A Seat at the Threshold

    Sean, Flick, and Corvane made their way to the forest gate, leaving Colm behind at the inn to keep an eye on the Lord Mayor. That had struck Sean as a bit paranoid, but Corvane had been adamant that he not remain unaccompanied.

    The bell had sent all of the residents scurrying indoors and left the streets quiet. The only one that remained on this side of the village was Ryan, who was standing behind a pair of thick oak doors. Sean realized that it was the first time he’d ever seen the doors closed, let alone barred.

    “Ryan,” he asked, approaching the man, “are we about to be under attack?”

    The guard bowed as Sean approached. “No, Your Majesty.” Sean could see the sweat fall off the man’s nose as his head came back up.

    “Alright, then why did you send up the alarm?”

    “I…erhm…I don’t rightly know?” Ryan looked a bit embarrassed, but also legitimately shaken. “I just got this feeling, like a thousand spiders crawling up me shirt. I said to myself, ‘Ryan, something uncanny’s afoot. You best ring that bell and bar the gate!’ And so I did, Your Majesty, begging your pardon.”

    Sean looked to Flick. The woman’s ears were flat against her head. “Apparently you weren’t the only one to get spooked, Flick. Is what you sensed dangerous?”

    “Aye,” she hissed, “I know it is, but I don’t know why I know. It’s like there’s a gap in my memory where a monster ought to be, but all that’s left is the scent of spoiled milk.”

    Sean nodded, “Alright, we’ll be careful. Your nose led us in the right direction last time, after all.”

    A heavy knocking on the doors made everyone jump, Corvane flapping his wings about to maintain his grip on Sean’s shoulder. There was a beat of silence, before whatever was outside knocked again, the thumps shaking the gate’s frame.

    A soft, melodious voice pierced through the intervening wall as if the speaker was already next to the group.

    “I have come to treat with the High King of Aiane. Covenants were sealed in blood and mead, covenants that now require honoring.”

    Sean looked at Flick. “Do we open the door?”

    “No!” She snapped under her breath.

    “Yes.” Corvane countermanded. “Be courteous, but do not under any circumstances invite them into the village, Successor.”

    A warning rumble echoed out of Flick’s chest as she glared at the raven. “Be it on your head, bird, but don’t say you weren’t warned when you regret it.”

    Sean looked between his advisor and his companion, before indicating for the guard to open the door. Corvane seemed to have an idea of what lay beyond, but it felt like a poor time to ask for details.

    Ryan saluted and hesitantly moved towards the gate, lifting the thick iron-bound bar that spanned the doors. He struggled beneath its weight but managed to drag it off towards the guardhouse. Free of their jailer, the gate doors swung lazily open.

    Sean expected to see some monstrosity straight from old world folklore, or at least a decent supernatural horror film. What he found standing at the edge of the gateway was a man.

    He was on the shorter side of average height, with stark white hair and skin. Sean would have thought he was an albino, but the man either had no iris or what was there was solid black.

    His clothes were neatly tailored, also all white, and in a style that reminded Sean more of a Victorian period drama than the early medieval clothes the people of Greenbough wore. There was no road dust or staining on it either, everything about him was almost supernaturally immaculate.

    Beyond his general oddity, Sean didn’t see anything overly concerning about their visitor. There was certainly nothing that would explain the fact that Ryan looked like he was about to be ill, or why Flick seemed on the edge of fight or flight.

    The strange man’s eyes passed over the companions without even registering, fixating directly on Sean.

    “The courtesy of your hall has lessened of late, High King, as has its stature.” He said, the same sing-song tone in his voice. Do manners not suggest you invite an honored guest up to your hall to sup and converse, rather than leave him standing in the mud of the trail?”

    Sean’s upbringing would have seen him agree had Corvane not warned him against the notion. As it stood, he wasn’t going to take any chances with this stranger.

    “Sadly you’ve come at a bad time, stranger.” Sean said, trying to put an appropriately conciliatory look on his face. “The hall is not yet ready for visitors, but I can have seating and food brought out to make things more comfortable. We will eat and speak as you suggest, in equal discomfort.”

    The man stood silent, his black eyes never meeting Sean’s and in fact seeming to look through or past him. After a moment he nodded. “Acceptable.”

    Ryan immediately went into the guard hut to start grabbing tables and a chair without even being ordered. Sean asked Flick to run to the inn and grab the best of whatever Alma had prepped for the day, and to raid Colm’s cellar. The woman looked at him gratefully, bounding up the street and disappearing from view.

    The guard came back out dragging a small table, followed by two wicker chairs. He placed the table so it spanned the threshold, and then began to move the chairs. Sean noticed a calculating, almost predatory look in the man’s eyes as Ryan’s arms crossed beyond the village’s boundary, but the visitor didn’t make any moves. In fact, he realized, the visitor hadn’t moved at all since he had addressed him – no shuffling, no twitching, no blinking.

    Soon Ryan was finished. Sean motioned for their guest to seat themselves.

    “The food should be here soon and then we can begin proper introductions. Please, sit.”

    The man looked at the simple chair and sneered, but he did sit. When both men were situated, he again pinned Sean with his gaze.

    “I can understand your embarrassment at being reduced to such circumstances,” the man began, “but I cannot understand why you continue to allow your lessers to speak for you.”

    Sean looked at the him in confusion. “I’m sorry? I don’t think I understand.”

    The man was silent and still.

    Sean started to say something less than courteous, but Corvane’s caw preempted him. He glanced in askance at the raven, who let out an all too human sigh.

    “He’s not talking to you, Successor.” The raven said in resignation. “He’s talking to me.”