Jafar

Stella remained nearby silent for the remainder of the journey, clinging to Schon and only speaking to her in hushed whispers. Schon did her best to keep the child happy, trying to point to things out the window in an effort to distract her. It did little to prevent one eye from watching Fulcher, the detached stare burrowing into him with each passing hour. Arrow laid on the seat next to Fulcher, eyes swiveling between the two as he let out the occasional whine. Eventually, Schon smiled and pointed out the window with more excitement than before, earning a genuine look from Stella.

“Look Stella, we’re here!” she said. Just as she spoke, a thump came from the top of the carriage.

“We’re close to the gates, Sir!” Vardia called. Fulcher turned and peered out the window.

What was once a dirty and unkept path that they had taken to escape from the Sire’s horsemen had once more looped into proper roadways. Fulcher bounced as they hit the cobblestone path, the clopping of the horses’ hooves ringing out from the front of the coach. He saw several travelers along the road between them and the city in the distance, most making way for the horses they heard approaching from behind them.

I wonder if any of them are some of the people we freed at the Beast Pens… Fulcher thought.
He looked up from the road at the walls that slowly crept closer and closer. Unlike the ramshackle homes and rundown streaks around Dilyniant’s keep, the walls of Corvidrop encircled the entire city. Large banners flapped in the breeze, with opposing brown and black quadrants. Each white icon in the centers of the banners was the head of a raven which shifted from the neck down into the shape of a droplet.

As the carriage passed a tall watchtower Fulcher caught the eye of a soldier at its top, staring down at the stagecoach with suspicion. Before he could ask Vardia about what he saw, a patrol of horsemen thundered past, heading into the distance towards the edge of the forest the group had fled from. Turning his head back towards the city, Fulcher caught a glimpse of two figures in some distance from the road. Each was hooded in dark robes, and stood on opposite ends of some kind of marked field. The figures raised their arms as energy swelled from their palms, crackling elemental magic cascading across the practice ground at each other. A shout from the parapets drew Fulcher’s eyes upwards.

“Lord’s carriage approaching!” called some unseen figure. Fulcher spotted several archers watching them approach the gates, with a handful of crossbows aimed in their direction.

“Uh, Vardia?” Fulcher called out the window, “Are you sure this place is safe?”

“Very much so, Sir!” the Custodi responded. “Corvidrop is very focused on its military, but don’t let that fool you! The people here are quite lovely! You should really try their custard, I hear it’s a signature dish!” Fulcher frowned as the stagecoach slowed to a crawl before the large iron gate keeping the city walls sealed from the road.

“Wasn’t Father talking about some kind of war? Wouldn’t they be sending levies? There are a lot of troops in the area,” Fulcher asked, his voice bouncing off the stone surrounding and overhanging the gateway.

“I admit, there sure are a lot of them…” Vardia said.

A soldier approached from inside the gate, holding a spear upwards. He slammed the butt of the weapon against the stone street, calling attention to himself.

“Hail, Custodi. What business brings you to Corvidrop? And why do you sit atop a coach of House Nerrel?” the soldier questioned. Vadia offered a salute to the soldier.

“Hail, gate guard! We are traveling on royal business to see Lord Corvidrop! The coach is merely rented,” Vardia responded.

“Royal business?” the guard rumbled, “You mean to tell me the Sire is inside?” The soldier gripped his spear tighter as he observed the dirtied and damaged stage the carriage was in.

“No, but in fact his son, Prince Fulcher!” Vardia exclaimed. Fulcher felt like that was as good of a queue as ever, opening the door of the coach. He leaned out, meeting the eyes of the gate guard and offering an awkward wave.

“Hey, what’s up?” Fulcher said. The guard did little to hide his scowl, refusing to acknowledge Fulcher as he turned and marched out from the inside of the gate.

“Raise the irons! The Prince of the Realm has arrived!” he shouted. The old gate rattled and groaned as it began to rise. Before he settled back into his seat, Fulcher also noticed a pigeon being sent from a window of the gateway, the bird fluttering towards the city center.

Likely news of our arrival, he thought. Fulcher climbed out of the coach before the gate fully opened, sitting on the box with Vardia. As they began to move through the streets of the walled city towards the castle, they gained an escort of several armored soldiers. Fulcher leaned over to Vardia, whispering softly over the drone of horse hooves.

“Lord Corvidop? I thought you said Corvidrop was the name of the city?” he muttered.

“Yes, Sir! The city is named after the lord’s family! Lord Corvidrop of Corvidrop,” Vardia responded. Fulcher’s blank expression drilled into the backs of the horses as they moved, sitting back against the top of the coach.

“Oh,” he replied. His eyes ticked to the escort of soldiers, slowly getting larger and larger. It made him slightly uneasy with all the weapons they held, especially as they seemed to guide the stagecoach through indirect paths and dark streets instead of straight to the castle.

The tension eased as they seemed to finally turn onto a wide street heading straight for the castle gates. As they came to a stop the doors to the keep swung open. A tall man walked down the path towards the stagecoach, dressed in dark silks and furs. His long jet black hair draped against his shoulders, and he smiled with crinkled eyes that lead one to believe he made the face far too often for it to be natural.

“Prince, it’s been too long! Come in, come in…”