The still air of the late summer morning was tinted with the barest hint of chill, calling forth a bank of mist over the slow moving surface of the River Usk. Flies and locusts danced across the mirror-like water, illuminated as flaming embers with the rise of the new sun. Reflected in a bend of the river, the usually gray-green walls of the house of Otterden were glowing a dull orange on the eastern face, making the small manse a dim beacon against the greens of the surrounding lands.

Set along where a spur road to the great city of Astolat crossed over the River Usk, Otterden was a quiet barony. It was served by just shy of a hundred families, and encompassed less than a thousand acres. The residence itself was too small to even possess free-standing defensive walls, instead relying upon the river to the east, and the wood to the south for natural protection. The shop of the local blacksmith, cooper, and saddler, along with a small market stand and church, were the only other buildings situated on the main road beside that of Otterden House. 

In the tumultuous times leading up to the reign of Arthur, the barony of Otterden had been without a steward, and the peoples that lived within it were defenseless to all manner of raider and invader. Following the successful repulsion of the Saxon incursion, Arthur had decided to expand his scope of influence, and reestablish the peerages that would support his claim. In his wisdom and grace, Arthur bestowed Otterden into the care of Sir Delwin. 

It was a proper posting for a newly risen knight and minor lord, as the quiet rural setting afforded the studious Delwin vast opportunity to hone his chivalric skills, and master his lordly duties. Located fifty some miles northeast, and upriver from Camelot, Otterden was a place Delwin cherished above all others—it was his home, his gift, and his responsibility. King Arthur had given him a gift few in the world could hope to match, and it had changed not only Delwin’s life, but the entire fate of his eventual bloodline. For that, Delwin would forever be in the great king’s debt, and his life and sword were pledged unto his dying breath. 

The fisherman’s son who was now a lord, reclined against the cool stone of Otterden’s east wall, with the river flowing calmly before him to his right and left. With the sun rising into the trees before him, and a fishing pole resting gently in his hands, Sir Delwin Pryde felt such a sense of peace and contentment that he thought he could near float from his spot along the riverbank. Hardly a worry beleaguered his consciousness, and the stresses of ill-fated dreams and desires did not cross before his mind. 

At this very moment his only concern was the fish that had yet to tease at his line. For even the concern of finding a proper wife, and continuing the name of Pryde, and thus his maintenance of Otterden, were far from his thoughts. 

A flourish along the lawn behind him brought Delwin more fully into the now. Turning to look along the length of the manse’s wall, he just caught sight of his trusted steward, Alwyn, rounding the corner in a rush. 

The balding man came to stop a few steps from Delwin, his face red with exertion. 

“My lord, there is news from Camelot…”

Alwyn took a few breaths, begging his lord’s pardon with a lifted hand before continuing. “A rider, bearing the crest of the king, has just arrived. He states that you are urgently needed by the regent.”

Delwin made his feet at once, the fishing pole forgotten. Taking Alwyn about the shoulders, Delwin looked the man hard in the eyes. 

“What has happened, Alwyn?” 

“I do not know, my lord,” the man replied with a forlorn bent to his head. “The rider did not linger, begging forgiveness that he must continue on to summon more knights in the service of the king.”

“God save him,” Delwin said, releasing Alwyn’s shoulders.

Taking a step back, Delwin’s brow knit in worry. There were any number of reasons for Sir Lancelot to call up the king’s bannermen, but none of those explanations bode well for the realm. 

Delwin’s jaw clenched, and he nodded his resolve. “Make ready for my departure. We leave for Camelot within the hour.”

Alwyn bowed his head, and ran a hand through his graying strands of disappearing hair. “At once, my lord.”

In the distance, the peaceful stillness that had permeated the morning like a hopeful promise was broken by the ragged cawing of a lone raven.