Onrey approached Dovecote Gardens from the side, and that was when he heard the crash.  A dull, splintering sound from the direction of the front porch.  Immediately, Onrey took cover behind a little grove of trees nearby.  He counted out three minutes in his head, then decided that his path was clear.  It might not be safe to continue towards the house, but it was, at the very least, a calculated risk.

As he sidled up to the house, Onrey couldn’t help admiring the fine carvings on the pillars and the foundations, the white marble resembling an ancient fresco in places.  As a rule, Onrey didn’t usually notice the finer points of architecture.  Most buildings left him cold.  But then, few buildings today were as impressive as this.

Immediately, he saw where the noise had come from.  The front doors were open, all but hanging on their hinges, with flakes of wood broken off and fallen to the floor.  Onrey could barely even imagine it, but the evidence was clear:  Someone had kicked the door in.  Onrey was revolted.  He might have had a code of honour, but it was clear that someone didn’t.

“Who goes there?” he called through the open doors.

He barely even noticed the scratching sound until it stopped.  It sounded as though it was coming from the upper floors of the house.

Onrey wasn’t sure what to do next.  Was he to run upstairs and protect the property of the very people he’d come here to fight?  Maybe.  No matter the quality of people who currently lived in it, Dovecote Gardens was important.  It was the only joining-point between the worlds.  Who knew what could happen if it fell?

He stepped across the threshold, sword drawn.  Across the hallway and up the stairs (not stopping to take notes on the décor for his siblings’ benefit), and on until he found the source of the scratching sound.

In the upstairs building, his questions were answered.  A dishevelled man stepped sideways out of one of the rooms, palms raised and grinning foolishly.  “It’s OK!” he told Onrey, “I’m a member of the family!”

And why would a member of the family need to kick in the front door? thought Onrey.  It was true that few of the other members of the family had behaved much better recently, but this was something else entirely.  Besides, the man’s appearance revolted him.  Onrey’s father had always said that when he was a boy, it was mostly only serfs who’d gone about with their faces half-shaven and their clothes creased into wrinkles.  But it seemed that standards were dropping everywhere.

He decided to get down to business.  “I am Onrey Tavin, heir to Tavin Chapel, and I am looking for Colwyn Ballantine.”

Onrey loved the startled reactions he usually got from people when he mentioned his family name. That dawning awe (or horror, depending on the circumstances) as they realised who it was the were dealing with.  Unfortunately, though, this man just looked nonplussed.  “Right…  Well, I’m looking for him, too.  I don’t think he’s here.”  The man put out a hand.  “Joe Warbeck.”

Onrey stared at the hand.  “What are you expecting me to do with that?”

Warbeck shrank back, his upper lip curling, but Onrey was unmoved.  The proper procedure for greeting an heir to a noble house was to bow.  Offering your hand instead betrayed a worrisome level of ego.

“And who are you supposed to be?” whined Warbeck, “I’m here looking for my children, mate.  If you’re not here to help, then get out of the way.”

At first, Onrey was almost frozen with shock.  How did you respond to someone who spoke to you like that?  Where could you even begin?  But then he looked over Warbeck’s shoulder, into the room he’d just left, and shock changed to fury.  It was clearly some sort of a bedroom- Ballantine’s judging from the décor- and it had been ransacked.  Clothes and bedding torn to pieces and left on the floor.  Drawers pulled out of cabinets.  The mattress dislodged from the bed.  A chair in pieces below a smashed patch of plaster, where it had hit the wall.

Onrey barely had to think about it.  He knocked Warbeck to the ground with his sword handle.

The man slumped against the wall, and Onrey leaned over him.  “Since your parents seem not to have provided you with even the most basic education, let me give you some advice.”  He pointed his sword at Warbeck as he spoke, emphasising his points as he made them.  “You do not damage the property of a noble house.  You do not address…”

Something struck Onrey’s legs, and he fell to the ground.  In an instant, Warbeck was upon him, grabbing him by the hair and ramming his head into the floorboards.  Onrey felt about for his sword, but it was no good- he could see it halfway across the hallway floor.  Had it landed there when he’d fallen, or had Warbeck kicked it away?  Onrey supposed it made no difference.  Either way, he couldn’t reverse time so that it hadn’t happened.

Warbeck reared back, and then smashed an elbow into Onrey’s temple.  By the third or fourth time, he could no longer even feel it.

(To be continued)