Arc 6: Chapter 3: Armory
“Your lady is very fortunate I am a resourceful woman,” Faisa Dance said testily. “And a patient one.”
Her irritation rolled off my shoulders. “You have our sincerest thanks, Duchess.”
The aged noblewoman clucked her tongue. “If I’d known my generous offer of information that day would encourage the both of you to press on my aid at will, I might have abstained! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to conjure a false identity on such short notice? Not only that, but to prepare all the necessary accessories?”
She paced around the room, her layered skirts rustling like the regal plumage of a wrathful bird. We stood in one of the many interior spaces of the Coloss complex, which could be near as intricate and winding as the Fulgurkeep in some ways.
This one was used as a private armory. The walls were hung with lanterns and hooks displaying various implements of war, along with the items needed to tend them. There were swords, maces, axes, a variety of polearm, exquisitely carved bows, and a score of other cruel implements. Beneath them stood tables and shelves with an array of items, from little hammers to work out dents in a breast plate to whetstones for sharpening. There were kits for sewing, tools for patching leather, oils, spare straps, cloths, and much more.
That dim, small room acted in many ways as both a workshop and an altar. It contained everything a knight might need to prepare for war, and for the theater of war.
“This space will be at your disposal,” the Duchess told me. “It is private, untrafficked, and I will have a trustworthy guard keep watch on it surreptitiously. You will need such privacy over the next three days, to keep up this farce.”
It wasn’t particularly comfortable, with only a stool to sit on and a cold stone floor spread with hay against the damp, but it would serve. I nodded my thanks. The Lady Dance glided to stand behind an object in the low-lit room’s center. Hidden beneath a dark cloth, I could not see what lay within.
“And here is the centerpiece of my efforts. I do hope you like it.”
She gestured with a gloved hand. Taking her cue, I stepped forward and pulled the cover off. Behind me, Emma drew in a sharp breath. Despite everything else, my heart quickened.
The armor was beautiful, in a grim fashion. Set on a stand so I could guess at what it would look like on my own frame, the narrow eye slits in the black helm stared back at me from an even height. A greathelm of the kind traditionally used in tourneys across much of the land, it would have been little more than a cylindrical bucket if not for the artfully cut frame and ornate emblem fixed to the mask.