((Continued from Triumph))
The gold still weighed warm in Roedrick's pocket as hurried through the Stone. This part of the fortress was quieter than the rest: thicker floors, fewer guards, the kind of quietude that came with guest quarters.
He reached the door and hesitated only a moment before raising his fist and rapping twice, firm but not aggressive.
Moments passed.
Then the door cracked open.
Master Jorin stood in a tunic and no pants, eyes bleary, dark curls tangled from sleep. He blinked down at the servant with the slow irritation of a man pulled from slumber.
“What is it?”
“Begging your pardon, Master Jorin,” he said, bowing low. “There’s a man at the South Gate. Says his name is Cassius Grimwood. He told me to tell you… he brings word of your mother. He said you’d want to hear it.”
Jorin’s eyes narrowed sharply. “Now? In the middle of the bloody night?”
“He insisted it was urgent, sir.” The servant hesitated, then added, “Paid double just to make sure you came quick.”
That gave Jorin pause. “What’s he look like?”
The servant swallowed and tried to find the right words. “Pale. Too pale. Hair like white ash, high-cut and wild like he forgot what a brush is. Dressed in black from throat to boot. Gloves, too. Tall coat, real fine. Looked military, I'm not sure. And he’s got these dark round spectacles like he’s hiding from the sun.”
Jorin stared at him for a moment, all sleep gone from his face.
“Fine. Wait here. I'll put on some bloody pants," he said.
The servant bowed again, waiting.
The gold still weighed warm in Roedrick's pocket as hurried through the Stone. This part of the fortress was quieter than the rest: thicker floors, fewer guards, the kind of quietude that came with guest quarters.
He reached the door and hesitated only a moment before raising his fist and rapping twice, firm but not aggressive.
Moments passed.
Then the door cracked open.
Master Jorin stood in a tunic and no pants, eyes bleary, dark curls tangled from sleep. He blinked down at the servant with the slow irritation of a man pulled from slumber.
“What is it?”
“Begging your pardon, Master Jorin,” he said, bowing low. “There’s a man at the South Gate. Says his name is Cassius Grimwood. He told me to tell you… he brings word of your mother. He said you’d want to hear it.”
Jorin’s eyes narrowed sharply. “Now? In the middle of the bloody night?”
“He insisted it was urgent, sir.” The servant hesitated, then added, “Paid double just to make sure you came quick.”
That gave Jorin pause. “What’s he look like?”
The servant swallowed and tried to find the right words. “Pale. Too pale. Hair like white ash, high-cut and wild like he forgot what a brush is. Dressed in black from throat to boot. Gloves, too. Tall coat, real fine. Looked military, I'm not sure. And he’s got these dark round spectacles like he’s hiding from the sun.”
Jorin stared at him for a moment, all sleep gone from his face.
“Fine. Wait here. I'll put on some bloody pants," he said.
The servant bowed again, waiting.