A Rare Summons

After doffing his armor and carefully setting it aside, Alwyn collapsed onto his straw mattress and sank into it like a stone. He slept soundly throughout the brisk and soundless night and well into the breaching of dawn's first rays; and would have continued on until the sun was mounted high above the city walls had he not been rudely awoken. It began as a soft swaying, not unlike what Alwyn in his dreamlike state perceived to be his mother gently rocking him in a crib; that is until the rocking turned to a rough jarring that nearly sent him onto the floor. 

"God's what is it!?" He muttered, casting an arm over his eyes to block out the harsh rays pouring in from a shade that had been thrown open.

"Time to greet the dawn, dear friend!" Alwyn groaned at Orwick's voice. "Up you go, we're soon to be late as is." 

"It's Primaglost, for Jun's sake! We've no training for the next two days." 

"We've a summons from Greenwood, Alwyn. King Edwin is calling the Drake's Tongue." 

This voice did not belong to Orwick. At last removing his arm and hastily blinking his eyes to adjust to the light with a sniff, Alwyn took in the first of two men who had entered his chambers unnoticed. Standing in the doorway with his arms folded stood a figure Alwyn had grown accustomed to seeing around the garrisons of Privatis: Sir Lawrence Corwick. Alwyn was, in terms of ranking, along the same level as Sir Lawrence, though his poised and authoritative demeanor coupled with his seniority in both age as well as time in service led Alwyn to view him as more of a mentor. This knight, who Alwyn had seen much of but rarely shared words with, now standing at his door and watching him expectantly caused the junior knight to start with a sudden sheepishness - though for what reason he felt embarrassment he did not know. 

"The Drake's Tongue?" The words that had been spoken now suddenly resounded their meaning to him. "We've not had a summons since Sir Jonah's initiation."

"And even that were not a formal summons - last there were one of these was long before King Edwin's crowning. Doubt there's a knight among us that remembers it" Spoke another, more familiar voice that Alwyn had not heard in some time, nor of whose owner he had seen.

"Luv's Lilies, Nat!" Alwyn rose and turned to face the man who'd perched himself against a trunk. He embraced the armored figure in only his night hose without a shred of the momentary embarrassment he had felt upon awakening. Pulling back after a moment to scan the face of this friend he had known long ago, he found it much changed. "God's, what's happened to you?" He exclaimed.

Sir Nathaniel Brickelach still wore the same fiery smile he had been known for in the earliest years of his knighthood where he had become acquainted with Orwick and Alwyn both, though it was slightly more shielded now by the straight beard that had been blooming since those days. This, however, was not what caused Alwyn's astonishment. Curving from just above his right brow down past his cheek trailed a deep, jagged pink scar. Alwyn could see that the affected eye had gone milky white with cataract that had rendered the knight half blind. Nathaniel was nonplussed at the inquiry, and only smiled wider at the mention of the wound, causing the scar to crinkle. 

"Got her nigh on four roats ago now." Nathaniel explained, jabbing a thumb up to the wound that he wore like a badge of honor. "General Lindfeld got word over in Jättemor that some damned goblins made camp in a derelict fort just north of Thislebrook - villagers were reporting raids and stolen livestock and the like. When we got to the ruins we found it crawling with the little vermin; redcap nearly took my head off, but the bastard only got the eye instead. What he got comin' back to him was much worse." He finished with a laugh and a subconscious pat to the sharpened blade of the axe that was harnessed to his back. 

Sir Lawrence gave an impatient cough not unnoticed by Orwick, who still stood near his friend's bedside. "Plenty of time to play catch up en route, eh?" He said, tossing a fresh tunic and gambeson at Alwyn, who soon rushed to get ready. 

Within a few minutes they were advancing down the promenade, each carrying their helms at their sides to make for easier conversation.

Royal Knights were a common sight in Privatis, but anywhere else in Regganor - or in the rest of the world for that matter - they would make for quite an unusual display. These four warriors strode confidently along ordained in full dress, a composition of armor from helm to greaves composed of the finest material known to Regganorian smiths: sunsteel. This brilliant material was aptly named due to the shimmer it gave off when reflected in the natural light; to those who saw it, it appeared as if they were gazing into a pool of water or trickling brook. This, combined with the crest that each man bore on his breast and the weapon which he carried, made them more than a unique sight. 

Sir Lawrence trailed behind the others. His halberd, inset with a large and glimmering peridot gem, bounced rhythmically with every step against his shoulder plate with a soft clink, clink, clink. He wore no expression on his face - at least, no expression that could be discerned as he watched his fellow members of the Drake's Tongue chatter on ahead of him. An emblem of a stallion shown on his left breastplate. Just ahead of him, Sir Nathaniel proceeded along, with Sir Alwyn and Sir Orwick slightly behind at his sides. 

"How have your duties in Jättemor been treating you?" Questioned Orwick. "Have you had any troubles with our beloved southern brethren?" He emphasized the word with a smirk. 

"Hardly. Things have grown almost too dull as of late, though I suppose I should be happy for it." Nathaniel sighed. "Any would-be trespassers are stopped short by the mountains at the border, and any foolhardy captain thick enough to sail far enough south as to cross into enemy lands we're sure to send upriver with their oars tucked between their legs. No, it isn't so much the Animaerisians we've to worry about, but our own peasants. Drought hasn't loosened its grip and there's still those damned brigands that prowl the roads in droves like flies to honey." 

"Or a corpse." Orwick added.

"Or a corpse." Nathaniel conceded with a short bark of a laugh. "Truth is the people've grown restless, as if something has begun to stir inside the whole lot of 'em." He shook his head, unable to comprehend the current state of affairs. His broad battleaxe was latched firmly to his back; on his left breastplate, the emblem of a bison. 

"Not so much like our training days, I take it. Have you had any time to stop back in Rothcantor?" Alwyn asked. 

Nathaniel nodded slowly. "I had time enough to stop to see my kin on my journey to the city, I've been in the saddle nigh on a moon now since I'd received my summons." 

Alwyn rolled his eyes. "Oh how nice for you, nigh on a moon while I receive my summons the very morning before I've changed my nightclothes." 

Nathaniel cast a sidelong glance at Alwyn with a smirk. "I'd also the time to rest in Willowgate, I thought you'd like to know." 

This struck Alwyn and Orwick both as fortunate news, and assailed Nathaniel at once with questions about the state of affairs back home. Alwyn and Orwick had grown up together in Willowgate until they both decided to enter into knighthood; the Order in Jättemor had trained both boys, along with Nathaniel, until their official knighting had led them away from their childhood home and into the capital city. 

"Not much has changed in the time you've been gone - though that's about what I'd expect from a community so far remote as Willowgate. Your mother and father wish you well, Alwyn." Alwyn nodded serenely, relieved to hear that his family was in good health. His mother had grown frail over recent years, and he worried that decades of caring for his veteran father had worn on her. "Annalise as well, Orwick. Her stall in the market draws enough business to keep her comfortable it seems. " Nathaniel continued in response to Orwick's following question. "In fact, she requested I pass this along for you." 

Orwick's relief to hear of his sister turned to surprise as Nathaniel rooted around in the satchel at his side for a brief moment, before thrusting a small package into his hands. Gingerly, he unwrapped the parchment tied up with string to reveal a hand woven scarf, braided together with thick strands of white wool. He sighed deeply, but smiled at his sibling's efforts. 

"She told me to see you get it, as the first frosts are not long away." 

Orwick came to a decision as he wrapped the garment twice around his neck, tucking the exposed ends under the shoulder plates of his armor. 

"I'm nearly positive that that isn't an approved part of the uniform." Alwyn said with a smirk.

Orwick cast him a sidelong glance. "Always so envious Alwyn, truly it is your fatal flaw." 

"We'll just have to see what the rest of the council thinks." Alwyn retorted with a clicking of his tongue. 

"Likely they'll be appreciative of my sense of style, and not nearly as covetous as yourself." 

Without warning, Nathaniel burst into a bout of raucous laughter that caught all three of his companions off guard. 

"What in the world has gotten into you, man?" Orwick questioned with a smile.

Nathaniel's eyes darted from one of these men to the other as he composed himself, wiping a tear from his good eye. "It's only that, the pair of you have hardly changed from our earliest days as attendants." 

The pair assessed each other with looks of mock revulsion before shaking their heads simultaneously. 

"Straighten up, lads." Sir Lawrence spoke at last and was the first to stop in his tracks. "We've arrived."

Standing in front of the company stood the looming Cagrach Hall.