We passed Vendurro in the common room, and Braylar ordered him to remain at the inn. As we left the Grieving Dog, the streets were already bustling with fairgoers. Between the mud from the previous day’s rain and the horse and dog feces, it was impossible to keep my shoes clean, so I gave up trying. I fell in behind the Syldoon, and with Mulldoos at the point cursing and glaring, the throng parted for the most part, with him only occasionally shouldering someone to the side. We moved away from the plazas and main thoroughfare as quickly as possible, and the crowds thinned as we took side streets toward the castle. Up on its hill, it was impossible to miss, even if it disappeared behind a building for a moment.
The route was circuitous, as no two streets ran parallel for very long, and few among them were truly straight, but we finally cleared the last residences and found ourselves at the hill’s base. Now, that close and with no obstructions, the hill seemed much higher than it had from the other side of Alespell.
We approached the first gate, which was flanked by two large towers on each side. I looked up and guards in purple and gray livery looked down. While the tall wooden doors of the gate were flung open, there were guards milling at the entrance, and one with bloodshot eyes walked over. After a drawn-out yawn, he said, “State your business.”
Braylar handed over the scroll. “Late festivities?”
The guard ignored him, unrolled the scroll, scanned it and handed it back. “On your way then.”
We passed through and began the slow ascent around the perimeter of the hill. The road was narrow, and it wound its way up, slowly spiraling. There were three more gates, each identical to the first with their flanking towers, and the scroll got us through them without incident. The muscles in my legs began to burn. I craned my neck and looked up at the walls and towers of the castle above as we walked. Wood hoardings jutted out, and with all the shutters and arrow loops, it was a gallery that could easily rain death down. I couldn’t make out guards, but I’m sure they were up there, looking down on our small group as we sweated our way up the hill. Probably joking about what they would like to drop on our heads.
Mulldoos saw me and nearly read my mind, saying, “The bastard who built this place knew his business. Tough enough to clear the city walls, but anybody assaulting the castle would be in for a heap load of hurt. Arrows, stones, boiling piss. Real bad day, assaulting this place.” He looked at Hewspear, who was struggling to breathe. “You going to make it, old goat?”
Face pale, Hew nodded and kept plodding up the hill. Mulldoos said, “Good, ’cause I ain’t carrying you. A bone pops your lung, you’re just going to have to sit and wheeze to death.” He limped after.
We finally reached the castle’s outer curtain wall. Where most of Alespell was constructed of snowstone that fairly glowed with the slightest hint of sun, the baron’s castle was built of a charcoal gray stone that seemed to absorb light. I wiped my brow, tried to regulate my breathing, and looked over my shoulder at the city laid out far below us. Even the green copper domes seemed far away. All those people milling in the plazas and marketplaces, caught in the flow of commerce, haggling, laughing, dizzy with the oddities and entertainments of the Great Fair, absorbed in wonder and drunk on cheap wine and ale. For one day at least, their troubles and pains forgotten. And all of them oblivious to the halls of power above them. A life could be snuffed out on this hill and they’d never know, probably never care. My breathing didn’t slow down, and not just because of the exertion of the climb.
Braylar grabbed my elbow and gave a squeeze, somewhere between gentle and forceful. “Easy, Arki. Only visiting a dear friend. Nothing more.” For once, his lies didn’t seem all that convincing.
The drawbridge was down over a deep dry moat carved into the rock, and our scroll got us entry through into the gatehouse. The portcullis was up. As we walked underneath, I couldn’t help but notice the numerous murder holes in the ceiling above. A second gate flanked by guards, and we passed onto another section of floor. More murder holes above, but the odd thing was the floor was wood, and it almost felt like we were tramping across another drawbridge.
I looked over at Mulldoos and he was smiling. “Yup. Fiendish bastard built this.” He stomped once on the floorboards. “Trap door. Anybody who somehow made it to the gatehouse probably not making it out real easy. Spikes below, I’m guessing. Big ones.”
He seemed to really appreciate the craftsmanship. I nearly threw up.
At last we passed into the lower courtyard and back into the weak sunlight. As expected, there was noise and activity everywhere. Grooms hurrying to the stables; a man leading an ox out of the granary, his cart laden with heavy sacks; a hammer ringing in a smithy; a courier sprinting from one of the administrative buildings; several pigeons bursting out of the cylindrical dovecote alongside the kitchens, flying off in a tight group. The only person or thing not on the move was a guard assigned to protect the covered well on the other end of the courtyard. I looked up to the right and saw a covered allure and tall sanitary tower connected to the massive circular keep that rose several stories into the sky.
Braylar said, “I expect Lord Brune isn’t counting kernels of corn or iron ingots. Come.”
He led us underneath the allure and towards the keep that dominated the courtyard, rising high above everything else. There were large standards on top, but the air was heavy, moist, and instead of flapping or snapping, they hung limp on their poles. We approached the entrance stairs and more guards examined our scroll, but they didn’t let us pass right away. An older guard missing an ear pulled a gambesoned guard aside, spoke to him quietly, and sent him running into the keep with the scroll.
A few awkward moments of silence passed and then Braylar said, “This keep is quite impressive. The plinth, the height, the machiolations. Yes, most impressive.”
The earless guard looked at Braylar, blinked a few times, and then shrugged.
Braylar tried a different tack. “I’ve heard rumors the last few days that our baron is unwell. Is he on the mend, then?”
Earless shrugged again. “Guessing you’ll be knowing soon enough.”
That put an end to that. I worried Braylar was going to press the point, as that was his typical response when rebuffed, but he held his tongue. We waited there until the young guard returned. He ran down the stairs, handed Braylar the scroll, and told us we were clear to go. When we climbed and passed through the arched doorway into a long corbelled hallway, we were met by Gurdinn and a handful of surcoated guards. He didn’t seem especially pleased to be our escort.
I felt rather than saw Hewspear and Mulldoos stiffen. Braylar said, “Ah, Captain Honeycock! So good to see you again. We really shouldn’t allow so much time to pass between encounters like this. Criminal, really.”
If we’d been anywhere else but his lord’s keep, Gurdinn probably would have spit on the floor. As it was, he said, “The baron’s waiting.” He turned on his heel without waiting for a response.
The guards fell in behind us as we followed Gurdinn down the hall. Bas-reliefs of coats of arms broke up the walls on either side, occasionally interrupted by an unshuttered window or torch sconce. The torches weren’t lit, and even with the shutters thrown open, the squares of light on the floor were weak at best. Bright light wouldn’t have dispelled the foreboding, but it might have helped.
At the end of the hall, there was a set of stairs leading up and another spiraling down. Gurdinn waited next the stairwell going down.
Braylar stopped and looked at the stairs. “I know our friend baron is an independent thinker, but I would’ve expected him to maintain his solar and wardrobe above, in keeping with the fashion. A bit more light and air, such as it is.”