If the streets of Heucia are paved it is beneath a layer of compacted and only mostly sun dried animal droppings, I am now reminded once again of why everyone rich enough prefers to ride. It is not somewhere I am altogether happy to walk with only a pair of too small sandals and I am as careful of my footing as I can be whilst our little party moves through the town.

Fortunately we have a straight shot to the castle, two guards from the gate escorting us down the main street and a small square that I assume holds markets but is currently mostly empty. The buildings facing this main promenade are largely stone and three stories in height, mostly with narrow facings and seeming to be shops or businesses of various types. We pass the temple as well then pass through another, smaller, gate in order to proceed onto the fortified bridge, the whole way people stop, stare and talk excitedly to each other upon spotting me.

The alarmed gate guard lets us onto the bridge then similarly excited armed individuals allow us through the far larger and more heavily fortified gate into the castle at the other end, I glance up to notice what are obviously murder holes between a pair of rusting iron portcullis though I am not getting an impression of some vast garrison. In total I have seen evidence of maybe a dozen soldiers and apart from those guarding the gate to the city most do not seem to be in their full armour. A servant was sent ahead of us though and the only delay in the castle courtyard is for Markos and Ioulia to dismount and have their horses attended to.

Also, something that I was not expecting, they hand over their weapons along with the horses, disarming themselves of their swords and lances, their armour already on the pack animal. This is done without question and apparently assumptions I had of knightly swords striding around castles with swords at their side may be incorrect, at least for this culture? A young woman in cheap orange and black livery approaches me and I give a shake of my head. “I am not planning on remaining here as a guest ma'am and will be departing in a few minutes. Thank you.” She seems at least as much shocked by the term of address as anything else and, eyes wide, she backs off.

Markos frowns faintly but we do not have more than moments before a middle aged woman with greying hair and distinctly finger clothing than anyone I have seen before steps out from the keep. She has a rather prominent silver chain hanging around her neck and across her chest, some type of badge of office? A few rings on her fingers, heavily embroidered and new looking clothing with crisp colours albeit in the same unattractive hues of orange and black. She also bows to me. “Divine messenger. Welcome!” The sword at my side glanced at for a moment but apparently left without a voiced comment. “Welcome to Heucia, please allow me to conduct you to my liege. Squire Markos, if you would please accompany us?”

Which he does, falling in to flank me as I proceed up the stone stairs that rise along the outside of the keep. We climb a good fifteen feet or so above the ground before there is an abrupt turn to an iron banded door, though it is wide open, as is a second door six down a six foot corridor lined with arrow slits. I keep my wings furled in close but still scrape the stonework with feathers, this would be a confined space even if I was not looming a head or more above even the tall.

Fortunately once past this entrance gauntlet we head straight into a vaulted hall that must take up most of this floor of the keep. It has a mezzanine double level and the ceiling is a good twenty foot overhead, two rows of arrow slits providing muted but adequate illumination whilst colourful paintings of martial and obviously religious scenes decorate the plastered walls where they are not covered by intricately embroidered tapestries. The vast fireplace is currently empty, a blessing in the summer warmth and there are a number of richly dressed people in attendance.

Primary is the man who I assume must be Count Sallotis. He is in his fifties and occupies what I can only describe as a wooden throne, an ornately carved and raised chair that his heavily built figure amply occupies. He gives the impression of a physically powerful man going to seed, broad shoulders and a heavy stomach, greying black hair, jowls, dark eyes and also a left leg that ends just below the knee. That would explain why he is home rather than off engaged in this war I keep hearing about.

There are another eight or so men and women to each side who all wear obviously expensive attire and jewellery, probably at minimum on par with what Dame Grigoria was wearing in her home? They vary from late teens to middle aged and all seem to be in excellent shape, I am guessing more knights or members of the count's family and thus military aristocracy, nobody wears anything more dangerous than a large and dangerous looking knife though. The count does not rise but does bow in his chair, hands gripping the arms of the throne.

“Divine messenger! Greetings and welcome to my humble home. I would rise but as you can see that is not easily practical. What news do you bring me and what can I do to be of assistance in your mission?” He seems genuine enough, but I am not going to mislead him as to my intentions. I also do not bow in response, I have been considering my options and I am not going to show deference to nobility. Given the wings? I can probably get away with this and far more of everything else than if I begin showing deference.

“Count Sallotis. Thank you for your kind welcome, I am not bearing you any message though and have no mission related to your lands. I am here merely to pay my respects before I meet with the head of the local temple and must excuse myself rather than impose upon your hospitality.” An expression of unease flashes across his face, several of the others attending look very much as if they want to say something only to remain silent.

“I hope that I have done nothing to offend you? Ahh, Captain Alessandra? We can bring the high priest here whilst you enjoy the hospitality of my keep. Surely you wish for better clothing, armour perhaps, a fine mount?” He speaks like somebody who is nervous and seeking approval which is not quite what I expected.

I have been careful since I arrived here, I have been restrained, I find myself loosely clenching my left hand as my wings flare out slowly behind me. They do not extend out to their full extent, but I am framed by sunset hue plumage as I speak my next piece. “As I approached this town count Sallotis, I was approached by people in the fields.” Markos winces now and looks to interrupt before silencing himself. “Many of them begged for blessings, or healing. Others requested that I save them from you. Are you a righteousness man above all others? Are you selfless and true, striving to make the world a better place every day? I do not know and I will not judge you but I am not descended from the heavens to confirm you in virtue.”

Markos is at this point looking appalled, about half of the people in the room are looking appalled, the count upon his throne looks stony faced and deeply angry. He lifts a hand, he looks about to speak, then Markos abruptly steps forward from behind me. “My liege! Please. I know you would not consider any actions insulting to our guest but I bring word from my mother. Captain Alessandra is not a messenger angel. She slew four trolls without taking a single injury and without use of her magic. Dame Grigoria believes that the good captain must be a warrior of the second sphere. Likely a Virtue given her manifestation of holy flame when angered.”

Apparently Grigoria and Markos must have had a conversation when I was not present, one involving a lot of terms I am oblivious to. He did mention that she was planning to push him toward a career as a priest or mage though? I remain silent and find it oddly easy to remain calm faced, was the count about to order something violent then? I give a casual stretch of bright feathered wings before then furling them in loosely to each side of my back, in the wake of Markos' words.

“I will be departing for the temple. My thanks for welcoming me Count Sallotis. But I am afraid I am here only in passing.” With that spoken, I pivot on one crudely sandalled foot, turn then stride for the doorway. Nobody seems inclined to stop me and the hall is filled with silence in my wake. I have probably just made an enemy.