thank you, I...," she stammers, "I'm not sure what to say to that. What happened? Did you discover something or someone?"

"Er, no. I have fallen victim to a piercing gossip... poor planning." Cy smiles at this, in a pained sort of way, his eyes are quite bloodshot. He excuses himself gallently and makes a bee-line for the nearest mead bottle...

Emma laughs aloud as she watches Cy walk away. "A gossip?" she says quietly, shaking her head. The poor man! Naeron shakes his head, smiling.

Then there is a knocking as one of Duke Elgar's advisors pounds his cane on the floor. "The Royal Duke Elgar of the Great House of Seden will retire to his private chambers for midday prayers."

Naeron narrows his eyes as he observes through the crowd who the Duke talks to as he slowly makes his way from this chair to a nearby door. That tall, white-bearded, cane-wielding advisor seemed to be his closest confidant, at least as far as Nearon could observe.

Then Sir Judd reappears, along with another man. "Lady Emmalya, Naeron Thess. This is Sir Klare, a fellow Council Knight."

Sir Klare, slightly shorter than the regal Judd, extends an open hand to Naeron and Cy, then plants a delicate kiss upon Emma's wrist. "As soon as I heard that Rinder's Six was present at the Duke's court, I knew I must make your acquaintance. Judd tells me you have invited him for a midday drink? Perhaps we should all go?"

Emma blushes with the kiss, Naeron and Cy bow slightly in a formal manner. These men seemed pleasant enough, and it was time for a midday meal. But where, Emma wonders, where was Crayne?

Crayne stands there for a moment and lodges the name Rayton in the back of his mind. He is a little frustrated that Hannibal isn't around, for his knowledge in such fields might have been useful right now. Nevertheless, he wasn't and so the wisest decision to Crayne at the moment was to follow Katherine and her entourage making sure that he could recollect the position of Katherine's bedchamber later in the day. Also, Katherine was bound to comment on her very abrupt conversation with her recently returned sister. Perhaps Crayne would learn something of use from that. It seemed to him that Katherine wasn't in on the treachery.

He follows Katherine and her ladies down the hallway. He can hear the crowd from the large hall, but as the noise fades and the ladies continue to take left and right turns, going up and down staircases, he surmises that he is now far from the main hall. He tries to commit the route to memory, and is thankful when they finally stop in front of a solid wooden door.

Katherine enters first, followed by her entourage and Crayne, still invisible. He plops herself down on a bed in the center of the room, turning to the side to allow one of her ladies in waiting to untie the tight strings of her dress around her back.

"What do you make of my sister?" Katherine asks.

"Lady Katherine, your sister is a dear woman," is the response. Crayne bites his tongue. Anyone could see right through that line!

"Don't mince words, what do you really think?"

The girl stops untying, the other two sitting down in nearby chairs and watching intently. "My dear Katherine, do you not feel it?"

"Feel it?" Katherine asks innocently, her young complexion and delicate features clearly revealing to the observant Crayne her ignorance.

"Your sister...she...she is up to no good, I fear."

Katherine is silent for a moment, and then laughs slightly. "Oh you are a jester! Quite funny!"

The girl looks to the other two sitting across the room. Their eyes are open wide. One of them shrugs. "But Katherine--"

"Oh, come off it! I am tired and the joke is spent. I will sleep now. Wake me when father calls, or if that man...what was his name?"

"Rayton," the girl responds, with Crayne lip-synching.

"Yes, or if Rayton should come calling. You may go now, ladies."

Crayne rises from his seat as the three ladies in waiting do that same. Should he stay as Katherine sleeps? No more information could be procured, but he could look around the place...or could he not risk being discovered?

Meanwhile, in another delicate situation:

Hannibal turns to the others and smiles at Canter specifically. "How tough do you feel today champ?"

Canter raises his eyebrows and opens his eyes wide at Hannibal's question, flickering between Hannibal's face and the large Pale Thunder in the background. "Uh...maybe..." he stammers. He then looks down to Storm, asking: "Storm? Any interest?"

Storm's eyes narrow at the suggestion that the men have to be 'proven' to join this group. He detests the thought of these roguish humans thinking the three weak.

Almost thankful for the opportunity to stand up for the group, Storm loudly bellows "Aye, I be takin' that challenge! Ain't no big lumberin' human gonna stop me way!!" He turns toward the large man named Thunder in front of him, but before approaching he casually grabs the hilts of his long swords on his belt in a upside down, dagger-like fashion (with the blades out the bottom of his hand). He unsheathes both swords simultaneously and as soon as they clear his scabbards he spears them down into the ground, getting them out of the way of a good wrestling match. He then steps right up to Thunder and stares up at the man's face, his teeth gritted and a small guttural growl emanating from his throat.

Hannibal looks to the big man, then back at Storm and Canter. The look on his face is clear, "No way in hell!" He takes a position close to some of the others so that he may quickly take action should things go bad.

Then it begins. Storm leaps at Thunder, aiming to land a head-butt on the tall human's chin. But Thunder sees him coming, and steps aside slightly, raising a thick, muscular arm and deflecting the blow. Storm growls with frustration as he lands on he feet and spins to face his opponent.

They circle each other slowly, fists raised, eyes focused. Storm fakes to the left, Thunder doesn't flinch. Thunder throws a jab, Storm blocks. The tit-for-tat ensues. Hannibal and Canter stand on the sidelines, their eyes set on Storm. Canter can hear his heart beating loudly in his ears, as if it were he actually fighting. Morden just stands there, his arms crossed, a smile on his face, watching the boxing match.

Then it happens. Thunder lunges forward, trying to land an uppercut on the smaller dwarf. But Storm's more miniature (dare we say, delicate?) stature works to his advantage, and he steps aside. With Thunder's arm extended, Storm lands a strong jab and another hook in Thunder's kidneys, then yells loudly and kicks him hard in the groin.

Thunder lets out a grunt and falls to his knees after the one-two-three beating. Storm doesn't stop there, clasping his hands together and pounding on Thunder's exposed back, just at the base of the neck. Thunder's arms give way, and he is face-down on the dusty floor, with Storm sitting proudly on top, his big, obnoxious, toothy smile beaming around the room.

Morden closes his fist and unfolds his arms. "Fine then," he pronounces to Hannibal. "Mouser, tell your...friend here...to get off him and come this way." Morden spins on his heels and begins to move to the doorway.

Hannibal and Canter smile at Storm, who gets up off Thunder giving the man a pat on the shoulder. Hannibal throws his arm around his dwarven friend and Canter nods, then they follow Morden.

The tunnel is dark and curvy, but empties out into another chamber of about the same size, this one with some tables and chairs as well as a small pile of short swords and bows.

"It's a hit," Morden says, leaning forward, his hands on the table while standing behind it. "A big one."

"Sounds good..." Hannibal replies.

"Who?" Canter asks.

"Can't tell you that yet," Morden answers curtly. "I gotta check with my man to make sure three more is okay. We weren't expecting any more help, but with moves like that, I'd say you're in on it."

His 'man'? Canter wonders, who might that be? Someone else who is really running the show?

"The hit's tomorrow. I'll meet you tonight, after checking with the boss. Dull Blade's Tavern. Sunset."

"Tonight. Dull Blade's. Sunset," Hannibal repeats.

Morden nods slowly. "If you've got no other business, then Thunder can show you out. I assume," he says sternly, "you will share this location with no one. I don't have to tell you the price you'll pay if you do." Canter swallows hard. Hannibal nods in understanding. Storm spits...delicately.

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