Camilla gazed up at the castle with guarded awe. She had been in the great fortress of Middenheim perched atop the Ulricrag but with that sole exception this was the greatest structure she had ever beheld from close at hand. Even the alien pyramid cities of the Chaos Dwarves seemed to pale in comparison to what ordinary mortal hand had done.

The entered upon a great courtyard that gave access the keeps interior. Two massive towers rose up in front of them. Men at arms were visible on the battlements above and though they bore bows and wary expressions they did not seem alarmed. Beaumont led them to the left down a winding lane she realised that the exterior wall had no staircases. The Brettonian, following her gaze, slowed his mount to fall in beside her.

“The walls can only be accessed via walkways from the inner wall contessa,” he told her, gesturing with a gauntleted fist to where one such walkway, a construction of timber bridge the gap between the two walls.

“If the outerwall falls, we can draw back to the keep none the worse for it, while the enemy will find no shelter. Indeed the back of the outer turrets were open save for pillars of mortared stone so that men on the inner wall could shoot into them without difficulty, even if the walls were taken the enemy would find themselves on a thin stone ledge with no cover and no easy way to the ground.

“I don’t like sieges,” Camilla commented. Weeks of being cooped up in Praag gave her a revulsion for stone work, though hear at least she could at least be certain that the gargoyles weren’t going to come alive and try to eat her. Beaumont looked up at the battlements and the unfriendly looks.

“In these days we must all do things we don't like,” he muttered. It seemed to Camilla that he was speaking from personal experience.

“Ah have you been in many sieges m’lady?” he asked, in a clearer voice, obviously determined to continue the conversation.

“Too many,” she replied shortly, terminating the discussion. The paved street curved around to the back of the castle where an impressive barbican guarded the inner keep. An attacker, having breached the main gate, would have to traverse the length of the castle to reach the second portal. Camilla was not a military expert as such but the perfection of the design would have been apparent to anyone. The street was lined with shops and workshops. Few people were awake at this hour, though a hunch baked baker appeared briefly from his bakery to watch the odd procession. Each of the shops was a simple affair by Imperial standards, timber and roofed with thatch, so they could be fired if the need arose to abandon the outer walls. 

At the barbican two knights sat mounted on matching black steeds. The had their visors down and carried lances, which would have been useless as weapons in these close quarters, both wore enameled armor of blue and gold and both wore a sash of blue silk over their surcoats. Beaumont drew ahead without any sign of directing his horse to do so. Both of the knights came forward at a sedate pace and stopped either side of Beaumont a horse length from him.

“You are not welcome here Sir Knight,” the one on the right declared in a tone which Camilla guessed would have lacked friendliness even if he hadn’t been roused in the middle of the night to perform a ceremonial greeting. Beaumont gave him a cold look and his horse champed at the air, sensing the tension and imagining it to be the preface to a fight.

“Why don’t you run along Guy and tell my uncle that I have come to see him,” Beaumont said stiffly, Camilla could see that his right hand was gripping the horn of his saddle, hard, clearly to keep himself from reaching for his sword. The knight, Guy evidently, smirked maliciously.

“I am afraid my Lord is a bed at this early hour Sir Knight,” Guy simpered, “Perhaps…”

Beaumont drew himself up in his saddle and the knights behind him tensed.

“I have with me the Contessa De La Trantino,” he boomed, not angry but loud enough that his voice echoed off the stone walls. He gestured back at Camilla who swore silently under her breath.

“A noble lady who has twice faced deadly peril in my uncle’s domain. Are we to stand here while she remain unprotected a third time?” The second knight involuntarily edged back from Beaumont’s evident fury leaving Guy standing alone.

“By the Lady, if you say it is so Sir Knight,” the title was clearly meant as an insult, “Then I shall cut you down for shaming my Leige Lord and Kinsman.” Sir Guy hesitated, clearly taken by surprise looked back over his shoulder. Although she couldn’t see Guy’s face, Camilla could tell he was staring daggers at the young knight. After a moment Guy turned and made an angry gesture, the portcullis began to rise with the rattling clack of a windlass.

“Enter then and let your uncle decide what to do with you.” Beaumont nodded and the party began to trot through the second portcullis.

“It looks like someone isn’t very popular at home,” Camilla whispered to Cydric who found the rapid fire Brettonian hard to follow.