Ardaik 6th - Homenil, Serellia

Alton bay—it was the hub of nearly all Serellian trade conducted in the east, and her harbor reflected that fact; lively and bustling with commerce. But Bhalthier Cullach rarely saw the docks. His family's vast estate was well removed from town, shrouded in misty trees and gardens on the northwest edge of the road leaving Homenil.

Most days, the Marquis stayed locked away in his tiny study, with only a single window as his portal to the outside world. His little window faced out towards the front of the manor, giving him a plan view of the long drive that cut through the trees like a cobblestone river from the west, then grew into a large roundabout just in front of the main entrance.

Fog had rolled in heavy from the bay, blanketing the ground so it mirrored the grey skies above. The clouds were so thick that there was no sunset, only a gradual dimming of light until Bhalthier was forced to light a second candle just to continue his writing.

When he paused long enough to reach over and grab the teapot, he caught a glimpse of himself in the polished silver. His reedy, pale face and grey, sunken eyes only deepened the frown he wore, and Bhalthier promptly turned the pot away from himself when he set it back down.

He'd just raised the delicate teacup to his lips when the tiny window quite suddenly came alive with the flapping of wings. A pigeon perched in the dark wood frame, and for the first time in hours, the Marquis's stern grimace softened.

"You're not one of mine..."

Bhalthier had crows, rooks, and even a few ravens—not a single pigeon. Pigeons were Lorellian messenger birds, so he already knew where the carrier hailed from, but it wasn't until he slid the note from its leg that he received his answer. For anyone else, it would have been the royal seal or the fine parchment that gave away that the letter was from King Viotto. For Bhalthier, however, he'd known before that. From the moment Bhalthier's hand had grazed the message, he'd known not only its sender, but its contents...

To Marquis of Homenil, Bhalthier Cullach,

Please excuse the curtness of this communication. My purpose is to relay the following information with utmost urgency.

Yesterday, in the late evening of the fifth, La'Trest was victim to a devastating assault executed by an elf, whom introduced himself as Obtoxicullous, among many other things, aided by a formidable army of undead, a dragon, and other irregular beasts.

Regretfully, I do not know the condition nor current whereabouts of Prince O'Conor, but many of my courtiers have expressed the firm belief that he did escape the attack. We will continue to search for him. However, at the time of my writing this, we are in dire need of assistance if we are to hold the city.

Therefore, on behalf of the crown and the royal court, I do formally request urgent aid in repelling this threat.

In doing so, I also hereby sanction permission for Serellian supplies, intelligence, and soldiers; as granted and ordered by His Majesty, King O'Conor, to lawfully cross into the territory of Lorellia—to be effective immediately and to remain as such until this crisis has been satisfactorily extinguished.

- Cristaldo Tito'Di Felice Viotto

Bhalthier fumbled for a quill and two pieces of parchment of his own. As he began to scribble out a response, his free hand grasped for the brass bell perched on his desk, and he immediately rang it. His first correspondence, he slid back into the Pigeon's leg strap before he sent it on its way. Once the bird left, it was replaced by Bhalthier's own crow.

"Eogan, take this to the king..." he muttered urgently as he tucked his message into the strip of leather bound to the crow's leg, before repeating his command more clearly, "To the king."

***

Ardaik 7th - Homenil, Serellia

The smell of the sea in the air was the first indication that they were getting very close to their destination, and it prickled the hairs on Royal Guard Captain Spar's skin. Synonymous with the border, nearing Homenil always felt too akin to entering Lorellia, and too close to the vast expanse of the sea, for his liking. But they had little choice. It sat where the land and water met in the shelter of the bay; at least their midday arrival made Cullach's Manor easy to spot from their aerial vantage point.

The three of them directed their dragons to land in the marquis's courtyard, and it didn't take long for the captain to note that Lord Iain McLiannen had beaten them there.

"Your Majesty," Iain greeted solemnly as the king dismounted. He said nothing else to King O'Conar, but waited for him to pass, lingering until Spar met him on the steps to the main entrance. "Folian, I thought you were goin' ta talk him out of this."

"Convince his majesty of naugh doin' something he's set his mind to?" Spar scoffed. "Ya know him better than that, Uncle. Flann's missing. Tryin' to tell him I thought it better he stay in Tulot was like expectin' ta ladle ale with a sieve."

Iain grimaced before throwing a glance over his shoulder at the other guard who'd flown in with them. "Who's the man ya brought?"

"Duncan McKee," Spar said, exhaustion seeping into his tone.

"I wasn't aware any McKee's were riders," Iain said as they entered the foyer.

Folian knew his uncle was nervous. He didn't get this critical or nosy when he wasn't. "Have you spoken with Cullach yet?"

"Briefly. Could have an easier time finding a hare flouncing around a wolf den, though."

Just beyond the foyer, the floor dropped two steps down into a sitting room that resembled a library more than a parlor, with its many bookcases. There, the king was already speaking to Bhalthier. It was a rare occasion indeed for the Marquis to be more than a specter in his own home.

With the fireplace burning brilliantly, casting warmth that radiated throughout the sitting room, it only made the rest of the manor seem even colder.

The long, dim halls, the lack of any more than a few servants, and the portraits of long-dead relatives further accentuated lonesome corridors beyond that room; as though this were the only place where hospitality was allowed to dwell.

"Your Majesty, I—" before Bhalthier could finish, the king raised his hand.

"Let's dispense with the pleasantries, Cullach. Where's my boy? Where's Flann?"

Liam's bluntness hardly seemed to bother Bhalthier. In fact, the less social etiquette he had to bother with, the better. He folded his hands behind his back and began to speak freely, though he kept his eyes squarely on the king, and no one else.

"Unfortunately, I do not know... King Viotto's letter was vague in regard to the prince, but I know him well enough to say with the utmost certainty, that if he'd known where Flann was, he would have said so."

"Hmm... And did you send word back?" the King asked as he stroked his beard, his eyes darting around the floor as if he'd find the answers somewhere under the fine carpets of the sitting room.

"I did. I mean to travel there, as they've requested, and..." Bhalthier paused and cleared his throat before continuing, "I understand your reasoning for bringing the dragons, but with all due respect, dragons crossing the border is strictly in violation of Lorellian law. It could be taken as an act of war..."

"I'm aware. Thank ye fer'yer concern, Marquis."

The King's prompt dismissal of his warning was no less than what Bhalthier had expected, so he simply moved on.

"In that case, I have another matter that is of a more...sensitive nature I'd like to discuss with you," Bhalthier murmured as he eyed the guards and the other Marquis. The King seemed to understand the meaning of the request, and he motioned for Bhalthier to stand.

"Lead the way," he said before gesturing for Folian to come along. The three men retired to the dining room, which was not yet set for dinner but had its own smaller fireplace and heavy doors that made the Marquis feel more confident in speaking about anything private.

The king sat down at the long wooden table with his guard at his side. They were joined by Bhalthier only after the marquis had locked the doors to the hall and the kitchen.

"You must have seen something... Out with it, Cullach. What terrible thing do you know, that I don't?" Liam questioned as Bhalthier approached the table.

"The King of Lorellia has been cursed... He is dying..."

"You're certain?"

"Undeniably."

The guard captain sighed. "Well, feck," he muttered, glancing about the table for a pitcher; he found none. "How much more difficult is that goin' ta make our search?" Folian wondered aloud. "What happened?"

"I don't think you fully understand, Sir Spar. La'Trest—all of Lorellia—is in peril from a necromancer. A powerful one," Bhalthier explained. "If their king is calling on us for help, then one can only assume that his clerics have already failed to dispel what has been done. He also made mention of a dragon—a black one, and I only know of one black dragon."

"The one from the Slough." The guard captain scrunched his nose. "If they're callin' on us ta help, then I doubt they believe we're responsible fer all'a this, if that's whatcher pokin' at." In truth, Folian would've bet his left arm that blame wasn't at the top of the Marquis's list of concerns. There was the matter of Lorellia's stability to consider, and what role it would play in their own sustainability. Beyond that, there was the safety and well-being of the middle kingdom's people. A devastated populous could quickly turn into a desperate one, and desperation could make just about anyone dangerous.

"No doubt, La'Trest has sent for military support from their neighboring nobles... To ask us would imply that Cristaldo is less than confident in their ability," Bhalthier added as his gaze drifted to King Liam, whose pensive stare was drilling holes into the fine oak table.

"Or their loyalty," Folian said.

"Cris is ney fool'nuf to not know what he's asking fer by calling on Serellia. He wants ta fight a dragon with dragons, and er—ahem...magic with magic." The King seemed uneased by the word as he looked at Bhalthier, but didn't hold the look long. What was most troubling to him wasn't that the Marquis possessed such power, but that somehow the King of Lorellia had come to know about it.

"Yes, I find that to be a reasonable conclusion as well."

"If they want us ta fight their enemy, maybe they shoulda kept a better eye on our prince," Folian retorted. It wasn't any kind of secret that the guard captain didn't share Cullach's feelings for their vicious southern neighbors. However, the safety of the O'Conars and Tulot was a responsibility to which he'd vowed to commit his very life. "Do we have any idea of where ta even begin looking fer Flann?"

"If we can get Bhalthier into the palace, his abilities could help us know where to look," Liam explained before standing. "And Cris has already given us a way in. It seems we'll be killin' two birds with one stone," he added with a confident smile until he saw the grimace on Bhalthier's face. "Ahem, figuratively speaking, of course, Cullach."

"Of course, no offense taken, your majesty," Bhalthier replied with the same politely counterfeit smile.

The guard captain stood as well, returning the ghostly-looking marquis's smile with a brief attempt of his own before addressing the king. "Yer majesty, again, fer the sake of trying, I have to ask that you don't travel any farther. McKee, Lord McLiannen, and I can get Cullach in and out of La'Trest. But would ya at least consider remaining here if ya won't return ta Tulot?"

"Aye, Spar, I'll consider it!" the King said as a heavy hand clapped onto his shoulder. "...No," Liam added only a breath later before giving Folian a warmer look of concern. "You'll both understand. One day you'll have your own children."

"But, your Majesty—"

"My father can handle the throne while I'm gone. He's had plenty of experience," King Liam assured while he patiently waited for Bhalthier to unlock the door leading back into the hall, which the Marquis did rather swiftly.

Once the king took his leave, Spar gave Bhalthier a weary look. "I pray to the highest branch yer talent doesn't lead us all to an early grave." The guard captain's words were barely above a whisper. "Have ya sent yer birds out looking?"

"Eogan is going to La'Trest. Briac—to Causter, by way of Boreven, through Recheston. And Lasrian is skimming the eastern ports," Bhalthier explained, ignoring any mentions of his magic. "Let's just hope that your talents will keep us alive."

"Oh, don't ya worry about that, Cullach," Spar replied with a lopsided grin. "My talents are more than adequate." Despite his cocky tone, a chill still spidered its way down Folian's arms from the marquis's mention of the eastern ports. Of all the places he hoped Flann wouldn't be, anywhere out in the open water was right at the top of the list. He would sooner be miles up in the air; on a creature that weighed over a ton and could eat a steer whole in two snaps, than to dip a toe into the eastern sea.