Warp Token 2 Word Update

2k words. Sorry for no update yesterday I had a headache.

***

That next morning, true to their word, the knight errant and his procession were there to greet the band when they broke camp. Wherever their scouts were, they were quick and very quiet. If only Skyseeker had been here, she could use those magical goggles of hers and give them a run for their money.

Implied threats aside, it felt good to have an escort follow in their stead, even if they made for poor conversation. Von Kessel had tried to engage with Edouart, but the knight would not reply.

The cavalry hugged their rear as the band marched north, and Roderick thought they’d stay mounted the entire way, but that was not the case. When Edouart noticed their walking wounded, he had some of his riders trade their places, allowing the injured to be carried in the saddles. At least the Brettonian’s weren’t completely lacking in humility.

The road speared over hill after hill, creating the only split in the verdant woodland for miles around. It reminded him so much of Tilea’s lands, yet the countryside was different in subtle ways. The colours were richer, the flowerbeds and forest creatures more plentiful, as though Brettonia was blessed in ways that the lands of the South were not.

Beautiful views aside, the going was no less easy. The band was backing in the hot sun, half of them practically dragging their feet after carrying themselves down the road for hours. When Von Kessel made to call a break, Edouart was quick to intercede. “Would be no point,” he said. “Our fair city lies only one more hill beyond.”

Technically it was two more hills, but after the final crest, they stood before a splendorous sight. From this vantage, Roderick could see the land fell into a vertical peninsula, angle north and west from this position. The road cut a cleft through this stark band of green, itself coloured with splotches of vibrant white and yellow flowers and plants. The land projected out with blue-green water on all sides, the waves glimmering in the sunshine.

In the distance, his eyes guided by the path, the peninsula concluded in a glittering cascade of stone and steel. From a hump in the earth began a thick wall, looping around a patchwork of orange-tiled rooves. Towers in the shape of witch hats poked up from watchtowers and overlooks, their points adorned with length banners that curved with the breeze, giving the city the impression that it was one giant parade going on.

The city was overlooked by an imposing castle, its tallest towers seeming to touch the clouds themselves. It was like a mountain in its own right, the layers gradually thinning as they proceeded the upper chambers. Roderick could just make out ballistae and powder guns along the ramparts, not unlike the naval guns that the wolfship used. The guns were so massive that he could define their shape, even at this many leagues. Perhaps those were used against flying targets, like these dragons he kept hearing about.

“You look upon our fair city, Lyonesse,” Edouart announced, trotting his horse up to his side. “Is the heart of Brettonia not beautiful, I ask you? Beautiful and strong, much like our Lady herself. She has stood undefeated for fifteen hundred years.”

“Altdorf’s stood for longer,” Roderick replied. “And it’s bigger, as well.”

Edouart frowned down at him, clearly not impressed by having his little speech undermined. “You wouldn’t know the first thing of beauty, Imperial. Your lands are ravaged by blood and war, your Capital has crumbled under a hundred sieges.”

“And yet it still stands,” Roderick pointed out. “The Empire takes war like a whetstone takes to a blade. Every war is another stroke that sharpens our edge.”

“Slice even the finest sword on a whetstone enough times, and it will chip,” Edouard replied. “And your Empire has worn down its point long ago.”

Roderick replied to Edouart’s easy smile with his own. “You know, that’s twice you’ve called me an Imperial now. I had the thought you didn’t believe our story.”

“Oh, I believe you are Imperials It’s the claim that you are friends to the Duke that I doubt. We will learn the truth of that soon enough.”

The rest of the way, Edouart took the lead across the rest of the downhill march. From the way his bannermen stuck close, that was probably so that archers and gunners didn’t mistake the band for their enemy.

The rolling woodland dissolved the closer they came to the city, until spare bubbles of leafy canopies rolled away in all cardinal directions. The trees were such a rich green the likes Roderick had never seen before. It clashed with the crystal waters that trickled in from the rises of the peninsula, gathering in cozy pools and bubbling streams.

This serene landscape stretched right up to the city walls. The fifty-foot-tall walls stretched before them as Roderick and the Imperials drew closer. Nature stopped at its sterile base, but continued its journey up its smooth face, vines and flowering nettles twisting their way up the chunks of rock. It gave the defences the appearance of something overgrown, old, but it didn’t seem the Brettonians were too bothered about cleaning it off.  

Edouart led them up to the entrance, a portcullis big enough to drive a steam tank through looming before them. It sat between two bulging protrusions, where slatted windows and murder holes faced the gate. High above on the ramparts were upraised thatched coverings and stone shelters, spaced out evenly to the east and west, Roderick picking out dozens of archers peeking down at them.

Edouart beckoned to someone he could not see, and after a pause, the gate opened with a screech of winches. Unseen wooden clockworks rumbled loudly, and as the entrance opened, a pair of men on horseback rode out to greet them.

“Ser Edouart!” one of them called, a fellow dressed in leather armour, his hauberk the colours of Brettonia. “You are back early, and with more men than when you left, I see.”

“These are supposed friends to our Duke,” Edouart said, not bothering to hide his scepticism.

“This lot?” the rider asked, peeking around his shoulder at the exhausted band.

“They claim their honour on it,” Edouart replied. “And it will be my great pleasure to hear the truth of it.”

He raised his hand, and the band followed him through the gates. They heard the bustle of the street-life long before they emerged into the welcoming courtyard, Roderick hearing clopping hooves, musical instruments, and a thousands indistinct conversations all jumping into a veritable soup of background noise.

Roderick thought Brettonia’s countryside was impressive, but the land within the walls was just as astonishing. White stone and orange woodwork clashed wonderfully beneath a cerulean heaven, planters and fountains and secluded gardens breathing fresh life into the pavement.

The streets curved out of sight in rows of commerce, street stalls with colourful awnings, and glass shops brandishing exotic wares presenting a rainbow of colours. The hundreds of city folk were not spared the saturation. The men wore exotic tunics and soft leathers, while the women dressed in rich silks and flowing skirts.

“I shall never tire of seeing Brettonian architecture,” said one of the men. Lothar was his name, Roderick recalled.

Some of the people were giving them looks now that they had entered the city proper, and not all of them were simple curiosity. Most of them turned up their heads as they passed, and by the time they’d made their way through three streets, Roderick had seen more Brettonian nostrils than faces. Clearly they didn’t appreciate the Imperials tracking their dirty boots in their fair city, he even heard someone comment about their smell.

The castle that watched over the city was their destination, and it took them most of an hour to reach the place where its towers touched the city. Roderick had to crane his neck just to look upon its wide midsection, and the thought of all those steps left remaining made his legs complain with fatigue. No matter, he would sooner drop dead then let himself look weak before these snobby Brettonians.

Before they reached the steps leading up the first tier, Edouart veered them off the main street, encouraging them into a secluded courtyard. On each side except the entrance were walls draped in the banners of Lyonesse’s coat of arms, and between them in the yard were columns of training dummies and training rings for combatants, for both those on horseback on those not. Roderick guessed this was some sort of barracks.

“Your men will be tended to here,” Edouart said, directing his attention to Von Kessel. “You will accompany me to the Duke’s court, since you are the one to claim his friendship. You may bring with you some of your trusted men, if you so wish.”

“I do,” Von Kessel answered. He named couple of his closest officers, who closed ranks with him. Before he departed, however, he paused and looked over his shoulder. “Roderick? Will you join me as well?”

Roderick blinked in surprise, and nodded. “Aye, certainly.” He walked over, their group counting five, including Roderick.

“All ready?” Edouart prompted. “Good.” To Roderick’s surprise, the knight unsaddled from his horse, handing off the reigns to a servant. Roderick noted he was a little shorter of stature compared to the Imperials. “Follow,” he added, turning to one of the barracks’.

“Are we not going up to the castle?” Von Kessel asked, the question on everyone’s mind.

“Not in your state,” Edouart replied. “You reek of sweat and filth and dirt, I would sooner put you to the sword than place you in my Duke’s castle. I don’t know how it is in the Empire, but you are expected to bathe and clothe appropriately before attending a royal court in the Lady’s lands.”

It was unlike any barracks that Roderick was familiar with. Small dividing fences marked off private sections for the soldiers, the floor draped in colourful rugs the same colour as the banners hanging from the walls. As Roderick looked upon each man inside, most being tended to by servants who polished their arms and armour, or brought them food and wine, he realised this must be the place the knights came to rest. They certainly spared no expense for them, Roderick had never been given half as many servants back when he commanded the Empire’s forces.

Roderick looked upon each man inside, most being tended to by servants who polished their arms and armour, or brought them food and wine, he realised this must be the place the knights came to rest.

There were washrooms sectioned off from the main floor, rooms with washbasins and bathing tubs lined up against the walls, the air thick with steam as serving girls washed hot coals under buckets of water. The Imperials were separated; Roderick being placed in the care of a comely maiden in a white gown and matching apron.

She closed the door behind him, and asked him to strip. Roderick raised a brow, but did as she bade, beginning the long process of removing his arms and armour. He would have felt embarrassed, but the maiden turned away, preparing his bath while he undressed. She let him have his privacy as he dunked into the water, only turning around when his crotch was obscured beneath the waterline.

She prepared a loofa and brush, and began to wash him down, suds running down his shoulders as she scrubbed. Roderick was no stranger to being cleaned down by a bath wench in his day, and he felt a wave of nostalgia for his younger years, when he was just a simple men-at-arms without a care in the world.