Michael Sullivan - Wintertide

"I am Genevieve, the Duchess of Rochelle."

"Pleased to meet you," Hadrian replied.

"Surely you know Sir Breckton?" the duchess asked.

"Not personally."

"He is the General of the Northern Imperial Army and favored champion of this week's tournament."

"Favored by whom, My Lady?" Sir Elgar asked, dragging out the seat next to Breckton and sitting with all the elegance of an elephant. "I believe Maribor favors my talents in this year's competition."

"You might like to think that, Sir Elgar, but I suspect your boasting skills are more honed than your riding prowess after so many years of endless practice," the duchess returned, causing the monk to chuckle.

"No disrespect to her ladyship," Breckton said in cold seriousness, "but Sir Elgar is correct in that only Maribor will judge the victor of this tournament, and no one yet knows the favor of His choice."

"Do not speak on my behalf," Elgar growled. "I don't need your charity, nor will I be the foundation for your tower of virtue. Spare us your monk's tongue."

"Don't be too quick to shun charity or silence a monk," the robed man across from Hadrian said softly. "Or how else will you know the will of God?"

"Pardon me, good monk, I was not speaking against you but rather rebuking the preaching of this secular would-be priest."

"Wherever the word of Maribor is spoken, I pray thee listen."

A squat, teardrop-shaped man claimed the chair beside the duchess. He kissed her cheek and called her dearest. Hadrian had never met Leopold before, but from all Albert had told him, his identity was obvious. Sir Gilbert took the empty chair next to Elgar.

No one sat to Hadrian's right, and he hoped it would remain that way. With the duchess protecting one flank, if no one took the seat at the other, he only had to worry about a frontal assault. While Hadrian pondered this, another friendly face appeared.

"Good Wintertide, all!" Albert Winslow greeted those at the table with an elegant flourish that made Hadrian envious. He was certain Albert saw him, but the viscount displayed no indication of recognition.

"Albert!" The duchess beamed. "How wonderful to have you at our table."

"Ah, Lady Genevieve and Duke Leopold. I had no idea I ranked so highly on Her Eminence's list that I should be given the honor of dining with such esteemed personages."

Albert immediately stepped to Genny, bowed, and kissed her hand with effortless grace and style.

"Allow me to introduce Sir Hadrian," the lady said. "He appears to be a wonderful fellow."

"Is he?" Albert mused. "And a knight, you say?"

"That is yet to be determined," Sir Elgar challenged. "He claims a Sir before his name, but I've never heard of him before. Has anyone?"

"Generosity of spirit precludes judging a man ill before cause is given," Sir Breckton said. "As a knight of virtue, I am certain you know this, Sir Elgar."

"Once more, I need no instruction from you. I, for one, would like to know from whence Sir Hadrian hails and how he won his spurs."

All eyes turned to Hadrian.

He tried to remember the details drilled into him without looking like he was struggling. "I come from…Barmore. I was knighted by Lord Dermont for my service in the Battle of Ratibor."

"Really?" Sir Gilbert said in a syrupy voice. "I wasn't aware of that victory. I was under the impression the battle was lost and Lord Dermont killed. For what were you knighted, and how, pray tell, did his lordship do this? Did his spirit fly overhead dubbing you with an ethereal sword saying, 'Rise up good knight. Go forth and lose more battles in the name of the Empire, the empress, and the Lord God Maribor'?"

Hadrian felt his stomach churn. Albert looked at him with tense eyes, clearly unable to help. Even the duchess remained silent.

"Good evening, gentlemen and lady." From behind him, the voice of Regent Saldur broke the tension and Hadrian felt the regent's hand on his shoulder.

Accompanying him was Archibald Ballentyne, the Earl of Chadwick, who took the seat to Hadrian's right. Everyone at the table nodded reverently to the regent.

"I was just showing the earl to his seat, but I couldn't help overhearing your discussion concerning Sir Hadrian of Barmore here. You see, it was the empress herself who insisted he attend this festival. I ask him to grant me the guilty pleasure of responding to this honorable inquiry by Sir Gilbert. What do you say, Sir Hadrian"

"Sure," he replied stiffly.

"Thank you," Saldur said, and clearing his throat continued, "Sir Gilbert is correct in that Lord Dermont was lost that day, but reports from his closest aides brought back the tale. Three days of rain made a mounted charge impossible, and the sheer number of the unstoppable Nationalist horde convinced Lord Dermont of the futility of engagement. Overcome with grief, he retreated to his tent in resignation.

"Without Lord Dermont to lead them, the Imperial Army floundered when the attack came. It was Sir Hadrian-then Captain Hadrian of the Fifth Imperial Mounted Guard-who roused the men and set them to ranks. He raised the banner and led them forth. At first, only a handful of soldiers responded. Indeed, only those who served with him answered his call, for they alone knew firsthand his mettle. Ignoring his meager numbers, he trusted in Maribor and called the charge."

Hadrian looked down and fidgeted with an uncooperative toggle on his tunic as the others sat enthralled.

"Although it was suicide, Captain Hadrian rode at the head of the troop into the fen field. His horse threw mud and slop, and a magnificent rainbow burst forth from the spray as he galloped across a stretch of standing water. He drove at the heart of the enemy with no thought of his own safety."

Saldur's voice grew in volume and intensity. His tone and cadence assumed the melodramatic delivery of a church sermon. A few nobles at the other tables turned to listen as he continued.

"His courageous charge unnerved the Nationalist foot soldiers, who fell back in fear. Onward he plunged, splitting their ranks until at last his mount became overwhelmed by the soft earth and fell. Wielding sword and shield, he got to his feet and continued to drive forward. Clashing against steel, he cried out the name of the empress, 'For Modina! Modina! Modina Novronian!'"

Saldur paused and Hadrian looked up to see every eye at the table shifting back and forth between the regent and himself.

"Finally, shamed by the bravery of this one lone captain, the rest of the Imperial Army rallied. They cried to Maribor for forgiveness even as they drew sword and spear and rushed to follow. Before reinforcements could reach him, Hadrian was wounded and driven into the mud. Some of his men bore him from the field and took him to the tent of Lord Dermont. There they told the tale of his bravery and Lord Dermont swore by Maribor to honor Hadrian's sacrifice. He proclaimed his intent to knight the valiant captain.

"'Nay, Lord!' cried Captain Hadrian even as he lay wounded and bleeding. 'Knight me not for I am unworthy. I have failed.' Lord Dermont clutched his blade and was heard to say, 'You are more worthy of the noble title of knight-valiant than I am of the title of man!' And with that, Lord Dermont dubbed him Sir Hadrian."

"Oh my!" the duchess gasped.

With everyone staring at him, Hadrian felt hot, awkward, and more naked than when Elgar had interrupted his bath.

"Lord Dermont called for his own horse and thanked Sir Hadrian for the chance to redeem his honor before Maribor. He led his personal retinue into the fight, where he and all but a few of his men perished on the pikes of the Nationalists.

"Sir Hadrian tried to return to the battle despite his wounds, but fell unconscious before reaching the field. After the Nationalists' victory, they left him for dead and only providence spared his life. He awoke covered in mud. Desperate for food and water, he crawled into the forest where he came upon a small hovel. There he was fed and tended to by a mysterious man. Sir Hadrian rested there for six days, and on the seventh, the man brought forth a horse and told Sir Hadrian to take it, ride to Aquesta, and present himself to the court. After he handed over the reins, thunder cracked and a single white feather fell from a clear blue sky. The man caught the feather before it reached the ground, a broad smile across his face. And with that, the man disappeared.