The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Lionstone

Lionstone Palace occupied the highest plateau above the undulating plains north of the Goldscale River. The river was named for the gold flakes and later mines that initially made this province, in fact the original nation of Larbantry, wealthy. The fortress was named for the tawny color of the stone, else perhaps because the name suited the fancy of the Firstprophet who'd had it built. The outer walls led to a vast bailey full of horses and men-at-arms training, and the road that coiled its way up the cliffs to the inner ward was guarded by three barbicans.

Able and Chessie had to wait at each of these in turn while the guards first considered the letter and its seal then second searched their persons for weapons. The latter seemed tedious, as where exactly could they have picked up weapons in between being escorted from one gate to the next? But they complied without a word.

The keeper at the final gate agreed the letter was authentic and assigned four guards to escort them. As they crossed the ward to the keep, Able's eyes strayed to the court buildings. These breathtaking sandstone structures were embellished with designs made of deep rust stone, possibly clay bricks. The arching entrances and galleries were lined with marble and even gold. Engravings in old Bantara lined the doorways, too far away for Able to read. He should keep his eyes forward, anyway, so as not to look suspicious this close to the emperor.

...was the emperor here, though? Lionstone was the most secure seat of government in the empire, and as such was the center for all matters of military, but the king would have other duties to see to. Then again, his health nowadays could be impacting his ability to travel.

The guards ushered Able and Chessie into a set of apartments beside the barracks. They were let into a solar on the second floor and told they may sit if they so chose. Chessie did, on the sofa beneath the vast window which was clear, unlike the stained ones in the larger buildings. Able idled towards the center of the room, searching for his bearings.

All he knew of General Forceful Pillar was that he had commanded the troops in Goldscale for fifteen years, after a tidy if unremarkable record of keeping outpost fortresses on the Eastern front for seventeen years. The bookshelves were lined with the usual collections on tactics, geographies, and histories. The only curiosities were a pair of handwoven wicker statuettes and the hollowed-out horn of some beast, items that had perhaps originated with the Stalach nomads. The "accursed Stalks," most Larbants would call them. Especially here.

Able took a breath and began to pace the hexagonal carpet, not daring go near the desk even as he studied it for more clues. It was as tidy as it could be for the number of documents stacked about its surface. He glanced to the still-open door—oh, one of the guards was watching him instead of the hall. He suppressed a shudder and took measured steps to sit on the sofa beside Chessie. He glanced down at the letter in his hands, determined not to fidget with it.

General Pillar

 accept only from messenger

The red wax seal remained unbroken for nearly another hour. Able tried to focus on his breathing, as vomiting on the floor of the general's solar was not going to help anything. Chessie appeared to be managing her own nerves with a similar meditation. Or perhaps she was channeling? Cheeky move if so, not that she'd fully realize it.

Finally, voices in the hall. A tall, for a Larbant at least, and lanky man dismissed the guard and closed the door behind him. He looked in good condition for a man of sixty, with impeccable posture and grooming, but then he hobbled to the desk. One of his legs was false. He sat and looked a little amused.

"Well? Give it here, young man." He held out his hand expectantly.

Able hurried out of his seat and held out the letter he'd carried more miles than he'd accurately calculated. "Er, you are General Pillar?"