The travelers, arrived in the darkness before dawn, the lights of their lanterns grazing off the half frozen moisture which collected on the castle walls. They were a motley crew, garbed in an assortment of dull rags and furs, their horses, the shaggy steppe ponies ridden by the peasants of the cold, mountainous regions, laden with an assortment of grubby, rope tied, packs.

They looked like bandits.

They looked like gypsies fallen on hard times.

They looked like very well armed beggars.

There were four of them, all of various sizes and shapes, all cloaked, all faceless in the glare of their lanterns.

"Who goes there?!"

Half asleep, the guard lurched from his post cross bow at the ready, his breath forming frozen, white, puffs in the cold, heavy air of an early spring.

One of the bundled figures reached a gloved hand into the depths of it's rags and pulled forth something glittering, something which caught the light of the braziers on the battlements, the lanterns which swung this way and that as the horses shuffled at the barrage of sounds in the moisture laden air. Like a living coal, a tear of the one god himself, it shone in the darkness with a thousand facets.

"Lady Celany Myrill, come to serve his Majesty Drysllthen Valenti in the possession of Royal Jeweler!"

It was, to his shock, a woman's voice. She had the bark of a drill sergeant which carried up the steep castle walls like a battle cry. The Myrill party was expected months ago, the messenger at the very least, but the full party? A good six months later than expected? More, the beggar holding the chain of the fist sized gem was a woman and it was Lord Myrill who was expected.

"Off wi' yeh! We'll have none o'yer kind here!"

"I've got a letter from his Majesty requesting my presence at court bearing his majesty's seal!"

Four people? Really. Did the little chit expect that was going to fly? Really?

"Stan' down or we'll fire!"

The hood was pushed back, tow headed and thin, the girl looked about as much a noble as Smythson himself. She was dirty, sickly in the torch light, more like a particularly skinny lad, than a lady. This had to be some kind of hoax. Surely.

"I will not stand down!" She bellowed, her features twisting. "I have not come this far to deal with the likes of you! I've come to serve my king and you will open these gates or so help me god I will break them down!"


Smythson, laughed and his partner with him.

"Be off with you beggar girl! And take yer muddy court wi' yeh!"

The horses danced, the lanterns swaying casting weird shadows over the swaying spring grasses and the girl shoved the stone and it's chain from whence it came.

"Gowan! Off wi' yeh!"

She pulled a leather folder from the rags, yanked dirty gloves from small, pale hands. What the hell was she doing?

"Didn' I jest tell yeh t'take yerself off whence yeh came yeh stupit lil' chit?"

"Open the damned gates!"

Certainly had airs she did, but he'd seen a hundred others just like her.

"S'is yer last warning!" He barked.

She unslung the crossbow at her back and he lifted his own. The larger figure put a hand on the girl's arm and motioned her away. But it was too late. The bolt smacked into the post at the man's side and Smythson, returned fire. Someone shouted, someone screamed. Guards swarmed and Smythson pulled the bolt from the post, the blue and silver wax brilliant against the graying, dog eared, paper.

"Stand down! Stand down!" for the love of god!"

One hooded figure lay dead, one mortally wounded. The horses scatted, one pack burst on impact with the cobblestones with the flash of gold. He felt his blood run cold. The punishment for this, would cost him his life.

So it was, with bells ringing, and a fanfare of healers, that the castle's jeweler, arrived.