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Not-very-subtle hints (“It would be nice to see the earl smiling . . .”) led to these studies of Grey and the woman with whom he fell in love, including a depiction of a scene in which they argued ferociously. Sabriel Quinn used with the permission of her creator.
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A Letter to Ardith
A vignette by Dave Bryant from A Redoubt of Stars
This work is copyright 1999 and is not in the public domain
The earl’s letter is penned in black India ink with a fine quill on good-quality Temperan parchment from his small, precious store. The handwriting is precise and bold, hinting at the controlled power and intensity that mark his body and personality. The vellum is rolled and sealed with his signet—winged wolf rampant—impressed on a blob of black wax. He does not have complete faith in the strictures against opening and reading diplomatic dispatches, but he’s fairly certain few if any of Kherishdar can read the Temperan script.
The letter is dispatched through the gate in a glossy black tube of thickly lacquered stiffened leather, similarly sealed with silver wax. The slide-on cap is half the length of the whole tube and has an eye at the end. Through that is threaded a leather cord, knotted to form a loop; a black-lacquered square wooden clamshell tag forms a fob of sorts. On the thin, hard wax inside the tag is scribed the Errithikta house signet, and short lengths of black and silver ribbon are knotted around the leather thong, the former signifying the recipient and the latter the originator.
Remember, incidentally, that unless there was an offstage mention, the earl is unaware that Ardith is pregnant. . . .
Lady Ardith, dear sister of my heart:
I pray this missive finds the house of Errithikta safe and prosperous, and that happiness has found you and your knight of hearts at last. Prithee reply when it pleases you to send tidings of Kherishdar—for all the tumult of your time here in Maerora, I find my thoughts stray with affection to remembrance of quieter moments enjoyed in your company and, might it pain me to confess it, of less quiet moments enjoyed in Sir Daelin’s brash company.
Much has transpired in the time since your departure. Your successor, a canny and gracious eld lady, has taken up residence in the greatly enlarged embassy. (Would that the building of mine own home had been so speedily done!) I have as yet seen little of her and her retinue, but certes this will change as the season advances. Her niece and aide seems a fetching lass, and I feel she may come to love Cera more than perhaps many of your folk would. I did mark well that their company of men at arms, though not so large as the treaty permits, still counts a sturdy number. This is a matter of some import, as I shall explain presently.
The Drakkan have been since their sudden arrival as busy as the honeybees in spring. I mislike them and their motives, in sooth, and there is a prickle in my tail that tells me they are up to ill, but they are as wary and methodical as they are grim and fell. There are whispers and rumors, but little to be seen under the light of day, of their doings. Their embassy seems full to bursting of servants and, if rumor is to be believed, cruelly treated slaves and flying mounts, the latter much like animal kin to the western gryphons . . . and of soldiery. Too, some say the craftsmen brought to build their residence have not left through the gate, yet few enow are still immured within the house and yards, which leads one to ask where be the others? The answers I have not, for as with your countrymen I yet have seen little of their lord, and what I have seen I like not.
The other embassies lie quiet and some empty. For good or ill, they are not yet players in the games to which you and I are all too accustomed. When this will change I cannot say, but what I can state without equivocation is that they are the only oases of calm in this busy time, preparing to face the gryphons of the west and their unwinged slave armies. There are watchtowers at the outer marches of the counties and, where we may, we have built earthworks and abatis. There are patrols of dragons and knights and serjeants, and watches of men at arms and soldiers, and we drill as much as daily affairs allow.
The redoubtable Captain Redric de Medrier, Count Watchbarrow—cousin in some degree to the good Magistrate Russeya—arrived with two companies of the King’s Own Aerial Guard, and I have filled out the vacancies in the ranks of the housecarles with Alpenthaler and Medrier dragons as well. I pray these wings will be enow, but I fear our small numbers, even with the common levies called to the colors and what men the treaty nations may send, will be but a broom against the tide.
The courage and ability of your folks’ armsmen I doubt not at all, but they are suited more to affairs of honor and foiling assassins than to the field of open battle. I know not what value they would offer there—assuming they are released to stand against the invaders. Too, the Drakkan appear to be fierce warriors, but I place little enough trust in them as allies. Even should they stand beside us to face the gryphons’ companies, will they remain faithful? Moreover, there is little hope that other nations will send their own to aid us.
By God’s grace, however, the planting and tending of the fields have gone well. The bishop and monks offer nightly prayers that we shall have a good harvest as a sign of His favor upon our efforts to build a worthy life and land here in despite of the wilderness and other folk’s designs. Daelin’s triumph and the distant threat have granted our folk here a renewed resolve, growing with this new green spring. Though shadows linger, there is laughter and vigor in the mien of commoner and lord alike.
Young Ross tells tales of a fine house in Maerora town, the Sparrow, and its mistress, one Arcadia, a gazelle of surpassing grace, I am assured. (Some of the housecarles and bacheliers of my house have already begun to take their custom there.) More remarkable still is another customer, Benjamin the mouse, who stands but the width of my hand in height. From rumors reaching my ears of his doings, he seems a most active fellow. I can but hope they will not land him afoul of the Magistrate.
Ross, you shall no doubt be pleased to hear, is to be esquired soon; he is of age and his worthiness is manifest. Would that my liege-men felt so about my other choice, Sabriel Quinn. Convinced they are it is my heart and not my head that made this decision, but the courage and tenacity that returned her here, with tales of the gryphons and their ways, surely merit it. The good Captain Galenson, who has been teaching her a Landesknechter sword technique, offered the wager that she will not shower me with thanks; I declined.
Her companion on that journey, Geva the dancer, has found employment not merely busking in Maerora town but keeping house for Magistrate Russeya. That worthy regaled me with the tale, replete with his dry wit. Truth to tell, hearing of her bold bearding of the dragon in his den, securing an unthought-of position for herself by dint of sheer brass, brought much-needed laughter unto tears.
His aforementioned kin, Captain Redric, seems to have caught the fancy of the young Lady Ejaeth, aide to the ambassador, whose adherence to your people’s customs of touch among folk seems less rigid than some. In the few moments we have had to confer on other matters, he has expressed a mild concern, but he is discreet and well-practiced in the wiles of intrigue; I trust him to wend his way through these fogs and winds as well.
There is much more to tell, but little enough parchment on which to set it down, I fear, so I must needs draw this to a close. May God keep you and yours, good lady, and see your answering words to me safely and soon.
Your friend and champion,
Grey Thaler, Earl of Cera
Grey Thaler, Earl of Cera
Please do not reproduce this vignette without the permission of its participants.
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