Visitors

"I told you that it wouldn't hold water worth a wooden pail if you put on that wretched stuff!" The count ranted. Several of the nearby river sailors, boat captains and hired men glanced up with mixed smiles of amusement and worry. This was typical Count Chace routine, and besides, he rarely meant it as harshly as it appeared.
With a look of annoyance and perhaps a faint twist of a grim smile, the count of House Herrsan studied critically the two ships floating lazily out in the deep river before him, for where he stood on the stone and metal pier just off shore. His house, House Herrsan, loomed up glinting silver and blue in the late sunlight of the day, as the sun took up a lazy position in the western sky, as if growing tired of the day itself. The never-ending wind was still blowing across the fields and jagged hills around on Chace's fief lands, though a little more warm and gentle on the river. Sparkling in the fairly warm afternoon (as far as Savarica summers went), the river the mainly fed Lake Imirad flowed gently past, cold and fresh. A few water birds cried overhead, and the usual sounds of the docks and men and ships working and sailing, upriver or down, on their way both ways. River traffic was heavy between Lake Japhethis and Imirad, and to the dismay of some and glee of others, House Herrsan owned the greater part of the river that flowed between. Something that every, quick-thinking, clever count of Herrsan had taken full advantage of. Chace was no exception. A large portion of the land's strength in gold was backed by his river.
"I told you, it was never going to work with that calking!" He went on, generally loudly informing both everyone and no one. The trees back on the bank behind him waved gently in the breeze, though farmer's fields bordered the riverbank on both sides other then House Herrsan's own riverfront. "Now it will have to all be redone! And soon...that council in Davardi takes place in two weeks" He seemed to think for a moment. "Not that I'm in any hurry to get to that blasted mess..." He chuckled, "I doubt anyone is."
"My lord!" A small rowboat, from the nearest of the two small river ships, one of Count Chace's personal sailing vessels, suddenly hailed him. A few men sat in the bow of the boat, rowing for the green shore where the Count stood muttering and calculating.
Chace looked up sharply from the polished stone landing. "What? Eh?"
"The skiff is just a little slow and unstable, my lord, though the caravel holds nicely!" A larger man, probably one of the shipsmen, called out to him across the water with his hands cupped to his mouth. He seemed pleased enough.
This seemed to slacken the count's nerves somewhat. He grunted. "Good enough for the caravel, then...decent. But I'll have that skiff of mine fixed before the week is out! You hear me? Or I tell you I won't give you a copper for the sorry job that fellow did." Apparently satisfied his hired sailors had gotten the message, he nodded grimly as the rowboat turned about and began to row steadily back towards the royal skiff.
After a moment's thought, the count raised his own hands to his mouth. "HEY!"
The rowboat abruptly stopped and the leading man nearly fell out in his eagerness to turn and listen.
"Hoist the blue and silver banner up on both of them!" Chace smiled grimly. The boat captain nodded and they turned about again, back for the two under-construction ships.
"My lord?" A new voice broke into the count's thoughts, as he calculated how much gold he could make off of river traffic that week while still being fair and decent.
Chace whirled about quickly, his slender, serious gaze fixing on another man, a messenger, who had been waiting at his shoulder while he had dealt with the sailors.
His eyes narrowed. "What?" Leaning up against one of the landing supports on the stone and metal driven dock, he adjusted his his tunic and cloak as he listened to whatever report this man had to offer.
"Sir, a caravan had arrived from the south." The man said abruptly, his eyes rolled up as if trying to remember a memorized list. "Led by a ranger clan, they're on this side of the river and are requesting housing for the night here. They offer payment."
The count looked up sharply when a foreign caravan was mentioned. That was news indeed. An eyebrow raised.
"From the south routes?"
"Yes, my lord." The messenger coughed.
This time it took the count a moment to realize what he was asking. "OH! Well, oh yes, certainly, they can stay, and forget the payment. Tell 'em we can put up a caravan for the night, certainly." He smiled warmly.
"Yes, my lord. I will." The young messenger youth paused for a moment, and seemed about to say something more, when the count snorted.
"Get going then! You can come back after you've done that and report whatever you forgot!"
"Right away my lord!" The messenger set out at a breakneck pace off into the trees and towards the House Herrsan.