Soul Bound

1        Soul Bound

1.3      Making a Splash

1.3.1    An Obligated Noble

1.3.1.3  Welcomed guests

6:00 am, Saturday June 10th, 2045

6 bells of the forenoon watch

Zerday full, 14th day of the month of KrevinBelember, A2F1600

The guards bid them welcome, bowing low, then spoke with the monks, who stood aside to wait with the guards, leaving just the Wombles to step into the courtyard. It was large, maybe two hundred meters on a side, and surrounded by tiers of rooms with balconied windows looking down upon it. Kafana looked around slowly, taking in the sculptures as she walked - she counted seven of them: each a deity, represented as a five meter high bronze.

To her right as she came through the entrance gap was an elegant spiral staircase, and casually leaning against it was a figure reading a book, its face hidden in shade by a hood - Rac.

Next, leaning out from behind a tree was a wide hipped pregnant female figure, her hand reaching up towards a fruit-bearing branch - Dro.

In the north-eastern corner was a masculine bearded figure whose lower half was a cone covered in running water which trickled down into a pool, keeping the air in the courtyard moist. She’d actually met Mor in person, or at least a projection of him, and was surprised at the accuracy of the details on the statue. Had the sculptor also met Mor? Or did Mor pick the shape he projected to match the expectations of local Torellans?

By the grand doorway into the house was a statue of a man in serious robes, holding up a portico. He was wearing a wreath woven from ears of corn, which reminded her of a farmer she’d met the day before, though it could be none other than Cov, deity of hospitality and the Covadan people who inhabited this planet, Covob. He also represented order, and as a priestess he was the deity she’d first prayed to. Come to think of it, though she’d met the expert system behind Cov while out of character, she’d never met Cov himself in deity-mode. Should she remedy that? Something to ponder another time.

In the north-western corner, standing over a prone drake, stood a victorious warrior in the act of plunging a long sword down through the drake’s body, offensive power personified - Krev. Each vein and muscle were delineated so clearly she could almost feel the force he was applying. Whoever the sculptor was, they must have been the genius of their age; displaying their works like this wasn’t just art - it was art as a demonstration of power and exclusivity.

Next, on the opposite side of the courtyard to Dro, was an androgynous athletic figure with a fluid stride, with animals of every description rising up out of his footprints, and a warm glow bathing the courtyard from a sphere of magic light around his head - Zer.

Finally, in the southwestern corner, was a delicate female figure attached to one of the upper balconies, looking like an acrobat about to launch herself into the air - Lun.

There was no statue to the eighth deity, Bel, patron of monsters and the undead. But it was clear from symmetry where the statue would have been positioned - by the entrance gap, as though it were the world outside the Palazzo that was chaos, and this a haven from it.

As they approached the doorway it opened, revealing stairs leading down into a grand lobby, with Lord Landi and his family lined up at the bottom ready to receive them. If the outside of the Palazzo had been magnificent, the inside was breath-taking. Every panel, every inch of ceiling, was covered in frescos; every piece of wood was carved, every light was ornamented, every stone column a masterpiece.

She only became aware that she’d frozen in place when Herberto cleared his throat with a grin. Blushing, she led the party down the stairs and stopped before treading upon a long slab of polished fluorite set into the floor. It was a warm amber colour, but to her Truesight it burned with Cov’s mana, resonating with the building and the people in it.

Claudio Landi: “Here is fresh water and good bread. If your intentions be those of an honourable guest, drink and eat.”

The briefing from Bartola paid off, and the correct response came naturally to her. She took a sip of cool pure water from the goblet he kept hold of, and then took a small ball of unleavened wheat bread from the bowl held out by his wife, Sienna Landi. The bread was soft, as though some egg had been added to the flour, and tasted slightly of hazelnut and apricots.

Claudio: “You have given me your trust. Be welcome to my home, Kafana Sincero, and step across my threshold. In Cov’s name I accept you as my guest, until do you leave once more.”

Kafana: “In Cov’s name I accept your hospitality, until I do leave once more.”

Matching actions to words, she stepped across the slab and moved down the greeting line, leaving those behind her to each be formally welcomed in their turn. Briefly she felt mana leave her and then return, as though an exchange of some sort had taken place.

Sienna: “These two are my children. You know Herberto, and this is my daughter, Tori. My other daughter, Anna, now lives with her husband, Prince Oleg Rurikid. My youngest, Virgil, is an apprentice mage who ought to be living in the Novicarium and studying hard when not in lectures, but more likely than not he’ll find an excuse to turn up for lunch.”

Herberto was tall, with a long rugged face framed by short curly hair and a hint of well trimmed beard. Tori wasn’t quite as tall, but her fierce eyes and quick lithe movements hinted at how dangerous she was on a battlefield. Or on a beach volleyball court.

Kafana: “Congratulations on winning the volleyball tournament. I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you play, but I heard your teamwork was superb.”

They looked at each other in unison and grinned, before turning back to face her.

Tori: “We’ve a net set up in the gardens, by the Cor Focis. We can head over there, if you like?”

Herberto: “Father asked us to show you around this morning, so our time is yours. Well, nearly. He heard about your performance at the tournament, with Nicolo was it? And if I don’t include the auditorium on the tour, I’m in danger of being sent to Muspel on the slowest ship in our fleet.”

The others joined her, one by one, and after a few minutes Herberto led them off, past various halls and annexes, conferring rooms and withdrawing rooms, reception rooms and sitting rooms - each themed and exquisitely decorated. By about the third room she accepted that “Palazzo Landi” was indeed a palace and, no matter how frantically she tried, she wouldn’t get to properly appreciate even one tenth of the artwork that the Landis had accumulated over decades and centuries of careful collecting and patronage. After that realisation, she relaxed and just let the experience flow over her.

Tori interrupted her brother with a nudge.

Tori: “Their eyes are glazing over, snail. If we nip up here, old Grummond is on the door to the children’s wing, and he’ll let us take the shortcut through the gymnasium out to the Livery, if we present the request in the correct light.”

Tomsk raised an eyebrow at Herberto: “Snail?”

Herberto shrugged: “The result of an ill-starred wager when I was six years of age and she was twelve. She won the right to use that nickname for me, in perpetuity.”

Tori confided: “I only use it when he’s being tedious. Father lectured me for three hours, but I stood my ground that promises must be kept. He eventually admitted that an occasional reminder about not wagering might be a useful lesson for Herberto.”

Kafana felt drawn in, and wondered how many points the siblings had in charisma.

Herberto: “As I recall, he rewarded your tutor in oratory. You, on the other hand…”

Tori quickly interrupted him, appealing with her eyes to Kafana and Alderney. “You did say you’d like to see our volleyball court, right? We could get a breath of fresh air, and watch the guards train.”

Herberto opened a door in the wall that was little different from the other panels, then led them up a set of steep narrow stairs, following Tori’s suggested route. However the two continued teasing each other with tales from the past, and the picture it built up of their childhood and of Count Landi’s sense of justice was a compelling one, that made their life inside these grounds come alive. It also gave her an appreciation for the quality of the tutors Landi had hired and how much of a handful Tori had been to raise.

The Livery turned out to be a grassy field surrounded by a track, where guards exercised and trained. Archery butts had been set up at one end, while a stables lined the eastern edge. Cadets were practicing sword forms in unison, under the merciless gaze of a grizzled sergeant, while guards in house uniforms of various ranks sparred or worked their mounts.

Bungo: “They’re working hard. What level are they?”

Herberto: “The minimum level we require for guards is 20, and higher ranks can be 30 or more. Levelling your profession as a guard depends upon how much real combat you see. The practice is to raise their skills, keep them in shape and teach them to work together. In a way, crafters have a much easier job of it - they level all year around, just by making items that others want, at the highest quality they’re capable of.”

Tori shook her head: “It only seems that way because Torello is so tame and civilised. Once you get beyond the cultivated areas, or during times of war, soldiers like guards and mercenaries level much faster. Most crafters won’t finish their journeymanship until they’re nearly thirty years old, and they don’t get truly skilled until their mid forties unless they’re really talented. Whereas a keen soldier can be leading patrols in her early twenties and reach level 50 before her thirtieth birthday.”

Herberto: “You’re forgetting the risk. You’ve always been fighting mad; you came second in the Apprentice category at Lithia, when you were only fourteen. But how many of those who entered that competition are still alive today? At least crafters generally die of old age.”