The horizon remained bruised purple when the group assembled the following morning.
Richard arrived at the main gate of the manor to find his four companions already waiting, their silhouettes sharp against the pre-dawn mist. Ironically, the heir was the last to arrive.
Every man present appeared ready. Their breath bloomed in the frigid air as they performed final checks on the supplies.
Once the checks were over, the iron-bound gates of the manor groaned open. The sound echoed off the stone walls of the courtyard. Without a word, the five men stepped through and began the long trek toward their first destination: the city of Rjord.
The manor soon vanished into the morning haze, leaving them alone on the winding mountain road. On gaining some distance from the manor, Richard slowed his pace to address the group.
'The plan is simple,' Richard began clearly. 'We will work separately.'
'Separately?' Glen asked, slowing his stride. He looked at the other soldiers, seeking a reaction to this unexpected shift in protocol.
'Yes, all of you will be working separately, except for Wyatt,' Richard answered. He did not look back, keeping his focus on the road ahead. 'He will remain with me. I intend to visit Governor Forlan's residency directly and stay there as his guest. Omar, Hansen, and Glen--the three of you will be out in the city itself. You are to look for anything out of the ordinary. You will secure your own lodging at a local inn, blending in with the common travelers.'
'We will stay there for six days. After that period, we leave, whether or not we have found substantial evidence. You will report your findings to me only after all of us have exited the city, and not a moment before that.'
'And while you three search in the open,' Richard continued, 'I will be searching the residence itself if the opportunity presens itself.'
Hansen shifted the weight of his gear. His expression was marked by a deep, professional concern. As an instructor and a fighter, he was trained to anticipate the worst-case scenario. 'Sir, what if you are found out? Searching someone's private quarters is an act that cannot be easily explained away.'
'First of all, I will have Wyatt beside me at all times,' Richard replied, glancing toward the Commander. 'And secondly, I am the heir. Whatever excuse I provide for my presence or my curiosity, the Governor cannot easily reject it. My status is my primary shield. If I am caught in a hallway I should not be in, I am simply a curious noble.'
He paused, looking back at the three men who would be operating in the shadows of the city. 'Once we are able to see the outer gates of Rjord, we will separate. As far as the public is concerned, I do not know you, and you do not know me. To any observer, I am merely a noble traveling with a single guard for protection.'
Omar, the archer, raised another question, 'Why is it necessary for us to separate from you, Young Master? Surely four guards would be more fitting for your station.'
'Good question,' Richard said. 'It is to increase our efficiency. If all of you accompany me to the Governor's house, it will seem suspicious. Furthermore, you would be bound within the residence. Have you ever heard of a guard leaving his master's side to wander the city instead of protecting him? No. Such behavior would be flagged immediately. We need a complete overview of Rjord, and for that, you must be free to move without the constraints of my shadow.'
Richard stopped walking for a moment, turning to face the group. The rising sun caught the edges of his cloak. 'The main part of this mission is to identify any kinds of threats that may haunt us in the future to stop them from happening. We cannot do that if we are all looking at the same four walls of a guest wing.'
The logic was sound. By splitting the team, Richard was creating two prongs of an investigation: one that operated within the administrative heart of the city, and another that moved through the taverns, markets, and barracks where the common citizens spoke more freely.
Satisfied that the strategy was understood, Richard called out to Omar, who was holding the map of the territory. The paper crinkled as he consulted the landmarks against the path ahead.
'How far is it still?' Richard asked.
'If we maintain this pace, Young Master, we will reach Rjord within three hours, I believe,' Omar answered. He pointed toward a distant gap in the peaks where the road began to descend toward the valley. 'The descent is steep, but the road is well-maintained.'
Richard nodded, turning his eyes back to the road.
--
The descent from the mountain passes took exactly three hours. As they cleared the final ridge, the main gate of Rjord finally came into view. It was a massive structure of iron and reinforced timber, serving as the primary throat through which the commerce of the region flowed.
Here, the air felt thick with the sounds of a working, lively city. Multiple lines of merchants, laborers, and travelers moved in and out of the archway, creating a sense of restless energy that resonated endlessly.
The five men stopped as soon as the cityscape was fully visible.
Glen, Omar, and Hansen turned toward Richard and Wyatt. There were no long goodbyes or elaborate signals; the plan had already been etched into their minds during the walk. They gave a small, sharp nod to the heir and the Commander. Without a word, the three men veered off the main road, blending into a line of arriving merchants to obscure their connection to the noble party.
Richard watched them go for a moment before turning his eyes back to the city. Beside him, Wyatt stood like a pillar of stone. Together, they began their approach.
--
Entering Rjord felt like stepping into a different world. The city was a sprawling monument to stone and industry, built into the very bones of the mountain.
Rjord was a city of gray granite and dark iron. The streets were paved with heavy cobbles that rang under the hooves of draft horses. Steam rose from the vents of local smithies, and the smell of coal smoke and roasted meat filled the narrow alleys.
Tall, narrow buildings leaned over the thoroughfares, their wooden balconies decorated with the hardy, frost-resistant flora.
It was a city that felt functional and resilient.
Richard and Wyatt traveled toward the center of the city, where the architecture began to shift. The crowded tenements gave way to wider boulevards and more ornate structures. Eventually, they reached the district that housed the governing elite.
Governor Forlan's mansion loomed ahead. It was an imposing structure, nearly as large as the ducal manor itself. The walls were high, constructed from polished black stone that seemed to absorb the winter light. What struck Richard immediately was the sheer number of guards. They were posted at every corner of the perimeter. It was a display of security that surpassed even his father's residence.
Without wasting time, they approached the primary entrance. Wyatt stepped forward to the iron-wrought gate and called out to the guard stationed in the sentry box.
The guard, however, did not offer a professional greeting. He was slouched in his chair, his head tilted back in a deep nap. The sounds of the city seemed to have lulled him into a state of total neglect. When Wyatt's voice boomed against the stone, the man startled, his helmet slipping lopsided over his eyes.
The guard scrambled to steady himself, but instead of apologizing, he looked at the travelers with an expression of pure annoyance. He did not recognize the travelers, seeing only a nobleman and a single guard who had interrupted his rest.
'Move along,' the guard muttered in a sleepy, irritable state. 'Go away. The Governor is not home and he is not receiving guests today.'
Wyatt's face reddened with a sudden, violent anger. His hand drifted toward the hilt of his sword and his posture tensed as the insult to his Young Master registered. The Commander was not a man accustomed to being dismissed by a common sentry, especially one so incompetent.
Before Wyatt could speak, Richard reached out. He tapped lightly on the commander's shoulder, instructing him to remain calm. Richard did not want their arrival to be marked by a scene of unnecessary violence. He stepped forward, moving into the direct line of the guard's vision.
'Sir, please open the gate,' Richard said politely.
The guard's patience finally gave over. He dragged his head up, his mouth opening as he prepared to shout a final, more aggressive dismissal. He seemed ready to curse at the intruders for their persistence. However, as his eyes finally focused on Richard's face, the words died in his throat.
The color drained from the man's skin. He recognized the features of the heir to the Duchy--the sharp, cold eyes and the distinct Serdin lineage. The guard scrambled out of his box. His knees hit the cobblestones with a dull thud. He got on Richard's feet, his hands trembled as he bowed low.
'Forgiveness, Young Master! Please, I did not... I did not see...' the man stammered, thin with terror of losing his job.
Richard paid no attention to the man's desperate pleas for mercy. He did not look down at the groveling sentry. His focus remained on the dark windows of the mansion behind the bars.
'Go to Forlan and inform him of my arrival,' Richard commanded. 'I will wait outside until then.'
The guard got up, crawling backward before finding his feet. He was shaking so violently that his armor rattled.
'Ye-Yes, Young Master! A-As y-you wish! At once!'
The man turned and bolted toward the main house, nearly tripping over his own boots in his haste to escape the presence of the man he had just insulted. Richard stood in the center of the road and watched the guard disappear into the mansion.
---