Kastali Dun

Claire was vaguely aware of shuffling near her bed. Someone was in her room. A yellow glow seeped beneath her eyelids. She groaned and rolled over.

"Please, miss!" The voice was insistent. "It is time to wake."

A dream—this was only a dream. She groaned again and threw the covers over her head. The next moment they were ripped from her grasp. Cool air kissed her exposed skin. Her eyes flew open in frustration.

"Miss Tess will have a fit if we're late," the voice warned. She was too groggy to process anything. "There now, you are waking up. Come, dress yourself. We must be going."

"But I donwanna geup," she grumbled, reaching for the covers at the foot of her bed. The woman noticed and flopped down upon them, sighing. Through the yellow glow, she saw that she was curvy, with hair and eyes the color of dark chocolate, and a plain but pleasant face.

"Once you stand up, it will be easier," the woman said. "And if you hurry, we might get some food." At the mention of food, her stomach growled. She begrudgingly got up and gathered her clothes. The woman moved over to the door and waited. Her lantern cast bright light around the dark room. The sun was not yet up.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" she finally asked, pulling her nightgown over her head before throwing on her smock. The woman didn't bother to turn away from her nudity.

"Oh, do forgive me! I'm Desaree. You will be my charge while you're here."

"Desaree." She said the name out loud to remember it. "It's nice to meet you, Desaree. I'm Claire."

Desaree chuckled. "Begging your pardon miss. We all know who you are."

"Oh, of course you do," she muttered. She pulled the gray kirtle over her head and Desaree helped her with the white apron.

As they made their way through the giant castle, Desaree chatted. "This here leads to the southern wing. That's where the king lives, in a giant tower full of ornate rooms." They passed a carpeted corridor. The walkway was lined with statues of armored men and tapestries.

"Have you ever seen it? The king's tower?" she asked out of curiosity. One could easily imagine how spectacular it must be, especially considering what a selfish prick the king was.

"Oh, no, I have not. I would love to someday. Only the chamberlain and the king's man servants go up there, well, and his Shields, and the lower council. But I have heard about it. Rugs woven from the finest yarn, tapestries from the lands beyond the Dragonfire sea, statues of pure gold..." Desaree donned a dreamy, faraway look. They walked farther along before she spoke again. "The linen washrooms are that way." She pointed in another direction. "You and I will be there later today, I dare say."

Claire nodded, suppressing a yawn, trying to commit the locations to memory.

"Oh, and that direction will take you to the grand dining hall. All the nobles eat there when they wish to be social. And that way takes you to the outer courtyards. Someday I will show you the royal gardens. We are not supposed to go in them but we all sneak in when no one's looking." Desaree pointed in many different directions. It was a lot to remember.

At last, they reached the cookery. As suspected, they were too late for breakfast. The thought of missing the most important meal of the day was depressing.

"Oh no, we don't actually get much for breakfast," Desaree informed her. "But if you are smart about it," she added, whispering, "you can sneak some bread from the ovens. It is better fresh, anyway."

The air smelled of sweet, spiced bread, warm apples, and roasting ham. She thought of bacon—what she wouldn't give for a few slices of bacon. They washed their hands before Desaree grabbed her and pulled her to the edge of the room. Large steaming loaves of bread were being sliced by a baker.

"Good morning, Thomas." Desaree greeted a balding man who wore a crisp apron over his tunic. "This is Claire." The man turned to them with a wide, crooked smile. He had hazel eyes, and reminded her a lot of her grandpa.

"I am pleased to meet you, Claire. Are you hungry?"

"Starving!"

"Well now. We can't have that, can we? Both of you have a long day ahead, eh?" He offered them generous slices of buttered bread and sent them on their way.

"If you stay on Thomas's good side, he is always that nice. Not so for some of the others. You will soon learn who to trust." She liked the man already. "Only the nobles get fresh butter," Desaree added as they dodged the cooks and made their way to the innermost chamber. "You had better eat fast. I hear Tess!"

She followed Desaree's advice. The warm bread nearly melted in her mouth. There were little apple chunks scattered throughout the cinnamon swirls. It was absolute heaven.

They found Tess in the dishwashing room. "There you are!" she screeched, waving a wooden spoon at them. "You are both late! Late, late, late! Not tomorrow, I dare say."

They shook their heads fervently. It was Claire's fault for taking so long to get up. She felt a pang of guilt, but Desaree did not appear resentful.

Tess wasted no time going through their duties. In the morning, they would deliver breakfast trays to the nobles who wished to dine in their apartments. "Desaree can show you how it is done," Tess added. Before the mid-day meal, they were to clean the ground floor apartments on the western side of the keep. "Each day will be different. Every apartment gets a deep clean once per week." After a short break for their lunch, they were scheduled to report to the launders in the linen washrooms. "With so many visitors, those poor souls are behind on the washing. I have assigned extra helping hands today, including yours."

"Can't we do something else, Tess?" Desaree asked. "The hot water makes my hands crack terribly."

"As it does for everyone!" Tess nipped at them. "But if you do a good job, I may concede. Now, off with you both." She swatted at them with her spoon. They both giggled and scampered away to the food assembly room.

Much to her surprise, she found herself excited to help Desaree. In just a short time, she learned more about Dragonwall than she'd bargained for. Perhaps Reyr was right all along. Like it or not, she would make the most of her new position and learn everything there was to know about the Great Keep of Kastali Dun. The tidbits of information she gained throughout the day were nothing important, just small details, like the location and purpose for various chambers, rooms, and corridors, the visitation reasons for nobles, the types of business they conducted, and which people and places to steer clear of.

"See that woman over there," Desaree pointed to a finely dressed lady basking in the afternoon sun. She was sitting in one of the many courtyards with several others, chatting and laughing. Her gown must have cost a fortune. It was orange like a sunset, with streaks of pink woven into the fabric—nothing like the ugly dresses she and Desaree wore.

"Well, what about her?" she asked, studying the woman for clues.

"Stay away from her," Desaree warned. "Her name is Lady Caterina. She is an absolute coxcomb."

"A—a what?"

"A coxcomb," Desaree giggled, grabbing Claire's arm as they backed away into the shadows. "You know? She is as vain as a cock in a hen house and looks down upon anyone in a lower position."

"So...she's mean?"

"Quite cruel, yes. Best to avoid her."

For most of the day, Claire wrestled with the constant headache caused by the stream of Drengr voices in her mind. Sometimes it was a single voice, other times more than one. The contents of these messages were usually cryptic or hard to follow. Still, she had no choice but to hear them. A Drengr by the name of Fendrel was meeting his Rider Sasha in the marketplace. They were going to shop for a new coin purse. Another named Sarka was bored. He wanted to know if his Rider might go flying with him. She occasionally picked out the voices belonging to the Shields, and even King Talon's. But just like the others, nothing important was discussed.

Time passed quickly that day. Working on a farm taught her to be diligent. The most difficult task of the day was helping in the linen washrooms. These chambers had huge tubs with scalding hot water and sticky detergent. Bedding, curtains, table cloths, and clothing were all cleaned here. She and Desaree weren't permitted to touch the beautiful gowns and doublets. Those were left to the experienced workers.

Instead, they were given bedding. The linens were cleaned by plunging them into a tub with a large paddle used to mix everything around. Often times they had to get their hands wet to detangle the cloth. The hot water and harsh soap made her skin burn. She appreciated washing machines even more.

The only enjoyable part of working in the linen washrooms was the singing. Like the women in the cookery, songs were used to make the work lively. It kept the tempo going and increased their productivity. They liked to sing about lost love, young lads chasing tavern wenches, and noble knights courting ladies. After a few hours, she learned some of the lyrics and even found herself singing and laughing along with Desaree.

Most of the servants were humble. They had good spirits and were grateful for their positions in the keep, contrary to what she expected. Perhaps being a servant wasn't nearly as miserable as she'd believed. Nearly all of the servants knew her identity but refrained from asking personal questions. She was glad. The only awkward moments were the whispers that followed her.

"They are simply eager to discuss something new," Desaree explained. "Our boring lives never offer much entertainment. The servants enjoy gossip."

***

Supper that night was entertaining. It took place after the nobles ate their own. A lot of unused food returned from the dining hall, leaving plenty for the servants. She'd worked up a ravenous appetite.

They ate in a large chamber down the hall from the cookery. There were big windows looking out into the cookery's private herb garden. The room was lined with wooden tables and benches, a few tapestries, and a huge fireplace against its far wall. The grate was empty because of the summer heat.

Buzzing voices permeated the air. Everyone was in a good mood. Jugs of cheap ale were passed around and she indulged. "The nobles get the better stuff," Desaree said. "They love wine and brandy. Ale is a commoner's drink."

"That don't keep 'em from drinking it though, does it?" another woman chuckled. Her name was Sarah. She was one of Desaree's closest friends. The three of them sat at the farthest table, near the door.

When the eating ended someone shouted, "My dear Tess! Give us a song!"

Roars sprang up as everyone began slamming cups on tables and calling out their requests. To her amazement, Tess climbed atop the bench of her trestle table, billowing kirtle and all. The room fell silent. Then she burst into song. The woman had a good set of vocals chords. Just a few words in, everyone picked up on the lyrics, joining their voices together:

Women, women, oh thee women, finer none than ye,

Some be lewd, and all be shrewd, but none be temptin' me,

Some be nice like cluck-house hens, and others be not so,

Women, women, oh thee women, finer none than ye....

A pretty thing so nice to love beneath the kirtle and above,

Some be brown and some be white, but none be temptin' me,

Some be fickle as cluck-house hens, and others be not so,

Women, women, oh thee women, finer none than ye....

A purse or many she may empty if her man's a ninny,

Some be crude, and all be canny, but none be temptin' me,

Some be tame as cluck-house hens, and others be not so,

Women, women, oh thee women, finer none than ye...

A prize to win a prize to hold a woman's hand be plenty

Some be sweet, and all be sharp, but none be temptin' me

Some be shy as cluck-house hens, and others be not so,

Women, women, oh thee women, finer none than ye...

The song continued in much the same way, running through repetitive stanzas. The men in the room were especially rowdy as they sang along, laughing at the parts they related to. She didn't know any of the words, so she just watched, fascinated by their antics.

When it was time for bed, she retired to her room. The light of a single candle cast unfamiliar shadows upon the walls. She lay still, gazing at them, allowing her mind to wander.

The keep was a busy place, full of life and excitement. So much work, so many tasks, not a moment to spare, not a second to think. Now she mulled through the past several days, considering her situation in full.

Without the binding Promise, she was free, no longer enslaved to its will, no longer dragged along by invisible strings. Suffocated by its pressure, she was learning to breathe all over again, experiencing Dragonwall with a new perspective, able to appreciate its amazements in full. There was no denying the new pull she felt. She was drawn to this place, enamored by its existence, desperate to know more. It was like being caught up in the middle of a story with an uncertain ending.

She'd spent her whole life traveling through books, captivated by impossible worlds, awed by impactful characters, characters who traveled with her through the pages, characters who always endured. The common theme never changed. Whether good or bad, all stories led to an end. From book to book one aspect prevailed. The plot was already laid out upon the pages.

Where was her plot? What was her purpose? Which path was she supposed to follow?

The questions pecked at her like angry birds, cawing, screeching, clawing at her brain. A decision was necessary, but which one? She could bide her time, wait for inevitable events to unfold. Like a reader, she could watch from a distance, helpless to do little more than turn pages. Or she could take matters into her own hands. But what matters? And how?

The candle burned down to a nub and its light disappeared. Still, she was no further along in figuring out what to do. At last her exhaustion swept her away.

***

The next morning began the same way as before, with Desaree pulling off her warm blankets, insisting she wake up. This time, she didn't protest. And each morning thereafter became easier. With so many tasks, the days began to blend together with minimal excitement.

A few times during her walks through the corridors she noticed Lady Saffra from afar. Each time their eyes met in silent understanding. They weren't supposed to know each other, so they pretended not to. But Saffra's gaze was encouraging, wise, and all-knowing. Her friendship would come in handy before the end.

She saw the king a few times too. It left her skin crawling with fear and hatred. Every glimpse brought back uncomfortable memories. He was always deep in conversation, always heavily surrounded by a posse of nobles, always too busy to notice her, the humble servant, dressed in drab gray. It was a good thing. She couldn't stomach the thought of speaking to him, so she merely glared angrily at him.

His Shields on the other hand, always noticed her. Jovari was the first she encountered in the corridors. He was parading through the keep with several ladies. Like the other nobles, his attire was rich and colorful, nothing compared to the bland travel clothes she remembered. The moment he saw her, he approached and bowed deeply. "My dearest, Claire." The ladies exchanged looks of surprise and confusion.

"Hello, Jovari. It's nice to see you. This is my friend Desaree." Jovari, being the suave gentlemen that he was, took up Desaree's hand and planted a kiss on her knuckles. Desaree's cheeks turned beet red. Several of the women gasped. If Jovari noticed their surprise, he pretended otherwise. "The ladies and I were taking a turn about the castle admiring the beautiful day. Will you not join us?"

His innocent question earned appalled glares from his company. Their reactions were rather hysterical. She did her best not to laugh. "I do apologize, Jovari, but I am afraid Desaree and I have many important tasks ahead. This magnificent keep doesn't run itself." As she said this, she looked directly at each of the ladies.

"Of course, of course." He nodded in agreement. "You are correct in that. Another time, perhaps?"

Politely, she nodded. As the group departed, the ladies began chattering away, glad to be rid them. Desaree was just as shocked as they were. It must have been unheard of for a noble like Lord Jovari to approach someone as lowly as she. Clearly the gossip didn't do the true story justice.

Occasionally she encountered the other Shields too. They greeted her in much the same way, though none of them were as flamboyant as Jovari. It seemed he, being the youngest of the five, was often caught up in frivolous pursuits. The others were usually rushing to urgent matters wearing looks of fierce concentration, or frowns of frustration.

On her third day, she and Desaree were walking through a courtyard when Desaree pointed towards the sky. "Look at the Drengr," she gasped. "What are they doing?" Both of their faces turned upward.

Above them, a mass of Drengr took part in what appeared to be an aerial display of fireworks. They dived and swooped, dodged and ducked, cartwheeled and spiraled, all the while with Riders strapped to their backs. With a measure of reluctance, she tried to process the many voices intruding into her mind. They were a constant nuisance, one she often pretended didn't exist, although that didn't help the headaches. Now they might come in handy.

She relaxed her mind instead of fighting the voices, and attempted to separate them. The loud buzz died down into perceptible differences. The cries she heard were rushed and excited.

"Make sure you dive when I am beneath you, and tuck your wings in."

"I cannot grab you with my talons. Pay attention!"

"If you do not take hold of my neck, you have no hope of bringing me down."

"Is this the proper way to grapple with a wild dragon?"

"Desaree, I think—" She paused to listen again. "I think they are training."

"Training? Above the keep? That's absurd." The sun peeped from behind a cloud. Desaree lifted a hand to shield her gaze.

"If they attack the keep, we need to be ready." She recognized this voice. Scanning the colorful bodies, she spotted Reyr's gold glimmer dodging in and out of the wrestling pairs.

"I think they are preparing for an attack on the keep."

"An attack? Who could possibly attack the keep from the sky? Birds?" Desaree's shock was well warranted. She didn't know about the wild dragons. Few did. For a moment, she considered telling her and then thought better of it.

"I—I don't know. But look, there is Lord Reyr." She pointed him out, steering the conversation in a new direction. Reyr's flying was impressive. Longing filled her heart. She loved flying, all the joy it brought, the freedom of the sky. Now she realized how terribly she missed it, and how badly she wished she could be up in the sky with the other Riders.

"How do you know it's Lord Reyr?" Desaree asked, her eyes following Reyr's descent towards one of the battlements.

"I would recognize his flying anywhere. He carried me across the kingdom, remember?"

"Oh. Oh, yes. Of course." Desaree looked at her. "What was it like? I mean, I know the act is frowned upon—to fly with a Drengr that is not your mate. The servants have whispered plenty. I certainly do not judge you," she added, making her stance clear. "Was it wonderful?"

"Yes," she breathed. "Very few things in life come close."

Desaree spent the remainder of the day peppering her with questions. What did it feel like when the Drengr jumped into the air? Did she touch a cloud? Were they soft? How did the ground look from above? The woman asked so many questions, she could've written a book on the experience. But it wasn't bothersome. She was more than happy to share her excitement.

Reyr didn't visit her until the fifth night. She was so glad to see him, that she went through every detail of the past five days. He was patient, listening intently during the serious parts, laughing when warranted. "It sounds like you have learned a great deal!"

His praise left her beaming. She was quite proud of herself. "I've learned so much that my head aches!" Her head ached for a different reason, but she kept that a secret. They chatted for several minutes before she excitedly recalled seeing him above the keep. "What were the Drengr doing up there?"

"Ah, you saw that did you? We were training."

"For what?"

He scooted his chair close enough to prop his boots upon the bed's frame. "Well, we were training for the possibility of an aerial attack. Just in case wild dragons make it this far south, we need to be ready." His words confirmed her theory. She listened eagerly to their plans. He explained that just that morning, messages had been sent to the other forts. They were advised to take the same precautions as Fort Kastali, the fort beside the city of Kastali Dun. Besides that, the Magoi were working on new magic to help defeat both dragons and the Vodar.

"What about the Gobelins?" she asked. She'd never seen a Gobelin, but the description from Cyrus was enough to paint a mental picture. As if on cue, an image flashed into her mind of a green, wrinkly face with large, saucer-like eyes and pointed teeth. She shuddered. Cyrus was pulling something from his memories and sharing it with her. He'd never done that before.

"Regarding Gobelins, we cannot be sure where they will attack," said Reyr, "nor when. But the king is devising a plan to increase our troops in the east."

"And the Nasks?" She thought about the traitors down in the dark cells beneath the keep.

Reyr hesitated at the mention of them. "We have not yet dealt with them in full, but their time will come."

"What if Kane gets to them first? Can he possess them again the way he did before? Will they find a way to escape?" She hated being on the sidelines, hated not knowing, hated having to ask so many questions. If they included her like she wanted, she wouldn't spend so much time speculating.

Reyr shook his head. "You need not worry, Claire. They are heavily chained and under constant surveillance. They will not escape."

"But what about—" A new thought had just occurred, one that left her heart rate spiking. "What if he possesses new people? What if he turns someone else into his Nask? What if they go down into the dungeons and free the traitors?"

Reyr held up his hands to stop her. "Slow down, slow down. You certainly have a lot on your mind."

"Well, what do you expect?" She crossed her arms, glaring at him.

"I suppose I should have visited you sooner. Regardless, I will try to come more often. We have a lot of catching up still, and you owe me your story, remember?"

She nodded, but her story could wait. More frightening things were on her mind. "Reyr, do you think..." she trailed off, considering all the new people she had met in the past few days. "Do you think we can trust everyone in the keep? Is it safe here? What if there are more Nasks plotting to kill me?" She would never be able to sleep now.

"That will always be a possibility. You should stay vigilant in all things, never give anyone too much information, be wary of strangers, trust your instincts." As he spoke, his eyes gleamed. "I myself trust your instincts."

She smiled.

"The king has taken stringent measures to secure the keep."

"Stringent? How stringent?"

"I suppose that depends. Do you know how a Nask is made?"

It had never occurred to her. She shook her head. Reyr explained the process. For initial control, the sorcerer needed to perform the magic in person. It was not something that could be carried out from afar. That meant those possessed would need to enter the keep to cause harm. Everyone currently living within was safe from Kane, assuming the two traitors in the dungeons were the only ones.

"The king is no longer allowing newcomers to pass through the gates without intense inspection. This makes it very difficult for those conducting business to come and go, but the measure is necessary. Trust me, Claire, we are on high alert. If you see any strange behavior, anything suspicious, tell me immediately."

Reassured by his answers, she finally put the subject to rest. Their conversation didn't go much further. King Talon called Reyr to a meeting. She heard the telepathic request but pretended not to notice. "I am sorry to depart in such a hurry. I must take my leave. The king has need of my council."

He moved to the door and paused, his hand on the doorknob. "I meant to tell you. It is not yet certain, but I may be taking a journey north in the next few days."

"North?" Her chest deflated. "Can I come?" She already knew the answer, but it didn't hurt to ask. She missed flying. She missed the adventure of traveling across Dragonwall from the sky. Most of all, she would miss Reyr if he left.

He bowed his head. "Alas, I wish you could, but you will be safer here."

"Where will you go?"

What was so important to take him away from the capital? Wasn't he needed here?

"I must pay a proper visit to my brother Davi."

"Oh, Davi. He's the leader of Fort Squall, right? Didn't you just visit him when we came here?"

"Aye. A rushed visit it was. It is not certain yet, but if it becomes so, I will come see you before I go. Until then, fare thee well, Claire." He departed, closing the door behind him.

She was sad to see him leave. His company made her feel safe. Now alone, she thought about Kane, about what he was capable of, about what might happen if any of his spies slipped through the gates. Chills left the hairs of her arms on end. Helplessness was not something she did well.

Paranoid, she wedged her chair under the door handle. Desaree would have to knock from now on. It was too scary to expose herself like that, too risky. She also pulled her backpack from under her bed, loaded the remaining bullets into her revolver, and tucked it under her mattress. Tomorrow she would devise a way to carry it under her gown. If any of Kane's spies found a way into the keep, found a way to target her, tried anything at all, she would be ready. 

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