A New Assignment East [Fal Sion]

[Kiyohito]

Lord Kenta Armendariz

Kenta bowed low once more, his hand fisted over his chest in perfect form.

“Suravye ninto manshima taishite,” he said in the Old Tongue, his young voice crisp with practiced reverence. “May peace favor your sword, honored Asha’man.”

He straightened, chin lifted with the weighty poise of a child born to duty. The guards beside him mirrored his movements, though less precisely.

“I am honored to receive you,” Kenta continued, shifting to the Common Tongue.

“On behalf of House Armendariz and Lord Xavier, I welcome you to Fal Sion Keep. Quarters have been prepared to receive you. If it please you, I will escort you inside.”

Without waiting for a reply, though not rudely, Kenta turned with a slight, ceremonial gesture, and began to walk. The guards fell into formation: two ahead, two behind, the practiced formation of trained house soldiers.

Stable hands met them at the inner gate, offering to take over stabling Zoradin’s horse. One of them, a freckled boy barely older than Kenta, gawked openly at the Asha’man’s coat and pins before remembering himself and bowing so deeply he nearly dropped the reins.

They passed under the high stone arch of the keep. There were no hint of shadows in or around the bridge. Not in the borderlands where Fades could enter their walls at will.  The fortress was old Shienaran stone of squared angles, and built to endure not impress, but the banners of House Armendariz fluttered proudly from the battlements. Blue and silver, stitched with their crest in sharp relief.

Servants watched as they passed, whispering behind cupped hands. Many touched their hearts in cautious respect as the Asha’man walked by.

Kenta said nothing until they reached the men’s wing of the keep. A heavy door was opened for them by a steward, and Kenta led Zoradin through well-kept halls smelling faintly of pine and stone. At last, he stopped before a chamber door and gestured.

“These are your quarters,” he said. “If there is anything you require, you need only speak it.”

The room beyond was modest but comfortable. A hearth was already lit with clean linens folded at the foot of an elegant bed, a basin and pitcher of warm water was set out to wash away the road.

Kenta lingered a moment, uncertain whether to speak again. Then, remembering his father’s charge, he gave a crisp bow.

“When you are ready, Asha’man Fel, my father asks that you join him for supper in the Solar. A servant will escort you as soon as you are ready.”