Zaiden's eyebrows lifted.  He hadn't considered that the camel might become unsettled by the ascent.  He dismounted, standing beside the animal and holding its reins.

Sir Lardin patted the thick neck of the giant sheep he rode.  "Not without training, no.  But our Rams have Iron hearts and are better trained than most scholars,"he declared proudly.  "And Bryddian warhorses are but a short span second in discipline.  It is only farmers and foreigners who need to fret over their mounts." Lardin cast his gaze over the camels, a look which seemed to disdain their ilk.

Zaiden doubted Sir Lardin's boast was quite as true as he wanted them to believe, but he did observe that the Ram stood impassively throughout the long elevation.  His own camel fidgeted in clear discomfort, but did not make a scene.  Zara's camel was serene as a saint, of course.  She'd been with that beast since she'd been a tiny girl, and it often seemed she merely had to silently wish that it might do something for it to comply. 

Zaiden himself had no special affinity for one camel over another, and so he had not built such a rapport with his own mount.  Still, it was a noble's beast, and it had been trained to endure the chaos of the battlefield.  That was enough to keep it from becoming an embarrassment.

As they ascended past the Fort walls, Zaiden could see the ten peasants pushing the large capstan that operated the lift.  It was an interesting system, like the world's largest dumb-waiter.  A lever locked their elevation in place while some of the men moved to a long tiller that, when pushed, directed the crane to swivel.  The platform swung over the wall, and then the final descent began.  Back to the capstan, the peasants backed the rope and pulley mechanism down until the platform occupants were on the ground within the Fort's courtyard.

"Impressive," Zaiden remarked honestly.   The entire ascent had taken some ten minutes.  But it would have been an hour trying to ascend via the elaborate stairwell that looped around the hill.  

Sir Lardin basked in that single word of appreciation for a moment, content that he'd impressed the barbarian visitors, before leading them into the Fort proper.  It had begun existence as a small keep, was expanded over generations into a castle, and yet still carried the name of a Fort.  Even inanimate objects could have long and storied lives.  Zaiden tried to count the guards he saw standing around on the walls and visible through the windows of towers.  He got up to fifty, just from his current vantage point, before he was ushered into the Fort proper.

The dark rock of the Blackfort gave its interior a dour and vaguely unpleasant aesthetic.  The stone seemed to drink the waning sunlight along with any candlelight and torchlight burning inside the building, giving everything a dimly lit quality.  Shadows seemed to loom in every corner. 

Finally, they came to the Great Hall of the Fort, which might have as easily been the throne room of a lesser King.  Indeed, the great seat of the hall was itself equivalent to a throne.  A pale, elderly figure sat upon the big black chair, which was canted slightly to one side.  

Zaiden instantly recognized the insult.   With the chair canted to the side, the arrivals would be standing at the left side of the Lord on the throne.   The least-favored side.  Had this Lord wanted to greet them as equals, he'd have situated the chair straight-on.  But this way, the envoys from Draavos would be at his disfavored side.  Well, such subtle political insults were preferable to an assassination attempt.

Sir Lardin announced everyone, and proved that he had thoroughly read the scroll he'd briefly handled.  "My Lord, I present envoys from the Draavosi Raj of Al-Ador:  His noble grandchildren, Lord Zaiden ibn Azak, and Lady Zara bint Mazul, crossing our lands at the invitation of his Highness, Master of the Five Dutchies, Protector of the Realm, our beloved King."

Then Sir Lardin turned to the twins, "Honored Envoys, I present the Reeve Piotr Mindolin, Lord of the Blackfort."

Zaiden regarded the frail figure on the throne.  So, this was not the Lord of the March, but a lesser Lord who commanded this fortification.  Probably an Uncle of the Marquis.  He held the noble rank of Reeve, which was a heritable knighthood among the Bryddian people.  If this old man had any sons, then they would inherit this position after he passed on.  Which could be any time now, by the looks of things.

The old man spoke, and as he did so, servants appeared with trays of bread, salt, and wine.  "You are received as guests at the Blackfort, and are under my protection.  But be warned.  Though you be envoys, and guests, and at invitation of our King, any violation of honor shall be dealt with by exile.  And exile from this stronghold is much more rapid than entry into it."

Zaiden took a piece of moist bread, dipped it into a saucer of salt, and placed it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before taking a goblet of wine and sipping from it.   Offering food to guests was a common practice throughout most human lands, even beyond the borders of this Kingdom.  But salt?  It was worth its weight in gold in Draavos.  A commoner might work from dawn to dusk for enough salt to keep him alive throughout a week.   Here, they gave it away on saucers.  So, Brydd was wealthy in water, wealthy in salt, wealthy in lush growth and fertile fields, wealthy in the finest quarried stone.  

It seemed they were paupers only in their lack of magic.

Zaiden bowed after consuming the offering.   "We are honored to be received into the Blackfort, and to accept your protection, Lord Reeve.  Rest assured, our comportment shall conform to the utmost heights of honor, and we shall keep the tranquility of your great House."

It was a better response than this man deserved, considering he'd just threatened to throw them over the side of his castle.

Longshot

Darklingfae

Zaiden tried to count the guards he saw standing around on the walls and visible through the windows of towers. He got up to fifty, just from his current vantage point, before he was ushered into the Fort proper.

Akris fell into step beside Zaiden and spoke low. "Don't be concerned with the numbers you can see. This may be every soldier in the garrison staying awake to impress us. That's a trick even we use on occasion to intimidate our enemies..." Akris' eyes move along the various people he could see in the windows. "...For all we know, those may be servants and farmers stuffed into cloaks and helmets."

Akris moved off to the side as the twins entered the main chamber. He looked around, then focused his attention on the man in the chair. He watched as servants approached with the food and was impressed with the salt. "Taking a man's salt" was usually a sign of servitude for mercenaries and soldiers, but it was also a social contract for guests. Akris dipped two fingers into the salt and lightly touched it to his lips and forehead without eating it. He figured the Reeve was unfamiliar with his ways and assumed this was some Barbaric gesture to our "Primitive Gods". Akris was content to let the man remain ignorant.

Thankfully there was no actual incident or embarrassment brought to their group on the way up. The camels kept their calmness and in a matter of a handful of minutes they were back on solid ground. She remained quiet as her brother and their bodyguard discussed their foes' security and protections. Nothing that overly interested her, as she knew that they had already won the battle. Their foes just hadn’t realized it. Brydd lost the moment they allowed them to walk inside their borders.

The insults kept being hurled at them, but yet her brother kept the diplomatic mask perfectly. He hadn't let the mask slip once, not with the subtle jab of the thorne chair set up, or the salt being served to them. Or even the fact that it was a lesser noble that greeted them. No, her brother kept his poise and had politeness ooze out from each word he spoke, and how he held his posture. 

Threats and slurs aside, the castle had a darkness to it. Zara had been expecting something more, light and grandiose. Perhaps this was just the area they took people they thought less of, or maybe despite all the wealth and grandstanding done, Mindolin was hiding something dark and sinister. She wouldn’t be surprised. For one to so callously prey upon the weak, that took true evil.

Zara looked at the offering of bread, salt, and wine. She waited for the others to take them before she took her own, men were served first, women last. She remained silent, just a small shy smile on her face, while she let her brother speak for them. He would be the voice, and she would look pretty, beauty and the beast. 

Brydd didn’t need to know who the real beast was. 

That revelation would come in time. 

Everything in due time.

Cubanwriter

Longshot

Zaiden considered Akris' earlier words as he stood in the grand hall of the Blackfort.

The man was wise.  There was considerable overlap between the arts of Diplomacy and War.  Both professions relied heavily on misdirection to achieve their ends.  The goal was frequently to convince the opponent to make a miscalculation based on incomplete or misrepresented information.

Hmm... if that was true, perhaps Zaiden might have a facility for war strategy that he barely suspected... and perhaps Akris might unexpectedly be a good diplomat.

In another life.

On the canted throne, the Lord Reeve Piotr spoke again, "I am holding a High Dinner in honor of your visit.  It will be in two hours.  Enough time for you to wash the stink of your journey away, I trust.  A servant will show you to your suite.  I will speak with Sir Lardin."

Zaiden bowed again, and then followed a servant down the darkened halls of the Blackfort.  Black stone corridors, black stone steps, black stone wherever they went.  Every candle and window seemed to struggle against the stone in a perpetual, losing battle.   The light of the late afternoon trickled weakly into the rooms and passages of the building, like a dying man pawing ineffectually at his murderer.  In some places, cover stones attempted to display some quality other than blackness, but even these tiles and stones were dressed in dull and dark earth-tones that only granted false hope against the dying of the light.

Finally, they had been led to the suite of rooms they would call their own.  Three adjacent bed-chambers connected by an internal door, along with a bathroom that contained a large tub and an ample supply of water.  But these were details which Zaiden did not take in.  Not at first.

He waited with his sister outside the suite, letting Akris go first.  It was unlikely that an assassin would be waiting to slay them inside.  However, Akris had his duty and role, just as they all did.

Upon penetrating the interior, Akris would find well-appointed bedrooms and furnishings.  Bundles had already been brought here from the camels at the foot of the hill.  It seemed likely that these bundles had already been searched by their hosts.  In separating the Masters from the Servants using the limited capacity of the lift, the Bryddians of Mindolin had created a situation where they might intimidate and even force the remaining servants to do their bidding.   

Only one guard stood there at the foot of the hill with the remaining seven camels, left to contend with the whole of the Blackfort forces.  But at least that solitary guard had managed one thing:  The diplomatic packages set aside for the King of Brydd were not here.  That one camel's contents had not been taken, transported, searched, or disturbed.   Perhaps the servants and their lone guard had only been able to properly protect one thing.  If so, they had chosen well.  And it was not surprising.  No amount of intimidation or persuasion would allow that guard to value the diplomatic packages any less than his own life.

But something else was amiss in this suite of rooms, something Akris would surely soon discover.

A man, concealed in a closet behind a dark tapestry.  A huddled, frightened, bearded figure in dark robes.

"Master!  Please don't slay me!"

Akris watched as the twins came to a stop at the doors to the suite. He gave a nod to them and passed through into the room. He stopped a few paces inside and froze. His eyes drifted shut...letting his senses flow out from him and taking in all the rooms. Akris' head turned one way slightly, then the other and he took a few more steps. He turned and followed his senses...his nose wrinkling slightly as a hand drifted into his robe, coming out with one of his daggers as he moved one hand behind him to wave at the twins to follow him into the suite.

Akris followed the scent and moved toward a door. The assassin paused a moment then yanked the door open, stepping in smoothly as a shape started to straighten from behind a tapestry. Akris's body slammed him against the wall and his blade rested against the throat...not quite cutting open the flesh but it did leave a fine red line on the skin. Akris evaluated the threat and decided not to kill...for now.

Akris kept the dagger ready and twisted the man's arm behind him. Turning and forcing him ahead of him back into the main room of the suite. A shove sent him sprawling facedown in front of the twins, but not close enough for him to make any moves. Akris stood to one side but in a spot between the intruder and the twins. He looked at them and nodded at the man on the floor.

"It is amazing how many people do not understand the necessity of regular bathing..."

"I am holding a High Dinner in honor of your visit.  It will be in two hours.  Enough time for you to wash the stink of your journey away, I trust.  A servant will show you to your suite.  I will speak with Sir Lardin."

Dismissed with barely veiled disdain, their presence was pushed aside for more important matters. She had grown up hearing the stories of Brydd’s cruelty and coldness, but it was something else to see it first hand. The egotistical importance that the Lord Reeve Piotr oozed was enough to make Zara’s stomach roll. The audacity of the man was something that she would love to see ground into tiny pieces. 

The trek to get here took more than the mere 10 days by camel, it was the life times of her ancestors, half-a-century in the making, and Zara’s patience was waning very thin. All of that rage she had to just push deep down. She kept quiet while they made their way to the rooms. Everything was so depressing, the entire place just appeared to be full of despair and darkness. For a country so rich and wealthy, the sun didn’t shine very much inside. 

If she had been in better humor she would have found some kind of metaphor to that, but all Zara wanted right now was a nice hot bath, to wash away all the travels and troubles. Perhaps the hot water could help ease the tension she felt coiled inside of her… though for that it would need to be very hot indeed.

Zara barely held herself back, but grudgingly allowed their bodyguard to do his job. She had been sure that Brydd wouldn’t be so idiotic as to have assassins in their room. No, she was sure that any kind of danger would be found at the tourney, a better way to mask the murder of diplomats by an “accident” in the arena.  And then, only after the King had heard what they would have to offer. 

She tapped her foot, while Akris actually found something. No, someone. Zara looked over the elder, and thought the entire thing was some kind of test. Probably Brydd wanted them to kill this stranger, would end up being some important person, and they would find their excuse to throw them all off the ledge. 

A trap, not an eloquent one, but a trap nonetheless.

Zara sighed softly, and frowned over at Akris, she then boldly stepped up to the old man. She reached out with the sleeve of her robe and gently pressed the silk to the man’s wound, wiping the blood.

“My apologies, dear sir, our friend is not used to the ways in your country. You are the greeter to our rooms, I assume. Here, let me help clean up your wound, why don’t you sit, and can I offer you a drink?”

She curtsied to the elder, “I’m sorry, my manners. It has been a long trek here you surely can understand. I’m Zara bint Mazul, this here is my brother Zaiden ibn Azak. And you have met our bodyguard, Akris Maleos.”

@[Cubanwriter]

Longshot

Zaiden watched silently as his sister offered succor to the strange bearded man.

It was her talent.  She could use kindness or cruelty as a weapon, sometimes with one sheathing the other.  Men and women had both unfolded themselves to her charms, and paid the price for exposing their naked breasts to a deadly barb. 

Zaiden had also seduced his fair share, but he did not have the same talent of making someone believe he was truly tender.  No one could feign an honest and true heart the way his sister could.

The bearded fellow looked up from the floor, his eyes full of gratitude at her tender ministrations.

"My Lady, your kindness is beyond measure.  I am Rustio Debril.  For years, I served here as a steward of the grounds.  It was a job made easier due to the heritage of my grandmother.  She was an exile from the Fae Lands to the Northwest.  She met my grandfather, and they made a life.  But her blood has passed on abilities considered unnatural in these lands.  I have a talent for the earth, the soil, the stones.  A... magical talent.  Passed through the blood.

I also have a brother.  He turned from a wholesome life, and used his gifts for ill.  The Church of Ceros caught up to him, their Templars and Inquisitors torturing him until he named his family as co-conspirators.  An order came to seize all of his bloodline and test them for magic, and I was tracked to this place.  Even now, a Templar of the Inquisitorius scours the March, seeking me out, using this very Fort as his base.  My knowledge of the Blackfort has allowed me to remain hidden, but not to escape.  Sooner or later, I will be found.

I have heard that the lands of the East do not shun magicians, and may even value them.   I pray that your pity and kindness may extend further.   Take me from this place, and I will serve you loyally until the end of my days.   I only want to live a life.  A life outside of the dungeons, tortures, and vile execution that the Church will surely bring upon me.

I beg you.  Pity me, kind Draavosi!"

Zaiden glanced to Akris, wondering what the man thought of this.

Then he looked to his sister.

"Taking a fugitive may be considered a violation of Guest Rites," he said.

Longshot

Darklingfae

Akris stood nearby, his arms crossed so the dagger was very visible, reminding this man that he was most definitely not safe yet, regardless of how nice Zara was being to him. He listened to the man's story and his head tilted. It was just strange enough to be true, otherwise why waste the energy in thinking up such a fairy tale. He glanced up as the twin brother spoke.

"Yes, but if you feel he may be useful, I suspect one servant looks very much like another when placed into the robes of one from Draavos. I have noticed our hosts seem to judge and dismiss very quickly."

Zara listened to the old man make his formal introductions to them. She didn’t know if he spoke the truth or not. It could still be a trap, one set up for them to fall into. But someone his wounds rang true in her ears. Him being a magic user wasn’t unsettling, the fact his entire family was being rooted out and murdered because of magic in their blood wasn’t unsettling. No the most unsettling information he gave was the fact one of these magic murderers was here, in the fort.

That was very troubling. She doubted it was a coincidence that this Templar was using the fort as his base, when their diplomatic party arrived. This so-called Knight was probably an assassin sent to kill them. Looks like Arkis won’t be bored after all.

Her brother of course gave his wise advice on the situation.

“Taking a fugitive may be considered a violation of Guest Rites," he said

More surprises came at Zara, when Arkis gave his opinion.

"Yes, but if you feel he may be useful, I suspect one servant looks very much like another when placed into the robes of one from Draavos. I have noticed our hosts seem to judge and dismiss very quickly."

Now that was surprising, she had been sure that their bodyguard would be staunchly opposed to trusting the old man, let alone giving him sanctuary. 

Zara smiled kindly over to the old man, as she poured a glass of water for him. “Well Mr. Debril, you are correct that our homelands do not shun magic, as other places do.”

“Do forgive us if we may seem a bit apprehensive of your tale. You must understand that if what you say is true, we would all be putting our lives at stake to assist you.”

“How do we know you can even do magic? Can you perhaps give us some kind of demonstration?”

Zara already knew what her response would be, but she knew that they had to act out this play, one couldn’t skip to the end, where would the fun be in that?

Cubanwriter

Longshot

Rustio bowed his head, "Forgive me, my Lady, my Lords.   I realize I am asking much, and that my mere presence here places you in some peril.  I am ashamed that my fear of torture and death has imposed upon you."

He reached out with one hand, "I can prove that what I say is true."

For a moment, he simply knelt there with his outstretched hand.  Then something uncanny seemed to occur.  It seemed in an instant that Rustio had six fingers on the outstretched hand rather than five.  Zaiden had not seen a transition.  The extra finger hadn't been there.  And then it was.  

A warping of physical form was not entirely uncommon with the descendants of Faelanders, or so Zaiden's research had informed him.  The faelanders were creatures of glamours and illusions, and those who shared their bloodline often carried unusual malformities that were normally obscured.  Only in moments where their magical energies were diverted could such traits be detected.  The divergent blood revealed.

As they watched, a single block of the dark marble that tiled the floor was lifted up, breaking free from its surrounding mortar.  Then it floated up in the air in front of the magician.  The block must have weighed at least twenty pounds, and who could tell how much force was needed to pry it loose from its place in the floor?

Zaiden stepped forward, reaching out to take the block.  For a moment, he felt a countering force holding it in place, but it quickly released the block once Zaiden took hold of it.   It was real.  It had substance.  Texture.  Weight.

"No mere illusion," Zaiden noted.  "How many stones can you move, Rustio?  How much weight?"

Rustio shrugged, "I use this power when tending gardens.  Sometimes a stone or a quantity of soil must be moved.  If given a few moments... I could move hundreds of pounds of material.  Perhaps thousands, if I was given the time."  

Zaiden blinked, before bending to replace the block in the floor.  It pressed mostly into position, hardly giving a sign that it had been removed.

"This man could disassemble castle walls.  Or cause the ground to swallow infantry or mounted horse.  No wonder the Faithful of Ceros fear him and his ilk."

 Zaiden looked to his sister.

"He is not too old to breed.  He could be assigned a harem.  We could grow an army of Fire and Earth."

Longshot

Darklingfae