Chapter 65: Callisto

The rain had stopped but the sky remained covered with clouds in various shades of gray. The light on the city, as the knights proceeded down the road from the southern gate to the castle, was also gray and prone to deep shadows. The whole procession seemed somber and a bit unreal. It wasn’t unusual for knights to be proceeding in tight formation down the north and south roads, but the townspeople stopped to watch them pass just the same. It was evident merely from the steady, lugubrious pace that this was not a normal procession.

The castle loomed large in the distance, its parapets reaching for the sky. Even in the dim light of the cloudy sky, the castle seemed to glow with its own pale light. The castle had long, thin towers stretching from each nominal corner, each made of a pure white substance. What the substance was couldn’t be discerned from this distance. Somewhere in the middle of the structure were two more towers. Both were slightly taller than the ones on the corners, but the farthest tower was larger than the nearer of the two. Each tower was covered with a roof composed of tiles of a bright greenish blue. The corner towers had slim flags draped half-way down the thin, round structures, hanging from just under the teal conical spires. The flags were of a deep purple field with a golden sun above a scepter crossing from the lower left to the upper right and a crown surmounting it in the middle. The two towers in the center were unadorned.

The base of the castle seemed to be a rough square. There were some edges and shadows which spoke to its irregularity, however. Thin, barred windows were sprinkled on the building unevenly, with the windows on the upper floors significantly wider than those on the lower floors. Each tower had a single window facing them, though some that were half-hidden around the bend of the circular towers spoke of windows existing in the four cardinal directions. Somewhere in the middle of it all was a stout, squarish building with multi-colored windows in its upper reaches. A fairly large roof of the same teal color rose above the building.

“The story goes that the first castle to sit here was made of stone,” Ataya’s soft words whispered through the gated window between the carriage and driver’s bench. “It was sacked by dwarves in the second War of the Races and lied in ruin at the end of the war. The King of the time, I think his name was Pepron, ordered the land cleared so it could be rebuilt. When the land was cleared and the plans were drawn, however, the King’s Mage, in a single day, raised this from the depths of the mountain. The walls are made of a hardened quartzite that seems to be impenetrable. The city was then built around the castle and normal walls were raised to surround the city. It has never fallen, not even in the third War of the Races.”

“It is ... impressive,” Yren remarked absently, his eyes still on the castle.

“I think that was the point,” Ataya chuckled. “Listen, when we get to the castle, we’ll be taken to a set of rooms to ‘prepare’ to meet my mom and dad. Baths will be prepared, and clothing laid out for each of the travelers. I need you to bathe but ignore the clothing. Wear your armor – but leave your swords in storage. Only the First and Second Platoons are allowed weapons in a room with my mom and dad.”

“There’s a certain order to these things,” Ataya continued. “At first, while the rest of us bathe, mother will meet with Honors Kotliss and Hawksley privately so Gillen can give her official report. After, as Gillen bathes and prepares, mom and dad will formally meet with your mom and sisters – and Chugad and Bremer and so on – in the throne room to thank them. After this, that group will all be seated in the gallery of the throne room and the Knottline Guards will be received. Finally, Honor Hawksley, Sar Troel and Sir Beffing, as the Third Platoon – my Platoon – will escort me, Mulet, Caprice, Audette and Ilzu to the throne room where I’ll be welcomed back and can introduce Audette and Ilzu to mother.”

“They’re going to want you to go with your mother and sisters,” Ataya continued. “It is imperative that you go with Uud and Syl instead. If they get too adamant, tell them to see me or Gillen and we’ll take care of it. You are my champion, so you need to escort me and allow me to introduce you to mom and dad.”

“Okay,” Yren agreed dubiously.

“It’s going to be fine, Yren,” Ataya with a faint smile. “We just have to observe the proper protocol. I’ll switch back with Bena now.”

A few dozen yards ahead of them, Honor Kotliss lead his platoon, riding stoically through the center of the road, the twenty knights under his command riding five abreast behind him. He carried his pennon on a long wooden pole pointing up into the sky, its maroon flag with a golden shield embossed in the center flapping in the firm breeze. The hooves of the knights’ horses seemed to strike as one, making an almost single thud as they rode forward. Even through the frequent puddles, the strike of hooves was nearly a single, pounding sound.

Behind the first platoon and at a slight distance, Gillen rode her horse, her uplifted visor showing her eyes looking straight ahead. Her face was firm, though there were tears streaming down her face. Her pennon, similar to the one Kotliss held, was on a long pole but she carried it parallel to the ground. The flag was a dark blue and it, too, had a golden shield but crossed atop the shield were a pair of long swords also embossed in gold.

Behind her, their eyes locked straight ahead, Sar Troel and Sir Beffing rode side by side. Uud’s eyes were watery, but Syl couldn’t stop the tears streaming down her face. They were stiff in their saddles, swaying not an inch, as their horses moved forward with sure gait. Unlike the First Platoon, the Third Platoon’s horses were out of synch, however.

A small distance behind Syl and Uud, Torus Oloid rode. He was not armored, dressed plainly in a thick, black coat and plain, brown pants. Like Honor Kotliss and Honor Hawksley, he carried a long, wooden pole surmounted with the pennon for the Fourteenth Platoon, a black flag with a mounted knight embossed in silver. Like Honor Hawksley, he carried the pole horizontal to the ground, signifying the loss of life within the platoon.

A respectful distance behind, the remaining eighteen Knottline guard rode in. They held no pennons but otherwise their formation was fashioned after the knights, with Lieutenant Kevold Winnaker riding in the middle of the road followed by the guards riding five abreast in three rows with the fourth row holding only two guards. They signified the loss of their compatriots with a black band wrapped around their upper, left arms.

A bit behind the Knottline Guard, Yren rode just before the rear of the procession, driving the Princess’ coach and fully encased in his signature blue armor. Like the knights in front of him, he had his visor lifted so his face was plainly visible. Dakin Oovert rode a horse next to the carriage but both men kept their eyes forward. Both men moved little, though Yren loosely held the reins of the four horses pulling the carriage.

Behind Yren, the second coach was driven by Sir Givens. As Yren, Sir Givens wore his full armor. Yren and Tergin had a slight argument when they were mounting up. Yren thought, as a true knight, Sir Givens should drive the Princess’ carriage, but the retired knight resoundingly disagreed. Gillen had finally settled the matter by pointing out that, as the princess’ champion, it was Yren’s duty to drive her coach.

The second carriage was not nearly as crowded as the first, with only Elva, Issa and Chugad within it. Despite his protests, Bremer rode with her father on the driver’s bench. Teran and Ranger Scollaw rode on their horses just behind the second coach, bringing up the very rear.

Having switched with the princess, Bena looked out from the window between the coach and the driver’s seat at the gathering crowd, frequently allowing Vestra to peer out. Audette sat on the side of Bena and Ilzu on the side of Vestra, both women peeking surreptitiously through the carriage’s ventilation holes.

Opposite them, Ataya sat in the middle of the bench seat, her mind elsewhere and her eyes cast downward. The princess was unusually silent, though Mulet and Caprice, who sat on either side of her and were openly drawing the curtain covering the barred window open so they could see the crowds outside, were making up for her silence. The two were laughing and pointing, obviously happy to finally be home.

The palace faced east and the thick stone walls surrounding it had a single gate in that direction. The gate was massive, easily stretching forty feet into the air. It was made of long, thick, squared-off logs of iron pine, held together every few feet by thick bands of gauss-steel. Coming from the south, the group had to turn right onto the Palace Road which was a long, roughly circular road which encircled the palace. Then, after a quarter way around the palace, they turned left, into the gate. They rode slowly and in near silence as they made the turns necessary to arrive at the castle’s main gate.

By convention, the First of the First stopped the knights sharply fifteen feet from the main gate, with the rest of the procession stopping at the same time. The approaching knights and carriage made for a fairly long convoy, snaking back and just around the corner onto the Palace Road. Some few of the townspeople had followed the procession, talking in hushed whispers, which made the line a bit longer.

“Who approaches the gate?” A knight with a deep, booming voice asked from the top of the palace wall. It was a ritual that had been repeated since time immemorial. Most visitors were not met with such fanfare. In fact, any knights riding to the palace singly would not be so greeted. Only one or more platoon of knights riding to the palace were greeted in this way. Instead of the massive castle gates, individual visitors would use two metal, reinforced doors on either side of the gates.

“Honor Byrn Kotliss, First of the First,” Kotliss bellowed, playing his part in the ritual.

“I recognize you, Honor Kotliss,” the knight yelled loudly. “Who do you bring with you?”

“The First Platoon, Third Platoon, Fourteenth Platoon, the crown princess and her entourage, sir knight.”

“Welcome, Honor Kotliss and retinue,” the knight exclaimed loudly. He turned. “Open the gates for the returning knights!”

---- ∞ ----

<It’s HERE!> Alia yelled loudly in her mind. She could literally feel the arcane power moving through Callisto. It wasn’t being used but after searching for it for so long, she was attuned to it and could easily feel it moving just outside the palace gates.

<What’s here, sona?> Tryl questioned. Alia was outside in the garden. The younger elf had always preferred the outdoors. Tryl was about fifty to sixty feet away, in the room she shared with Alia but such distance was insignificant to the mental call of the elves. The ambassador was busy reviewing maps of Wenland.

<The source!>

That got Tryl’s attention. She immediately stood, knocking one of the maps to the ground. Ignoring it, she went outside.

Proximity wasn’t necessary for elves to speak en’cameral. While the distance a mind could be heard varied from elf to elf, nearly all could speak and listen for at least a quarter mile, and most were even able to use the ability for nearly a half mile. For this talk, though, Tryl felt she needed to be nearer her granddaughter.

<How far out?> Tryl asked. <How long have you heard it?>

<Just outside the palace, > Alia responded, coming to her feet. Her eyes were wide, and her hand shook just a bit. <Atana, the power is ... it is not being used but still I can feel the very world tremble at it.>

<We need to find it, Alia, > Tryl said. <Can you track it?>

<Maybe, > Alia hesitated. <I think so.>

<You’ll have to try, > Tryl said grimly.

Tryl closed her eyes and shouted out from her mind. <Byr. Voryn. Debor. Kiva. Meet us in the garden at once.>

<Then you’ve heard?> Kiva asked, closing quickly along one of the garden paths.

<Heard what?> Tryl asked.

<The princess has returned, > Kiva responded questioningly. <I thought that was why you wanted us here.>

<The princess is here?> Tryl asked. <Where?>

<Just outside the palace gate, > Kiva responded in confusion. <I overheard some humans talking about her entering the city gate and I came this way to inform you our time had run out. Several humans were rushing the other way. One of them said she was being admitted to the palace gate.>

Tryl turned to Alia, her eyes wide and her face worried. <The princess is at the gate and the source is at the gate? Is it possible the princess is the source? Or maybe someone in her party?>

<I don’t know, grandmother, > Alia said hesitantly. <It’s possible.>

<Wait, > Kiva said, turning to look back and for the between the two. <The source is here as well?>

“Excuse me,” the Queen’s Head Chamberlain interrupted from a respectful distance. She was puzzled at the three elves just standing there, looking at each other. She knew elves were strange, but this went somewhere beyond strange.

Tryl’eur’fallon’amet San’kiltor’a’mgua nearly choked. It was extremely rare for a human to be able to sneak up on elves. She could only credit her preoccupation with the source potentially being among the princess’ retinue.

“Apologies, Goodwoman Agount,” Try said, regaining herself almost immediately. “We ... er ... heard news that the princess had returned.”

“Oh, then you already know,” Mirella Agount replied with a smile. “Well, the Queen and King request the pleasure of your company during the reception of her royal highness, Princess Ataya Wehran, in one hour. Court dress is requested. I’ll send Kital to get you in forty-five minutes?”

“Is the invitation only for me or may I bring the rest of my colleagues?” Tryl asked, bowing her head slightly.

“For all of you, Ambassador San,” Mirella said with a smile. While definitely weird, they’d always been unfailingly polite.

“Thank you,” Try responded. “We’ll be ready in forty-five minutes.”

---- ∞ ----

She opened the door soundlessly and watched the man sleep. He was still thin, she noted, though he’d filled out a little. He looked less like an animated cadaver at least. She knew fourteen days wasn’t enough to regain the weight he’d lost, but she’d certainly hoped he’d look better than he did. Her servants reported he’d been better the past few days, but he still tired quickly and took frequent naps. For a brief, irrational moment she wished she could grant him more time to rest but the feeling passed quickly.

For the millionth time in the past two weeks, she had to remind herself that he was a useful tool, nothing more.

“Wake up, Hamlade,” she said harshly. She was angry at her weakness. She was angry at the sudden mood shifts and the empathy caused by her pregnancy. As usual, she took it out on others. “You’ve rested your fat ass enough.”

She grew angrier because it was exceptionally obvious the skeletal man was not the least bit fat. She felt her temper fraying and could literally feel her power rising. Her hand trembled at her utter need to crush something – and the man in front of her was quickly rising to the top of her list.

“Master,” Isanto said sleepily, his eyes blinking.

“I said get up, Hamlade,” Darrowyn growled. “Get up and serve your master.”

Isanto tumbled from the bed, his covers wrapped around his legs. He cursed as his knees contacted the hard, stone floors but he didn’t try to unwrap the coverings. Instead, he bent down, his forehead touching the ground at Caniferd’s feet.