"Lord Anshelm is back," Osger told Fenric from the door. 

Finally!

Fenric forced himself not to rush up and instead stood calmly, even telling Otto and Wulfger farewell before he left.

Lord Anshelm didn’t look up from the roll of parchment he was reading when Fenric and Osger entered his chamber.

"I've sealed it already," Lord Anshelm told Fenric, his eyes still glued to the parchment. 

As Lord Anshelm read, a deep crease between his brows and a downturned corner of his mouth drained the youthful energy from his face, providing his appearance with a maturity it had completely lacked this morning. 

Fenric tore his eyes away from Lord Anshelm and let them seek the letter instead. There it was, on the edge of the desk. As Fenric walked over to retrieve it, Lord Anshelm spoke again:

“Osger, you’ll show Fenric where to enlist a courier, yes?”

This time, Lord Anshelm’s gaze did shift, but only to a second scroll beside the first. Fenric tried to make out what the scrolls said without making his intent too obvious. He couldn’t quite manage specific words but… Curious. One was written in runes, the other in bookstaves. 

“Lord,” Osger said with a bow and turned around to leave. 

Fenric took the letter, placed it in a pocket within his cloak and bowed quickly before following Osger out of the room. Lord Anshelm’s concentration remained unbroken.

“I wonder what has him so worried,” Osger said once they were out of earshot. 

“I thought you would know,” Fenric said.

“Me? What would I know?”

“You have known Lord Anshelm since he was a boy,” Fenric said. “If anyone ought to recognise his moods, the good and the ill…”

Osger laughed a bit, clearly embarrassed by the attention.

“Oh, I don’t know about that…” he said. “I know he's worried, alright. He always turns into a bookworm when he’s worried, you see. Never takes his eyes off his books and scrolls if he thinks anything in them might be of help to him.”

Fenric nodded silently. So that Anshelm was reading through scrolls didn’t necessarily mean that whatever sorcery had taken place was well described in them. Still, scrolls rather than books… Was this a type of sorcery Lord Anshelm perceived as particularly old, that he would turn to scrolls? It was clearly something the castle wasn’t used to dealing with, which at least ruled out any of the usual mandrake-derived potions. The former king had been poisoned with one of them early in his reign and in their search for the antidote, his people had documented many of such poisons. Once King Rodwart had recovered, he had sent out hirdmen to document even more.

They’d left Lord Anshelm’s hall now, and the stronghold from which King Rodwart had sent his men all those years ago stared down at Fenric and Osger from its hill as they walked ahead. Stone towers occupied by obscured figures and the roofs of great wooden halls were visible behind a moat and the palisade that had once upon a time functioned as the city wall. Well, not the very same palisade – King Rodwart's father, King Rodger, had renovated the palisade when he began work on his stone hall.

"The couriers are to be found at Cletzhem Stronghold, I take it?"

Osger nodded.

"Have you seen it before?" 

"Only from a distance," Fenric admitted.

"Even from a distance, it is a sight, but up close?" Osger shook his head. "They say the only stronghold in all of Haifaric that can hope to measure up to it is The White Watcher and where The White Watcher is an old masterwork, Cletzhem Stronghold is a modern wonder."

Fenric nodded quietly. He'd heard those stories, too. He'd also heard that Cletzhem Stronghold was nothing still to the strongholds in Sugiland, let alone to those in the lands on the Suglish Southern and Western borders.

"They say it was a right miracle King Rodwart managed to finish it before–"

"Before his death, yes."

Osger looked over at Fenric, a bit sheepish.

"Sorry. I reckon you get stories on the road, too. Did you see the stronghold in Marcburg when you were there?"

"Troll’s Tooth? I was never inside, but it certainly wasn't as big as Cletzhem Stronghold. Most of it's still wood, too."

Osger shook his head.

"And they're supposed to protect us from the Suglans…"

"The mountains handle most of that,” Fenric reassured him. “And the Earl has archers posted all along our side of the pass in the warm half of the year, just to be safe.”

While Fenric and Osger talked, they walked past more great halls like Anshelm's, each lining the way up to the stronghold, all loyal soldiers guarding their king. This part of the city was very different from the parts Fenric was used to. There, groups of people and livestock walked in and out of each other, perpetually in panicked motion. But here? Here calm and quiet reigned.

Two guards were posted by the bridge over the moat. 

“Is it you again, Osger?” One of them complained. He sounded like a not particularly funny man trying to be funny. 

“Did Lord Anshelm not tell you to expect me? Or have you already forgotten, Sverger?” 

“Sverger doesn’t have a waterskin, he has a meadskin,” the other guard quipped.

“Mead!” Osger exclaimed. “Who have you been fucking?”

Osger and the other guard laughed raucously as Sverger protested. Fenric just… watched them. 

“Who’s the new fellow?” Sverger asked. 

“Fenric, Lord Anshelm’s new scribe. I’m showing him where to get hold of the royal couriers.”

“Well met,” Fenric said with a nod

The two guards responded in kind. 

“Very well, then,” Sverger said. “Show us the seal, just to be good and proper.”

Fenric retrieved the letter from his cloak and held it up.

“That’s the Drotzet seal, alright,” the other guard said. “See you on the other side, then.” 

Osger exchanged a few more jokes with the guards as they walked past them and over the bridge, but Fenric didn’t listen. So access to the stronghold could be granted through show of a seal and little more? Fenric didn’t think it would be too difficult to procure such a seal if the need were to arise. Not for him. 

Behind the palisade lay what was practically a small town within the larger city. This town was centred around the top of the hill, where King Rodwart’s modern castle lay behind yet another palisade, protected even from its own servants and livestock. Between the two palisades were several great halls, a couple dedicated smithies, various pens for livestock and a stable. It was towards these stables that Osger now led Fenric. Fenric shot one last glance towards the castle before they entered. Anything he might have learned of the crisis was probably contained up there – certainly nothing had seemed out of place down here. Not that Fenric was sure what the inside of a stronghold was supposed to look like when everything was well – he was hardly the ideal spy for this particular setting.

“Haidi?” Osger shouted as they entered. “Haidi!” 

A blonde, middle-aged woman emerged from a stall, dusting straws off her skirts. 

“What are you yelling for, Osger Swain?”

“I’ve brought my Lord Anshelm’s new scribe to you, Lady.”

Lady? Osger spoke thusly to a Lady? 

“Very well then, that is an honourable pursuit, at least,” Lady Haidi said. “Does he have a name, this new scribe?”

“My name is Fenric, Lady. I will be handling Lord Anshelm’s letters from now on.”

Haidi looked Fenric over a few times, then nodded.

“And I am Alhaid Cletz, I work for the Lord Stablemaster and keep track of the royal couriers. Call me Haidi, everyone else does.” 

Fenric’s eyes went big. Not only a Lady, but a Cletz? She must be a distant relative, to work beneath the Lord Stablemaster and allow commoners to use her nickname. Before Fenric could open his mouth to protest, Haidi continued:

“So, Lord Anshelm finally found a scribe who lives up to his standards, ay? You must be some scribe. You’re not a failed gothi, I suppose?”

Huh. That was a new one. Possibly the one furthest from the truth, too – gothi were often described as guardians against sorcery, after all. Now it was true that those most "gravely afflicted" with magic would be… strongly encouraged to retreat to a quiet existence in a temple, should they make the mistake of admitting their urges to the wrong person. There, they said, this urge, the urge to do evil by twisting Fate, could be “adequately addressed.” Fenric wasn’t sure what that meant and he had never had any intentions of finding out.

“Not at all, Lady. I’m a guild member.”

“Still, you must be more than an average member,” Haidi said. “I won’t claim to know Lord Anshelm well, despite my name, but I do know he’s never had a scribe before, even though he writes a lot of letters.”

Fenric frowned. 

“I don’t know what to say, Lady.”

Haidi shrugged.

“I don’t know that you need to say anything, Fenric Scribe. I’m praising you. Some men find that quite uncomfortable, I understand. Hand me your letter, then. I’ll have it with a courier before supper.”