Expecting to see a person in the portal, the stranger looked back to the door but there was no one immediately apparent. What could be seen was the hallway beyond. The floor stretched out like a game board as he entered, diamonds of black and white stone, leading to a black staircase furnished in a deep carpet. At the top of the stairs a gallery encircled the hallway. For a moment, the stranger felt he was being observed, as if dozens of unseen eyes were peering down over the black banister at this new arrival. From the gallery hung green and gold banners swooping into the lower hall, stirring in the breeze which sidled its way past the stranger. A central chandelier swayed upon its iron chain. The green glass of the chandelier did not appear to have been cut into shape, rather each pendant was a curious globular shape as if they had been allowed to fall into water and rapidly cool. The chandeliers light danced across the floor, casting green and yellow all about. Ahead, on either side of the stairs, were two doors. Unlike the other grey doorways which lingered in the shadows, these had the appearance of beaten bronze, glimmering in the candlelight.
“Welcome to Ravensholme” whispered a doorman stepping out from the shadows. “The lady housekeeper will be with you shortly, allow me to take your cloak and your staff.”
“Certainly” The stranger stirred and relinquished the garment, revealing his scarlet tunic, all the while staring up at the chandelier, his mouth slightly agog. Compared to the grim approach to the castle, this felt like a dream! The doorman gestured to the wall with a slight bow and the stranger’s eyes fell upon a drinking fountain set into the wall. He gratefully took the opportunity to wash his face and drink from his hands. Turning once again to the doorman, drying his moustache and beard on a cloth, the stranger found no-one. His cloak was neatly folded and placed into an alcove, but there was no one to be seen.
There was no time to puzzle as presently the bronze door to the right of the stairs opened. In the doorway stood a tall, thin, old woman hunched to half her size by, seemingly by habit. She wore a plain, practical black dress; her grey hair was tied in a bun behind her head. From her right hand, which was inside the doorway, a small iron candelabrum cast her flickering silhouette upon the chequered floor. She beckoned the stranger to follow, not saying a word, politely smiling though her eyes betrayed slight irritation at such a late arrival.
The stranger followed, along corridor after corridor. Each was lined with grey oak doors set into arched doorways, in each corridor a different colour stone had been employed in tandem with the native black rock of the floor to create a different pattern beneath their feet. They passed through no rooms but did come to intersections or alcoves where staircases spiralled into darkness. The dim light of the candles prevented the stranger from seeing far, save for the occasional flash of monstrous carved faces stalking among the vaulted ceilings.
Finally they came to a door which was slightly ajar. A crack of orange light cut across the now purple and black swirls on the floor. The housekeeper rapped on the door, curtseyed to the stranger, and strode off into the darkness.
“Come” an indifferent voice ushered from within. The stranger eased open the door. He emerged into a long, tall room. At the far end was a fireplace from which the orange glow emanated, casting flickering shadows like dark ribbons thrashing about the place. The walls glimmered in the fire light, carved between buttresses were alcoves, bookcases. Dozens of books lined the shelves with leather covers of green, red, brown, yellow and gold all of them caressed by the touch of the flickering shadows. The stranger glanced upwards and saw that the ceiling here was timber, shaped into three domes, the vaulted haunts of yet more carved beasts. Each dome had a circle of glass set into the top; from here the stars were now becoming visible though the fires’ fierce reflection made concentration on the sky difficult. An oval table graced the centre of the room and at intervals about the floor were life-sized sculptures, beaten iron, of men fighting and dying by the sword.
Towards the fire the stranger now trod. Skirting a high backed leather chair, mesmerized, he noticed for the first time the nature of the fireplace. The fire guard was a wrought iron frieze of a hunting scene. The fire itself was the setting for the drama as different characters, hunters, dogs and a harassed fox flickered in light and shadow. To each side of the fireplace, there were fierce animals on their hind legs, carved as grinning pedestals resting the mantle on their shoulders. At the apex, the stone impression of a man occasionally caught the firelight; gagged and bound, pierced through the torso by a spear and hanging limp above the flames
“Beautiful, is it not?” shook from his trance, the stranger turned with a start. He had passed the chair, completely unaware of an occupant. The young man slouching there was dressed in a deep purple dressing gown. His deep-set eyes, keen, blue, looked the stranger up and down. His hair was black, swept back behind his ears. His features were strong; though he was not particularly handsome. Clean shaven and well spoken, nonetheless, it struck the stranger that this man did not take to the chair in which he sat entirely naturally. In his lap was an open book; upon the yellowed parchment within was carefully written prose in red ink. His slippered feet rested upon a foot stool. “My father commissioned it.” The man closed his book. “He was fond of the notion that men were the debtors of nature. We all must acknowledge our debt lest nature seek to levy the balance.” He rose and passed the stranger, returning his book to a shelf. “As you no doubt saw on your journey, nature levied more than her rightful share against my father.” He smiled grimly, looking up to the stars. “Allow me to introduce myself; I am Malaegar, Lord of Ravensholme and the surrounding province”. He slumped back into the chair. “such as it is…” he sighed “And you seek an audience?”
“Indeed I do, my Lord” the stranger bowed his head a little, dismissing his discomfort within this room. “I am a traveller from a distant province, Capia, on an errand for my Lord. I have lost my way entirely and happened upon your home. I seek shelter for the night and direction back to my own home.”
“Shelter I can certainly provide” laughed Malaegar reaching for a glass of wine and half consumed bottle perched on the small table beside his chair. “It has been a while, forgive me, since we had a guest of your stature” Malaegar gestured to the stranger’s garb, offering a second glass. The stranger declined.
“Thank you my Lord but I am very tired and would like to be departing early on the morrow, so as not to infringe upon your gracious hospitality”.
“Very well,” sighed Malaegar. He rang a silver bell which sat next to the spare glass. “If you will be proper” the housekeeper appeared by the door. “If you will deprive me of your company, at least tell me you name, good sir” he chuckled.
“Ah!” the stranger pointed his finger in the air as if quoting a philosopher “A name is but a word. A label conferred upon you before you can understand the words of others; the definition of a person who is not definitive, as it were…” Malaegar frowned. The stranger continued. “ I do not think you wish to know my name, but what I wish to be called?” he grinned.
“Very well. What do you wish to be called?”
“Call me Raghnall, my Lord. That is how I am known.”
“Sleep well, Raghnall” Malaegar somewhat sang as he rolled the strangers name around his mouth, eyeing a crimson fire through the wine in his glass.
“Thank you my Lord, good night.”
Raghnall turned to follow the housekeeper. Again he was led down dimly lit corridors pursued by the dark. Eventually she stopped at the base of a staircase which spiralled to the right
“Up here?” Raghnall gestured with a smile, attempting to pry a moment of whimsy from his guide, but the old woman merely handed him a candle and pointed firmly up the stairs. She promptly turned and disappeared again around a corner.
Raghnall reached the top of the stairs, opened the door which was there and entered. Within this room, a fire and candles were already lit. There was a solid bed of mahogany and a worn rug on the now silver and black floor. The walls here were plastered. A simple fresco of ivy chased around the room which glowed invitingly in the firelight. Across the room, an open door led to a balcony. The wind had calmed now and Raghnall took a moment to admire the stars in a moonless sky. The castle below was inky black, save for the occasional torch light flickering here and there. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. Raghnall breathed deep and returned to his room, closing the door behind him he pulled a heavy drape across and approached the chest upon which were a set of night clothes and a ceramic bowl of water. He caught a glimpse of his tired visage in the mirror on the wall and decided it was definitely time to sleep.
Washed and changed, he retired to the bed whose heavy green blankets were a welcome embrace after a long day. Lying back, he saw that upon the headboard was a defaced family crest… again. Raghnall frowned. This was a cosy if undeniably unnerving respite. Reflecting upon what he had seen during, prior to, and since his brief meeting with Lord Malaegar, he felt uneasy. He had in the best diplomatic fashion been grateful for his accommodation, even toying with the gentleman when asked his name, but something was amiss. Raghnall fell into an uneasy sleep.
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