He opened his traveling chest, picking out clothing he had worn but few times, and those in private. At last, he examined his reflection in a mirror, and nodded in satisfaction.
"Truly," he told himself, "a fine example of western nobility."
He picked out a few expensive ornaments from his chest, then locked it again and left the inn.
He guided his mount through the narrow streets to the castle gate, where he confronted a sleepy, heavily-armed sentry.
"Send word to the castle steward," he ordered, throwing his riding cloak back, "that Florel, younger son of the Earl of Konewar, would pay his respects to your master, the Duke of Dwerostel."
The man eyed him for a moment, then straightened and grounded his pike with a crash.
"It shall be done, sir." He turned and struck a gong.
A guard officer came through the tunnel under the wall. For a moment, he looked doubtful, then he spoke respectfully and ushered Derikuna through the inner court to a small apartment, where he turned him over to a steward.
"You wish audience with His Excellency?"
"I do, My Man. I wish to pay him my respects, and those of my father, the Earl of Konewar." Derikuna looked haughtily at the man.