Exiled Home

[Guy d'Auvigny]

The long line of horses and other cattle, ox-drawn carts and the other trappings were hustled along by comparatively few herders. The caravan was mostly herders and a few men at arms. It was like most other caravans plying a trade up the road, held up at the border with Heath, at the Wall; slow moving and dusty. This one was mostly livestock. However, there was an unusual emphasis on what looked to be heavier horse breeds.

The master of the caravan looked ahead with half-resignation and half-anticipation and half-irritation. Ahead, assuming he ever cleared the wall upon the East Road, and entered Myrken from Heath, was the home he'd never seen, that his father had never seen, and his grandmother and her mother never saw. It was a distaff inheritance of land that he had little claim to, with the intervening generations and passing of time to make it even less relevant.

Except Chedwry's own chancellor affixed the seal to his deeds; theret lay the rub. It was like most politics in that an excuse with a writ tended to win over a mere excuse, and he was canny enough to call in favors from his days of position in the court. Though he'd retired, he was nonetheless a man who could bend the right ears in the right places.

And so now, he rode in the saddle of a tall destrier, thick boned and well trained, well bred; he wore mail on the road, mostly because the rumors of what was to come in Myrken were troubling indeed. He mostly was concerned for the land he was deeded. But a civil war could easily dispose of such claims, or at least make it highly inconvenient; he could stay here and wait it out, and hope that he could negotiate the land, largely vacated by some sect devoted to a bartender of all things, or he could proceed in and establish his claim, rather than beg some oaf clerk for the rights that were his.

In his experience, a right you had to ask for was a right that could be denied. He didn't intend to be put in the position of being told no. When he was called to the Trae Kelsan court from the Melcavia royal holding, he saw the fruit of his labor awarded to some cousin of the king after twenty five years of stewardship that developed a frontier castle into a worthy source of revenue. As a third son, able but landless, he leapt at the generations-old deed and wringed every advantage he could through flattery and subterfuge.

Having come this far, he didn't intend to leave his inheritance unclaimed because of a brewing factional war.

The choice was clear. Fly among the eagles or be their prey.

[Guy d'Auvigny]

It was a few days since he'd managed to talk his way through the Wall's guards, pointing out that his caravan would be of benefit to Myrken. When confronted with armed people, he preferred to reason if possible, and it seemed these men were not the bloody minded sort. It, of course, did not hurt that as a courtesy, he left them an ox to roast over a spit to help keep their bellies full on guard duty.

Of course, coming to the home, the vaunted Highwatch was not all it was imagined to be, despite the expectation that not all would be as it was told in the tales. Despite realistic expectations that what could go wrong would go wrong, he’d hoped that this would not be so.

He’d been raised on the tales of a toothless old great-aunt of the place; A stark, small castle that nonetheless dominated the twin roads leading South into Heath, where his ancestors once profited by protecting caravans and undertook a stewardship of the land. Or she was addled and they were really robber barons; he didn't put it past his old auntie to feed him sweetness and sugar and brush over the harsh realities.

The fact was, properly manned, it was in reach of the two roads leading north from Heath into Myrken, and it had plenty of good pasture and farmland...farmland largely abandoned by some bartender worshipping sect, according to the reports of a man he sent to scout the place before he moved in...A man that neglected to mention one thing.

He wouldn't have to worry about putting out anyone squatting in the keep; no one was there to evict. For good reason.

"Effin' ruin," spat one of the caravan guards, a salty fellow by the name of Hanrald, who glanced at the aquiline-featured nobleman astride his horse, looking over a pile of stones that once formed the manor of a castle, but had long since fallen away; there wasn't a complete room in the place, even if the walls were in fairly good condition; if overgrown and falling down.

"Pardon, I mean, seems like its been seein' better days if ye ast me."

Black haired, albeit graying at the temples and in the close-trimmed beard he wore over a pointed chin, the man merely nodded whilst considering the place with a stony expression; he was one for cold ice over a boiling temper, that one, but this didn't seem to anger him. He seemed to accept it.

"Nothing ever turns out as expected. Get the tents pitched-- within the walls. Set outposts around the herd and atop the walls," he pointed out the spots, the best visibility, "there, there, there, and there. Put a man up on top the ruin of the keep, but only if you can manage. Don't get anyone killed if you can't climb up easily. I don't want any man slipping in the rain." The old days of defending small towns and palisade walls against bandits seemed to avail him here; he knew what to look for. He didn’t have to speak loudly to emphasize the order.

"Make sure everyone has a horn and a torch. If there's about to be a war here, there's bound to be bandits looking for a juicy take. But signal for help if you see something, don't attack. I'd rather lose a horse than kill some farmer's child. I don't intend to start killing neighbors."

Unless he had to, as it were.

**

When the tent went up in the courtyard, it was a simple affair of canvas, a campaign tent. The pennant, however, was draped over the surprisingly intact gates of Highwatch. It had a sword like device of buff upon deep indigo, simple and bold. There wasn't much to claim, but it was claimed. And even if the keep was a ruin, the place was provisioned carefully to make the temporary cloth accommodations comfortable; he’d not neglected to bring the necessities to sustain his small band of people.

It wasn’t hard to figure out whom the owner was; the proud man atop a powerful horse, riding over the land in the course of several days, peering at soil and recording everything; a self-assured man used to command. Older, but fit. Older than he looked, but not so young looking that he seemed boyish, he used gentle tones as he marked things out for a man, a secretary, to make note of on parchment.

But gently spoken or not, he was used to the reigns of command.

[Guy d'Auvigny]

At first, bare necessities consumed Highwatch. For example the basic provisioning of the encampment within the walls. The first days were concerned with locating and reviving the wells that inhabitants long since fled dug down.

Rather than worry overmuch about making the place opulent, Guy made the priority of making it defendable; the more he heard of Myrken, the less he liked the prospect of trusting to the local government, wherever it was, and whatever faction happened to be ascendant at the moment. Judging by the local tax collector's vague answers about defense, he knew he was largely on his own in many ways.

Meanwhile, there were the concerns of fencing in the stock he'd brought, and so the priority besides provisioning and securing the land surrounding Highwatch was to work on the facilities for the care of the livestock.

What chafed him the most was that he'd build such preparations and then have to wait for the word of some bureaucrat or lawyer; he'd met enough of Myrken's government to have formed an opinion.

In the meantime, he decided to adapt to the situation and overcome the obstacles to commerce. Part of that was doing it under the nose of those who'd foolishly ordered a cessation of commerce, as necessary.

***

The knight of Highwatch arrived into town during the day to do business with the local merchants, buying goods that were sitting in warehouses and either rotting or merely costing their current owners more money than they were worth, as of the moment. After all, business was slow, and they were happy to see someone willing to buy, even if it was done cheaply. He didn't say much of what he intended with such goods, and few questions were asked.

The wagons came back laden to the ruins of the castle.

***

In the outlying areas, especially those areas near the Heath border, those farmers who were nearby also received a visit from the knight of Highwatch; they too were hoping to sell goods. They were given better prices than the local merchants, and paid promptly. There was wine shared and foodstuffs exchanged as the aristocrat visited farmsteads and treated farmers and their wives with courtesy, as well as demonstrating a rather discerning eye for animal husbandry. To them, it was rare to find an aristocrat with prodigious knowledge of what made a farm work.

Above all, they managed to at least gain something for their efforts, rather than watch their livelihoods dwindle away.

***

The caravans that were being turned away at the Wall itself were becoming restless, and many simply turned around rather than bother trying to argue with the local government for entrance. But a business of sorts began, largely through the position of Highwatch so close to the border with Heath.

Well-guarded wagons traded with the caravaners, and a rate of exchange was established; it wasn't the profit that Guy d`Auvigny or the caravan masters would wish, but it did provide at least something. They'd stay in business, even if it were a lean sort of business right now.

For the price of some ale and the occasional bit of livestock, militia guards were willing to overlook the wagons coming to the wall and the men doing their dealing; they ate and drank well as a result, and would go home with some silver weighing down their purses. Boring duty became profitable. Lothbury men were bought with silver. And Janiero men were avoided; like a good commander, the knight of Highwatch had the way scouted by men who wore colors, at a distance, that were hard to distinguish from that of Lothbury or the Militia.

More importantly, the militiamen saw their own goods, as well as that of their neighbors', put to sale with the caravans.

The caravans sold and bought goods, albeit wishing they could get into Myrken, the farmers sold goods and got their money, and got the rate they'd get in normal times. It wasn't precisely legal, as it flouted certain edicts, but then, Guy d'Auvigny was always more pragmatic than legally inclined. He'd spent decades building up frontier into profitability, while guarding it from raiders and bandits.

The rest of Myrken might have to tighten their belts, but he didn't intend to let those who put their trust in him suffer if he had something to do with it. If for the time, he let go of some profit to provide better prices for the farmers of Myrken, it was the sort of thing that'd create a better relation with the commons for the future; when things settled.

***

And while he sold goods, he also dispatched a trusted man to the royal capitol, Razasan, with some personal letters to old friends at the court.

[Vanidor]

There was one thing that was a certain truth within the town of Myrken, and the province and forest from which the township took it's name. And that was that no one seemed to be exactly who they were, and that coin often bought and paid for loyalties that should have been sure and forthwith.

So, perhaps, it shouldn't have been any sort of surprise that the men of Janerio, despite being relatively ignored and avoided, would come to hear about the changes that were going on at the outskirts of their territory. And so, because such news had finally made it's way to the man who commanded the Brotherhood, a section was dispatched to the location to see just what was going on.

And so they came, a full score of men in Janerio grey, mounted expertly upon the backs of their heavy chargers. They came down the road in a flying wedge, though they rode with the ease of men who were almost certain they would come under no assault whilst travelling the road in broad day-light. They would come to Highwatch, making certain that those within would see the pennions they flew (and hope that they would know them for who they were), and then they would come to a pause just outside of the delapidated walls.

The man in charge of the unit, a blade slender man with hair that was greying at the temples would raise his hand and smile at whomever would be gazing at him. "I am Lieutenant Jons Feul, from the Brotherhood of Janerio. Good greetings and welcome to Myrken... I need to speak with whomever is in command here, if you would."

And then the man would settled into his seat and wait.

[Guy d'Auvigny]

It was obvious, from the looks of the men atop the walls, that there was a certain wariness to them; they were old hands, aware of bandits tricks and false flags. If the walls were in sorry looking shape, though fundamentally sound, there were the signs of competent habitation. Heavy crossbows, alert watchmen, expertly placed posts upon the walls; braziers burning within enclosed spaces where men making their paces could pass for warmth on the cold nights. Above all, the place had a commanding vantage over the surrounding countryside.

All the same, the greeting was guardedly friendly.

"Lo there, you are bid welcome, so long as you come in peace. You may claim guest-right and enter."

Guest-right was an old invocation, more or less a very delicate way of implying truce and safety, especially in a place full of treachery. Not that it was to say they'd entirely trust that Myrkeners knew of such niceties, or obeyed them at all. But it was worth the shot.

All the same, the gate inside the door that opened was only cracked open large enough for the men of Janiero to pass through one at a time into a rather overgrown courtyard.

One simply did not take chances these days.

[Vanidor]

"Guest-Right. By Adon's buttock, that's a term I've not heard in a while. Yes, I'll claim it, and I trust you enough to come inside with just myself and a second. No need to make this tenser by bringing twenty armed men into your home, eh?"

Which... could have been a dig, for some of the men in the patrol -were- Myrkenborn, whilst Jons himself was far from it. No one was ever really sure -where- Jons had come from, just that he served the Brotherhood, and had been there for almost twenty years. And these men had come armed, more or less, into the homes of these Myrkenborn. Made the political situation here quite unstable, didn't it. In any case, it seemed that the gate would be cracked just enough for the Lieutenant and another to come into the stuffed courtyard and dismount. Jons to hand the reigns of his horse to the man that had come with him, that one to idly look about.

"By my eyes, it looks like yer ready to stay, eh? So. Who's in command here, my Captain sent me to give good reguards..."

[Guy d'Auvigny]

"I am."

The man who stepped forward was tall, lean, and fit enough for a man of his years; approaching gray. There was a lean, aristocratic cast to his face, aquiline nose, high forehead, good cheekbones and a chin, though that was bearded. His eyes, blue and calm, were lined with crows' feet.

And he wore a sword about his waist, a real knight's hand-and-a-halfer, though he went without much in the way of actual device, because to ward the cold he had on a leather jerkin with a fleece lining.

"I am Guy d'Auvigny, owner of this castle and these lands by deed-- my family held this holding for several generations, though it unfortunately was abandoned; I assume you've spoken to Councillor Treadwell and are aware that the title of this land is in order, and has been recently ratified by royal authority, correct? So of course, I intend to stay."

Of course, the hard line of his mouth could hardly be called a smile, nor did the dig go unnoticed. However, he didn't see fit to explain to the guard what sort of agreements he was coming to with those locals who happened to sit on the land the deed lay claim to; he had few doubts as to what some of the like in this area might, especially that fat shark of a tax collector.

The man had his own standard sitting out there, atop the pavilion at least; a blade of buff upon a field of persian indigo, "But the introduction aside, what is it I can do for you?"

[Vanidor]

"I can't say that I speak much with Treadwell, though perhaps he spoke with the Captain about this matter by now. You'll understand that we did not hear of your... arrival until early this morning, and the Captain dispatched us with haste to make sure you were... well taken care of." Jons simply smiled, it being a wolfish sort of thing, which was just as fitting as there was a wolf-head medallion sewn into the thick woolen coat he wore.

"I am here, as it happens to be, to simply see who you are and what you do here. Make sure you are following the laws of the land... excetera excetera. All that legalease bull that they like to put the world through, noble or no." Which was Jons' way of saying that he cared little for the rights of the nobility, at least when it came to security. "Will you be needing us to patrol up this way, or are you going to... hrm... presume to take care of all the defenses of this portion of Myrken? My Captain will want to know."

[Guy d'Auvigny]

The man watched the guardsman as he gave the message. Once he was finished and asked his question, the knight gave the response.

"If your captain requires relief from the burden of ensuring the security of this area, I should certainly think that we will be able to hold things for the time being, especially if it allows your captain to marshal his forces more effectively and relieve him of a burden that others can handle, for the time being."

And he couldn't have been more delighted personally than to have the guard off his lands and out of his hair, "On the other hand, I should like to certainly cooperate with the local authorities insofar as the interest of the folk here are concerned, as their best interest should be the higher calling in any case. Their prosperity and their safety. They deserve as much protection as your captain or myself could provide, in any case. After all, they have paid the fat man their taxes, and as I understand it, those taxes are rather exorbitant."

He paused, long enough to gesture towards at the mostly fallen keep about him.

"So while I would happily absolve you of the unnecessary burden of protecting my property, I think that some sort of arrangement must be reached so that we provide as much protection as possible to the folk of this area, not merely hand off the torch between one another. I leave the question of how your captain wishes to defend the folk here in his hands, though I will happily provide what I can as requested. If you wish, I shall happily set that proposal down in writing so that he can consider it in detail. Meanwhile, would you care for some roasted ox?"

He returned a smile of his own, albeit one that was haughty; no, he was making it clear to Jons that if the guardsman cared little for the security of Guy d'Auvigny, then Guy d'Auvigny didn't seem all that upset by the idea that he'd have to fend for himself.

But what counted is that they got the messages across to each other without having to make it seem hostile.

[Vanidor]

"My Lord, I think we know each other well then. And I should make it clear, Captain Karolinger and myself are deeply concerned for the safety of all of our fellow countrymen, be they from distant land or born here in Myrken itself... But if we can better patrol the roads and keep the more... troublesome critters in the forest under control, by allowing such an august man as yourself to patrol his own territory... Then we should do so, for the benefit of all Myrken, hrmm?" The next pause was short, simply an intake of breath, as it were. "As for the meal, no thank you. I am bound of the Wall. The Governor wishes us to take a bigger hand in training the militia here abouts. I must get there before the day grows much longer, eh?"

Jons smiled. It was nice when a decision such as this could come to a head. Especially if it gave his network a place that was without regular Janerio observation to exist within the province. The Lieutenant waved his hand, signalling to his companion to ready the horses for departure. Then a pause, his hand gripping the reigns that were just now handed to him. "And... just to keep our friendly taxman happy, I hope you don't mind a visit by our smaller patrols now and again? Perhaps they can be of assistance if you need help moving broken stonework, and you can provide them some fresh tack? Tit for tat, as it were, hrm?" Jons -winked- at this point, and then hauled himself up into the saddle.

"A good day to you then. Come by the Barracks one of these days and introduce yourself to the Captain. He'd probably find you interesting." Then a salute, this being a fist 'gainst the chest. "May Adon and his Holy Light keep you safe."