Inner Ward of Anvard
-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-
You stand in the Inner Ward of Anvard. The ground is hard-packed earth, and it is open to the sky above. Wonderful aromas come wafting out from the Kitchen to the north, near the well. Huge, impressive, intricately carved doors lead to the Great Hall. Staff hurry about, in and out of their Quarters, serving the Great Hall and the Council Chamber. A quieter corridor to the southwest leads to the Library and Schoolroom. Noble lords and ladies also pass through, walking towards their Quarters seeing to other business. A guarded Gatehouse to the west stands between the Inner and Outer Wards. Two stairways line the curtain wall, climbing to the upper reaches of the castle.
-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-
You can go: North Stairwell <UN>, Kitchen <N>, Great Hall <NE>, Inner Gatehouse <W>, Staff Quarters <E>, South Stairwell <US>, Southwest Hallway <SW>, Council Chamber <S>, Infirmary <SE>
Cantil makes his way importantly toward the kennels, looking like any minute he might break into a sprint for eagerness.
Dar follows after, though he soon loses Cantil in the crowd of servants, courtiers, and other assorted lackeys. He is drawn into a discussion, against his will, from his expression, with a man so puffed up with his own importance and so belligerant he could only be Lord Branish. Dar tries to extricate himself, but Lord Branish persists.
Cantil, oblivious, disappears through the inner gate. He returns five or ten minutes later, Durant lolloping along behind him, and looks around for the steward.
Dar is still stuck listening to Branish rant. Dar's features are as expressionless as it is possible for a living face to be. Branish, on the other hand, becomes more and more volatile, his ruddy complection taking on a more sinister dusky hue as his voice rises.
Cantil finds Dar and starts toward him. As he draws near enough to catch bits and pieces of the other man's tirade, he slows and halts uncertainly. He tries to catch Dar's eye, frowning slightly in question. Durant, however, just charges on ahead, having caught sight of his master.
Dar puts a hand on the hound's head as Durant instinctively places himself between Dar and the other man. The tautness in the greyhound's body suggests that there is something about Branish's tone--or perhaps Branish's person--that the hound does not like. Branish builds himself up to a crecendo, arms akimbo as he gesticulates to prove his point. There is a rumble, precursor to a growl, from the greyhound, but a quiet word from Dar, the first he has spoken in the midst of Branish's clear fury, quells the greyhound. The word is simply, "No." He adds, "It cannot be, my lord." Branish looks as if he is about to strike Dar or kick Durant, but centuries of tradition stay his hand. He barks out, "It will be, my lord Dar", and stalks past Cantil in a high dudgeon.
Cantil's eyes widen as the conversation progresses, still hanging back a little way. He is quick to scuttle out of Branish's path, cringing away from the man's rage on basic instinct.
Dar remains ice, the antithesis to Branish's boiling rage. He does not move a muscle until Branish has been swallowed up in the crowd. At that point, he goes to collect Cantil, Durant as close to his side as a barnacle, the action suggesting that he was aware of the lad's presence during the altercation.
Cantil watches Branish go, his eyes still wide and guarded. He steps to join Dar without looking away from the direction the other man disappeared. "What was--" He clears his throat. "What was /that/?"
Dar replies, his manner still stiff, "That, lad, was Lord Branish--" Durant paces between Dar and Cantil, looking ready to protect them both if Branish returns.
Cantil tenses, glancing up quickly at Dar. "That was--" He turns back quickly, scanning the busy ward for another glance. "What did he want?" By the slight tremor in his voice, he is angry or afraid or both.
Dar keeps his voice low, conscious of the crowd. "Not here, lad. Suffice it to say it had nothing to do with you--or Wat. It was a matter of--finance."
Cantil just nods, still searching the crowd of unfamiliar faces uneasily.
Dar states, "He will not trouble you, lad, and if he does, come to me at once. He has ruined enough of my afternoon with his inanity. I will not permit him to lay claim to the rest. Let us be on our way--"
Cantil offers no objection to this, moving to walk near Dar. He drops a hand to Durant's neck and seems to have no intention of removing it.
Dar stands tall as he passes through the ward, pausing only to nod in acknowledgement of some of the more friendly greetings he receives. From the look of it, most of those who were forced to witness the entire spectacle side with Dar, many of them coming up to express their opinion. Dar responds as politely, and as succinctly, as he can. Durant remains Cantil's shadow through the gauntlet.
Cantil keeps quiet and close to Dar, as unobtrusive as he can make himself, scrutinizing every face as they pass.
Dar soon has them out of the castle gates, his height an advantage when it comes to clearing a path.
Andale Beach
-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#
At the bottom of the slope, the beach spreads, a mixture of sand and gravel. Seagulls scream overhead, and small crabs scuttle about between pools and bits of driftwood. There are a few larger rocks as well, slowly being eroded by wind and water. The Eastern Ocean seems to go on forever, the gray green waves stretching out to the horizon.
A path leads up the slope to the west toward the Beach Road.
-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#
You can go: The Beach Road <W>
Cantil seems to relax as they leave the castle behind and begins to take in the traffic and scenery with something more like his usual bright (if occasionally slightly suspicious) interest. As the ocean comes into view for the first time, he slows, his jaw falling slack.
Dar has not said a single word since they passed outside the castle gates and started along the little-travelled road leading to the ocean. He watches Cantil's reaction closely. Durant goes pell-mell along the sand, breaking only when his body hits the waves.
Cantil apparently has forgotten how to blink. He looks and looks and then looks some more, a stunned smile quirking the corners of his mouth just slightly. He turns suddenly to Dar with an are-you-seeing-this-too expression, his eyes bright with startled wonder.
Dar responds with one of his very rare smiles, a crack in the facade. "It is no illusion, lad." He begins to walk out along the sand. Durant breaks into long, loping circles, barking his own excitement to the sky.
Cantil breaks into a sprint to catch up, but once he hits the sand he halts and tugs off both his shoes, tucking his stockings inside them. Barefoot, he takes off running after Durant.
Dar halts at the line where the water kisses the sand, content to watch his hound's escapades. Durant begins to paw at the sand, jerking back in canine astonishment when the sea races in to fill the hole he has just carved out with such assiduity. The greyhound's muzzle, his tail, and even the tips of his ears are coated with a fine layer of sand.
Cantil laughs in sheer delight at the hound's bewilderment. He bends down to roll up the hems of his trousers and wades in cautiously. A bigger-than-average breaker rolls in and he shies back, grinning all the while.
Dar himself seems to be almost a different man; there is a looseness, a freedom in his carriage that is absent both in the narrower world of Coghill and the equally constricting world of the court. In the warm, spring sunlight, he is for the moment not his father's heir, not steward to the king, but quite simply Dar. He bends towards the wet sand that the wave leaves behind and cups his long fingers around something which he pulls out of the sea's grip. He turns back to Cantil. "Do you trust me, lad?" he asks with suddenness.
Cantil turns toward him, shading his eyes, and leaves a row of puddled footprints behind him as he approaches along the waterline. "I dunno," he answers cheekily, suspicious and curious.
Dar forces his aspect back into inscrutability, though only surface deep. "Hold out your hand", he instructs. Durant goes bounding after some seabirds, looking as indignant as he can when they take to the air.
Cantil gives him a skeptical look, biting his lip. "What is it?"
Dar's mouth curves all the way up. "There is one way to find out. I assure you it is nothing which will cause you any harm."
Cantil hesitates and extends his hand palm-up, leaning back a little. "If it's somethin' slimy or /dead/," he threatens vaguely.
Dar releases his closed fingers over Cantil's outstretched hand and places in it a very tiny hermit crab, its shell almost transluscent. It starts to scuttle across the lad's hand. "Neither dead nor slimy", Dar states. "I have the dignity of my office to maintain", he quips.
Cantil draws in a quick breath, cupping his hands automatically. The little creature, startled, vanishes back into its shell. Cantil seems afraid to move or breathe, staring down at the tiny thing in his hands with open-mouthed awe. "Did I hurt it?" he asks after a pause, not looking away from the motionless shell. "I didn't mean to--"
Dar looks amused, any trace of formality now dissipated. "It is his way of protecting himself, lad--he thinks he will not be noticed. If you are still, he will come out of his shell again." Durant makes his way over to have a good sniff at the smell. Dar calls him back and Durant obeys.
Cantil eases back from Durant, holding the shell up where the hound can't reach. Once Durant withdraws, Cantil doesn't move a muscle, staring down at the crab with intense focus. When a set of delicate orange pincers emerges cautiously from the shell, followed by a pair of beady black eyes, he takes another quick breath and freezes, grinning ear to ear.
Dar's answering grin, flashing quicksilver, matches Cantil's. The austere, grave steward looks half a boy again himself as he scratches Durant behind his ears. The hound leans into the attention, forgetting all about the strange, tantalizing object he can tell Cantil is holding.
Cantil breathes, "What is it?" The crab once again withdraws, quick as a flash, and the shell rolls to an unassuming halt in the middle of his hand.
Dar answers, "It is called a hermit crab. As it grows, it will shed that shell as a snake rids itself of a too-small skin and find a better fit." Durant's ears perk up when the petting stops and the lecture commences, but he keeps his distance, perhaps nervous of the unfamiliar creature.
Cantil is quiet, watching the pincers and antennae again emerge. With startling suddenness, the crab shows itself fully and takes a few scuttling steps across Cantil's palm. Cantil's reaction is, absurdly, to take a startled step backward.
Dar moves off with abruptness, though he returns just as quickly with a wooden bucket wich some earlier beachgoer has abandoned. He looks even more like a stork as he assembles sand, water, and a few rocks. "Set him in there", he tells Cantil, "for the moment, though we will have to free him." Durant trails along after him.
Cantil's face squinches up in a trying-not-to-laugh grimace. "Tickles," he manages, the crab still exploring his hand. He kneels next to the pail and tips his hand slightly, allowing the crab to scuttle into the makeshift habitat.
Dar observes the crab with almost scientific interest for a little while. "You would be surprised what the tide will wash up. Perhaps you will find that gift for your father--" He kneels in the sand this time, beginning to gather handful after handful of damp sand.
Cantil tears his eyes away from the crab's bucket and watches Dar instead. "Whatcha looking for?"
Dar begins to pack the sand together into what begins to take on the form of a foundation. He does not yet explain, other than to say, "Something I have a vague recollection of from my youth." He leans back to study the effect before adding more damp sand, which starts to take on the appearance of walls.
Cantil giggles suddenly, comprehending. "Snow fort. Except sand."
Dar's mouth stretches into another smile. "It is less--taxing on the hands." He lifts an eyebrow high in an unspoken suggestion that Cantil join him.
Cantil grins and shifts to a crosslegged position, settling to the serious, serious business of sand-castle-building with alacrity.
Dar works with a meticulousness gleaned from planning real building projects. Durant flops down into a spot along the nearby shore and curls up into a grey ball to supervise.
Cantil adds features on his side with cheerful abandon: a second wall growing outside the first is reminescent of Anvard's outer ward, and a deep ditch outside the wall adds a third layer of defense. He does nothing to disturb the companionable silence.
Dar adds a battlement here, a crenellation there, his own side of the makeshift fortress a model of perfect evenness despite the shifting building material. When the project is well advanced, he gets to his feet and brushes the sand off of his garments. "Now I believe some finishing touches are required. Shall we see what we can unearth?"
Cantil shrugs and scrambles up to follow him.
Dar walks in long strides along the shoreline, Durant racing to keep pace with his master. Every so often he pauses to gather fragments of shells, smooth lumps of glass scoured by the waves, and driftwood.
Cantil makes some effort at finding adornment for the sandcastle, but he is frequently distracted by the waves rolling in. His trousers are soon doused up to the knee, and he seems not at all bothered.
Dar puts his own collection into his tunic pocket and turns back toward their construction. Durant speeds up into a full run, the greyhound's speed eclipsing even what Dar's long legs can manage. The greyhound lets out a yip of pleasure at the unexpected treat of being able to go where he will.
Cantil turns to follow Dar back to the sandcastle, but pauses and bends down to inspect something in the sand along the way. He picks it up, dusts it off, and after a moment pockets it.
Dar's brow gravitates skyward as he takes note of this.
Cantil returns to the sandcastle and drops to his knees, making no mention of the object he picked up.
Dar adds his own objects, placing them precisely.
Cantil watches for a few moments, then reaches over and draws the little crab's pail closer. He reaches in and retrieves the crab and returns to watching the motionless shell with intense fascination.
Dar finishes the castle and finds a stick, which he begins to toss so that Durant can retreive it. The greyhound wastes no time in chasing after it, dashing toward the water's edge to find it.
Cantil, as the crab ventures out and begins to explore, offers the little critter a second palm to investigate. Once the crab transfers, he switches hands and does it again. "Wish I could take him home," he says a little wistfully.
Dar nods gravely, taking the stick from Durant to toss it again when the hound drops it in his hand. "I do not believe he would survive the journey, lad. Though if it were possible--"
Cantil sighs, watching the crab clamber awkwardly down his fingers.
Dar glances to the lad, his brow furrowing a bit. Durant nudges him to remind him of his far more important role of stick-thrower.
Cantil gently transfers the crab to the interior of the sandcastle, watching to see what he does. "Sir--" he begins, frowning, and glances quickly up and down the beach. His voice is lower anyway when he continues. "Why... doesn't the king just... get rid of Lord Branish?"
Dar takes occupancy of a place on the sand, his long legs folded beneath him and only increasing his odd resemblance to a water bird. "Reason it out, lad--", he suggests. "His Majesty is among the best of men. However, he allows Lord Branish, who displays open rudeness and an avarice that is, frankly, unparalleled, to remain, even placing him on the small council--"
Cantil's frown deepens. He watches the crab discover a corner. "He doesn't seem very..." He grimaces slightly, his vocabulary failing him.
Dar draws from his store of words to supply, "Noble." He casts the stick to the sea, Durant padding after, the dog's tongue already lolling from the exercise.
Cantil says, "Sure." He lets out a breath through his nose. "Figured he was gonna start hitting people, earlier. And he does stuff like-- like with /Wat/, Wat never did anything to him and he just--"
Dar nods. "There are men", he states, "who do not need provocation and who do not bow to reason." Durant drops the stick next to Cantil this time with a hopeful wag of his thin tail.
Cantil says, "So why is he important, then."
Dar gives this question as much consideration as if it had come from a grown men, one of the council members, perhaps. "There are several possibilities, lad. One might be that he is not important, but that he makes those around him believe that he is--through commanding wealth or another necessary resource, through inspiring fear--"
Cantil is not particularly impressed by this answer and it shows on his face.
Dar's eyebrow punctuates his next query. "You have a better notion?"
Cantil fidgets. "Why's he allowed to scare people, I mean."
Dar looks as if he is considering several answers, but he settles on the truth. "Because--there has not been anyone who has stood up to stop him yet. When good men do nothing--"
Cantil's expression comes perilously close to a scowl. "Why /not/, though? You do, right? Doesn't anybody else? Why doesn't the king?"
Dar replies, "Lord Branish, like all of us, has good buried deep within him. His Majesty wishes to see that good brought out if it is possible. There is also something to be said for having your enemy somewhere you can observe him."
Cantil looks highly doubtful.
Dar's shoulders lift. "In a way, Lord Branish is like that crab. He never goes about anything in a straightforward way."
Cantil gives him a flat look. "You mean he's doing something else besides just yelling at people and trying to send kids back to--"
Dar's face suddenly closes off like a book slammed shut, everything concealed within.
Cantil stops short, studying Dar with apprehension.
Dar finds the stick without looking, hurling it as far as he can. Durant barks and sets off at a dead run.
Cantil doesn't look away from Dar. "He is, isn't he?" Between the wind, the waves, and the distance between them and any potential hiding places, there is no possibility that they can be overheard.
Dar gives the merest incination of his head in answer. It is the most acknowledgement he allows at the present.
Cantil's thought processes are almost visible on his face. "That's--" he begins, then stops. His expression settles into one of bewilderment.
Dar's eyebrow threatens to float away toward the clouds. "Go on--" Durant, in a huff because his overture with the stick has been ignored, begins to clown on the sand, rolling onto his back so he can toss the stick up and then springing suddenly to catch it with a snap of his jaws.
Cantil shifts. "That's why... the king lets him stay in the castle? And on the council? It's so you can see what he's--" He pauses, trying to force a tricky concept into words. "But if-- But everybody knows the king's a good sort, so why doesn't he realize--" He meets Dar's eyes, his face clearing in a sudden smile of comprehension. "He's not very smart, huh."
Dar blinks at this. "His Majesty, you mean?"
Cantil shakes his head, snorting an unvoiced giggle. "No-- Branish. If he was smart he'd realize the king /oughta/ be calling him out and making him act decent, but the king's /not/ so Branish oughta be suspicious. But he's not, he don't even realize..." He lets out another giggle, this one pure glee.
Dar's mouth veers upward at the corners and he once again speaks as if Cantil is far older than he is. "Ah. Indeed. He sees what he wishes to see. That His Majesty is weakened by the loss of his wife and the loss of his son. That Lord Bar's treachery has cut so deeply that the king will never trust his Chancellor--or his Steward--again. He thinks that I am swelled so much with my own importance that he will be able to bribe me--or silence me--when the time comes, and that His Majesty cares for nothing but giving way to his grief."
Cantil's mirth quiets, his head on an angle, and he absorbs this without comment. "So what's he doing?" he asks casually, watching the crab traverse the maze of the castle.
Dar rubs at the back of his neck. "That is what I would give a great deal to know, lad."
Cantil observes, "You know he's doing /something/."
Dar admits this with another nod, his face becoming stern again. "I am convinced of it."
Cantil asks, "How come?"
Dar answers with a question of his own. "How do you know autumn is on its way? There are signs, if you are looking for them."
Cantil lets out a breath and looks down again.
Dar states, "However, I lack evidence that will stand up before His Majesty's court. I cannot make bricks without straw."
Cantil is quiet, playing idly with a fragment of shell that has somehow found its way into his hands. "Can I help?" he asks suddenly.
Dar's eyebrow jerks upward sharply at this. "Lord Branish is not a man who will show any softness toward tender years. He will grant no quarter, lad--"
Cantil doesn't look up. His shoulders lift and lower a degree. "I know."
Dar rubs at the back of his neck. "I did not bring you here to expose you to--that", he states quietly, though a close look at his furrowed brow would reveal that he is considering it.
Cantil shrugs again, sneaking a glance up at Dar's face.
Dar is silent as the minutes fly away. Finally, he says, "What is it you propose, Cantil?"
Cantil straightens a little. "Dunno," he answers frankly. "Just I... want to help." He is quiet for a minute, drawing little abstract lines in the sand with the shard of seashell. "I don't like him," he finally adds, and though the words themselves are vague and childish, the conviction behind them is not.
Dar does not take these words as the light utterances of a child who knows no better. He asks simply, "Why? Besides the obvious, of course--what do you see in him?"
Cantil, again, takes a moment to formulate his reply. "People are afraid of him," he eventually answers. "And he likes it."
Dar nods in agreement. "Indeed. He thrives on it--"
Cantil leans back and unfolds his legs, drawing up his knees. "'Less he's... just pretending or something." The words are said in a jesting tone, but he glances sideways at Dar to check.
Dar's face is the picture of seriousness. "This is no jest, lad."
Cantil looks down. "Just checking."
Dar lets out a faint heh. "You are not--afraid?"
Cantil just shrugs.
Dar inquires, "And if I say yes?"
Cantil gives him a quick look. "If you say yes--" He pauses and wets his lips, the first sign of nervousness, and says carefully, "Then... it's prob'ly 'cause you could use me. Not just 'cause... some kid wants to play knights and robbers. Right?"
Dar reminds him, "I do nothing without a purpose." He tosses the stick and once again, Durant goes after it with boundless energy.
Cantil nods silently, then answers after a hesitation, "If you say yes, I'll-- I'll do it. Whatever you say. I want to." He doesn't look up, still scrawling meaningless designs on the ground next to him. There is sand smudged on his face.
Dar replies with a single word. "Yes--"
Cantil goes still for a moment, then nods.
Dar assumes his most serious tone. "However, if it becomes too dangerous, you must extricate yourself. I will not risk you, lad--"
Cantil nods again. He takes a deep breath and glances at Dar. His face is apprehensive, but also more than a little excited.
Dar gets to his feet and begins to brush the sand from his tunic. "We had best return--" Durant tears himself away from the ocean and shakes the water from his fur.
Cantil clambers up, giving the same attention to his own clothing. He looks at the sandcastle one more time, searching for its occupant, then gives a cry of dismay. "He's gone! The crab is!" He gives the surrounding sand a quick frantic glance, hunting for any sign of the hermit crab's passage, but the ground has been too disturbed by their building endeavors to show any clear tracks.
Dar's sharp eyes scan the ground as well, and quick as blinking he stoops and cups his hand around the shell hiding the crab again. He sets him gently back in the bucket. "He will need to be returned, but not just yet. We will need to provide him with food."
Cantil looks relieved, bending near the bucket to see the little crab for himself. "What do crabs eat, even?"
Dar points out some algae which is tangled together. "That will suit him", Dar explains.
Cantil obligingly trots over to fetch the stuff. He scoops up a generous handful that would easily feed the crab and half a dozen of its relatives for the next month, making a face at the squelchy feel, and returns to place it carefully in the bucket.
Dar calls Durant to him and the greyhound reluctantly obeys. "Will you carry the bucket, lad?"
Cantil nods eagerly. "I can have him in the castle?"
Dar's mouth twitches. "There are some perks to being Steward, though I seldom exercise them. We will have to take the servants' stairs, of course--" He heads back toward the path.
Cantil all but beams. He lifts the bucket gently and follows, careful not to jostle the crab.
