A World Without Heroes
Page 89

“The Scarlet Riders are Maldor’s couriers,” Jasher explained. “This is one of their regular routes. They carry no arms, and therefore we in the resistance do not harm them.”
“I just flag him down?” Jason asked.
Jasher nodded. “It would be the quickest way to redeem your invitation and access Harthenham Castle. Rachel and I will never stray far from you. But if they ask about me or Rachel, we parted ways three days ago. I’ll keep us hidden.”
Jason nodded. It was now or never. He nudged his mount with his heels and flicked the reins. The responsive steed charged down the hillside. Within moments Jason rode out of the trees and waved his arms at the distant rider. The rider reined in his horse and watched as Jason approached. At length the rider spurred his mount toward Jason.
A few minutes later the rider pulled up beside him. The chestnut horse was the biggest Jason had ever seen, making his own large steed appear average.
“Speak,” the rider demanded in a powerful voice, using far more volume than seemed necessary.
“My name is Jason.”
His eyes widened. “Lord Jason of Caberton?”
“Good guess. I have an invitation to the Eternal Feast, and I want to accept it.”
Jason held up the invitation. The rider was speechless.
“It got a little wrinkled and dirty,” Jason apologized. “I’m tired of trying to be a hero. It’s pointless to resist the emperor. Can you help me out?”
The young man in the scarlet cape looked nervous. He surveyed the area in all directions.
“This isn’t a trick,” Jason said. “How do I declare my acceptance of this generous invitation?”
The scarlet rider relaxed a little. “This preempts the message I’m carrying,” he said. “I will see you safely to Bresington. An official escort will take you from there to Harthenham.”
“Lead on,” Jason said, forcing himself not to glance back toward where his friends were hiding.
CHAPTER 20
THE ETERNAL FEAST
A carriage advanced along a well-kept dirt road, passing grassy fields divided by whitewashed wooden fences. From the window Jason stared across the pastoral expanse at his first view of Harthenham Castle.
Tall and graceful, white walls gleaming, the castle seemed plucked from a fairy tale. Beautiful towers abounded, topped by steep conical roofs aflutter with banners. Elegant flying buttresses linked several of the towers to surrounding walls. Dramatic statues of majestic figures glistened on the parapets like angelic gargoyles. Elaborate gold and silver traceries embellished the stonework. Bright flags and standards decorated the great outer wall, which shimmered with opalescent sparkles.
Count Dershan, who sat in the carriage alongside Jason, gestured at the castle. “Many tons of fine crystal were crushed into the mortar to give the walls of Harthenham their ethereal glitter,” he recited reverently. He leaned toward Jason as he spoke, stroking the bushy mustache that flowed into his shaggy sideburns.
“It’s spectacular,” Jason agreed, glancing at the man who shared his compartment. Count Dershan had met him back in Bresington about an hour ago with the carriage and a change of clothes. After almost two days following the scarlet rider Jason was again bedecked in courtly finery and seated comfortably in a plush compartment.
“The highest figure on the castle, the warrior Elwyn, is constructed of pure gold, and his sword is composed of burnished platinum.”
Jason could see the warrior, one hand clinging to the loftiest spire, the other holding his sword aloft. Jason imagined the spire snapping, sending the proud golden warrior on a breakneck plunge into some hidden courtyard. He wished it would happen just so he could see the look on Dershan’s face. The count obviously took great personal pride in the opulence of Harthenham.
“Sadly, we cannot observe the grounds from here,” Dershan continued. “The topiary is exquisite. The garden unparalleled. From the proper perspective the reflecting pool creates a perfect illusion of the castle inverted, complete with clouds and sky.”
“I can hardly wait,” Jason said, hoping to seem like the model newcomer. “I hear the food is pretty good.”
Count Dershan chuckled at the understatement. “Over two hundred specialists devote their lives to collecting and preparing delicacies from all over the continent. No king has ever dined as we do.”
Before long the carriage rattled over the drawbridge and came to a stop beside a portico in an immaculate yard. Several servants stood at attention, wearing powdered wigs and fine livery. None bore weapons, and Jason noticed no guards.
Under the portico awaited a dignified man of about forty years with excellent posture. He wore an impeccable white uniform, complete with a profusion of medals on his chest and gold-fringed epaulets on his shoulders. A rapier was belted to his trim waist. His black hair was clipped short and slicked back, emphasizing his widow’s peak. A meticulously trimmed goatee bristled at the end of his chin. His bronze skin contrasted with the light uniform.
A footman opened the carriage door and set a stool on the ground. Jason followed Count Dershan out of the coach, accepting a hand down from the sallow-faced attendant.
Dershan guided Jason directly to the uniformed gentleman. “Duke Conrad of Harthenham, allow me to introduce our esteemed guest, Lord Jason of Caberton.”
Duke Conrad inclined his head and torso stiffly. Jason mirrored the slight bow. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Conrad said, his words clipped and precise. He extended a gloved hand, and Jason shook it, the firmness of the grip catching him by surprise. Duke Conrad stood a few inches shorter than Jason and stared up at him with keen, dark eyes. His face had a narrowness that accentuated his hollow cheeks and aquiline nose. Jason noticed that Conrad had twisted his gloved hand slightly so that Jason was shaking with his palm upward. A friend had once told Jason that whichever hand was on top won the handshake. Jason opened his hand, ending the subtle contest.
“I was glad to receive your invitation,” Jason said.
“And I am overjoyed to welcome you into my home,” Conrad said with little enthusiasm, his perceptive eyes weighing Jason. “Please feel at liberty to explore the castle and the grounds. Consider all of it yours.”
Jason felt a sudden temptation to ask if he could have one of the duke’s medals. Or maybe just unpin one and put it on. But the goal was not to make this man an enemy. The goal was to appear docile. “I appreciate your hospitality,” he said.
“Come,” Conrad instructed, whirling briskly and leading Jason through an elaborate set of double doors. “Your feast of welcome is in the final stages of preparation.”