The Jongurian Mission (12 page)

Halam and Rodden looked at each other in surprise.
“I had no idea that they would begin this early,” Rodden said. “I thought we still had a few days to ascertain the makeup of the council and judge the representatives.”

“Well
, now we’ve got one night to observe them in their revelry,” Halam said with disgust.

“I’ll be seeing your papers then if
you’re wanting to pass,” said the guard. Halam withdrew a few sheets of paper from his breast pocket and handed them to the guard, who quickly put his head down into them, squinting at the words.

“Aye, alright,” he said
after a few moments, handing the papers back up to Halam, “You can go through.” He signaled to the other guards behind him who stepped out from in front of the gate.

They rode through the gate, and were surrounded by buildings of a much finer design and build than those outside the inner city walls.
Large trees lined the avenues, and flowers sprouted from well-tended plots spaced between the buildings. It was much cleaner and quiet than the busy streets in the outer part of the city.

They rode down the main avenue for a ways, and then turned off onto a side street, stopping in front of a two-story building which looked like a home.
No lights were on inside, however. Halam dismounted and went up the few steps to knock on the door. After a time he knocked again, but there was no answer.

“It would seem that Orin is with the rest of the council members,” he said as he climbed back onto Juniper.

“They must be in the palace feast hall,” Rodden surmised.

They rode back to the main avenue, and all the way down it, coming to a large palace. The building was resplendent in parapets and towers, and covered in a bright white sheen. Whether paint, varnish, or some kind of gilt enamel Bryn could not tell, but the whole structure seemed to glow. A large company of guards patrolled the grounds around the palace, and again they were stopped, but ushered to continue on after Halam had shown his papers. They came to a side entrance, where they dismounted and handed their horses over to one of the guards before climbing a long flight of stone steps leading to a wide set of double doors fitted with ornate knobs and fittings.

Several guards lined the entranceway.
Large swords hung ready at their belts in scabbards with fancy gold and red scrollwork etched down their length. Their faces were shielded by helmets of the same type of steel which made up their breastplates and leggings, and they did quite a good job of concealing any attempt at reading their faces. White cloaks covered them from head to foot, completing their majestic, yet domineering demeanor.

One of the guards came toward them as they climbed the steps toward the doors, approaching Halam who was in the lead.

“What is your business at the palace,” the guard said in a gruff, no-nonsense voice.

“We’re here for the trade conference,” Halam replied in a stern, authoritative voice, his shoulders thrown back and his chest stuck out. “We’re the representatives from Tillatia.”

The guard looked them over for a few moments, taking a few extra moments to size up Bryn.
Their clothes were rumpled and travel-stained from the several days they’d been on the road. Bryn thought that if he were a guard at such a grand palace, he’d be hesitant to let them in. Finally the guard spoke.

“Do you have any identification papers?”

“Of course,” Halam said, reaching once again into his breast pocket and taking out the same sheets of paper as before and handing them to the guard.

The guard did not take his eyes off of Halam as he took the papers and motioned behind him.
Another man dressed just the same came down the steps and took the papers from where the guard held them over his shoulder, and began to look them over.

“Both representatives from the Tillatian trade office,” said the second guard.
“The boy is not listed.” He looked up, handing the papers back to the first guard.

“My nephew, from a farm in Eston,” Halam said, pointing toward Bryn.
“I thought this would be a good opportunity for him to get off the farm and see his country, learn how his government works.”

“A noble idea,” a voice called down loudly from atop the steps.
Another man was coming toward them now, but he was not decked out in the armor and accoutrements of the other two guards. He wore a fancy white leather jerkin with the Culdovian seal, but no cloak or steel leggings. He too had a sword strapped to his belt, but it was shorter and the scabbard was less ornate, containing another copy of the provincial seal.

“I’ve always thou
ght that educating the country’s youth about their government was a fine idea, and one that should be done more often. I’m glad that I am not alone in that opinion.” The man extended his hand to Halam. “Connor Morn, the captain of the guards. And you must be Halam Fiske.”

“Aye, that I am,” Halam said, a bit surprised at the man
’s familiarity.

Connor shook Halam’s hand,
and then extended his to Rodden. “And Rodden Stor, I presume, also of the trade office in Tillatia.”

“That is correct sir, I am impressed at your knowledge of two humble government servants,” Rodden said as he shook Connor’s hand.

“Well, I wouldn’t be much of a captain of the guards if I did not know of all of the people that come and go from the royal palace, now would I?” Connor said with a slight smile. “Besides, with the trade conference set to begin tomorrow, there are all sorts of new people here, and as you can see, security has been tightened.” He held up his hand and motioned around him at the guards lining the entranceway.

“So the conference begins tomorrow then?” Halam stated more than asked.

“Yes, you two are the last delegates to arrive.
I’m a bit surprised, seeing as how you are just to the north of us. The delegation from Sheffield arrived more than a week ago,” he said, arching up his brows in a questioning manner. “But I suppose if you took it upon yourself to travel to Eston to pick up your nephew for an education, I can see why you would be late.”

Connor looked over at Bryn for the first time since he had spoken.
“And who might you be now, young man?” he asked as he walked over to stand in front of Bryn, looking him up and down. “Come to learn about trade, have you now?”

“Yes sir,” Bryn said in as strong of a voice as he could manage, which he suspected came out much meeker than he intended.
“My name is Bryn Fellows, sir, and I promise that you’ll have no trouble out of me.”

“Ha!” Connor laughed, throwing his head back.
“I wish all of our guests this week were as so forthright as you, and stuck to their word as well. No Bryn Fellows, I think that we will not have much trouble out of you,” he said, turning back toward the two guards still standing on the landing.

“I’ll escort these three to the banquet hall myself, Jur,” he said to the first guard that had spoken to them.”

“Yes sir.” Both guards headed back to the top of the stairs to stand alongside of the doors.

He began to head up the steps toward the doors, and the three fell in step behind him.
The guards atop the steps threw open the doors ahead of Connor, and as they walked through Bryn’s mouth fell open. An immense hallway lay before them, stretching for hundreds of feet. The ceilings rose high above them and were painted with large hunting scenes. The walls held giant tapestries interspersed with large portraits of noble looking men in fine clothing who could only be previous members of the royal family. Large sconces enameled with gold inlay lined the walls between the paintings and tapestries, their flickering torch flames illuminating the greatness of the corridor before them. A richly worked rug of red and gold nearly covered the entirety of the floor, tapering off only toward the walls, where beautifully smooth tiles reflected the light of the torches above them.

They headed
part way down the long hallway, and then turned onto another, this one equally impressive and ornamented just as thoroughly as the entranceway. Two large wooden doors with steel studs stood at the end, two guards holding a vigil by their sides. As they got nearer Bryn could hear the muffled sounds of voices coming from behind the doors, as well as music and singing. When Connor got near, the guards threw open the doors, and Bryn was flooded with aromas that immediately set his mouth to watering.

Inside was a sight he
’d never seen before. Before them stood an immense hall, the ceiling half again as high as the hallway they had walked down. On it were painted huge frescos of lords and ladies decked out in fanciful dress in scenes that had them hunting, attending court, and frolicking in their grandeur. The floors were made of huge stone slabs chiseled down to a smooth, even surface. The walls were covered in tapestries from floor to ceiling, displaying the seals from all fourteen provinces of Adjuria in a myriad of colors, with the same type of sconces holding torches as he had seen in the hallway. Huge candelabras were suspended by mighty chains from the ceiling and reached down to within twenty feet of the floor. A large raised dais, empty at the moment, took up the far wall opposite the doors they had come through, a throne set in its center. It was high-backed, and had a golden shine which reflected the torch light. It seemed to be made entirely of gold, but Bryn could not believe such a thing possible. It must be a gilt finishing, with perhaps some tracings of gold, he thought. Still, it was spectacular, and he could not wait to see the man who sat in it. The great hall itself was filled with tables and benches, and contained a few hundred people, although there was no way that Bryn could count them, as they were constantly moving about.

The tables contained a wide variety of dishes to feed the people.
There were platters of roast fowls and braised beef; plates overflowing with vegetables and fruits; bread was piled so high that the topmost loaves had tumbled down to fall on the floor.

The people were loud and boisterous, and primarily men, although some females could be spotted here and there.
Large groups congregated around a few tables in the center, talking loudly; with smaller groups of people at the tables set on the sides of the hall speaking quietly amongst themselves or simply sitting back and taking in the atmosphere.

Serving men and women scurried about the hall, dodging drunken revelers as they tried to carry trays piled high with dirty plates to one of the side doors out of the hall, or fresh trays of food and drink into it.
They rarely made it to their intended destination without half of the contents they carried being picked off by the hungry and thirsty crowd.

Many dogs lay about on the floor.
Some were eating scraps from the tables, others blatantly reaching right up to the plates on the tables when there was no one around to stop them. Quite a few lay sprawled out, their bellies filled to capacity and their only desire being sleep. None fought over food; there was more than enough to feed the whole city, by the look of it.

All three stood amazed by the sight before them; this di
dn’t look like a group of people set to decide critical issues of trade for their provinces. It looked like a group of drunken sailors come ashore for the first time in months and set on letting loose. As they watched, a serving girl did her best to maneuver through the crowded center of the hall toward a table that remarkably thought itself in need of more food and drink. Her best was not good enough, for she was grabbed by the arm and spun about by a rather loud and obnoxious man who took her for a few spins around the floor near where the minstrels played. Another did her best to get back to the kitchens with a tray of dirty dishes. She succeeded, but only after being fondled by half-a-dozen men who loudly backslapped each other on their achievement.

“Gentleman,” Connor said, viewing their looks of open-mouthed surprise with a smile on his face, “I give you the opening feast of the trade conference.”
He turned on his heels and headed back toward the door, pausing to look over his shoulder at them one more time. “Do enjoy yourselves, now,” he said with a smirk, and then was through the doors which quickly closed behind him.

EIGHT

The three turned their gazes from Connor’s exit back to the hall, still taken aback.
Several minstrels with lutes, pipes, and a harp were now into a bawdy drinking song favored by the lower classes, several of the more inebriated guests joining in with their voices, creating a rather discordant melody that was thankfully partially drowned out by the mixed sound of numerous conversations taking place at once.

Rodden turned to look at Halam, who was still wide-eyed at the sight before him.
“This resembles a harvest feast more than a trade conference,” he said.

“Aye, that it does,” Halam said, not taking his eyes from the room.
A small dog dropped the hunk of meat it was chewing on and began to chase a court jester around some tables, fastening its teeth on the lower hem of the jester’s tunic, much to the laughter of the men who saw. “I find it hard to believe that on the morrow we’ll be sitting around the negotiating table with many of these men.”

“I find it hard to believe many of them
’ll be able to get out of their
beds
come the morrow,” Rodden answered.