And then there were the keymoat skins. Deemed precious by many dressmakers and armourers, as it was supple, flexible, took dyes well, and most importantly, was considered, after tanning, to be all but impervious to any blade not made of keymoat bone. Brandth owned three such coats, and swore they had saved his life more than once.
From his position in the shadows Talac counted eight, no, nine hides. Perhaps this answered the question as to how Baron Gloomenthrall was funding the Keep and able to drum up dowries for his plethora of female kin.
The three riders on the massive pitch black mounts remained silent and incredibly still. Even their horses frozen in place as if they were statues. The steward yelled something, but over the pounding rain Talac could not make out the words. The riders gave no response, but the steward had their attention, they didn’t move away.
Finally, the rider in the middle, the leader, Talac presumed, raised a gloved hand holding their palm up, and then swishing it sideways, as if to brush away whatever words the steward was continuing to yell. Though now the fellow was also banging his staff on the stone step in clear frustration. The silent riders appearing impervious and unimpressed.
Suddenly the mute servant boy shot out of the shadows to Talac’s right. His mop of dark hair plastered to his head in mere moments, making that large nose of his look even more prominent. He ran down the steps past the steward and guards, sinking into mud up to his shins. Raising his hands, he started to quickly move his fingers and hands in an intricate fashion. Some of the movements reminding Talac of how he and his men communicated silently when they needed to pass brief instructions or information. Yet a whole conversation appeared to be happening in this format. Fascinating.
And what a damn useful spy the kid made. Few would measure their words around a mute boy, thinking him no threat of passing on any information.
Funny, the boy got results where his Lordship’s steward did not. The three riders dismounting in eerie perfect unison, though Talac saw no signal given. They were tall, broad figures, the hoods and capes making them look like shadows come to life. The leader striding over to the wagon, easing their way through the mud as if they walked on cobblestones. At the wagon they shoved aside two carcasses before hefting a third over their shoulders in what looked like a much practised move.
It was the smallest of the keymoat carcasses, but still an impressive size, looking both heavy and awkward, given the enormous curling precious horns encircling either side of creature’s angular head. Turning, the leader stomped towards the Keep, their two companions falling into flanking positions on either side, making the trio look like a moving wall of shadows.
The steward scrambled back up the stone stairs. The guards parting to allow the trio past. The servant boy trailing closely along behind the group, whilst Talac slipped from shadow to shadow, following them inside.
In the entrance area no one stopped to help the trio off with their capes, or request they remove their muddy boots. They didn’t appear to care they were spreading muck, and leaking puddles of water and now blood. Their boot heels striking the stone in loud unison. And the closer they got to the double doors leading to the great hall, the faster they moved, until they passed the steward. The flanking riders slamming their weight against the doors, sending them crashing open.
Gasps and cries of surprise and shock from within the great hall were silenced almost before they could escape. And it was into this hushed expectant moment that Talac eased himself through the great hall doors, moving sideways until he could find a heavily shadow filled spot to lean against a wall and watch the action.
The steward, breathless, sodden, his lips blue, finally caught up, coming to a skidding halt beside the three black caped mystery figures whose deep hoods and wrapped lower faces made their features impossible to glimpse. The steward banging his staff twice to needlessly garner everyone’s attention. There wasn’t a person present not already fixated upon the newcomers. One of the ladies fainted. Though Talac noted she did so gracefully down onto a waiting chair.
“Tribute, your Lordship. Tribute.” The steward’s words echoed and resounded for an annoyingly long time.
Baron Gloomenthrall stomped forward. It was impossible to tell under all that hair, beard and eyebrows whether he was pleased or enraged. He faced off with the trio, silently staring up at the leader. There was a good half a foot or more difference in their height but he seemed unfazed. A pointed minute passing when neither moved or spoke, enough so their audience began to grow restless and shift in place and speak in whispered tones to those nearest them.
Finally, the leader strode three feet forward, dumping the carcass they were carrying at his Lordship’s feet.
“Tribute.” The steward reminded everyone, as the whispers, especially those amongst the visiting gentlemen increased, edged with excitement, all recognising the type of animal that lay at his Lordship’s feet. A keymoat. The whispers grew, edged with greed now, most trying to gauge how much such a carcass was worth.
Talac wondered how much more excited they’d be if they knew about the eight even bigger carcasses lying in the back of that wagon?
Still, neither his Lordship nor the hunt leader made any move to converse… or to move. It seemed there was more to come but one or either was being obtuse or stubborn. The steward clearing his throat softly, and then a moment later more urgently and louder.
The hunt leader waved a gloved hand at their companion on the left, who stepped forward quickly, yanking down the scarf covering his mouth. “Tomorrow, we ride!” His words cracking like a whip, once more the great hall was hushed and silent. “Tomorrow, we hunt!”
The trio turned abruptly in unison to depart, as they did so, the hunt leader’s head swivelled slightly, their face hidden by deep shadows and cloth but Talac could have sworn they were looking his way. Impossible. He was one with the shadows. Yet, he felt the weight of that gaze, as if he were being assessed and judged.
The stare down broken after what seemed like an age but probably only lasted seconds before the trio exited the great hall, servants hurrying in their wake now with buckets and mops to start cleaning up the mess they had made. Talac surprised to find he’d been holding his breath.
Baron Gloomenthrall turned to the room, raising his arms. “Did you hear that, lads? I suggest you put down the mead and make use of your beds. You’ll want clear heads at first light if you intend to seek and win your lady love and your fortune. Tomorrow, you hunt!”
A handful of men hooted and hollered in excitement. Several others looked nothing but grim and intent. Whilst the remainder stared long and hard at the carcass of the keymoat, their faces pale, their eyes wide, blinking too much in fear.
“Tomorrow, we ride.” Greasley’s heir raised his goblet, draining the contents dry before slamming it down hard on the nearest table. Several of his chums mimicking him.
The Baron raised his goblet in their direction, acknowledging the toast, draining his own cup. “Tomorrow, you ride with the Beast of Gloomenthrall!” Intoned his Lordship before laughing heartily at the number of suddenly very pale faced guests, as the realisation of what they had agreed to finally began to sink in.
An almost visibly trembling short statured greying sandy haired man with glasses, sitting only feet away from Talac, pushed away his still full goblet of mead suddenly. “Gods help us all.”
Brandth sauntered over Talac’s way, his light blue silk tunic reflecting nearby candlelight, making him look like a beacon. “So that was the legendary Beast?” Looking over as four servants lifted the keymoat carcass, each taking a hoof and shuffling awkwardly away. “One who hunts and kills elusive vicious creatures. I could sense your intrigue from all the way across the hall. I posit that you will insist we be up at the crack of dawn to observe the proceedings.”
“Oh, I think we shall be doing a little more than observing.”
“You wish to join the hunt?” Brandth shook his head, pursing his lips. “Is that wise?”
“Wouldn’t you like some answers? How can there be keymoats here?”
