Chapter 4: "The Count's Reception"

I pondered as I viewed the inner vineyards through the window of my room in the tower of Castle Feanoth. Once upon a time, this inner valley, hidden from outside troubles, had been a source of food and valuable herbs for the region, allowing the warriors to push back the gray earth that had then approached the castle itself, spreading most heavily in the early days of the infestation.

The uneven stones of the walls were smoothed as only dwarven craftsmen could. The walkers, artisans, and miners hired by the first lord of these lands have furnished the castle to their liking, and so it is common in the shire to settle mostly within the castle itself. Of course, there are small houses and wooden buildings in the inner lands, but most of them are still on the fertile plains. Of the more recent buildings inside the castle, there was a hippodrome, a trade and crafts quarter near the gates. But mostly the servants and inhabitants were housed according to the custom of these places inside the castle walls, underground chambers of the castle and towers. And in the highest spires of Feanot the sages and magicians found their shelter.

The history of this amazing castle is full of intrigue and unexpected turns. The very first count was able with great difficulty to gain an audience with Grave Mosshovik, where the question of the right to own this land was raised. The Emperor listened to the nobleman and agreed that if he could build a fortress in a year, he would get possession of such a vast land.

Promising to pay his tithes faithfully, the ancestor of the Dreir Feanoth family made a secret pact with the underground travelers of the Blue Mountains and several ancient mages of Zakat. The castle was erected by the wizards in the shortest possible time, with its exterior splendor and tall spires, and polished by the dwarves on the inside for another ten years. For such help, Theanoth promised great freedoms for the mages of his county, practically making them independent. And the dwarves were promised all the gold to be found in the bowels of the mountains.

The tunnelers, hearing of this generosity, designed a deep network of tunnels beneath the castle in the likeness of the royal chambers of Onyx the Merry. It is said that Count Dreir Feanoth twisted and bit his elbows when he saw the carts loaded with gold leaving towards the Blue Mountains. And yet, the resulting castle was a good place to house all the people of the county. And perhaps it was worth even more than what its builders had gotten.

Thus, Theanoth gained its uniqueness and became known as a castle reaching both the heights and depths of the mountains. Towering over the valley with its sharp Gothic spires, it completely isolated it from the outside world with its fortifications. It was as if he had placed a hand with its thumb jutted upward in the shape of a gate tower, saying, "I have fulfilled your commission, Grave Mohawk. This is now my domain."

The fortifications were truly inspiring. All along the valley's perimeter, mountain spires echoed the towers. "If I were a painter, I might even want to paint them," I thought.

But still, the fame of the largest defensive fortification in Terresia does not belong to it. It is rightfully held by the Fortress of Rukh, which was built among the thunderbirds' nests to completely isolate the southern coast from the north. The Sand Mountains have only one crossing, bridging which back during the First Age a small outpost gradually turned into a fortress. At the time, it was smaller than all the cities of Terresia.

Gradually more and more fortifications were added to it. To this day that castle still provides breeding and nesting grounds for thunderbirds. There was the First Gate to the Native Lands, and then the Second Gate in the Pass of the Claw. There is also the Abode of Light, the Order's Oplot, and the Castle of Thane, which is more of an ancient ornament than a serious defensive fortification. Also of note here is the Cathedral of Titan Jodkheim, where the Firstborn of the Amber Isles escaped to in modern times.

And even the second and third places on the list do not belong to Feanoth. Innesent, with a coastal port and a white belt of walls around it, erected on an island at the source of three rivers. It is virtually impregnable thanks to its white fortifications. Next in size will be Kostegrad, whose city walls, which defended the city once upon a time, have been left behind by beggars camped around an ancient stone heart. Only these cities would be followed by Feanoth, completing the four largest fortifications of Terresia. A castle built with dwarves and mages alike.

And strangely enough, the capital of the Empire itself, Amberesvet the Great, as well as Red Port, Iron Grip and the large but wooden Burning Cauldron would only take the last place. Here the main emphasis was placed on the Lord's castle and the fortifications for it. Without that fortification, they would be no different from the cities of the Homelands north of Fortress Ruch, stretching all the way to the First Gate. And the Forbidden Cape, or otherwise known as Ghost Cape, where the people of the whisperers-in-the-night live, would be barely larger than the outposts in the mountains, where only the guardians rule.

Why did I wonder about a contest in the size of the fortifications of all the castles of Terresia? Probably the upcoming tournament put me in that competitive mood. But I digress....

Today, Castle Feanoth was more crowded than ever. People in the valley were hurriedly stopping work in the vineyards and rushing to the castle. It seems that the Count's tournament had attracted many brave men, both heroes – knights from all over the lands, and mercenaries – hunters for profit.

Mercenaries crowded the corridors, guards and servants scurried here and there. Even here, away from the feasting hall and the exits to the arena and arena, it was crowded. Every now and then someone passed by the open doors. Not so long ago a passerby knocked on my door, and when I asked him what he wanted here, he said that he had mistaken this room for his own and hurried away. I was thinking how many people like that are here now, looking for something to eat.

I was contracted by the Order for a mission. I still blame myself for that emotional outburst and for agreeing to it. Except that I was a little relieved that everyone who signed the contract now had their own private room in the castle, as a special gift from the Lord. I walked over and sat down on the bed, taking in the view from the window, and met my gaze again with the dwarf standing across from me. My friend and faithful companion had finally finished his long contemplation.

"You know what, I'm not going with you," the dwarf shook his head. "My instincts have never failed me before – it's a lost cause, my friend!"

I waited for my friend to think. I was looking out the window, thinking about the cities of Terressia, when his voice came from behind me. He finally spoke again after my question and long deliberation. And walked to the now my private room and sat down across from the dwarf.

"Suit yourself," I shrugged. If the Order does sign the contract, I'll have to fulfill it as a mercenary. K'Yoevghahn's contract is up, and he's free to go wherever he wants.

The dwarf stood up and grasped his crossbow with determination. I thought he was going to point it at me again, but this time he did something different. K'Yoevghahn stroked the hilt of his crossbow once more and held out his weapon to me.

"Here you go, you saved my life, and it will replace your spear." In his usual careless manner, the dwarf pushed me in the stomach with his weapon, only this time with the handle. He did this whenever I took one gold for a new contract, threatening to shoot me for my stupidity and stubbornness.

I wanted to object, but met the dwarf's steely gaze. The dwarf shifted his steely eyebrows for effect, and when I took the weapon, he folded his strong arms across his chest as if forged in the crucible of the forges:

"Take it before I change my mind. And I will not tolerate any objections," he waved me away with square fingers and clenched his fists so that the knuckles turned white on his strong hands. History says, "Fear the dwarves who bring gifts…" and it's because they're pathologically stingy. It is very difficult for them to give gifts, and so my friend was torn between two opposites.

"I'm grateful to you, K'Yoevghan. This is an invaluable gift." He seemed to let go a little.

"If I'd known," K'Yoevghahn said in a low growl, "that you, humans, had such a mercenary mess, I never would have come to you."

"You didn't complain much the last time we gathered gold," I grinned, remembering my recent contract.

"Gold," the dwarf said, raising his index finger, "shines brightly, but here, if it's not a trick, it's just bad smelling.... foolishness! What was the point of you binding yourself to the Order again? You should have smashed a couple of dragon eggs over their heads instead of agreeing to it. You're very wrong, buddy!"

I sighed.

"I don't understand it, absolutely not!" The dwarf waved his hands away again. "Don't ask, I'll never go with you," he turned away, waiting for something to happen, and froze. He must have been expecting me to talk him into it. In that moment, I realized how much my friend trusted me. If I insisted right now, he would go, even in spite of his premonition.

"I understand you, K'Yoevghan. I'm not asking you to, it's my personal thing, you know?" I tried to give him a hint.

"Personal, you say?" He rubbed his beard from top to bottom with his right hand. That gesture meant many things to dwarves. K'Yoevghahn shifted his eyebrows and said, "I have a wife and children in the north, and that's personal, I understand, but what you find 'personal' in the Order, I don't know," I shrugged.

"Friend, I'm not asking you to come with me this time." The words sounded as if they weren't spoken by me. So different from my usual tone. The dwarf stayed still for the first time in our long journey, then shuddered as if startled out of his thoughts. He shook his head again and nodded, "All right, have it your way, old friend," he patted my shoulder. The dwarf could only do that because I was sitting up. "When you're done with your business, come visit us in the Blue Mountains. I'll be waiting for you."

"It's a deal," I gave him my hand, and we shook hands on the verbal agreement.

"Not goodbye," the dwarf said angrily and walked away. Without turning around, K'Yoevghahn went to the door and slammed it so hard that the plaster flew off, covering the entire threshold. My heart skipped a beat. I shook my head, "How childish is that?" And after a little while, I walked out towards the playpen.

The dwarf was gone in the hallway.

There was a half-human-sized porcelain vase in a deep alcove across the hall from my room. A cart of fruits and vegetables passed me in the hallway. The peddler, not letting go of the hand luggage on wheels, nodded at his wares, offering them to me, but I shook my head negatively. Then he walked on down the mosaic laid out here.

As I went lower, I saw a dwarf blacksmith pouring some kind of liquid into a kind of furnace mechanism. The splashes flew in all directions, hitting the fire, which was eagerly embracing them, and the apron, which was already very unattractive and shabby-looking. Looking down, the dwarven smith took a pair of tongs and began to extract the small bronze plates coming out of the machine. "Lamellar armor!" I guessed. "Looks like preparations for the upcoming tournament are well underway here."

Further down the underground corridor, three girls sat at a loom. I had to go down two more floors and through the dwarf halls to reach the central hallway with festively dressed merchants and similarly dressed craftsmen. Then it would be easy to get to the inner valley from those rooms.

…

The crowd was cheering! A rare spectacle for Theanotus was about to begin. A man in brightly colored festive clothes entered the arena to a standing ovation. The people in the stands stopped whispering when they saw Herold. With a smile, he held his hands up in the air, showing everyone his inflated and worn over his wrists cloth doughnuts – dumplings. It would not have been easy for him to shout over such an excited community, so he had to show his palms in three directions before everyone gathered paid attention to him.

"The Trial of Chivalry, to select the noble and elevate them to dignity, as well as the Tournament of Recognition for the best mercenaries of the County of Feanoth and other lands, cannot be opened without the traditional battle between two mounted knights!" proclaimed the Herold, and then, gaining air, continued, "Therefore, Count Feanoth has chosen two brave and noble men to fight for the honor of the Castle of the Stag's Crest, and thus open the tournament!"

Finally, the trumpets sounded and the knight Ulrich appeared on the arena. It is he, and Ser Wimal Yaneso, who should open the honorable tournament. They are honored for their exploits. Ser Wimal Janeso, a knight from the Fortress of Ruch, who left the Lands of the Last Light to fight evil, and it should be noted that he fought very successfully. No sooner than yesterday, he identified two sectarians from the Cult of Bones right here in the capital of the county, in the castle of Feanoth, right in front of the ring. For this feat, he was awarded a medal personally from the hands of the ruler of these lands and the honor of being the first to clash his lances in today's tournament. His horse, a rare color for our lands, was as white as snow. Clad in armor, it thumped its hooves and snorted in impatience, waiting to begin. The same whitened cloth that covered the armor of the knight who sat upon it bore the mark of a blue heraldic sprout unknown to me. Sir Wimal gripped his spear tighter when he saw his opponent.

Knight Ulrich, in bright green robes, made a small circle of honor, warming up the crowd and shaking his lance, and so, a little later, took his seat. His black horse snorted and bellowed almost every time he pulled on the reins. I knew nothing of him, but the Herold, who had before announced the exploits of Wimal, spoke of Ulrich, "This honorable knight named Ulrich Stormwind, on his way to Castle Feanoth, defended the village. After single-handedly slaying at least a dozen dangerous foes on his horse, he also helped the wagon reach the settlement and provide food for the starving inhabitants! Meet the knight Ulrich of the northern frontiers! And may the noblest man win!"

I looked around at the unusual colors, "Green robes, not at all peculiar to northerners, he must be from the lake dwellers in the very east." A golden swan glittered on the fabric, a small, barely noticeable detail.

Ulrich threw up the visor, and it closed. Wymmal began to accelerate, casting a light shield over himself. The green knight responded by activating the runes on his cloak. "How interesting," I thought, "where did a mere knight get the Order cape of a guardian of the foothills?" The hoofbeats intensified. The crowd held its breath. A peal of thunder! The two riders fell out of the saddle.

Ulrich rose at once and, throwing off his crumpled helmet, bared his sword, showing that he was ready to continue the fight. But Wimal rose slowly, a splinter from a spear that had been shattered to pieces embedded under his right shoulder. With a fierce determination he also drew his sword and stood in a defensive stance, more like a swordsman than a swordsman, holding the weapon with his left hand. His right hand he preferred to throw behind his back.

The crowd roared as the knights began to circle each other. Ulrich made a lunge, but Wimal did not react to it, and then abruptly went on the attack himself. A swing to the right, a swing to the left. The knight took advantage of the fact that his opponent was holding a sluggish sword rather than a swift rapier and was able to sidestep his opponent and kick him in the back, causing him to slip forward on his knees. However, such a dangerous maneuver almost cost him his helmetless head. The crowd gasped in horror again.

Wymmal rose, intercepted his sword, and lashed out with chopping blows at his opponent. Gracefully parrying the next lunge, Ulrich crouched down and tried to reach his opponent from below, poking him in the other knight's forehead. The one from Fortress Ruch was now helmetless as well. The Herold looked at the Count to see if he had the will to stop the fight, but Theanoth shook his head, willing them to continue. Oh, and could he really stop this fight even if he wanted to? I think so, but then the tournament would not have taken place, and would have been postponed for two weeks at the very least.

"It looks like Wimal has decided to use his main arm despite his injury!" Herold shouted, and the crowd roared again. Wrinkling his nose, Ser Janeso drew his weapon with his right hand. After a couple of swings, both knights froze, stopping their blades at their opponent's neck.

"An even match!" Herold announced. The crowd erupted in cheers and turned to shouting.

Wimmal Janeso extended his hand to the green knight, and the latter shook it firmly with his gauntlet.

Count Theanotus rose and, raising his hands, called for silence.

"I admire the skill and nobility of the brave knights of the first contest of the tournament! At this solemn conclusion of the duel, I consider the Tournament of Order Trials open!"