The rider dismounted within the citadel courtyard. A youth and an elderly manservant awaited him at the entrance. The youth approached with trenchant movements, but slowed in nearing the rider who was dismounting in a casual but assiduous manner.
“I’ll take that for ya.” The youth stated, a hint of excitement in his tone. There was the slightest nod of response from the man in black, a gesture that would have been overlooked if it came from any ordinary person. But this man moved in a manner that squandered not the slightest movement, and his gesture was wholly recognized and appreciated by the youth who seemed to grow even more excited by the nod.
The mysterious man in black approached the manservant, who courteously bowed his head, and received the same nod of acknowledgement the youth had received. In reply, the manservant opened the large, weighty oaken doors of the citadel entrance with an effortlessness that seemed almost extraordinary for a man of his age.
The man garbed in black entered the citadel and was immediately bathed in warm light like sunlight. His head still tilted down so only the bottom of his countenance was visible, he followed the manservant through corridors with walls of dark marble paved with floors of seamless granite tiles. He was led to a large dining hall with an enormous redwood table, its numerous legs and struts all emblazoned with finely engraved patterns and designs. Overhead was a vaulted ceiling supported by arches of limestone, artistically chiseled in curves that matched the artistry of the table. At the far end of the table, with pairs of armored guards at attention on both sides, stood a single powerfully built man with a graying mane. This was the Lord of Nevarra, and his eminence shown through the lush carmine cloak he wore. Upon the cloak was embroidered a gold design that matched the intricate patterns around the room and made him fit seamlessly with the architecture and furniture. He turned slowly to view his guest, his expression weary yet stolid in defiance of the exhaustion and worries so clearly highlighted through the upsurging wrinkles across his face.
“Sit.” He said in a distant tone that was neither commanding nor asking, a tone indicative of a man accustomed to obeyance. But the man in black made no motion in response, not a thread of the fabric of his clothing so much as wavered. He stood there like a statue, seemingly petrified yet still emanating the liquidity of mobility.
Lord Arcturus was a man well renowned for his pivotal leadership in toppling the former Elite rulers of Nevarra. After freeing the people of the region, he himself had nigh singlehandedly welded together a united Kingdom from the numerous provinces. In the times since, the Country of Nevarra had joined the Noble High Council as a protectorate. Lord Arcturis’ strength and humanity was known far and wide, and many a child had heard bedtime tales of his struggles against the Elites to attain freedom. Yet despite being before such an awe-inspiring presence, the man in black made not the slightest consideration for obeisance, seemingly deaf to the man’s words whilst keeping his head tilted down so only his sharp chin showed.
This curtness on the part of the newcomer seemed to snap the ruler somewhat back into the present. His eyes lost some of their glassiness and gained an alert incisiveness that was more befitting. Contrary to being angered at the man before him, an expression of forlorn sadness flashed briefly across Lord Arcturis’ face. “Noble Shamshir, you are truly fleet of foot. I had not expected you ’til noon today, but here you are near half a day early.” Lord Arcturis began in a sombre tone.
Still, the man in black, apparently known as the Noble Shamshir, made no movement or response.
“Where the culprits have taken my daughter and for what reason, I cannot say. I know only this: the party of six that took her are an immensely powerful lot. They slew near a score of my men in infiltrating this citadel and another twoscore in leaving. Not a single one of them did we manage to kill or even injure; seemingly, they entered and left unscathed.”
“They left no note, no demand for ransom or otherwise. It is as if their actions are arbitrary, and yet with a group of warriors so strong, I know such cannot be the case.”
It was now that the man in black began to look up, and slowly removed his traveler’s hat and held it to the side. From behind the blackness shone a most exquisite face: a specimen of handsomeness that seemed ethereal, carved of such fine features it seemed to be from a painting rather than the face of an actual man; yet here it appeared, completely real, the eerily paraffin skin drinking the light of the hall and emanating an unworldly serenity.
“Lord Arcturis, I will tell you now: I have done battle with the six of whom you speak. They are known as the apprentices of the sevenfold way. The first time we fought, the battle was long and they nearly destroyed me. The second time, we met a year later and I defeated three of them without killing any, but against the remaining three I was again forced to retreat. This time around, these six may kill me, but unlike before, I shall not retreat until death doth let me part. Of this you can be assured.”