Reblogged from the pen of the inimitable Tallis Steelyard another story from Port Naain…

Initially, I confess, I had intended to write this as verse and then find some poor and credulous musician to supply music. But frankly the story is too complex for such treatment and I lack the patience.

In short the story is simple. I was lured to Stagbold Keep by the promise of commissions, it was sacked, and I fled. I am perhaps the only person still living who emerged from the sack without making a large amount of money out of it and this Ballad is my last opportunity to remedy the oversight.

Let us start at the beginning. Lord Stagbold, the eponymous holder of Staghold Keep, had a daughter. I’d like to say she was as beautiful as she was virtuous, but whilst I can vouchsafe her beauty, her virtue I am in no position to discuss.

Still her father must find her an appropriate suitor. Not a difficult task, her spouse would become Lord of Stagbold in time. There is some decent ploughland, excellent vineyards, a nice bay that is good for both fishermen and pirates and plenty of hunting.

The problem with these Partannese lordlings is that they think of themselves as bold and chivalric knights. They strut and preen; they send their sons and daughters to be educated in Prae Ducis or even Avitas. Some families hold sinecures in Port Naain and the head of the family will sit on the Council of Sinecurists. But when all is said and done, most of them are just brigands and the best of them, courteous hired muscle. But they’re free spending brigands and are reasonably generous patrons of the arts.

So it happened that I was at the Misanthropes Hall, listening to the gossip and looking for work. A minion of the Lord of Stagbold arrived and was looking for somewhere to take off his boots and cloak. I was the one deputised to show him the way to the cloakroom. I was just making conversation and asked him why he was present. It was then he told me that the Lord wanted a poet to be present to record the events that surrounded the courtship of his daughter. Immediately I asked him what terms he was offering. When told that it would be my board and ten alars in gold, I accepted the offer. I then led him directly to the barge where Shena and I accommodated him. That might seem overly generous on my part, but be damned if I was letting word of this job leak out, otherwise he’d have every poet in Port Naain pawing at his money belt. Not only that but the wine cellar of Stagbold Keep was legendary, the current Lord and his Father cosseted the Keep’s excellent vineyards and also purchased the finest vintages. I then rode south with him next day on a spare horse he’d brought with him.

If you don’t know Stagbold Keep, it’s south along the coast from Prae Ducis. It was a fair ride, but I was in good spirits and my companion was also happy. Apparently it had been assumed that he would need to stay in Port Naain for some days and he had been given expenses considered sufficient for the period. This money he splurged on our way back.

Stagbold Keep itself is a splendid sight as we saw it, illuminated by the evening sun. As we clattered into the inner court the place as a riot of colour with banners and bunting and men-at-arms in their finest. I was assigned a room in a turret barely large enough to lie down in and told to present myself at the great hall when the horn was blown.

Given that I had time on my hands I took the opportunity to look round and frankly I grew less impressed the more I looked. Of the great keep barely half was inhabited and the rest was frankly ruinous. It struck me that the last time the place had been properly functional must have been a century or more previously. At this point I began to worry for my ten alars, suspecting that this was a family prone to promising more than they delivered.

Still I presented myself when the horn was blown and was led to the top table. Here I was introduced to Lord Stagbold himself and his daughter and sole heir, Violetta. I’d like to say that I was overwhelmed by my host’s nobility, if only because I have the rhymes off pat for that. A more accurate description, for example ‘Querulous middle-aged debauchee’ is difficult to fit into any metre and is a brute to find rhymes for…

Continue reading here.