CHAPTER IX: PLAY IT AGAIN, SIC

A shower of purple and gold sparks issued forth from all directions as the curtain rose – Celathiel's prestidigitation was becoming more impressive each and every time he used it. The audience hushed as Sic began playing wildly, infusing jokes with his music and making the party-goers eat right out of his hand.

Furrius took over as Sic rested his fingers, telling stories of how the band got together and how many lavish parties they had been to in the past. The audience could tell he was full of shit, but they just bit their lips until Sic began to play again. This time, Illonel joined him as Celathiel focused spotlights on Furrius, Illonel, Sic and himself…thin, white beams of light shot from nowhere to illuminate the players as the audience grew more awe-inspired by Illonel's performance –

By casting ghost sound once more, he was able to create the illusion of a lute in his hands (which he faked playing to further excite the audience). But that wasn't the end of it – casting a powerful silent image spell, Illonel split into four mirror images of himself, each acting like they were playing an invisible lute.

The audience went into an uproar, screaming and applauding as the song ended. Across the dimmed ballroom, Celathiel saw the Duke stand – he shifted the spotlights to him as he clinked his wine glass with a silver spoon.

"Fantastic, simply fantastic. Please – introduce yourselves!" he said, gesturing toward the band.

"I'm Furrius!" the silver haired cleric said, attempting to steal the spotlight. The audience made an audible groan…

"Celathiel," said the talented performer on the left, swishing his cape around his back and causing small sparks of color to pop around his head.

"Sic," said the gnome, bowing deeply with his guitar still in hand.

"We are Illonel," said the four images of the handsome elf simultaneously.

"Let the feast begin…come, gentlemen – sit and enjoy the feast!" he said joyously, indicating a table set for six on the opposite side of the ballroom.

As the band (complete with bodyguards) weaved through the crowd, they eventually reached their table and sat. From two doorways near the stage issued forth hundreds of waiters – each carrying a silver platter of food or drink. They arced around the room in premeditated 'paths', dropping food at tables that requested it. Delicious aromas attacked the friends' nostrils – elven sweet bread, sweet pastries, hunks of seasoned meats with glaze, pitchers of the finest wines in the county, rare vegetables that only grew in winter – it was certainly a feast. If one missed a platter, it would come back around in a few minutes time.

Piling food on his plate, Furrius waited until the waiters became less frequent…after most people had gotten their fill, they only traveled around the tables in figure eights, clearing dishes and glasses, refilling bowls of rice, freshening teacups…

"Anyone else want their food purified? There's no telling what could be in it…better cover our bases…" Furrius said, scooping Barakus' and Sic's dishes onto his while covering the process with a napkin.

"I'd rather not insult the Duke and his kitchen staff…" Illonel said, completely against Furrius' plan.

"Well, don't come to me if you're poisoned…"

"Paranoid much?" Krougu asked, tearing a mouthful of lamb off a roasted leg with his teeth.

"I'll pass too…I don't want to insult them and end up in the bad graces of those guards…" Celathiel said, peeking around the room. There were only a few guards, mostly centralized at the Duke's table.

After having their fill of the delicious (and pure) food, one of the waiters came by carrying a chair instead of a tray – dropping it at the head of the band's table. Moments later they realized whom it was for – the Duke intended to sit with them.

Many of the other attendees of the ball grew jealous of the attention the band was earning…the Duke simply fawned all over them.

"An exceptional show, once again gentlemen. You certainly make me proud of my choice to allow you to play the ball. Are you enjoying the feast?"

"Indeed, everything is delicious…" Furrius said, smiling softly at Sic and Barakus from the corner of his mouth. "Thank you."

"Not at all, lads…entertainers such as yourselves deserve it."

Suddenly, Barakus leaned forward in his seat and placed a hand on his greataxe, staring the Duke down as if he were his hunted prey.

"Is…there a problem?" the Duke asked everyone but Barkaus.

"No…NO…" Furrius said, digging at Barakus under the table with his foot. "Heh…you see, he is my traveling partner…we've developed a sort of bond that allows him to communicate without words…I can read him exceptionally well…" Furrius continued, attempting to use this as a springboard for conversation about the head mage.

"Read people? You wouldn't be reading ME…now would you? That's a might dangerous…" the Duke suspiciously asked, sitting rigidly in his chair.

"No! No, not at all…just Barakus…we're like brothers…he merely has an itch."

Barakus grunted softly and stood down, hands in his lap.

"I'm sure you've had that sort of…bond with those close to you in the past, no?" Furrius prodded the Duke.

"No."

"Your Excellency…would it be too much to ask for ten minutes of your time, perhaps to chat in private?" Illonel interjected, his elven eyes darting around the room, sensing many prying eyes and ears on their table.

"Now, my dear boy…I am the Duke, I am quite busy…what could be so important as to pull me away from my own ball?" he scoffed, staring deep into Illonel's soul.

The elven man looked around the table at his traveling partners – they had as much stake in this as he. Obviously, he knew Furrius' and Barakus' stand on the subject of the Duke. Celathiel gave him a non-committal smile as he looked his way…Sic shook his head during a cough. Krougu nodded softly as he said, "be truthful, Illonel."

"Sir, we need to speak of your head mage…or, rather…ex-head mage…" Illonel started. The Duke's eyes widened as he slid his chair back, rapidly retreating from the table.

"Oh, shit…" Celathiel said, his eyes growing in fear.

The Duke quickly walked to his table and whispered something into the ears of two of his guards. They stood and walked to two separate doors, leaving for a moment – seconds later, they were each flanked by more than ten guards apiece – all walking straight for the band's table.

"Oh, SHIT," everyone said in unison, preparing for the worst as thirty armed guards surrounded them. Some wore chain mail, some had leather, but most had a combination of the two. All of them had the circular symbols on their arms – a good amount of high ranking guards were sprinkled in the mix of underlings. They didn't appear cross, however…just disaffected… Moments later, the Duke burst through a section of guards and slammed his palms on the table, whispering to the entire group.

"We're not having this conversation here…" he said as he turned flippantly, the guards manhandling the band from their seats.