Mr Tarwin Goldwood

Freelands Council Chairman

Ashgrove House

Keystone

Northwall

 

September 24th

 

Dear father,

 

I have recently read, with regret, the Keystone News Scroll from last week. Please pass on my sympathies to minister Silverwater. I met Gero once, and found him to be both friendly and courageous, and I am sure his company will miss him.

I have in the last week travelled across the counties of Eastmarch, Ridgedale, Mistvale, and Woodlund. You will be pleased to know that three of the respective county keepers have been largely cooperative regarding your request for more troops, although Woodlund are still being somewhat reluctant. Nonetheless, you can expect a further three hundred men to arrive at Keystone some time within five days. You may already have some of them.

My travels may be curtailed for the next few days – the staff at my current lodgings kindly kept me waiting outside in the rain for over half an hour, with the result that I now have a truly stunning cold. Fortunately, the maid seems to have a secret recipe for such, some herbal drink that tastes horrible but does at least clear my nose.

I am, I should perhaps mention, currently a guest of the keeper of Woodlund (you will remember him from the council meeting, I am sure – the slim lutrani with the soft voice, not to mention that hat!) and am thus writing this from one of the numerous guest rooms in his mansion. It is, I must admit, a wonderful place to stay. The bedroom is about the size of our dining hall, and the whole mansion is full of pictures, tapestries, and suits of armour. One of them rather reminded me of your old suit, though this one looks like it was actually worn – there is a dent in the helmet and a rather nasty stain on the inside.

For a man with so much affluence, ‘Lord Riverwell’ (as he likes to be referred to) seems remarkably stubborn about committing any of those resources to something other than wine, song, and... well, perhaps I should say no more. It might be worth having words with him at the next council meeting – he will listen to you, I am sure, more than he does me – and perhaps mentioning that there have been occasions in the past where we have had to strip the title of keeper and force an early election.

I must say, it is rather a shame that my visit is marred by uncooperative behaviour, in all other respects, Woodlund is a very pleasant place, even outside Riverwell’s mansion. They have some fine architecture here in the city, and the people are remarkably friendly. You might consider bringing mother here for a holiday some time, I think she would enjoy it very much. They also do a very good blackberry ale, which I highly recommend.

Before I forget, I should say that there seem to be a lot of rumours flying about regarding the war – apparently the only thing that travels faster than news is nonsense. One that has been passed on to me by several of the shopkeepers in the city is that the commander of the Lordenor army has a ‘pet dragon.’ Given that the original sources of these reports had likely had no more than a near brush with the Lordenor soldiers, I suspect that they have seen a battering ram or catapult that is carved like a dragon, and allowed the fear of the moment to run away with their imaginations. I thought you might like to know, just so you can be on the lookout.

Other rumours that you might find amusing are that Irontooth doesn’t sleep, prefers his meat raw, only has half a tail, and actually has iron teeth… I am considering starting one that he has a glass eye, just to see whether it really does reach the next county before I do.

I’ll leave a note to where I’ll be heading next with each household I visit, should you need to get a messenger to me.

I hope things are going well back in Keystone, and please give my love to mother,

 

Troyston

 

Troyston signed the letter, rolled up the parchment, and sealed it with candle wax, impressing his ring into it to mark its authenticity. Putting it on one side of the oak desk, he got up, and looked out of the window. Beyond the diamond-cut pane, the gardens of the mansion shone in the early autumn sunlight. He could see two gardeners hard at work keeping the maze trimmed to shape.

“Hypocrite,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Nothing but a hypocrite. Still, at least it should keep dad happy, and me out here where I’m supposed to be.” He leaned his forehead against the window. “Not that it’s helping... most of them don’t even bother with a security force beyond their police, let alone have enough troops to be sparking hostilities... Oh, what am I doing here?” he asked his faint reflection, thumping his fist softly against the windowsill.

There was a quiet knock at the door, and the maid’s face peered around it, neatly framed by dark hair that matched her black blouse and skirt.

“Everything all right, sir?” she asked.

Troyston looked at her. “Why am I here?” he asked.

The maid looked slightly confused as she entered the room proper. “Because you are looking for more military support for the war with Lordenor?” she asked, sounding as if she suspected a trick question – which it largely was.

Troyston raised his eyebrows. “Very good,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know that was public knowledge.”­

She blushed. “Well, Lord Riverwell does tend to talk quite freely when he’s drunk, sir...”

“Ah. Given that he seems to be drunk a lot...”

“Indeed, sir,” she shrugged. “I’m sorry if I’m not supposed to know.”

“No, don’t be,” Troyston smiled. “There’s little enough harm.”

“Yes, sir,” the maid nodded. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Why are we at war?”

Pausing, Troyston looked back at her. Good question, he thought. A very good question, and one that he wasn’t quite sure he was qualified to answer yet.

“Because Lordenor attacked us,” he said simply.

“Why, sir? Did we do something wrong?” She appeared genuinely confused.

“No, I don’t think so. Power perhaps... land... wealth... who can say?” Troyston shrugged.

“I don’t understand,” she said in a small voice, looking at the floor. “Surely King Irontooth has enough land and wealth?”

Troyston chuckled ruefully. “Be glad you don’t understand,” he said softly.

“My... my brother, sir... He’s... one of the city guards... I don’t want him to be sent to the army. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“No,” Troyston sighed. “No, nor do I. Look,” crossing the room to stand in front of her, he took her hand, holding it in both of his, and she looked up at him with large eyes. “I really can’t say too much, but I don’t want this war any more than you do. I’m just here because... because there isn’t much else I can do right now. I don’t know how this war started, and I don’t know how to end it, so this is the best I can do to protect the people of the Freelands.”

“I see, sir...” she looked at the floor.

Troyston sighed. “What’s your name? And your brother’s name?” he asked.

“Merrin Cartwright, sir, my brother’s name is Jovun.”

“All right, Merrin,” Troyston said with a smile. “You listen to me. I may not have much else I can do, but I can put in a word with the captain of the guard and keep Jovun here, all right?”

Merrin’s face lit up as she clasped her hands in front of her short apron. “Sir! You’d do that for me? Thank you, sir!”

Troyston nodded. “Sure,” he sniffed. “Um, could I possibly have some more of that drink...?”

“Of course, sir!” She vanished so quickly that Troyston briefly wondered if she had fallen through the floorboards.

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “Yes. That’s what I’m doing here.”