The doorman ushers the Frost Knights into a plush front room where they take a seat. He offers them a drink, but a distant crash of glash stiffens his features and he dashes from the room, looking intent upon raising merry hell in the servant's quarters.

After a few minutes, the door to the room is opened again by the porter, who ushers in an elderly gentleman. The gentleman's body is clearly frail, and he walks only with the aid of a cane, but there is still something preserved in him of the dignity of middle age, and his eyes twinkle like those of a mischevous youth, and tell of romantic adventures of past days.

He smiles at the Frost Knights and addresses them. "You will forgive me, friends, for my slow knees. They trouble me greatly at this time of year."

Even with the aid of the porter, Lord Lonsdale takes some time to sit in an armchair, and does so with such a visible air of relief that it sounds as if he would be happy never to rise again.

He steeples his fingers and gazes up to the ceiling. "Now, gracious me, it must be nine months since I last had a call from the Frost Knights...perhaps longer. My memory is not what it was, you see. Splendid fellow, I recall. Very prim and proper. Devilled if I can recall his name. What the deus was it? Oh, dear, I wander. I'm prone to that, at times, so I'm told.

"Now, what was it you called me down for? Something important, I'm told. I can't imagine what interest young knights such as you have in an old man like me. It surely can't be a quest for the love of a fair maiden." The Lord's eyes twinkle with mirth. "Ah, but I remember. Such glorious days, I once had. Never grow old, my friends. It's far too tiresome."

With that, the Lord closes his eyes, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. A grandfather clock in the corner ticks ominously, but still Lord Lonsdale doesn't stir. Harvey begins to become concerned for him, but after a moment a serving boy enters the room with a sliced silver apple on a tray. Seemingly unconcerned by Lord Lonsdale's slumbering appearance, he sets the tray upon the coffee table by his armchair. The Lord opens one beady eye, sees the apple, and explodes into a surprisingly active rage, thumping his cane on the floor at the end of each sentence.

"Enough! Take the wretched thing away! Don't look at me like that, take it I said! I've seen enough of those wretched apples to last me another lifetime, and they've brought me nothing but hassle, misery and expense these past years! Away, I said! Take it away!"

As the servant beats a hasty retreat, Lord Lonsdale looks a little embarrassed.

"I am sorry, friends. I don't know quite what came over me. I fear that all the hassle of trying to negotiate with my unreasonable neighbour on the subject of the apple tree has left me irksome.

"But come, give me tidings of your Clan and tell me what brings you to Lonsdale Hall. I assume the Lady Cynn is well?"



"The heavens keep the answers to our worldly problems...
the key is to know how to understand their ancient language"