The preparations had been going on for three days.
Every slave in the royal palace was expected to perform their tasks flawlessly, knowing that the punishments for any failure would be severe.
Many went about their work in tense silence; only when out of their masters' hearing did they dare to whisper together in excitement.
For the past week nobles from all corners of the empire had been arriving in Charn, descendents of the most respected and ancient families whose bloodline could be traced back generations to the birth of their nation.
They came at the command of their king, a ruthless and cunning ruler, who had requested their presence at a feast he was preparing in their honor.
Many in Charn whispered that their monarch must have taken much gold from the royal treasury for this feast, perhaps even the golden goblets and dishes which had been in the family for generations would once again adorn the royal table at this banquet.
And beneath the speculation of slave and peasant, aristocrat and soldier, ran a strong current of fear.
For Charn had long ago become an empire known for its cruelty and determination to rule unchallenged.
Many rich cities had fallen to the strength of her armies, unable to stand against the ferocity and skill of Charn's warriors.
For many centuries the kings of this empire had been ruthless in their quest for power, and any whisper of rebellion was immediately crushed with brutal efficiency.
Thus it was right for the people of Charn to wonder at the king's summoning of so many nobles, to ask if only in their thoughts if he didn't have a dark purpose in mind behind this outward pretence of welcome and honest friendship.
In the royal kitchens it was organized chaos.
The heat from the ovens had become stifling hours ago, and the normally even tempered cook Mara was snapping out orders like a general directing soldiers.
She could count the number of times so many lords and nobles had been summoned to the palace during her time as a servant.
And unlike those other occasions, she sensed that great danger awaited all who would feast with the king this night.
It was these vague premonitions which caused her to snap at the slaves assisting her with the preparations for the banquet.
Already loaves of bread were being removed from the ovens, only to be replaced by an assortment of pastries and cakes.
Other slaves ran back and forth in a frantic dance, as she directed them all with an air of confidence and efficiency.
She had worked long and hard to become the palace cook, yet it brought her no satisfaction. The only joy she received, was the knowledge that every dish sent to the royal table was a testament to her creativity and insistence that every course set before the king and queen would be perfect.
Otherwise the consequences could be severe. She was not the first cook to be executed. And she considered herself blessed to have survived the past five years without receiving more than a few beatings.
A proud smile briefly illuminated her tired face as she called for silence.
The sounds of lively conversations and the occasional snatch of song soon died away, to be replaced by the constant crackle of flames and the hiss of boiling pots.
For she had long ago earned the respect of every servant assigned to work under her instruction.
"I want to thank you all. This feast is to be attended by many of the greatest lords in the kingdom, and I expect it will be talked of by everyone in Charn for many weeks to come.
I'm grateful for all of your help and dedication, for without you I would never have finished in time."
A chorus of response greeted this speech, and she acknowledged it with a smile and quick nod of thanks.
Many slaves turned back to their work, with the exception of a few Mara signaled to approach.
Puzzled and somewhat apprehensive, they followed her to a deserted corner.
Suspecting their fear she spoke calmly in an attempt to lay their anxieties to rest.
"I know you all have served at the king's table before, but I'm uneasy about this feast. I can't explain why, but something tells me that what happens tonight will decide the fate of our empire."
At their looks of incredulous skepticism she continued. "You all know me. I consider myself a sensible woman, and have never set much store by what some call premonitions, or knowledge of what will come to pass. I'm not even convinced that our gods exist, for they have never answered my prayers.
I know you must be wondering why I wanted to speak with you specifically, so I'll come straight to the point."
Her eyes rested briefly on each curious face, as she gathered her courage to speak.
"I need hardly remind you of the expected role of a slave serving our king and his guests. If they insult or ridicule you, act as if you never heard their words.
But I want to remind you of a tradition that has existed since the birth of slavery in our empire, because if what I fear happens it may be your only hope of safety.
So often we are overlooked. Those born to wealth and privilege tend to act as if we don't exist. Many times a slave may learn much about the secrets of a kingdom, because his masters forget that he is listening as he performs his duties.
I'm not ordering you to follow my advice, but if something does happen tonight I urge you to take advantage of this ancient custom.
Use it to make your escape from any danger within the banquet hall, and hopefully we may laugh about my fears on the morrow."
Mara's final comment was spoken with a mix of forced cheerfulness and a note of desperate hope she refused to let die.
The slaves she had chosen cast her puzzled and anxious glances as they returned to their tasks. They had known her for five years, and in all that time she had never taken slaves aside to reiterate their responsibilities or warn them of coming disaster.
For this reason, they all silently agreed to keep a sharp lookout for anything that might develop into a dangerous situation.
From her place at the hearth Mara watched the slaves chosen to serve their king, and hoped her words were enough to prompt them to be on their guard.
Every slave she had taught and trained carefully, not just because her masters expected to be served the best food, but because in her own way she was hoping to keep at least a few servants from being executed over trivial mistakes.
Throughout the slave quarters she had become known as a strict and demanding woman, who would accept nothing less than the best workers in her kitchen.
There were times when she thought that her efforts were pointless. Charn had long ago become corrupted by cruelty and malice, so what chance did she a mere servant have of keeping even the smallest flame of hope alive?
And yet she still tried with dogged determination, for if she forsook the hope that her people might find the strength to restore honor and justice to their nation, then she would succumb to the darkness threatening to destroy all of Charn.
So she did what she could, knowing that few would realize her true purpose behind the hard words and critical comments which fell so easily from her lips.
At sunset she cast one final glance over the prepared delicacies, her dark eyes missing nothing as slaves arranged the work of 3 days on silver and gold platters.
One slave faltered in her work, nearly dropping one of the costly dishes, and Mara's sharp reprimand rang throughout the kitchen.
"Girl these platters and vessels are precious, and have been in the royal treasury for many generations. Handle them carefully, and let me never see you treat such heirlooms so casually again."
Stammering an apology, the unfortunate girl continued to place an assortment of fruits on the silver dish.
Inwardly Mara wished she had not scolded so harshly, for this maid was a gentle girl and unused to such barbed comments on her work.
But better a few tears and looks of censure, than a mistake which could cost the girl her life.
The ruler of Charn watched impassively as slaves went about their work in tense silence.
Not since his coronation 18 years ago had this old banquet hall been used, as it was the largest the palace contained and few feasts this elaborate were ever held.
But if his plan was to have even the remotest chance of success, this hall was the obvious choice.
His guests had been carefully chosen according to the information given to him by trusted men.
Nor was that the only means he had for discovering treachery within the empire.
His command of magic was limited; the spells he had learned from the sacred texts of his people were the first to be mastered by a student of sorcery.
Over the years of his reign, he had used his power cautiously, often in an effort to crush any rebels who planned to end his rule.
It was through magic that he became aware of the rebellious thoughts of Charn's ancient families.
The knowledge of men meeting in secret, of warriors determined to defend their cause and mothers willing to take up the sword to protect their children had dominated his thoughts.
Such was the nature of this subtle magic; for it searched out any who had ill intent towards its caster, and whispered every word of their secret plots to the heart of the wielder.
Often he had wished that the gods had blessed him with the ability to become a true sorcerer, for he greatly desired the power and fear such a title would bestow.
Many of his ancestors had been able to wield magic, a skill which helped as they took up the mantle of king.
Charn's queens had become famed for their command of the darker magics
, earning the grudging respect of their husbands and their people for their deadly use of power in times of war.
His queen was one of the few of Charn's nobility who possessed no special ability.
Her lack of magical prowess often caused people to underestimate her, a mistake they soon lived to regret.
For beneath her dark beauty was a mind capable of ruthless and cunning acts, and a love of the dark which had swiftly bound them together at their joining.
It had been at her suggestion that he had cast the spell which brought him such vital knowledge, and together they had concocted this callous plan.
Tonight their enemies would fall.
For a moment he faltered, knowing that many of noble blood would feast here this night in ignorance of his true purpose.
So many of the chivalric customs had long ago been abandoned by his people.
But one tradition which had not been forgotten over the centuries was the sacred duty of a host to his guests.
Even when many of the old decrees had been declared worthless, the law of courtesy had never fallen out of favor with the previous monarchs.
For this reason he had at first protested his wife's scheme, reluctant to break one of the most sacred traditions of their empire.
Rarely did their wills clash, but the scorn and contempt with which she had greeted his uncertainty had shocked even him.
"Husband, if you refuse to do what must be done, than I will ask another more powerful sorcerer to assist me in conquering our enemies. This rebellion must be crushed, and if you cannot find the strength to take steps to secure our power than I will act in your stead."
That threat had immediately silenced any further objections, and he had willingly consented to the plan she had outlined.
It was a pity that Marcus had to be sacrificed, for his family had been in the service of Charn's monarchs for generations.
Marcus was not only a wise counselor, but a master of the sword and a respected commander.
Any soldier who fought under Marcus spoke of his bravery and his concern for the welfare of his men.
Yes, he would be sorry to lose one of his closest and most intelligent advisors.
But the sacrifice must be made so that he might unlock a secret the royal family had guarded for centuries, one it was said had been told to the first king and queen of Charn by one of the most powerful beings in all worlds.
And if the price for this knowledge was a few killings, then so be it.
He had chosen each warrior for their knowledge of court protocol and their predilection for brutality and love of the sadistic.
Every man had been sworn to secrecy, for though all in Charn would hear of the results of his plan, none would ever know who had been involved.
Knowing that his guests must suspect nothing until it was too late, had prompted him to choose warriors who could easily pass as noble lords or courtiers.
The sound of distant trumpets abruptly cut short his reflections.
Casting one final look around the banquet hall, Charn's king hurried to the steps of the palace to greet his guests.
Tonight, every rebel would be silenced, and he and his queen would learn a secret which any sorcerer would kill to possess.
Note from the authoress: This story is going to be different from my other Narnian tales, first of all because it's a novel and second because it will probably be darker than my other Narnia fics.
The idea for exploring the stories behind Tash and the other gods of Calormene came to me recently, and I'm looking forward to writing a believable history for these often overlooked characters from Lewis's Chronicles.
I'm hoping to incorporate events from the whole series, and will definitely bring in the Pevensies and other Narnian characters.
There will be elements of Norse, Egyptian and Greek mythology, as well as ideas from fairy tales which pop up every now and then, so prepare yourself for a rather unusual story.
And if you're wondering what on earth made me start off by setting the prologue in Charn, you'll find out soon as I develop the ideas and plot of the story.
I'm looking forward to sharing this tale with you and as always would love to know what you think in a review.
Thanks for reading.
