Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)The sound of the trot of the proud warhorse held a dulled echo with each step on the wooden drawbridge crossing the deep moat, where the clicking noise of dozens of toads greeted the orange glowing sunset. The dust covered rider, merely a shadow in the approaching darkness, sat high on his weary horse.
“Who are you, Sir?” one of the two royal guards shouted. The narrow, iron gate was already closed.
“Richard of Wykeham,” the young man answered with a deep voice that was used to give orders, “I have a message for Lord Wallington.”
The tall shadow stepped into the flickering light of the guard’s torch. The red flame revealed a squire, barely twenty years old. His strong arms and broad chest, forged by years of swordplay exercises, was clad in a dust covered, brown leather armor. The watchmen looked into bright, ice blue eyes that were a strong contrast to the sun tanned skin. Rough beard stubbles and short trimmed, black hair reinforced his hardened look.
Everything about him, the way he moved, his voice, and his tall, muscular build was demanding, hardly tolerating any dissent. The guards did not have to see the sealed letter to recognize his noble heritage.
“Of course, Sir Wykeham. We will inform the chamberlain.”
A few moments later the heavy doors swung open and Richard found himself in the courtyard, while his horse was brought to the large stables. A great keep overlooked the inner yard and the surrounding plains. The servant’s quarter and soldier’s barrack was right next to the stables. The storage and administrative building, as well as a small chapel, were on the other side of the court.
It did not take long until the chamberlain approached the young man.
“It is my honor to welcome you at castle Wellington, my lord. The servants will bring your baggage to a chamber we prepare for you. I am sorry that Lord Wellington is not here today, but please, join us at the dinner table.”
“Who are you, Sir?” one of the two royal guards shouted. The narrow, iron gate was already closed.
“Richard of Wykeham,” the young man answered with a deep voice that was used to give orders, “I have a message for Lord Wallington.”
The tall shadow stepped into the flickering light of the guard’s torch. The red flame revealed a squire, barely twenty years old. His strong arms and broad chest, forged by years of swordplay exercises, was clad in a dust covered, brown leather armor. The watchmen looked into bright, ice blue eyes that were a strong contrast to the sun tanned skin. Rough beard stubbles and short trimmed, black hair reinforced his hardened look.
Everything about him, the way he moved, his voice, and his tall, muscular build was demanding, hardly tolerating any dissent. The guards did not have to see the sealed letter to recognize his noble heritage.
“Of course, Sir Wykeham. We will inform the chamberlain.”
A few moments later the heavy doors swung open and Richard found himself in the courtyard, while his horse was brought to the large stables. A great keep overlooked the inner yard and the surrounding plains. The servant’s quarter and soldier’s barrack was right next to the stables. The storage and administrative building, as well as a small chapel, were on the other side of the court.
It did not take long until the chamberlain approached the young man.
“It is my honor to welcome you at castle Wellington, my lord. The servants will bring your baggage to a chamber we prepare for you. I am sorry that Lord Wellington is not here today, but please, join us at the dinner table.”
