Chane clearly wished to inquire further but did not. "We should go."
They rode hard through half the night, tiring their horses, until Welstiel spotted lights ahead. He felt relief that at least he had arrived ahead of Magiere.
Although Welstiel was not fond of Droevinka, his father had served the most ancient house of Sclaven in the eastern province for many years before they had schemed their way into the good graces of the Antes. He knew well the history of Keonsk. It was the largest city in Droevinka, less than a third the size of Bela and less developed, and surrounded by a thick wall of rough mortared stone. Its position on the Vudrask River allowed for ease of trade and commerce. Barges from Stravina and Belaski brought goods inland from those countries' main ports.
The stone wall was less than a hundred years old. The castle keep had been constructed centuries before, and the city had slowly spread outward around it. In long-gone days, any prince who managed to take the throne would rule for life, or until the next house waged a successful insurrection. Although civil wars were less frequent then, they were brutal and extensive, and all houses fought to take power. If a weak prince lead a victorious house, the nation had been known to suffer for decades-should he live that long.
Then a gathering was called between the five strongest houses. It was agreed that a ruling grand prince, rather than a king, should be selected by the consent of all. He would serve nine years or until his death, whichever came first. A successful solution overall, though small-scale upheavals still occurred from time to time, especially if an overzealous house tried to keep its prince on the throne rather than surrender power.
The unlanded house of Varanj was a notable exception, and most other houses barely recognized its noble status. Descended of mercenary horsemen in service to the first invaders of the region, they served as the royal guard and city contingent for whoever held the throne. They were denied the opportunity to place their "prince" on the throne or establish a province of their own. They served as peacemakers and policed the nation, occasionally quelling disputes between houses that boiled into open bloodshed.
As Welstiel and Chane approached, they had three choices. The road curved gently, one side going around the city, and the other leading to the riverside docks. A short path led straight forward to the huge arch and rounded wooden gates of Keonsk's west entrance. Guards in light armor manned the entrance, all wearing the bright red surcoats of the Varanj, marked with the black silhouette of a rearing stallion.
Chane pulled his horse up, and Welstiel turned his own mount in puzzlement.
"What's wrong?"
"Do we need to offer a tale about our business here?"
Chane asked. "Or will they just let us in so late at night?"
"I haven't been here in many years," Welstiel answered. "Prince Rodek of the Antes currently holds the throne, and we need to see his prime counselor, Baron Cezar Buscan. My father served the Antes in our final days. I think we can present ourselves as messengers bearing a report. Our appearance is enough to mark us as better than commoners, but do not speak-your accent is too pronounced."
Chane nodded, and Welstiel headed for the open gates.
A young guard with a shaved head and no helmet raised his hand to stop them, a casual gesture of polite protocol and no more. It was past midnight, but this was a large city, so it stood to reason that some people arrived late and others left early. Enormous torches lit up both sides of the entrance, their heads shielded by large cups of iron mesh.
"Your business, sir?" the guard asked.
Welstiel offered his story of bearing reports for the baron, and the young guard shook his head.
"You're welcome in, sir, but Baron Buscan sees no one he doesn't ask for himself. And there are already gangs of nobles from various houses trying to get his attention."
"And Prince Rodek?" Welstiel asked. "Surely he sees servants of his own house?"
"Not here," and the guard lowered his voice. "He's gone back to Enemusk and the Antes keep. It's rumored there's some family issue at stake. Baron Buscan is the only authority at the castle, and he's not seeing nobody."
Welstiel was perplexed. Rodek was not at court, and Bus-can was not seeing representatives even of his own house. It made no sense, but the Varanj guard welcomed him into the city just the same.
They entered the open cobblestone market area. It was quiet and still, with canvas tarps covering scores of booths and carts that would come alive at dawn with hawkers selling goods to the city's population.
"Do we find an inn?" Chane asked.
"No, we must see Buscan tonight. This cannot wait."
"He'll be in bed."
"Then we wake him. He will see me, in spite of our young guard's account."
They passed beyond the market and entered a district of inns and taverns where the night was not so quiet. Bargemen, prostitutes, and gamblers kept late hours. Welstiel caught Chane staring at a slender woman in a doorway. She smiled and held up a hand, rubbing fingers and thumb together to indicate that coin was needed for good company. Welstiel was thankful his companion had fed on the boy only last night.
By far, the most common inhabitants moving in the night streets were soldiers. Most were small patrols of Varanj, but there were occasional groups wearing the light yellow surcoats of the Antes. Prince Rodek had left a behind a visible contingent. No noble house was permitted active troops inside the walls of Keonsk, though as citizens they were not barred from partaking of the city's offerings. These men appeared armed and fully outfitted for duty, and it would not be the first time a grand prince had considered his own men an exception to the rule.
Welstiel rode directly toward the city center and the gates of the castle. A dozen Varanj soldiers in red surcoats guarded the courtyard's entryway, and more patrolled the ramparts and walls. He remained mounted, approaching at a leisurely pace. A grizzled and scarred man, perhaps as old as fifty, was cursing at two subordinates.
"You," Welstiel called. "Come here."
The old soldier paused midsentence and turned his head. He did not appear impressed by Welstiel's tone and approached slowly, thumping the butt of his spear with each step.
"Yes, sir?" he replied.
"I am here to see Baron Buscan-now. "
One of the younger subordinates snickered.
The old soldier answered politely. "I'm sorry, sir. The baron doesn't hold audiences at this hour."
Welstiel leaned forward in his saddle and pitched his voice low so that no one but the old soldier would hear him. "My name is Lord Welstiel Massing. My father was Lord Bryen Massing. Do you know that name?"
The man's eyes narrowed, and Welstiel heard his breath catch. He straightened himself with a curt nod.
"Announce me quietly," Welstiel said. "Our business is private."
The old soldier signaled his men to open the gatehouse portal. A few hesitated in surprise but obeyed him. He walked toward the entrance, and Welstiel and Chane rode in behind him.
"If you are known in this country," Chane whispered,
"why haven't we used that ploy all along? We could have traveled in better comfort."
"Quiet," Welstiel answered.
The front entrance was an enormous cedar door three times the height of a man. More portcullis than portal, it opened by cranking upward into the wall on heavy chains. When lowered, the door's bottom edge set into a shallow trough of stone. No one questioned the old guard as he led Welstiel and Chane inward through the gatehouse's tunnel to the courtyard beyond.
In Bela, this stronghold would not have measured up as a castle. It was originally built as a large military keep by whichever house's ancestors had first held this plot of land. It lacked the extensive spread of the Belaskian or even the Stravinan royal grounds, having never been expanded. Perhaps the houses feared it would become a more fortified location, should a grand prince try to keep the throne through force. Still, it was built of solid basalt and granite that had lasted through the centuries.