Alwyn strolled down the well-trodden path to Durandal's just as the blue sky began to bleed red with the setting sun. He had gone about the rest of his preparation for the sudden journey, a task that had taken up the entirety of the afternoon. Even as he maneuvered his way through the narrow, winding streets, he found it difficult to prevent his thoughts from drifting back to the mental checklist he had gone over at least two dozen times. He turned his mind to other matters as he rounded a corner into the wide mouth of an alley.
He had no need to pay attention to where he was going. In fact, Alwyn surmised that he could likely navigate himself to Durandal's tavern if he were blindfolded and drunkenly spun about in the city square a dozen times over. Upon his rising in the ranks and transfer to Privatis, Alwyn had spent nearly every evening of the first several months gallivanting about the city, more oftentimes than not, with Orwick in attendance. Each of these nights had almost infallibly ended with them at Durandall's. A thin layer of moss began to take over the cobblestones as Alwyn grew closer to his destination, the road beginning to incline to an evermore inconvenient angle.
Nobody ever journeyed across the city to go to Durandall's because it was the best choice. It was located in a cramped corner of the city that was an altogether nuisance to reach. Hidden as it was on the slant of such a narrow alley, it seemed to cower in the shadows of its surroundings. While the location was poor, the food was worse, and Alwyn had made the mistake during his first week in the city of stomaching a meat pie that had left him glued to the privy for the following three days. If Alwyn didn't know better, he would assume that for all these qualities, or lack thereof, the little tavern was attempting to repulse as much business as possible.
As the alley began to bottleneck so tightly that two people could hardly walk side by side without struggle, the faded yet familiar wooden signpost came into view. It jutted out modestly from the wall; a single black icon of a stag scratched out beyond recognition stood beneath lettering one could almost make out, if they put in the effort. A single lantern hanging humbly beneath was the only source of light along the stretch of road, acting as a lighthouse to the sea of inebriated townsfolk that chose to frequent the tavern when they set sail for home in the blackness of night.
Alwyn flung open the door, and it was packed as usual.
Though it was still early in the evening, every barstool held an occupant, every table was sat with as many chairs as could fit around it. A duo of amateur musicians played as lively a melody as they could muster at one end, but were at risk of being drowned out by the raucous merrimaking that was already taking place. A roaring fire crackled at the other end, providing ample light and warmth - and equally as much soot - to the patrons in what little space was available. While to many, Durandal's Tavern seemed a dingy rathole of a pub, it served as a perfect gathering place for those who wished to retain their anonymity. For Alwyn and others with the status he held, it was a place where they could unwind without fear of future chastisement. It was, in other words, an oasis in a desert of social regulation. Almost more importantly than all of that, was that it was cheap; while some such as the likes of Orwick held little regard for reckless spending, Alwyn at least attempted to rescue some of his coin from the grasp of women and drink.
Amongst the ocean of merry faces, one already sufficiently flushed rose from his seat and beckoned Alwyn to his table, where two empty chairs had been defended from the crowd. Sir Barney clapped Alwyn heartily on the back with cheeks like tomatoes and a nose like a cherry.
"Alwyn! Good t'see ya! Hava seat! Hava seat!"
Alwyn smiled despite himself. He hated to encourage Barney, but the cheer he gave off was infectious. It was easy to see that the other men had already been captivated by the portly knight's jubilation as well. Sir Nathaniel sat across the round table, a flagon drained of ale rested in front of him, with a second in hand not long behind. A serene smile was plastered on his face, the pink hue that had just begun to leak to the surface of his cheeks was clearly the source. While Sir Jonah had not yet crossed the threshold of intoxication, his hands closed around a mug of cider from which he casually sipped, all nerves from their prior meeting seemingly put at ease.
Alwyn gratefully accepted the offered seat, while Barney clumsily hailed a barmaid to deliver their salvation.
"Orwick planning on joining us tonight?" queried Nathaniel, raising his voice above the noise.
"My presence not good enough for you, Nat?"
Nathaniel waved off the jibe, "Lay off it, will you? You're less tolerable than I remember."
The smile never left their faces.
"He'll be along later, most like. Chances are he's scrambling to stuff a roat's worth of clothes into his saddlebags." Alwyn jested.
"He'd better make an appearance!" Barney wailed, setting a fresh tankard before each of them, "I'd know something is wrong if he didn't! This is the first and last we'll be seeing each other for some time."
"Speak for yourself, I'll be dragging this one up half the cliffs of the Greyscape Mountains for the better part of a roat," Alwyn nodded towards Nathaniel whilst gratefully accepting the offered beverage.
"More than I could manage with Barney."
There was a shocked silence as the trio stared at the usually timid Jonah, who simply shrugged at what he'd said as he took another mild sip.
Nathaniel was the first to break,"Hah! Too true in that, I think it to be more than most of us could manage!" he barked a laugh as he threw his arm sloppily around Jonah's shoulder.
Barney guffawed with mock outrage, "And here I was jus' thinkin' how gooda friends we were gonna be!"
Jonah cracked a smile.
"You'll have a much more pleasant journey than us for certain," said Nathaniel, shaking his head, "Fine merry bunch you'll all be, prancing about in the southern prairies with such a beautiful companion to boot. All the while we'll be freezin' our rods off with Zachariah's prickly arse. I dunno how you manage it with him down in Fharsält, Barney."
"Oh, he's not so bad once ya get to know 'em. Sticks to his own, mostly. Real pious sorta fella," he stroked his goatee in contemplation, "not too unlike your own Sir Derich."
Nathaniel finished off the last of his second drink, pausing to speak before taking up his third. "I suppose that's true enough, but Derich's cooperative at the very least, if not a bit touched in the head. He's better suited to the petty politicking with the Duke and Duchess, I prefer the field."
Alwyn locked eyes with Jonah, "You've been up in Sgoth Mairn now for a number of moons."
Sir Jonah nodded his assent.
"How has Harris fared as a mentor?" All eyes now paid careful attention to the young knight.
"He is certainly very astute," Jonah replied carefully.
"So how many of his duties has he slid onto your plate?" Nathaniel asked, seeing through the response.
Jonah, finding no answer to suffice or way around the question, simply raised his palms in surrender. Sir Harris' habits were not new to any of the knights who had been long enough in the service to know him, nor were they surprising.
"Worry not, we'll be taking him along with us as well," Alwyn comforted.
"And be sure to put him to good use," Nathaniel added with a smirk, "though, really, it is such an unfair division. It feels as if all the cards have been stacked in your favor."
"You refer to the lady Erisane?" Jonah asked innocently.
"Aye, the things I would do to make her acquaintance," Nathaniel stared into space as he spoke before coming quickly to reality and giving Jonah a nudge in the ribs, "Alas, it seems as if she'll be left in your trusting hands."
"Mine? N-no I-," the young knight resumed his average flushed expression while Nathaniel grinned at him expectantly.
"I think you should be the one to lay off it," Alwyn scolded lightly.
Nathaniel was abashed, "Sir Alwyn, I'm hurt by you! All I am doing is giving our newest member a little senior guidance. As if you wouldn't welcome the chance to know her yourself!"
"The thought had yet to cross my mind," Alwyn sighed, "besides, I'd wager Orwick to be the first in line of the lot of us."
"True in that," Nathaniel agreed, "flirting in the fields while we drag an old man up the side of a frozen mountain."
"You should mind what you say about members of the Order, former or not." Said Alwyn.
Nathaniel waved off the chiding, he was too far gone to fret over the mincing of words.
"Whether he's of the Order or not is of no consequence. You saw just as well as I - he's a cade elder than Sir Heinrich, at the least!" Nathaniel paused and shook his head, "I don't know what Greenwood is thinking, but it seems an act of desperation. Feeble old fellow ain't like to make it through frostfall. Cruel, s'what it is."
A somber tone fell over the table, broken by Sir Jonah as he set his empty mug aside.
"Perhaps you will finish your journey before the first snows?" He suggested hopefully.
Nathaniel scoffed, "Even if we knew just where we were going and without the invalid, we'd still have a tough go of it."
"I hate to agree, but Nathaniel is right." Alwyn confirmed, "I've only been as north as the Greyscape once, and it was in the midst of suncrest."
Despite the warmth of the fire and the liquor in his veins, Sir Barney shivered. "Too cold for my blood. They'd haveta tie me to my horse kicking an' screaming to get me that far north," He said, "Didya ever get through the passes?"
Sir Alwyn shook his head the negative. "Never had to make the journey. It's far too dangerous nowadays - Dwarves have been contesting the lands for roats now, and with the threat of harpies, wolves, and all manner of other nasty things, most of the villages have been long abandoned."
"Abandoned?" Gasped Jonah aghast, "Why have we not sent in men to defend the border?"
Nathaniel laughed aloud at the query, "Wouldn't be no point in it."
He saw the confusion the comment inspired, and continued on after hailing for another round.
"What do you think it was that we had them mountains for to begin with?"
The question hung in the air. Alwyn supplied no answer, while Barney had laid his head upon the table. Sir Jonah shrugged.
"Can't make a living on a farm like in Fharsalt - soil's covered in frost and hard as stone. Mountain's are too far from the coast for any fishing or trade like in Sgoth Mairn, and too far out of the way for learning the crafts like in Jattemor. All the King's men are here in Duchy Feirnais if not in Privatis itself, so what would entice any folk to piddle away their days in that icy wasteland?" Nathaniel's good eye passed over each member of the company, though no one - to include Alwyn - had any inkling of an answer to supply.
Nathaniel smiled knowingly as he tapped a single finger to the table. "It's the Dragons."
His voice was barely a whisper that Alwyn and Jonah struggled to hear over the roar of the tavern, and the new addition of Barney's snoring.
"We're telling fables now, are we Nat?" Alwyn smirked.
Nathaniel returned the smile, but shook his head quickly before continuing, "It's the truth Alwyn, you remember the stories just as well as I. Back in the days of the Blutbinde - the binding of the bloods - those were the lands where the hatchwards would keep the Dragons 'fore they found a good match for em. No Dragons, no use for the mountains, simple as that. All that's left are those few stubborn old-bloods that fight the wildlands, but they'll fall to the Dwarven advance less something is done - likely the cause of our little journey, I'd wager."
Alwyn could see the confusion playing on Sir Jonah's face, and was about to retort when a rough hand knocked the wind out of his back with a hearty smack. He turned his attention in annoyance to the culprit, and found his focus trained on the widely grinning Sir Harris Montfort.
"What a merry little band we've got here eh?" Harris chirped merrily. Alwyn had been too busy resisting the urge to knock the knight's hand off of his shoulder to notice that he had brought another comrade in tow.
"Lawrence! Wasn't expecting to see you again so soon!" Nathaniel cried, "What brings you out this eve?"
Alwyn's eyes widened in shock as he saw indeed that it was Sir Lawrence standing at Harris' side, the ladder knight's arm locked uncomfortably behind his neck. Even if Harris had forced him to their table, it was still the last establishment Alwyn thought he would see the senior knight step foot inside.
"I am surprised the same as you," Spoke Harris, grinning in amusement at the situation he had created. "I had snuck in to grab a drink to find Sir Lawrence here already seated at the bartop! It was while I was keeping him company that I spied you lot with the same idea as us! I hope you don't mind our joining you?"
While it was posed as a question, Harris was already in the process of sitting in the final reserved seat as it was being asked, leaving Lawrence to stand hesitantly to the rear.
"Just a small gathering 'fore dawn sends us on our way." Alwyn replied coolly.
Harris nodded his deep understanding, looking at each knight in turn in the awkward lull that ensued, broken only by Barney's rhythmic, droning snores.
"Such a sudden turn of events is almost enough to make one short of breath. Not half a moon ago I was at peace in the familiarity of my coastal post, and now I'm bound for the Greyscape - and with such strange company!" Harris sighed. He looked around once more to see if any would take the bait. He was in luck.
"We'd just been speaking on that," Nathaniel slurred. "How fortune has favored some more than others in that respect."
Alwyn's eyes darted to Sir Lawrence, but he was fidgeting uncomfortably, and made no sign of having heard the comment.
"Indeed, and such interesting characters they seem to be. Never before has the Order been led by an outsider - a foreigner for that matter."
More answers that lead to questions, Alwyn thought.
He had not been introduced to the guileful Sir Harris until only a handful of moons prior, when all of the Order had gathered for Sir Jonah's initiation into the Drake's Tongue. It was known that Harris preferred to remain firmly planted within the duchy to which he was sworn. Though this reclusive nature had prompted him to return to his duty posthaste after the ending of ceremonies, their short interaction had been enough to put a sour taste in Alwyn's mouth.
A man who speaks in circles, every conversation is a game of predictability - he wants to know what others want to know, Alwyn had thought.
And so it remained. Sir Jonah's brow knitted as he asked the question that Harris knew would come.
"You believe the Lady to be an outlander?"
Harris shrugged as if he had not already planned out his response to the query. "Her skin is honeyed like those from the south."
"Plenty of people tan when they spend time in the blessed sun, Harris. You'd know a that if you got away from them dreary crags more than once or twice a roat." Nathaniel jibed. "'Sides, she wears the dress of the court."
Harris shot him a sideward glance. "A gift from the crown, perhaps. Certainly she's no Animaerisian; Mid-Islander, perhaps, but I suspect we have a rare guest from the desert lands myself."
Nathaniel scoffed. "Padasirian? They've hardly been known to openly travel out of the Clarimo Sea lest its in chains. Ya playing a jest?"
Harris raised his hands in concession. "Just an interesting thought is all. Lawrence was keen on the matter himself."
The table turned questioning eyes towards Sir Lawrence, who shifted uncomfortably under the sudden scrutiny. Alwyn was in doubt of Harris' claim, until Lawrence verified it himself.
"Just a suspicion is all," He spoke in defense, crossing his arms in front of his chest, "Something was off with the way she moved her hands."
"With her hands, Sir?" Alwyn questioned. He was baffled at Sir Lawrence's unusual apprehension.
"When I was just a lad, green to the Order, there was a Padasirian sultan and his wife who journeyed across the four seas to treat with the old King. The desertman bowed in a strange sort of fashion - with his arms stretched out straight from his sides. His lady, with a curtsey, raised her kaftan just above the height of the sock."
Alwyn made the connection that this was the sort of movement that the Lady Erisane must have made during her introduction to the Order, but failed to see the significance in it. Harris noted the lack of understanding, and quickly filled in the missing information.
"It is a uniquely Padasirian mode of introduction, meant to show one that they conceal no hidden blade nor ulterior motive. A show of good faith."
"An you got all that jus' from seein' her sock?" Nathaniel asked with a snicker.
"A mild suspicion is all, as I said." Lawrence snipped.
"Padasirian or not," Harris interjected, "I am curious to know how she will aid in the search for these, ah, relics."
"We are fortunate, then, that the matter of their finding - nor of what they are - is of no concern to us." Alwyn smiled, but there was a warning in his words. This was not the time nor place for discussion on the matter.
Harris noted the change in tone, and quickly changed tack.
"Indeed we are. I am curious as well as to how our travels through the mountains will fare. Have you given any thought as to the replenishing of our supplies before the first of Fonalira?"
Heads turned now to face Alwyn expectantly. He shifted in irritation. "There are a number of villages and holdings in Duchy Creagsten. We will have ample opportunity to restock our stores."
"In the southern flats, certainly," Harris replied easily, "though civilization ends where the Greyscape begins - I've heard of nothing north of Hrimscar Hold, myself."
"The villages, then," Alwyn supplied, grasping for an answer in frustration, "there are plenty of old-bloods that remain loyal to King Edwin and their Duke."
"Ah, the Kolrimm Tribes. A bold plan, Sir Alwyn - I must admit the idea of turning to them for aid had escaped me." Harris stroked the thick brush of hair above his lip as he pondered the thought. "Tell me, though, do you hold any knowledge of the location of these chiefdoms?"
"We've Sir Heinrich in our retinue for that purpose." Alwyn replied with an icy chill.
"And how blessed we are for that." Harris retorted dryly.
Suddenly, Harris gave a wide grin as a hand moved from behind Alwyn, setting a large mug before him. A barmaid made her rounds, passing a mug from a large platter to each of the knights in turn.
"What is this, Harris?" Nathaniel questioned, wide-eyed as he accepted the mug gratefully.
"A toast of course!" Harris answered, his demeanor changed in an instant. "A round of honeyed mead for a fortune in our journeys ahead."
"You are too kind." Alwyn said guardingly, wrapping his fingers around the handle of the golden beverage.
"Nonsense." Replied Harris as he stood with flourish, picking up two of the mugs and thrusting one into Lawrence's hands.
"May dawn's light banish the shade of night!"
Harris raised the mug high as he chanted the toast, to which Nathaniel heartily reciprocated. Alwyn and Lawrence modestly raised their own tankards in response, and gulped down a mouthful of the sweetly intoxicating liquid.
"Poor Barney, he's gonna be sore to hear he missed out." Said Nathaniel, gazing at the sleeping heap, arms pillowed beneath his head.
"Jonah, you do not care for mead?" Alwyn pondered, noticing that the young knight held no mug of his own.
"Oh, I like it well enough! We've just an early morning soon, and I am much unused to the drink." Jonah replied earnestly, with just a tinge of embarrassment.
"We'll see to it that changes!" Nathaniel exclaimed with a bark.
"I have some matters to attend to myself before first light, I bid you all good evening."
Sir Harris pushed himself back from the table and rose to make for the door, before calling out over his shoulder.
"Jonah, please remember to keep my riding cloak separate from the other garments. There's like to be a chill in the air on the morrow."
Jonah nodded with eyes downcast to the floor with humiliation. Alwyn clenched his fist, making to rise as Harris turned back towards the exit. A warning look and slight shake of the head from Lawrence kept him in his seat.
"Cunt." Nathaniel muttered.
A raucous, choking snore turned all eyes towards Barney as he rocked from his slumber, shooting up in his seat as if electrified.
"Ho there lads, must've dozed forra moment there. What've I mished?"
He turned bleary eyes at each knight in turn.
"Lawrence! When did joo gettere?"