Games of the Powerful

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  A couple of days passed since his sons had left and he had a nagging feeling in his belly that they were riding into extraordinary danger. Duke Gawain sat in a comfortable and very plush chair but he could not seem to make himself comfortable, he squirmed and shifted around as he did in his youth while being forced to listen to his boring tutor except this time it is fear for his sons’ not simple boredom that had him squirming. The study is spacious enough to hold several chairs like the one he is sitting in with some scattered tables with candles and books on them. Tapestries direct from Tordar showing mountain ranges and vast forests with rivers flowing down the center adorned the walls made of stone. An elegant brazen oil lantern hung from the ceiling its shiny brass filigree sparkling in the light.

  “My liege what is bothering you so?” Tyrian asked with a concerned expression on his wrinkled face entering the study with the duke's wife at his side both taking a seat in the chairs provided. For many years, Tyran was born here, his father before him had been adviser to the then-duke as he was an adviser for this duke’s predecessor and he knew Gawain would be his last. He is elderly in a sense of physical stature with his stooped stature but his mind was still sharp and thoughtful after many years of experience advising dukes.

  “Please Gawain what has you so agitated?” Llyandrus his beautiful wife quickly asked him. Looking at her now it amazed him how much he loved her. She has aged much better than he her long blond hair full of luster and shine lightly touched with gray. He loved looking into her hazel eyes but now, a deep concern filled them, a concern they shared.

  “I am not sure, I feel I have sent my sons into great danger that they might not come back from but I keep trying to convince myself it is not rational for me to think this way. I cannot seem to change the feeling that I need to be doing something other than this,” Gawain said forlornly waving his arms around the room in agitation.

  “Gawain Shaylee rode out to go shopping in Brookmoor,” Llyandrus advised her husband. Shaylee is their youngest daughter and beautiful with her mother’s eyes and long curly auburn hair that had the same texture and shine as her mothers. She is tall and slender but with a lithesome body from all the years of trying to keep up with her brothers. Although very lady like in her mannerisms, do not try to cross swords or daggers with her certainly never words. She is very willful but at the same time uses more common sense than a person at her age normally does.

  “When did she leave Llyan?" Gawain jumped to his feet in concern startling her.

  “Why, this morning at sunup Gawain what is wrong?” Llyandrus asked quickly rising from the chair to stand before he husband with a worried look on her face.

  “I do not know my love. I simply have this feeling that our children are in grave danger,” he replied taking her hand his opposite hand rubbing his face at the same time.

  “They are in grave danger your excellency.” Bilgrammus's concerned tone coming from the doorway leading into the study startled all of them.

  Walking quickly toward Bilgrammus Duke Gawain asked, “What do you mean Bilgrammus?”

  “We must ride m’lord I have taken the liberty to having horses saddled and your guard ready to ride. We must hurry Gawain.”

  Gawain ran to his rooms to change returning quickly wearing light chainmail over a sleeveless leather jerkin with stout leather pants tucked into knee-high riding boots. Around his waist hung a new long sword the best gold could buy. Llyandrus came up to him with an afraid look on her face hugging him careless of the chainmail that might snag her full-length green dress. “Llyandrus I will bring them back to us safely,” Gawain, said kissing her on the cheek. “Tyrian can manage I shant take long to bring them back I assure you,” he concluded quickly following Bilgrammus out.

  They left the study running through the main hall barley noticing servants were hanging new wall tapestries portraying past battles, charging knights, dying horses and besieged castles on the walls. Oil lanterns burned all along the walls and the huge crystal chandler that his wife had received as a gift to her from the now deceased king of Riannon shown bright with its hundreds of candles sending sparkling light dancing across the high ceiling and walls. Dodging the marble covered granite columns, they raced across the room, Bilgrammus surprisingly still spry enough to keep pace with the duke. Upon reaching the main doors of the hall, they sprinted passed the startled guards and through the main doors of the keep. By the time they raced through the inner gatehouse to the stables built against the outer wall, they were more than a little out of breathe. Mounting the waiting warhorses, and accompanied with his guards, Gawain and Bilgrammus rode around the inner walls heading toward the outer gatehouse.

  None of them paid any mind to the hammering and banging as the forges belched black smoke into the air, the blacksmiths and weapon smiths covered in soot were hammering out horseshoes and weapons for war. The duke had put the castle on full war footing in preparation for the inevitable war that the entire castle new was on the horizon. People were everywhere dressed in working leathers carrying steel to the forges while others were carrying completed weapons to the armory for storage. Workers along the battlements are busy hoisting large barrels of pitch and oil placing then strategically along the walls. Women in their long peasant dresses worked as hard as the men carrying water and food to the workers shoring up the walls and mounting newly made mangonels that will catapult burring pitch over the walls and down on the invading forces. Between that and oil poured over the walls it should make for a nasty welcoming for anyone who would dare to attack Castle Qenildor.

  The duke and his men quickly made it to the outer gatehouse where he quickly spoke to the captain of the guard directing him to send out mounted patrols across the countryside and to place more soldiers in town to patrol the docks and warehouse for anything suspicious. The duke did not know whether any of these precautions would matter but he had to do something. Making their way under the portcullis, their horses shot across the drawbridge with the clatter of steel armor and horses hooves reverberating into the barbican proper. Quickly waving to the guards they passed under the open portcullis, over the drawbridge riding past the guard towers quickly nudging their horses into a canter they headed north on Barge Road.

  “Bilgrammus where is the attack coming from,” Gawain yelled over the sound of the horse’s hooves.

  “Regrettably m’lord I cannot foretell that. I have the same unease that things are amiss that you have, and I have learned to trust my instincts and they tell me your children could be in danger. Shaylee and her escort will not be that far ahead for they will not be pressing the horses hard. Nothing will befall her m’lord. I fear most for your sons. May I suggest you send five of your men with five of the extra horses to catch your daughter and return her to the castle that way we will traverse through a threshold to find your sons?” They had left with seven of his guard and thirty of his mounted soldiers trailing additional horses.

  “I will trust in your judgment my friend I truly hope we arrive in time to save them not bury them,” Duke Gawain replied. The duke quickly gave his orders as two of his guard and three soldiers' rode off at full gallop.

  “M’lord I will make a threshold and trust my instincts not on how fortuitous we are and we will reach your sons in time to help,” with a reassuring look directed toward his duke he created the threshold and they walked their horses through it into an unexpected nightmare.