It was wonderful to be in the midst of trees again. I breathed freely the fresh air that smelled of grass, damp earth, and rotten leaves, and listened to the sound of stirring branches. After weeks of life at sea, it was soothing to the soul.
Normally, I would have been afraid of greenskins lurking behind the treeline, but not with this company of well-armed and well-armoured men securing our flanks. My enjoyment would have been complete if only I knew exactly what was waiting for us. We were in foreign lands, and the only people who knew we were here had long since gone. If we were mistreated—or worse—over some unjust suspicion, no one would ever know.
They told us they were escorting us to the town of Boarsmouth, the seat of the march. Which struck me as odd, since we were heading deeper into the mountains, to a place that seemed remote. Major cities, in my limited knowledge, tended to be either on the coast, along rivers, or out in the plains. Mountains, I always thought, were better suited for bandits than for lords.
But I seemed to be the only one unsettled. Edmund was whistling a happy tune. Clifford was deep in cheerful conversation with one of the guards. Elena... well, she just looked sad and exhausted. She had wanted to stay behind. Unfortunately, since she was the main reason we were here, she needed to be present for our explanation. Not to mention, we couldn’t leave her with only the wounded Leofric to guard her.
To my relief, the unsettling lull did not last much longer.
As we neared the top of the ridge, the forest thinned and the land no longer felt so isolated. We passed more and more houses clumped together, and met a growing number of people on the road. They hailed the guards with familiarity and turned curious, friendly eyes on us.
At last, it loomed into view: a town dug into the face of the mountain, enclosed by an intimidating arc of stone walls. The carts laden with rock and the miners’ picks over shoulders had already given me enough clue as to why such a large settlement thrived here. While coastal and river towns had fish and ports, mountain towns had stone and ore.
My spirits lifted as we passed the gates. Boarsmouth was exactly what I imagined a mining town to be—rough, noisy, and full of activity, with masons and smiths hammering and shouting at every corner.
What I did not expect was the sheer number of soldiers. I supposed it was due to the ready supply of iron, easily forged into armor and blades, but armored sergeants were everywhere. They lined the walls, patrolled the streets, and I even spotted some on the roofs.
I reminded myself to be wary. A heavily guarded town could be a safe haven—or an inescapable prison.
We rode on toward the great keep built against the mountain itself. I felt a shiver down my spine as we passed beneath the teeth of the portcullis into the courtyard.
The riders turned us over to servants, who ushered us inside the main hall.
Unlike Lacquer, there was no display of luxury here. Aside from the curtains and the banner depicting a boar above the high seat, all there was to see was naked stone. The chandeliers were plain and unlit; the room was bright only because of the tall windows that let in natural light.
The servants escorted us to the foot of the low steps leading to the high seat.
We were left waiting there for several minutes, glancing about, studying the hall. But there was little of interest. The most striking thing in the chamber was the high seat itself—a great marble chair with intricate carvings.
For some reason, we all knew our host was about to arrive even before the heavy footsteps echoed across the floor. We stiffened and turned our eyes toward the side door.
A large man entered, and he looked exactly as one might expect. His long hair and beard were unkempt. A nasty scar ran across his left cheek, and his nose looked crooked from an old break. The smile he gave us—revealing a broken front tooth—did nothing to soften his appearance.
"Ah... I didn’t know my guests would be this young," he said as he strode forward in a quick but ungraceful gait, "...and this few."
"I was told it was a large Castorian ship off the coast of Candor."
"The ship left earlier this morning, my lord Marquis," came a voice from the entrance. It was one of the lead riders.
"Left?" the Marquis paused, visibly displeased.
He turned his eyes back to us.
"It was a long-voyage ship, bound for Enasses, my lord," Clifford nervously blurted out. "It had only made an unscheduled stopover."
"Enasses," the Marquis repeated with amusement.
He climbed the steps and dropped heavily into the high seat. "I’ve heard the talk. Uncharted lands across the sea, they call it the new world. Castorians and their games... when you’ve coin to burn and nothing better to do, you send your ships chasing ghosts. What next—shall they sail for the moon?"
He sighed and fell silent, studying us. With our travel-worn clothes and unwashed faces, we must have looked unimpressive. Yet in this rugged hall, perhaps we fit the setting better than we thought.
"So," he said at last, "why does the four of you still linger here?"
"We hope... to settle here, my lord," Clifford stammered, caught off guard by the bluntness.
"Settle here? You four little pups?" the Marquis huffed. "Did Enasses prove too distant, so you settle for scraps? We’ve got some of the wilderness, some of the danger, but none of the glory and the mystery." ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ NoveIꜰire.net
His expression darkened. "You made a rash decision when you boarded that ship. You thought you had what it took. And now you make another foolish choice."
He leaned forward, voice heavy. "My counsel is this: Go home."
The Marquis’s words fell like a hammer. Despite our nerves, I think we truly had expected a warmer welcome—not a host who would tell us outright to pack our bags.
When Clifford faltered for an answer, another voice broke the silence.
"We can’t, sire... my father... we buried him in Candor," Elena said, forcing her hoarse voice to rise. "He can’t be left all alone."
The Marquis looked surprised. I don’t think he expected Elena to speak—or for her voice to sound as raw as it did. "I heard something about a burial. A baron, I believe. Are you his daughter?"
She nodded.
"And now you’d tie yourself to this forsaken march, just to sit watch over his bones?" he asked.
"Yes, my lord. I hope you will allow it." Elena’s voice quivered, as she gave him her lowest curtsy. "I am all he has."
"Your name, girl?" the Marquis asked.
"Elena, my lord."
"Your father’s awfully rude for dying on you so young, Elena" the Marquis rubbed his scarred cheek, the broken tooth flashing as he half-smiled.
"But you... you’re the faithful sort. And that, I’ll not spit on."
"Would it be heartless of me to drive off a girl who clings to his father’s grave, Sir Evander?" the Marquis raised his voice. It took me a moment to realize he was addressing the same rider by the door, whom I had thought a mere man-at-arms.
"Aye, my lord, it would, " the young knight replied.
"Then I’ll not have ’heartless’ hung on my name," the Marquis chuckled.