Raghnall stirred as something cool stroked his cheek. Groaning, he turned away, patted his pillow and buried his face, determined to sleep some more. However he had scarcely settled when a gust of cold air rudely tumbled down the back of his neck, rippling the bed sheets. Sitting upright with a start, he saw that it was morning. Harsh light streamed in from the balcony, accompanied by the breeze which had pushed past the curtain with ease. Raghnall hastily crossed the chilly bare floor and closed the heavy door to the balcony with the urgency of halting a flood. He retreated to the rug and sat on the edge of the bed, curling his toes among the fibres. Now that he was irrevocably awake, he considered how best to depart this place without insulting his host. He resolved to leave as quickly as possible. He would bend the ear of a servant, express polite concern at outstaying his welcome, gain directions for Capia and depart forthwith. His gratitude would then be conveyed via a note for the Master. No complications.
Washed and dressed, Raghnall was adjusting his collar when a soft knock came at the door.
“Enter.” The lady housekeeper emerged.
“Food will be served in half an hour.” Her voice was firm though scarcely more than a whisper. “My Lord requests the pleasure of your company in order that you may break your fast together.”
“So you do speak?” smiled Raghnall. The housekeeper nodded without meeting his eye. Raghnall sighed and reached out with both hands, willing her to speak again. “What is your name?” The housekeeper raised her gaze to meet his “Cadcalon, Sir. Mrs. Cadcalon.”
“Tell Lord Malaegar, it will be my pleasure. I will be down presently so you might escort me, Mrs. Cadcalon.” Standing a little closer to her full height, the housekeeper gave a slight curtsy and pulled the door closed once more. Raghnall frowned at his reflection, raised an eyebrow with a shrug and sighed, “Best laid plans.” He resolved to take a moment to brave the bluster of the balcony before breakfast. The door was nearly blown out of his grasp as he turned the handle to the balcony and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the day..
The expanse of the castle and the lands beyond were cast in sharp contrast of deep shadow and bright light. The waters of the flooded moorland glistened and rippled as the wind rolled across the wilds. Despite this though, mist stubbornly hung thick on the horizon. Raghnall scrunched his nose, there was still a tinge of smoke in the air. It was an acrid sting that not even the wind could abate. He wondered for a moment where in the castle had that column of smoke originated? Far below, cobbled courtyards, out-buildings, workshops and stables spread out in all directions, interrupted here and there by curtain walls and towers whose blue coned roofs felt so close, Raghnall might reach out and touch them. Everywhere, he could see similar balconies to his, clinging to the sheer black walls of the castle. Just as noticing the movement of a single ant on the pavement suddenly brings others into focus, he now saw that the whole castle was busy with people hurrying from place to place. Immediately to his left he saw a young woman carrying a pile of linen, crossing between towers via a covered bridge. Were it not for his keen sight, he would not have noticed anyone, certainly not by sound, for the gusts this morning were so strong. Raghnall traced the banister with his finger tips and leaned over the edge, braving his own fear of heights and a fierce up-draft. It was quite a bracing way to shake off the last vestiges of sleep. Marvelling one last time at the view, Raghnall turned to join his host for breakfast.
In the light of day the castle was much changed. Following Mrs. Cadcalon, Raghnall felt that the carved monsters were no longer prowling the ceilings, they sat motionless upon their perches. Corridors no longer disappeared into darkness, but culminated where a window or a door could be seen. The black stone was no longer a deep liquid which threatened to engulf the unwary, rather a dull mirror, refracting warm daylight all about. The patterns upon the floors could now be seen in all of their glory, spirals of colour interacting with twists of black, becoming rigid corners and exploding back into swirls. Here and there were alcoves in the wall where silver plates, curios and mementos were displayed. Occasionally there were small oil paintings upon the walls of pleasant pastoral landscapes, though the distant sky was often dark. There were no portraits. As with the previous night, Cadcalon came to a sudden stop. She knocked upon a large door lined with red leather and leaned upon the iron handle, leaving the door slightly ajar, she gestured into the room and briskly took her leave.
“Come.” bade a familiar voice. The door squeaked as Raghnall entered. “Ah, my honoured guest, please, come take a seat.” Malaegar gestured to his right. He was sitting at the head of a great table. It was a long dining table though not rectangular, instead it weaved across the room. The surface was polished smooth, though instead of legs it was supported by wood which had not been worked. The appearance was one of a barren forest supporting a glossy, winding river. Lining the table on both sides were twelve chairs. Similar to the table, each was elegantly carved and upholstered, however the back of each chair was untouched tree bark, cleanly cut at their base so they sat flat on the floor and hollowed out to accommodate an occupant with branches and brass leaves emanating from the headrests.
Raghnall closed the door behind him and crossed the now green and black floor. Following the left side of the table, to his right was a wall inset with three large windows, through which the morning light streamed, filtered to a deep green by stained glass. Each window was arched and framed by black ivy carved from the rock. Directly opposite the middle window, across the room to his left, a fireplace dominated the wall. The fire was not lit and above the mantle, a massive painting of Ravensholme hung looking much as it did yesterday upon Raghnall’s approach. Behind Malaegar hung a tapestry. It was dulled threadbare red and brown, depicting an old military campaign from beginning to bloody end.
As Raghnall reached his chair, a servant-boy, dressed in black trousers, stockings, shoes, shirt and tailed jacket stepped forwards from below the tapestry to seat him. Raghnall took his place, nodding thanks to the boy who quietly returned to his station.
“I trust you slept well?” enquired Malaegar. He wore a blue silk dressing gown and cream cravat; sat at the table with a small knife in his right hand, busily opening sealed parchment envelopes, reading their content and moving on.
“Quite well thank you, my Lord.” Malaegar did not seem to hear the reply as he scanned the next note. “My Lord, this place is truly a feat of architectural craftsmanship” remarked Raghnall gesturing toward the fireplace and the room.
“Yes, it is. My family began building Ravensholme an age ago. We came down from the Old North and settled ‘where their ravens roosted on the rock’.” Malaegar explained as if reciting a lesson from childhood. “ Many died in its construction.” he yawned, still not looking up from his reading. Raghnall could not help himself; despite wishing to depart with as little fuss as possible he followed up as if tentatively placing a fresh envelope to be inspected at the top of the pile.
“Tis a shame the exterior has deteriorated so.” Malaegar paused, still looking intently at the parchment in his hand. He inhaled sharply.
“I would not know. I do not venture out often. This castle is a drain upon my time and the lands hereabout are hardly worth my attention in their current state.”
“I see.” continued Raghnall. “So, my Lord, you would surely know of the vandalism I observed within the castle?” Malaegar purposefully placed his knife upon the table with some force. He carefully re-folded the message he had been reading, and without looking up, placed it back upon the pile. His eyes met the stranger’s from under a furrowed brow.
“Unfortunately, that was all before my time.” A veil of concentrated calm and propriety suddenly saturated his features. “So.” He gestured to the boy to collect the letters. “What shall we have for our breakfast?” Malaegar flopped a hand in the direction of the boy. “Here, my dear Raghnall, request what you will. The kitchens of Ravensholme are excellent. My Chef, Pewtreth, is capable of culinary marvels! Might I recommend the herring?”
“You might” replied Raghnall.
“Very well. Smoked herring, toast and tea for two.” listed Malaegar to the boy, who carefully gathered the papers from the table and turned on his heels to relay the order to the kitchens.
“They shall not be long.” reassured Malaegar thoughtfully tending to the ivy-leafed cuffs of his gown. “You know, I cannot help but be curious. Tell me a little about your home.”
“Capia, my Lord?” Raghnall sighed deeply “I have not been home in many years. I am on an errand for my Lord and long have my travels kept me on the road. As I recall, it is a green and fertile province, not spoiled by the ravages of war as are so many of the provinces I have seen in my travels. The land is a patchwork of fields sewn with wheat, barley, hedges and meadows all hung from three great mountains by silver rivers. Here and there hamlets are scattered and every new moon their residents travel to my Lord’s home to sell their produce of clothes, food and tools. A simple land, but a happy one.” The servant-boy re-emerged carrying an oval platter covered by a cloche. He approached the table, placed the platter and turned to fetch the tea.
“Please, continue” urged Malaegar.
“My Lord’s abode is a wonder. It is a great white castle, in a district of lakes; it sits as a lily in a water garden, crowning the land with elegant beauty.”
“Much as here.” smirked Malaegar.
“Indeed, my Lord. Though his home is not so… grand, as yours.”
“Indeed. Continue.”
“My Lord, if he still lives, is a great man. One of the most generous I ever knew. He has been good to my family as grateful members of his court.”
“I can see why you wish to return.” commented Malaegar “this afternoon my librarian will aid you in seeking out a map to guide you home.”
“Thank you my Lord.” The servant-boy returned carrying another platter. Places were set with cutlery, tea was served and the herring revealed in a cloud of steam.
Raghnall leaned forwards, about to thank the boy for his service when Malaegar raised his hand.
“No need. It is my pleasure to feed an honoured guest.”
“With respect my Lord, it is the custom of my province to acknowledge any service with thanks, even that of a servant. I thank you for your hospitality, however, it was not you who caught or cooked this meal. Nor did you set it before me.” Raghnall nodded to the boy who sheepishly kept his head bowed. “You might do well to adopt such a custom. The shadowy staff I have seen about this place are seemingly in want of morale.” Malaegar’s face instantly knotted into an expression of rage. Stabbing his knife into the table, he flung his chair across the floor. The boy jumped and discreetly departed.
“I am the Lord of Ravensholme!” Malaegar screamed. “You, stranger, are my guest.” He jabbed his finger accusatorially “You are not in Capia, and it is not the custom in these parts to insult your host. Nor his hospitality.” Raghnall, taken aback at this sudden rage, went to apologize. He had not meant to anger his host. Malaegar strode for the great red door, his blue gown flowing behind him. “Furthermore, honoured guest” he suddenly turned and spat with pointed venom “it is not customary to lie to your host.” Malaegar placed one hand on the door handle “If you are on a legitimate, extended errand for your Lord, what valued member of a court travels alone for so long, so far from home? Certainly not a valued member of a court most-generous! Certainly not one who owns such a fine sword!” Raghnall went to speak, but he was interrupted. “Either yourself, or your tale is counterfeit. Please Sir, decide which it is, and do not insult me again.” He turned. “I wish you luck in the library.” With that he exited, slamming the door behind him. A low boom resonated through the chamber.
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