Chapter 498: A Private Meal
Marcel led the two guild masters through the heavy oaken doors of the Gilded Horns, which swung open on silent hinges to reveal an interior that rivaled the grandeur of any noble’s hall in Lothian March, perhaps even exceeding the opulence on display in the halls of the western barons closest to demon-occupied territories.
The common dining area sprawled before them, its high-beamed ceiling supported by massive timber pillars carved with scenes of legendary hunts and battles against demons with thin layers of gold leaf applied to the horns of horned demons, the claws of clawed demons or any other defining feature of the myriad types of demons who plagued the frontier. The display didn’t escape Master Tiernan’s discerning eye, who carefully noted that any feature of the carving that had been covered in gold leaf was a treasure the Church would pay a hefty bounty for.
A great hearth dominated the far wall, large enough to roast an entire ox, its dancing flames casting long shadows across the rush-strewn floor interspersed with fresh-cut herbs that released their fragrance with each step guests and servants took across the wide open space.
The aroma mingled with the rich scents of roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and spices so expensive they were normally only available to the nobility in the frontier. Cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg brought at great expense from the old countries across the sea tantalized the nose along with fresher herbs of tarragon and thyme.
All around the room, merchants and wealthy tradesmen rubbed elbows with accomplished demon hunters at heavy oak tables draped with fine linen cloths. Servants in the establishment’s colors, midnight blue and gold, moved with practiced efficiency between kitchen and tables, bearing enormous platters laden with autumn’s bounty.
At one table, a whole roasted turkey had been reassembled in its plumage, its flesh arranged on a bed of turnips, parsnips, and apples glazed with honey. At another, a suckling pig turned slowly on a spit, its skin crackling and glistening with fat as a server carved slices for eager guests.
In the corner of the room on a raised wooden platform, a trio of musicians plucked gently at their instruments, filling the air with the faint music of harps and a citole that looked to be as old and well cared for as the Gilded Horn itself.
A grand staircase of polished walnut rose along the western wall, its banisters adorned with more of the gilded horns that gave the establishment its name. Each step was covered in plush carpeting imported from the eastern duchies, a luxury that muffled footfalls and proclaimed the owner’s reach and connections more clearly than any herald.
The staircase split at a landing halfway up, one branch leading to a gallery overlooking the common room, the other continuing upward to the third floor where private dining chambers offered discretion for more sensitive conversations.
"This way, if you please," Marcel said, gesturing toward the staircase. "The finest wines are reserved for the upper chambers, and I’ve taken the liberty of arranging a meal that I believe will suit your discerning palates."
"You’re going a long way to impress a simple smith," Master Tiernan said as he ascended the stairs, carefully inspecting the craftsmanship of everything from the polished banister to the gilded candelabras hanging from the rafters.
He’d visited the Guild Halls and manors of plenty of men who plastered gold leaf over shoddy work in an attempt to appear prosperous, but what he saw in the precisely riveted fittings and smoothly polished woodwork spoke of an attention to detail rarely found outside the halls of counts and dukes.