On the eastern approach to the City of Eiston, the road slowly curved down a slight slope from the plains. The city itself nestled in a valley, though buildings spread out beyond its central walls like fleas from a dog. The other hills around the valley seemed covered in terraced farms, with vast orchards to the north hiding in the shadows between hills. Our path allowed us to have a grand view over the top of the city as a whole. The walls and buildings we could see were constructed from a hay-colored stone, with second stories being built from timber. The pathways inside the city were a light grey cobblestone that didn’t extend past the city walls. There was no clear design for the city’s layout, but I did get the strong impression of a heavy farming influence. An entirely different feel from the Capitol. I couldn’t picture a population living here of more than a hundred thousand. Maybe a hundred and fifty at the most.

As we approached the gates, my wagons slowed into traffic of other wagons. Lesser types, mostly open-backed carting fruits and vegetables, and, in one case, a herd of goats. I hoped the city didn’t smell of carrots. In my opinion, carrots are like cockroaches made plant. Even in a different form, the crunch is the same. Shaking away the grotesque memory of that particular vegetable, I took the opportunity to introduce some political lessons to our youngest traveling companion.

“Ms. Lilly, we are approaching the city of Eiston. Can you tell me what you know of it or the dukedom overall?” I asked softly.

She shrugged and gave her brother a helpless look, but he was too busy gawking out the window to notice, “I’m sorry master, I don’t know anything other than it’s a city.”

“Fair enough. Let’s begin with how the kingdom is structured politically. We have, at the very top, a monarch. This role is filled with either a king or a queen. King Sena, in our case.”

“Which is why the kingdom and the capital are both called Sena?” She asked. I was happy to see her curiosity undiminished so far, despite a few late evenings practicing mathematics.

“Correct. Humans, I’ve noticed, often have very poor imaginations when it comes to naming. A village by a forest brook becomes Forestbrook, a city led by a monarch or noble is often named after that noble’s family name. So, what does that lead you to?”

“That the duke’s family name is Eiston?” She guessed.

“Right. The dukedom itself is called Eistoni. The kingdom possesses four provinces all headed by a different Ducal family. In a fit of inspiration, these provinces all garner the letter ‘i’ at the end. We have been traveling through the Eistoni Province for some time now. I plan to have you learn the names of the other three by recital later, but for now, let’s discuss the types of nobility that fall under a duke’s purview.”

“Okay.” She said with a smile. I questioned that in my mind. This certainly isn’t the most entertaining of topics, and I doubted she would stay focused for long.

“Under the Duke, there are three levels of nobility. The foremost of those is a Count. Beneath that is a Baron. The lowest level of authority is an Alderman. A village chief or something similar is often appointed as an Alderman.”

She seemed to consider this before asking, “So, an alderman answers to a baron, who answers to a count, who answers to a duke?”

Good! It seemed like she understood, “In most cases, yes. There are exceptions to this in every ducal province. In Laxtoni, the coastal province, some ship captains are titled ‘Ocean Lords’ a position equal to an Alderman elsewhere, yet they oversee a large ship instead of a village. Also, be aware that while these are the levels of authority within the kingdom, they are not always direct.”

“What do you mean?” She asked, though her eyes were now starting to stray out the carriage window.

“I mean that in some cases a baron, or even an alderman, might answer directly to the duke or king. Here in Eistoni, for example, there are only two counts. Those two counts do have barons who manage territories beneath them, but there are several other baronies in Eistoni that answer directly to the duke.”

“Oh,” She stretched her response out. I could see she was no longer paying attention.

“I expect you to recite them all by the end of the day. Do you think you can?”

“Sure.” She answered absently, and I sighed. I couldn’t truly blame her. Our journey so far provided a rather boring view of grasslands and farming villages. This was an entirely new city. The novelty for those who have never left their own would be incredible. I’d have to give the siblings a chance to explore for a day or two before we moved on.

Most of the line of wagons stretched behind our wagon train now, with only one in front. I could see two city guards in leather brigadine armor questioning the farmer in front of us. It wasn’t long before he was let through, and the guards began questioning the foremost driver in my wagon train. He looked several times in the direction of my carriage, before the second guard ran off into the gatehouse. The first seemed to stand by casually waiting, but we weren’t yet being permitted entry. Honestly, I felt a little nervous. As a wizard, I’d done my fair share of getting on a person’s wrong side. An expelled student that grows to a man blaming the Arcanum for all his life’s failings, and passing a blind hatred into his impressionable son is something I’ve witnessed for myself. I’ve also seen men harbor grudges that draw their whole families into feuding for generations. I couldn’t recall any potential grudges that might arise here and now, but I also never spared them much thought.

When the guard briskly jogged back from the gatehouse carrying a scroll towards me, I released a breath I didn’t realize I held. Likely this was just a message I’d need to address from someone in the capitol. A late farewell or something of the sort. I waited until he knocked on the carriage door before gesturing Walker to open it. He was my assistant now and should get used to such things.

“Nemon Fargus?” Asked the guard as he looked first at Walker, then at Lilly, before settling his eyes on me. The man was average in just about all ways possible, now that I got a closer look. Dull brown hair and eyes. A well-cropped mustache. Nothing special that I could see.

“I am he,” I answered.

He took a breath, “Can you confirm you are a fourth-tier class?”

“I am a fourth-tier mage. What is this regarding?”

“Duke Eiston requires that we monitor all high-level individuals entering and leaving the city. Any fourth tier or higher are to be provided this invitation. Sir.” He offered me the scroll with one hand and saluted with the other.

It’s been some time since I’ve been saluted. Even if I felt that my past wartime exploits deserved such treatment, I somehow doubted this guard knew enough of my history to be saluting me for those heroics. No, more likely, the good Duke Eiston is probably recruiting high-levels into his personal guard and I’m getting saluted because I might one day be his superior. A pre-emptive salute, if you will. With a nod and a thank you, I took the scroll and shut the door. Soon enough, we were moving through the gate.

“Aren’t you going to open that?” Walker asked.

“Not at the moment.” I glanced at the scroll. Crudely carved wooden stoppers held the pale paper on its roll. The wax seal was a deep yellow with the little crusting at the edges telling me it lay sealed for more than a year. I was curious, but not that curious. I’d open it later, one doesn’t completely disregard nobility, but I’m not going to be jumping for excitement. Especially if it’s a summons or some such.

After driving through the gates, the wagons from my caravan turned onto a round dirt lot on the right where other caravans stopped. A large inn and tavern for those of limited means stood next door, and city guards stood bored nearby. My carriage and the three adventurers on horse continued past that turn for a few more blocks into the city until we stopped before a different inn. The siblings watched out the windows the whole way. This inn, the Horn and Broker, catered to merchants of good standing.

When we exited the carriage, I informed the driver (Sten, I recently learned) that we would be departing again in three days’ time. This would give the [Wagoneers] enough of a break and allow some small sightseeing before we continued on. The man was busy unloading my luggage when the adventurers approached, but only one of the warriors from their party dismounted and offered to shake my hand.

“This is farewell for us. It was a pleasure doing this assignment,” he said.

I never learned his name. Or either of the other two. I was under the impression they would be following wherever the [Wagoneers] drove. If that wasn’t the case, it meant I’d need to employ more or be stuck dealing with a whiny bunch of grown men. I could try to soothe the [Wagoneers] fears by reminding them of the more than a hundred dead bandits I’d left on the way here. On the other side of the coin, having others perform night watch without having to worry about setting wards every night feels a little relieving. This means I would need to visit the Adventurers guild tomorrow to post a new quest. An annoyance, but not a big one.

“Farewell then. To new lands, honor, and undiscovered riches.” The parting words were the ones I learned were customary when I first joined the guild. The saying grew out of style not even ten years after I learned it, and is now considered almost archaic. Still, I cared less what these men thought of me, and secretly hoped to bring the custom back in style.

“Right, that,” he gave a small bow and backed away.

Inside, the Horn and Broker gave off a warm and welcoming atmosphere. The first floor was mostly one large room with a large circular stone fireplace in the center. The walls were plastered and painted a faded cream color. On each, large paintings of farmers at work hung in the center. Small circular tables covered with blue and white tablecloths lay scattered about. The chiming sounds of cutlery against clay plates or bowls seemed to echo from the few men and women eating. On each side of the room were doorways, one opened and closed as servers came from the kitchens. At the back of each side, a stairwell led up to the next floor. To my right, the innkeeper gave us a friendly greeting. It didn’t take us long to get rooms, the scroll I still carried in hand seeming to signal something to our host. I did offer Lilly to have her own room, but she declined in favor of a two-bed room with her brother.

When I arrived at my room, which I was promised was one of the best in the entire inn, I found it to be quite quaint. The bed was four wooden posts, with rope netting holding up the mattress. At the foot of the bed rested a decent-sized polished footlocker. Both were nailed to the floor. There was an empty wardrobe on one side of the room, and a shuttered window that I could view half the town from on the other. I noticed that one of the inn’s servants already hung my robes and moved the rest of my clothes into the footlocker. I gave it all a quick glance, just to ensure nothing was stolen, before I decided to open the scroll I carried since the gate.

In disbelief, I read it twice.

The scroll, a letter of invitation, detailed an offer describing the benefits of purchasing a barony. Very rarely have I heard of the kingdom sometimes offering higher-level adventurers small holdings as a way to influence them to stay rather than go to another kingdom. Never have I heard of standing offers to any high-level. I must have assumed that the nobility would pick and choose carefully who they extended the offer to. I just found it hard to wrap my head around. In the Capitol, I couldn’t even associate with a nobleman without the association being presented as a great gift to me, and rarely did anyone receive an invitation to even dine at the same table with the upper class.

Certainly, I’ve had one or two unique opportunities to marry into a noble household. Usually related to a scandal or an insufficient amount of wealth. But to simply… buy a title? I didn’t know what could be stopping every high-level merchant with dreams of grandeur from charging over. Surely, with the way news traveled on trade routes, this was common knowledge. There must be a catch.

It made me wonder. The invitation wasn’t to meet with the Duke, but one of his [Administrators] in the land office. I closed my eyes, trying to picture the path I took in my youth that led me from my mother’s tower to the capitol. It was a poor experience at the time, a penniless half-elf with only the clothes on his back and the name of an aunt who may no longer be among the living. I knew I passed through Eiston on my journey. I believe I passed through Lark as well, though it may have been called another name at the time. If so, then my earliest home was within four days of Lark. Probably west of it, otherwise I’d gone directly to Eiston.

While I wasn’t interested in a barony, the scroll presented me with the opportunity to gather information on the surrounding lands and the best place for my tower. Even without a title, I likely needed some type of Ducal approval to construct one. While building on the foundations of my heritage appealed to a small part of me, it’s been two centuries since I’ve lived here. More than long enough for any nostalgia to run its course. First, though, I would need to find out more about why the Duke was offering this opportunity. It didn’t strike me as normal.

With that in mind, I returned to the first-floor dining hall. After securing a goblet of the Horn and Broker’s finest wine, which was mediocre at best, I sought out the innkeeper from earlier. The rotund man, with a balding head and a short clean beard, looked engaged in orchestrating his workers when I found him. By orchestrating, I mean he was giving some servant gal a severe tongue lashing concerning a spilled cup of ale.

“Pardon me,” I interrupted, walking to stand before the man as if his current activities were too unimportant to consider waiting. And they were.

With a quickly hidden look of surprise, he made a subservient bow of his head and donned a pleasant demeanor. “Yes, sir. How can I help my esteemed guest?” He asked.

I waved the scroll at him, “I assume you know what this is.”

He smiled and chuckled nervously. His eyes tracked it nervously as if I was about to beat him with it as he spoke, “I do indeed, milord.”

Is he simple? His actions are too obvious. Perhaps the lack of guile is a symptom of the distance from the capitol. I disregarded the thought. “I want you to tell me about it.”

“As you command, milord, but I’m afraid that you’d know more about what it contains than I.”

That’s twice he called me lord. I’m no noble—ah. I see. With the scroll, I’m almost already a nobleman in his mind. That’s an understandable reason to act as if I have already done so. Still, “I know what it says, I’m asking you why I received it.”

“Certainly, the city’s administrators could—” He hedged.

I decided to speak in a firmer tone, “I’m not asking them, I’m asking you. Explain.”

He looked around first, as if he were about to spill an enormous secret, “Well, milord, the Duke is in terrible need of money. It’s said that the good duchess is in need of expensive fertility magics. Even now, they are away at the Capitol and his uncle is managing the dukedom.”

Well, that made sense. I’d heard much the same story before I left on my journey, I just didn’t pay it any attention because I thought it had nothing to do with me. A noblewoman would likely only seek out the most expensive treatment available even if the problem could be solved with a roadside weed. But even then, the most expensive treatment wouldn’t cost more than a few hundred gold. A thousand at the most, if the healer was willing to take the risk in fleecing them. Saying he needed the gold for treatment was likely a ruse. I didn’t see any sign in the city he was plotting rebellion. I’d heard whispers of a new war brewing, but there are always whispers of the next war. There had to be something more to this, and, clearly, this innkeeper wouldn’t be of help.

It’s a good thing, then, that I have no intention of taking the duke up on his offer. I’ll attend whatever [Administrator] is responsible for this out of courtesy, but that’s a consideration I can make tomorrow. Tonight, I’ll have the rest of my wine and sleep on a mattress for the first time in two weeks.