“I expect that you will be on your best behavior, Nikolis. I expect that you will have learned from your past transgressions.”
Nikolis nodded despite his fears, and hours later found himself stepping into the Great Hall, his breath almost immediately taken away. It was easily twice the size of the Hall of Houses and had several dark columns that rose high up into the domed ceiling. Intricately designed rugs of reds and purples covered the stone floor, and all about the walls were adorned with large murals, banners, old weaponry, and armor. Nikolis couldn’t believe that a place so beautiful and immense existed in all the realm.
There were several long wooden tables, already being set by servants in dark livery. Alcoves with narrow windows were cut into the walls, housing various ornamentation and devices of all kinds. All about people were moving – sweeping, dusting, and straightening things up.
Two men were positioned on tall scaffolding, hanging a large banner from the center of the room. When the cloth was unfurled, a sinuous white serpent was revealed, winding its way across a field of blue. The White Serpent of House Casserly…
Before arriving at the Great Hall, Nikolis had stopped to see Jak in the practice yard. His friend has asked where he was going in such a hurry, and so Nikolis had told about his duties at the feast. “L-lord Casserly?” Jak had responded, when Nikolis told him who he was to watch.
Nikolis have never before seen his friend so shaken. He nodded.
“They tell stories of him, Nik. Some may call him the White Serpent, but more whisper the name Black Rob Casserly.”
“I heard Raife mention that. What’s it all about?”
“There was a time, many years ago, when two men claimed to be king in the realm. Seaport used to be the throneseat of the southern kingdom, and it was Matthis Casserly, Robert’s older brother, who led the Casserly bannermen in the name of House Ryland.”
“Matthis? I’ve never heard of him.” He had never heard much of Robert until recently, but he didn’t want to look like a fool.
“They say after Matthis took Seaport, he sought a crown of his own. So, King Alginor had him killed. Hung – for treason.”
“Treason?” The thought made Nikolis shiver, though he was already far too familiar with how the king seemed to deal with what he perceived as a threat.
Jak nodded slowly. “Robert pledged fealty after that, but many think he harbors resentment over what happened to his brother. They say he has black moods, yelling and screaming, and beating servants. It’s said that during one of his moods he even threw his wife off of a tower wall, into the sea. Years later a chambermaid almost suffered a similar fate just because she mentioned a name he did not want to hear.”
Nikolis shook his head. He couldn’t believe it. How could any of that be allowed to happen? Would not someone put a stop to it?
“Be careful, Nik,” Jak said, putting a hand to his arm. “Watch yourself.”
“Black Rob Casserly,” Nikolis mouthed.
“Boy,” a voice sounded from behind him, in the Great Hall. It was an old servant with a broom. Nikolis turned around. “What are you doing here?”
“I…I was sent here by Arthur Drennen,” he said.
“Ahh.” the man replied. “Over there. See the Steward.”
Nikolis spotted Remton across the way, talking to a group of servants. He was giving them orders about where and when to bring certain dishes out. Nikolis made his way over, and patiently waited while the master of the house finished what he was doing.
“Master Drennen sent me.” Nikolis said, when he had finished.
“Ledervane boy?”
Nikolis nodded.
“Hmm. Don’t need you for a few hours yet, but you can wait over there. When the procession starts, you’ll stand along the western wall there, close to the main table. Understand?”
Nikolis looked to where the man indicated, standing on his toes. He nodded.
“Take a seat for now.”
He made his way over to the spot Remton had indicated and stood against the wall. He was afraid to sit, for fear of soiling the new clothes Drennen had given him before he left. A red coat, embroidered with yellow scrollwork, a light shirt, and dark breeches, black boots polished to a sheen.
Tables were brought in, and then even more servants began bustling about. Women in dark livery went about dusting and men carried in chairs and bowls, moved tables, and set cutlery. By the time the feast was about to start his legs were aching.
The sun had set in the sky, and the room was very dark. Despite the fact that several hearths and sconces along the walls were lit, the room was bathed in shadow, only illuminated by gloomy reds and oranges. Several guards were now stationed about the room and servants were setting large dishes of silver on long wooden tables.
A few other children, dressed as he was, were now positioned around the room in various places. He recognized a few of the boys from the practice yard, sons of lesser nobles or town officials. He saw Bryce Laswick across the way, looking very uncomfortable with a sword strapped to his waist. It was at an odd angle, and he kept playing with it, trying to find a comfortable resting position. His sister Lotte was trying to help him; she looked more at ease with the weapon in her hand than he did and was showing her brother what he should do with it.
He couldn’t help but wonder if they too, had someone to watch, or were all of the children keeping an eye on Lord Casserly? The man, after all, was said to be dangerous. Nikolis shivered despite his best attempts to remain calm. Why would a child be set to such a task? Your orders are to keep an especial eye on Lord Casserly, as only a child could. Drennen’s words sounded in his head. A child could go places others could not; they would be nothing to remark upon. It made sense but it didn’t make him feel any more comfortable.
The sun left the horizon entirely, and the room grew even darker. More hearths were lit, and more candles set. Guests were making their way into the hall now; several were seated at the farthest table from the front of the room. He saw more guardsmen make their way in, taking positions every ten feet or so, along the wall. One made his way near to him. It was an older man, who glared at him, set his spear down on the ground, and stood silently, looking off.
Nikolis spotted Arthur Drennen enter after a time. He looked as refined as ever and was now dressed in a velvet coat and leggings of a light, yellowish color. After him came a short, round man in red and white, holding a golden horn. He put the horn to his lips and blew three high trills, then put it to rest. “Presenting his Royal Majesty, Alginor Ryland,” he bellowed. “King of Highkeep and the Coastal Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”
Everyone stood. The old king made his way into the room, looking more together and erect than Nikolis had ever seen him before. He had his high crown of gold on his head and was dressed in a long red robe. Sewn on his chest in golden thread was the crown of his house. There was a gilded sword at his waist and many rings on his fingers. He made his way down the hall, looking noble and regal, before finally slumping in a high-backed chair at a long table at the front of the room. In an instant he went from appearing as the height of nobility, to looking like an exhausted wretch, his chest heaving.
After the king was seated, the herald went on. “Erad Ryland, Son of Alginor, Crown Prince of the Realm and Heir to the Kingdom of Highkeep and the Coastal Kingdoms, escorting his cousin, the Lady Karlene Ryland, daughter of Stafford Ryland, Lord of Westwood.” Erad and Karlene made their way down the aisle. Nikolis used the excuse of staring at Karlene to keep himself from making eye contact with the prince. She looked especially radiant tonight, in a red gown, with a golden band in her hair.
When they were seated to the king’s right, the herald started again. “Lord Robert Casserly, Defender of the Crown, Regent of the South and Lord of Seaport.” Lord Casserly made his way down the aisle, his head held high and his movements graceful. He was wearing a blue tabard sewn with the white serpent and clasped at his throat was a snowy white cape that nearly touched the f
loor. Over his left breast was a black arrow, like the one Lorre had on his tunic, except this one pointed downward instead of to the right. He had a magnificent silver sword at his waist and was wearing thick black gloves.
Lord Casserly took his seat to the left of the king, and the herald continued. “Jonathan Casserly, son of Robert, Heir to the Regency of the South and to the Lordship of Seaport.” A thin boy, a bit older than Nikolis, strolled down the aisle. He had light brown hair and wore a simple jacket of a dark material. He had breeches and boots just as dark, and when he was halfway into the hall he grinned, made a sweeping bow, and then stood and continued toward the front of the room. Erad snickered at this, and when Jonathan took his seat beside his father, the two boys leaned back and were whispering something to one another. Robert glared at his son, to which Jonathan rolled his eyes, folded his hands, and sat in silence.
The herald went on to announce several noblemen and women, Cambers and Laswicks and the like. Nikolis couldn’t keep track of who was who, and he soon forgot the man was even speaking. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of Casserly for long, not out of any sense of duty, but out of pure compulsion. He couldn’t help but wonder if all the stories were true. The man looked so refined with his long black hair, and neatly trimmed beard and mustache. He sat tall and proud, though his expression was certainly stern. Could it all possibly be true? Could any of it?
Finally, the herald finished, and everyone took their seats again. Fresh-baked bread and soup was brought out, the aroma of which made Nikolis’ mouth water. This was quickly followed by another course, which included boiled vegetables and roast pork. More and more courses came after that; roasted duck and chicken, and all sorts of clay carafes filled with dark wines.
Nikolis saw the man that had been introduced as Ricard Penderton, Raife and Lirk’s father no doubt, downing cup after cup of wine, and paying little attention to any of the food in front of him. He had a dark mustache and greying hair that was cut close to the scalp to hide the fact that it was thinning. Seated at the first table adjacent to the king’s, he laughed and joked with those around him, however they seemed to be largely trying to ignore him.
He then saw that same tall, dark-haired boy from his first day as a page, the one that had knocked him over, at the end of a table with a few other children. The children laughed and ate, but the tall boy did not. He only glared and took large gulps of wine. After a time, he looked up and caught Nikolis staring at him, which cause him to glare even more, if that was possible. Nikolis turned away.
As the night wore on, guests laughed and ate and drink, in greater velocity, and with less care. Nikolis caught fragments of conversation here and there, chancing to learn what he could. “If Lord Owyn could yet do away with the raiders, a lot of lives could be saved, and all of us could go to bed at night with a little more comfort,” he heard one man say.
“The situation on the northern front is not his fault,” insisted a man in green. “There are others to blame for that.” He shot the head table a narrow-eyed glance. Nikolis wondered at what it meant, but then the pair stopped talking.
Throughout the evening he hearths were kept roaring and the room remained very warm, though the candles started to burn low and the room grew ever more dim. A few musicians took up seats near the king’s table, and started to play a light, airy tune on fiddle, harp and flute.
Nikolis could see the King and Lord Casserly talking throughout the evening, neither of them looking pleased. Jonathan Casserly had one leg over the arm of his chair and was swaying a cup of wine back and forth as he laughed and joked with Erad. The two of them were in a perpetual state of amusement it seemed, pointing at certain lords or ladies, whispering into each other’s ears, and then degenerating into hysterics. The nobles in question, who noticed the affront, would snort, turn away, and put their noses in the air.
Karlene sat in her seat, eating quietly, and not talking to anyone. She looked at Erad every once in a while, but then only turned back to her plate and took small bites. She seemed bored, or lonely, and Nikolis had the urge to go up to her and say something. He had no idea what though, and it would only get him in trouble anyway. He couldn’t begin to imagine what Drennen would do to him if he approached the royal table.
Off in a corner, past the first table, Nikolis saw another familiar face. Seated at a side table Lorre Ryland was staring into the nearby fire of a hearth. The flames flickered and shadows danced across his face. Nikolis didn’t remember hearing him announced as a guest of the feast, but perhaps he had been, when Nikolis wasn’t paying attention. A plate of food was on the table beside the young Regent, but he hadn’t touched it. After a time, he stood up and tossed the contents onto the floor, to the joy of two hounds that materialized and scrambled over the fallen feast.
Lorre scratched the dogs behind their ears, smiled briefly, and then moved toward one of the many arched exits from the hall. He paused for a moment to pat Karlene on the head, and then left the room. Karlene looked up and smiled at him as he passed. She had a pretty smile.
“That’s what I said. I said, and I am your leigelord. Best you remember that!” The voice cut through the festivities. King Alginor was standing over Lord Casserly at the main table. He had drawn himself up high, though he still looked small next to the taller man. His eyes smoldered as he stared at Casserly who was seated with his hands folded. He looked calm, unhindered. Black Rob Casserly.
The entire hall had turned to stare at the pair, idle talk scattering from the room like seeds in the wind. Casserly looked up at them, smiled briefly, and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace,” he said, bowing stiffly. The onlookers went back to their food, looked away.
The king only stared at the other man, glaring. Finally, he relented, sitting down in his high-backed chair with a huff. He did not turn back to Lord Casserly, did not say anything. He simply sat, glaring at nothing in particular. Casserly gave a slight bow, and then moved out of the room through a small door cut into the rear wall. Jonathan, who had been lounging sleepily in his chair, roused just in time to see his father go. He yawned and then went back to napping.
Nikolis moved away from the wall and glanced about. He looked toward the king, but the old man was still staring off, not making eye contact with anyone.
Nikolis scanned the room, searching. Where was he…where…? There. Arthur Drennen was standing across the room with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked as if he had stopped mid-stride and was now watching the door through which Lord Casserly had left the room. Drennen snapped his head to the side and locked eyes with Nikolis. He nodded.
Taking a deep breath, Nikolis moved away from the wall and out into the large hall. No one seemed to be paying attention to him, or much else besides the inside of their wine cups, for that matter. Everyone looked as though they were trying to mind their own affairs, while looking out of the corner of their eyes to see what the king was doing. Nikolis moved past various tables and out of the same door Casserly had left through.
As he stepped out a gust of wind hit him. The sky was dark, the air cold. Far below, the practice yard stretched before him. Beyond it was a patch of forest, and beyond that the back half of the moat that ran around the keep. He hadn’t realized how high up the Great Hall was. He looked to his left and saw Lord Casserly making his way around a small, stone, walkway that wound around the castle walls.
Lord Casserly had stopped around a small bend and was staring off into the night. His breath was visible in the cold air, as he mumbled under his breath to no one in particular. He is mad. Nikolis edged around the walkway, keeping his back to the wall. The ground was a long way down and the ledge was thin.
Casserly stopped and leaned against the outer wall. He looked down at the ground below and shook his head. He didn’t look afraid at all. Nikolis certainly was. He couldn’t get far enough away from the edge. At any moment he felt as if he might slip or fall and careen over.
Nikolis edged closer to Casserly. He heard something.
Was he…? Yes, Lord Casserly was talking to himself. Jak was right, and here I am about to get caught in one of his black moods. He edged closer.
“…fool, what a fool. Why won’t he listen to reason?” Robert Casserly was saying. He continued to speak, but Nikolis couldn’t quite make out most of his words. He edged closer still. Lord Casserly went on, but the words remained too quiet, muffled. Nikolis moved to the front edge of the walkway. “Stubborn. I tried to tell him how they harried our coast…painted hulls of black and red…”
A little further. He moved to the ledge and crawled forward a bit. He braced himself between two of the parapets and got as close as he dared, for fear of being seen.
“…he asks too much, too much. Old fool…when will he learn…” Casserly shook his head again and covered his face with the palm of a hand. The other he banged into the stone of the wall beside him.
Nikolis held himself as firmly in place as he could. He wanted to catch every bit of this, to report it all back to Drennen and the king. Maybe then they’d respect him, believe that he wasn’t his father, that he wasn’t a…a traitor…
He inched forward. Casserly looked as if he was going to speak again. “Odd that he won’t listen to reason,” another voice said. Nikolis froze. Nearly concealed by the shadows of an overhang, he saw a young man with long yellow hair and beard, dressed in a coat of grey. The young man shook his head and looked at Lord Casserly with pity in his eyes.
Nikolis’ legs started to quake from the strain. He felt his right foot sliding on the stone. Trying to hold in place did no good, and both feet were suddenly out from under him. He tipped to the side, hit the walkway wall, caught the edge of the parapet and slipped against it, looking downward. “…never forgive him…the death of my brother…that King…” he heard, but it was as if it was coming from another world. How it happened he didn’t know, couldn’t imagine he’d been so foolish, but half of his body now hung over the ledge. Below, the practice yard loomed, pale green in the moonlight.
The Last Swordsman Page 12