Archer's First Meeting with Duke Yarken, Lord of the Western Marches
A day or so after the failed trump call, before Arrow has returned, they come calling. There are six of them, two who approach Archer at breakfast and four who hang back."Lord? I'd be honored to meet His Grace, but I think you must be mistaken. I'm just a man looking for work, and since he apparently already has his own share of well trained men, I suppose I'll be moving on to the next town."
Archer makes no sudden move toward his sword , but draws coin from his purse, enough to pay for just breakfast, having paid the room three days in advance.
Archer can see that the four reserves have rather smartly stationed themselves within striking distance of the various exits from the dining area. While they don't have that "regular army" air about them, they do make the sort of no-nonsense movements common to men who are used to physical danger, and they seem to coordinate well. You would guess them to be a unit of foresters or bodyguards even if they weren't pretty obviously on official business.
"I'd hate to take up any of His Grace's valuable time. Why don't we tell him that you arrived a little too late, or I departed a little early? What say you?" Archer stands to get himself more "working" room.
"My Lord," he responds, almost apologetically, "you are already saying a great deal to me by your actions. Why not say a few things to the duke with words? It is only polite. No harm is wished to you."
"Of course. His Grace is just thoughtful in his choice of escorts for me I suppose." Archer gives the speaker an appraising glance, a moment of thought, and then with a small nod, smiles. "I accept the Duke's hospitality and thank you for your grace in extending it." Archer will follow along peacefully, not to the point of surrendering his arms.
They do not try to disarm you. They do have a couple of guys in front and a couple behind. The leader walks next to you, but it's not like he seizes your arm or anything. Their formation is loose enough that passersby might doubt that they were escorting you, thinking that perhaps you were their leader.
"We are more crowded than usual this year. Festival time always draws people, and now there is the extra excitement. I'm Hide, Captain...?"
"I'm no captain, but perhaps someday." Archer responds.
"You are not less than a lieutenant, though," Hide says, the way people state unassailable facts like "the river flows downstream."
The street is indeed quite full - people, wagons, animals. Down the hill on the other side of the stockate is the river - you can see it from the high street near the manor. Across the river is a fairly intricate log bridge supporting tarred planking for people and vehicles. A boy and two border collies drive a small herd of sheep toward town.
"Brave kid, keeping sheep out here," Hide allows. "There's no telling what will come out of the woods, even back in the _very_ old days."
"I suppose you need keep a stronger guard than many to be ready for those eventualities." Archer comments.
"Everything looks fresh and new here, doesn't it," Hide says, waving in an offhand way at pretty much the entire town. "That's because nothing is more than 20 years old."
He drops his arm, never breaking stride.
"The Black Road passed right down at the bottom of this hill."
They signal to the keepers of the Duke's own gate and you are waved in. People, a cat, wagons on the outside. People, dogs and animals inside. There is considerable butchery going on right in the courtyard - cattle, not sheep - and four men dig a barbecue pit the size of a family grave.
Archer smiles at the cat, looking for recognition, only momentarily.
"I won't apologize for the smell," Hide says, "only because I figure you're used to it. My Lord Duke!" he continues. "Here is our soldier!"
A huge man - the barbecue pit might be _his_ grave - turns from supervising the slaughter. He doffs a leather apron, scuffs his boots in some dry dust and turns. He wears green leggings and doublet with a faded fur sash and fur cuffs, dyed purple. His hat is a floppy tricorn with a turkey feather, also dyed purple. The material of his clothes is excellent; the condition less so. He has the eyes of a huntsman, a grip like jujitsu and a voice like bookcases crashing to the floor. But he steps as lightly as a very wolf.
"Thank you, Hide," he says. "Greetings, Sir. Welcome to Elcrooked Flatchet. I understand you're a soldier. What are your best weapons? Walk with me and we can discuss things. I am Duke here. My name is Yarken, as I am sure you know."
Archer's in a simple undyed home-spun shirt, and a pair of natural buckskin breeches. He's wearing high boots in black that match the thick black sword belt that his saber hangs from. Opposite the saber hangs a belt quiver, holding a score of shafts, black fletched with yellow. He wears a vest of leather that may have come from the same buck as his pants. Tied to his back it a longbow, oilskin case. Anyone familiar with bows can see the recurve of the bow distinctly.
Archer smiles. "I'm skilled with saber and knife, but I suppose my true ability lies here with Katherine, Your Grace." Archer pats the oilskin case. "Would you care to see, Duke Yarken?" He'll slip the case from his shoulder, and uncase the bow.
Yarken takes the weapon carefully in hand, appraising it as he walks. Then he stops.
"This is excellent work," he says. "It identifies you as a man who knows it is not an insult to say that half the job is choosing the right piece of wood. I can tell you that most of our huntsmen make their own weapons, and they take great pride in doing so. But they still do not manage work like this."
Yarken hands the bow back.
"A man who can make that knows his bows, and shoots better than he carves, I'd wager. But this end of Arden is full of excellent shots. Less full of those who can _command_ excellent shots."
[I seem to have lost a part of the thread here... Working on recovering it.]
"I can't see the Regent allowing his brothers to return. Look what happened last time there was a question as to who should've sat the throne. The last three Kings lie dead and perhaps Corwin, who could've been, might as well be. It's a bloody battle I'm not likely to get involved in, if I can help it."
"What's your impression of the Queen's ability to rule Amber?"
He regards Archer for several hours, or maybe it just seems that way.
"Why do you think it's my place to _have_ an impression?"
"Because you seem a capable sort, and even if it's not your place to voice it, you probably have an opinion. A foreign Queen, reigning without precedent..." Archer just shrugs. "Well, it might not be a soldier's place to have an opinion, but I'm sure most any of your men have one. You as someone who might be asked by that Queen to put your men in harm's way? You'd be a fool not to." Archer decides.
"No offense meant, Your Grace."
"I think the Queen is quite capable of ruling Amber so long as the Regent wishes her too. I think there are no bison within 500 leagues of here. And your bow is new."
"I brought the horn with me and only had time in the last month to work the bow. Why do you ask, Duke?" Archer asks.
Before Yarken can respond, Archer continues, a knowing smile on his lips. "Perhaps we should be a bit more open about this, Your Grace. I'm a soldier, a commander even, by your implication. I've served the Crown longer than one would guess and well, let's say I don't wish to serve the Queen or the Regent. Is that enough to satisfy your curiousity, or do you require more? If so just ask."
"And I have no wish to fight the Queen or the Regent or anyone else. You need to tell Martin that, and see that he honors my wish. I give him no trouble now. That will change if he breaks the peace of my Duchy next week. You're an extraordinary young man. I count it a blessing to have met you. But you're now a young man with an urgent message to carry, so I expect you'll be off immediately. Fare thee well. I'll walk you to the gate."
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