The holdings of the Brisbane family, I discovered, by far exceeded the lands I would have inherited. Several miles west of Exeter, the estate stretched deeply into uninhabited forests, and encompassed a vast acreage of land farmed by the inhabitants of villages we rode through without incident, on the approaching road. Most likely, the majority of the serfs peering at us with curious suspicion had never laid eyes on their thane before; they had no cause to recognize him now. It was nightfall when we reached the castle; twilight dwindled a pale shadow of the day across the horizon, giving way to the cold beauty of the stars. The imposing stone structure rose formidably past the treetops, and blazed golden firelight from arrowslit windows; it was much more of a fortress than I was used to seeing. This impression was confirmed, as we drew near; I caught sight of motion upon the outer battlements, as a torch was raised in brusque inquiry. A gruff voice barked, "Who goes there?" I glanced sidelong at Morgan, who replied with equal charm and politesse, apparently a bit irritable after spending so many hours on horseback without a fight to break up the monotony. "If you haven't the sense to recognize the crest of your thane, I might find a way to jog your memory," he snarled, tilting his chin upwards in a fashion that managed to be menacing, even at a distance. There was a pause, and when the voice returned, it was considerably chastened. "Lord Brisbane, my apologies ... I did not recognize you in the dark." Almost instantaneously, the creak of heavy wood moving upon labouring hinges announced the opening of the massive gates; the drawbridge dropped on chains as thick as a man's wrists, and the portcullis opened its metal-toothed maw with a daunting rasp. I had never seen a fully defended keep before; it was all I could do not to gape. Fortunately, before I had a chance to gawk like a slack-jawed yokel, my host started across the drawbridge in a thunderous clatter of hooves, and I was compelled to follow as quickly as possible, or risk being stranded outside (or charging headlong into the foul-smelling moat). Beyond the barbican, sleepy stableboys stumbled out into the courtyard to take charge of Lord Brisbane's horse; I followed his lead as he dismounted with easy grace, and abandoned my own horse to the tender mercies of wide-eyed boys with straw in their hair. (Art/Story is a collaboration by Ravenscarred and Carneithwen)