literature

The Crownless King of the West.ch 9

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9. At the Darkest Hour


Most of the White Army had already been welcome in Saldamede. When the Duke had arrived, more welcome was afforded along with the line of provisions that were distributed on the account of the royal treasury. Trade was now busy in the sister cities, coming from round the fringe settlements close to Meridian. Commerce had brought folk between the different regions together for the first time in several seasons.
A name for the procession became the Train of Pork and Wine. Between the several carts and pack mules, there rode one man in purple gear. His way was made with haste toward the city. No question was raised to him being rude at all when he gave no greeting or any word at all to anyone on his way. In his care was the letter entrusted to him for the Duke's eyes only.
Within the same tavern as she was in before, Nightingale found herself no longer in loathsome company. She only began then to dismantle how she felt, and how difficult it would have been to foresee sitting with the Duke. Her hunger was strangely satiated, and her mug of ale was untouched most the evening. Her eyes gazed back on Fairword. As he gave story after story, it seemed there was no need there at all. Worry itself seemed to leave the thinking of everyone there in spite of knowing what lay ahead of them. Nightingale then startled when she realized what story Fairword began telling.
"—and there she was. Side by side with some Yellow Knight who befriended her. Nightingale against the Orange Knights. The horde would have filled this whole tavern. It was like they came all the way from the East just to kill Nightingale over revenge for a fallen brother of Grimheld the Whirlwind. You should have seen how she dealt with the one who first talked with her. It was a wonder if he ever made it back to his horse. Or maybe he's just now waking up back at the North Tower?"
Admiring smiles were brought to many faces from the story. For a moment even the Duke seemed amused. After taking a firm sip of ale, he nodded and gripped the table with his hand close to his sword.
"Then it truly was Grimheld the Whirlwind who came to me about some matter of a Black Knight." said the Duke. Fairword almost startled when he remembered how the rest of that evening played out. "All he asked for was a sword that belonged to his brother. It was a wonder how I could have had it before he arrived. It is not every day Grimheld the Whirlwind drops by the High Keep of the West, asking for a sword of all things. Have any of you heard of the Black Knights they deal with in the other realms?
The Duke's question was met with dumbed (or uninformed) silence. Fairword looked to Nightingale and raised his mug. In turn, she raised hers. This feeling was not something Nightingale wanted to let go of, as her eyes were on Fairword. They drank and found their minds elsewhere from food and drink. Eventually, the eyes of the Duke were on Fairword again.
"Remind me, Fairword, what your honor as a Red Knight was." said the Duke. Before an answer, honest or otherwise could be given, the door sprang open letting in a cold hellacious wind from outside. All looked to see the lone messenger in purple, bearing an Eastern bronze badge of the Duchess. He scanned the room until he spotted the Duke, then approached bowing before him beside the stool.
"Duke Beihlsherum. Urgent news from the High Keep." said the messenger. At once, the Duke carefully arose and accepted the letter. "By authority of the Elder Council and of her majesty, Duchess Ujalana, these are the terms you are to deliver to Backlash the Usurper."
His eyes less dismal than what many would have thought, the Duke gazed upon the messenger for a moment. The messenger bowed lower as he was. Nodding, the Duke opened the letter and began to read. Within the tavern, no one spoke above very few conjecturing whispers. In a moment, the Duke caught his own expression at the sight of what the words on the parchment suggested.
"It would hardly seem anyone has truly been usurped as of yet. Least of all the elders. Or my beloved Duchess." said the Duke. The messenger gazed upward from bowing until the Duke shook his hand toward him. Then the messenger left just as quickly as he came. Contemplation was between the Duke's desire to reach for his mug. Instead, he reached for his wallet and payed the bar keep. All eyes were still on him.
"There are matters your Duke is required to dwell upon this night." said the Duke. He moved toward the door, and his entourage got up to move with him. They stopped as he raised his hand. "Enjoy comfort to the full tonight. Then mind the morrow. Such comforts may be much harder to come by in morrows to come."
No one made a sound as the Duke continued for the door. The escorts continued along with him. Nightingale gazed at him, yet his eyes were drawn elsewhere. Sound and sight of who and why were there came to the mind of the Duke, and of suddenly being without. Part of him wanted to finish the mug he left behind. Instead, the Duke adjusted his collar for the cold, then left without another word.
Returning her gaze upon Fairword, the two eventually drank deep. All the rest had also turned uncomfortably back to their food. The night waned as the Duke pondered. Even as he did so, there came yet another messenger. He came from the East, catching sight of the Duke's entourage.
"My Duke. My liege! Urgent news!" cried the messenger.
Duke withheld his frustration with a rampart of silence as he looked to the messenger, and motioned with his hand to allow him to approach.
"Sire. By the cold of dark. Flintshoe has abandoned his post. Possibly defected." said the messenger. The weight of this news drew the Duke's breath loudly through his nostrils. He tapped the letter still in his hand against his fingers. "And. The East Tower has fallen."
"Dawn will give us strength by the morrow." said the Duke. Considering what he said last in the tavern, he looked anxiously for a brief moment toward the moon in the sky. It was the darkest hour yet of the night.
"Oh my Duke. Guard your words, I beg of you." said the messenger. At this the Duke turned a frightful look toward him. "Sire. It happened in broad daylight. To say such a thing in the face of the full report, they might believe Dawn is whom gives strength to Backlash."
"Dawn does not give him strength. Not anymore." said the Duke. His eyes were dark, and complexion unkept for several days since leaving Meridian. "He has given all of what Dawn gave him—even what I've given him, to something else entirely."
After a moment of thought, the Duke motioned to his Third Guard.
"Telren. Every tavern is to be closed tonight. I only hope before I reach a bed for the first time since we left the Keep." said the Duke.
Fairword was about to break the silence between Nightingale. They had even ordered another round. Then the door burst open once more. Few pondered over why a stray Purple Knight would come walking in at this time. It became much less than even obvious the reason, as he gave little time for anyone to greet him as a guest.
"The taverns are to be closed. Immediately." said Telren. Before the groans got louder, he accosted them. "You heard your Duke. Mind the morrow. It may be our last."
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