Ch. 34
A Feast to Remember
It was a rough morning for all when the sun rose over Kodash. Despite having slept in holes, fought across hard country and seen days of battle without food or water, Alendra Soleer found that there was still nothing quite like waking up with a hangover. The castellan had rolled out of her bed with a truly regretful groan. Wine, liquor, champagne and several slices of rum cake had been the hallmarks of her dining the previous night, and it was clear that she was now paying the price. Dressing had been a painful affair, but once the paragon had made it down stairs she found that her morning ordeal had only just begun.
Rakiv was strangely absent from the Raelesin house, but had left a standing order for the guild to make their way to Makuun and report in at Norgu's Playhouse. A letter from the melodramatic actor himself had been attatched to Rakiv's note, explaining that a dress rehearsal was underway. It was the guildmistress who had decided that guild attendance at the rehearsal was mandatory. Mitsuru and Rubhen did their best to ease their guest's discomfort, and the couple passed out several flasks of a foul smelling concoction. Rubhen claimed that it was the "Raelesin's Famous Hangover Cure" (patent pending) and that it would work wonders for the guild's ailments. Only Anorah refused a flask, claiming that Zaishen did not experience hangovers, before she excused herself to help Event Planner Kazsha prepare for the grand Feast. Thus it was a party of eight that groggily made their way to the nearest Xunlai transportation agent.
Less than an hour later the guild found themselves sitting in a grand play house, reclining in overstuffed chairs as they stared up at a wide stage. Norgu had done surprisingly well with the unreasonable time frame he had been given. Set pieces glided across the stage smoothly and on cue, while back drops rolled down effortlessly behind the actors. The thespians themselves were another matter entirely.
"Bayel da qua! Bayel da la! Bayel da qua! Bayel da la!" a tall well groomed man wearing Ascalonian dress armor sang out operatically.
"No, no, no, no, no!" Norgu roared from off stage.
The green clad director stormed in from stage right, wielding a rolled up script in hand and an embroidered handkerchief in the other.
"Ola, how many times must I tell you!" Norgu exclaimed, "You must sing in common! Common tongue!"
"I am a classically trained opera singer Norgu!" the man snapped in return, "I was trained to sing in the language of the bards. They spoke ancient Orrian and I will not betray them by pandering to an ignorant audience in mudspeak!"
"You would do well to remember that your audience will contain a Prince of Vabbi, Ola!" Norgu shrieked, "Bokka himself! If the prince has to ask for a translation of your solo you'll never perform for him again!"
"Well then perhaps his highness should educate himself on the intricacies of…" Ola began.
"Sing in common!" Norgu screamed in a much higher pitch than a man of his age and stature ought to have been able to achieve, "Sing now! Sing!"
"A-aaaah lala!" Ola started, purely to avert the wrath of the director, "Ah bravest of all generals am I!"
From their seats in the auditorium the guild watched with yawns and sighs of boredom. Such fights had been typical of the last two hours of practice, and all of them included Norgu storming on and off stage shouting something unintelligible at the top of his lungs. All in all the rehearsal appeared to be going very poorly, and the guild had long since ceased to pay attention. The girls had all seated themselves in the front row and now amused themselves with idle chatter, in spite of the dirty looks that the onstage actors gave them. Several rows back Kydar leaned back in his chair, lost deep in his own thoughts. He was surprised therefore when a broad shouldered shadow approached and took a seat next to him.
"There any extra room in the dog house?" Koss grunted as he settled down.
"Dog house?" Kydar asked.
"Yeah, you're avoiding the womenfolk too arntcha?" the warrior questioned.
"Just a little," Kydar admitted.
"Eh well you and me both then," Koss nodded, "Seems that girl troubles are kind of high right now."
"Oh? What happened to you?" Kydar chuckled lightly.
"Aaah, well it was all perfectly innocent if you ask me," Koss grumbled as he leaned back in his chair, "Tahlkora invited me to the royal balcony and she convinced me to dance a song with her. It was a slow one and well… things got a little awkward."
"Aww, that's cute," Kydar chuckled teasingly.
"Yeah well Melonni didn't seem to think so," Koss sighed, "I swear that woman just looks for reasons to fight. Half the time it don't make any sense either."
"Why, what'd she say?" Kydar asked, doing little to hide his amusement.
"Oh she was rambling on about how it took her a bunch of arguin' to get me on the dance floor, but that if a princess asks then apparently I got no objections," Koss rolled his eyes, "Her words mind you. And I won't even go into all her nasty comments about me 'houndin' after little girls' or whatever."
"Ouch," Kydar said as he shook his head.
"Yeah well, night didn't end there," Koss sighed, "After I retreated to my room just to escape that shrieking scythe wielding harpy, I hear a knock at my door. I open it up and you'll never guess who I find."
"Dawn?" Kydar ventured a guess.
"Oh gods no!" Koss exclaimed, "I'd have messed my suit if that'd happened. Ugh…" he shuddered.
"Well then who was it?" Kydar laughed.
" Margrid!" Koss clarified, "It was Margrid and she was all… well, you ever seen Margrid drunk? Like I mean, really drunk?"
"Not to my recollection, no," Kydar shook his head.
"Well the pirate girl tends to get pretty handsy when she's got a couple kegs in her," Koss sighed, "Any other night I might have let her in. That girl gives new meaning to the term 'hellcat' when it comes to…"
"I get the idea," Kydar waved a hand at him, "So I take it you turned her down."
"Yup, at that point I just wanted to keep my head down and go to sleep ya know?" the warrior chuckled, "But apparently, when Margrid's not a handsy drunk then she's an angry drunk. Woman nearly broke my door down."
"Yeesh," Kydar responded.
"Yeah, and I bet you thought you had it bad," Koss chuckled.
"I did yeah…" Kydar began and then turned his head to the warrior, "Wait, you know what happened to me last night?"
"Course I do," Koss nodded, "Little girl blue made the mistake of telling Alendra about it, and Dwayna knows that girl can't keep a secret."
"So every one knows that…" Kydar winced.
"That you and your 'apprentice' totally sucked face?" Koss asked, "Yup, everyone knows."
"Okay we did not 'suck face'!" Kydar protested, keeping his voice low, "She just sorta… pecked me on the lips is all, that was it!"
"Yeah well, I wonder if that distinction really matters to Rakiv," Koss chuckled.
"Aw man she told about that too?" Kydar groaned as he rubbed a hand over his face.
"Yup," Koss nodded, "But it's okay buddy. It's good to have company in the dog house."
"I'm not in the dog house!" Kydar responded with exasperation, "It's just… awkward is all."
"Ya know what's really awkward," Koss commented, "That Rakiv ordered us all here but no one's seen head nor tail of her. She backstage or something?"
"No I asked Norgu about it," Kydar shook his head, "Nobody knows where she is, but her leathers and bow were missing from the house this morning."
Both men were silent for a moment as they pondered the meaning of that odd clue, and Koss turned to Kydar with an arch of his eyebrow.
"You uh… you think that's a good thing?" Koss asked.
"Noooo," Kydar said immediately, "No I do not."
"Do re la ti! Do re la ti!" Ola sang out from the stage, "Do! Re! laaaaa tiiiiiii…!"
"With feeling!" Norgu screamed from somewhere off stage.
"Dooooooo!" Ola finished, an impressive sustained note that resounded through the theatre.
The orchestra finished up with a flurry from the strings before the conductor silenced them with a flourish of his baton. The guild offered light applause as Ola took his bows, dramatically waving his hands to his small audience.
"Oh get off the stage already you spotlight hogging oaf!" a woman shouted, "After all, I'm the lead actress!"
"An oversight that I will yet see remedied!" Ola snapped back at her, "In the days of classical theatre men played all the roles! The stage is no place for a woman anyway!"
"You uptight, self righteous disgusting pig!" the woman retorted.
"Right back at you Amadi!" Ola shouted.
"Whoa, what's going on here?" came a call from the back of the theatre.
All eyes turned to the play house doors where a very muddy Rakiv Maelstrom had made her entrance. A brace of dead geese were slung over one shoulder and several unfortunate coneys hung on a string from her belt. Butter accompanied the ranger, having left the sunny enclosure of the Raelesin's courtyard for the first time in days. The crocodile had enjoyed his own private vacation away from the humans, but had answered his mistress' call to the hunt.
"Ah! Our beautiful benefactor!" Norgu exclaimed as he rushed down the aisle to meet her, "A pleasure to see… my gods, what have you been doing?"
"Hunting," Rakiv answered, "What have you been doing?"
"Ah… preparing," Norgu said, wrinkling his nose at the mess that the ranger presented, "Yes, preparing for tomorrow. The stage crew you brought me have been top notch. Absolutely the best crew I've ever worked with."
"Well that's good, how's the play going?" Rakiv asked as she wiped at a splotch of dried mud on her cheek.
"Ah… well it's uhm… it's uh…" Norgu said as he glanced back at his actors and then turned to smile at Rakiv, "It's coming along nicely. Your first officer managed to round up some of the best talent in Vabbi for me. Ola the Fantastical is well known after his portrayal of the Cowardly Charr in the Wizard of Orr, and Amadi is a sensational headliner. It's a pity you couldn't have seen her in Specter of the Concert last year. Most beautiful performance of 'Think of Me' that I've ever heard."
"That's great," Rakiv said, "What's the problem then?"
"The problem is that I this sexist pig is impossible to work with!" Amadi exclaimed.
"And this infuriating woman can't stand the fact that my voice overpowers hers," Ola sneered at the actress.
"Okay, how about this," Rakiv said as she tromped up the steps to the stage, "You're both actors right?"
"Of course," Amadi sniffed.
"Absolutely madam," Ola nodded.
"Well then act," Rakiv said sternly as she snapped off the cap of her quiver and pulled her bow from her back, "You don't have to like each other, you just have to act like you do."
"Well of course madam, but there are certain complications," Ola said, puffing up his chest, "I cannot be expected to diminish myself simply to accommodate an inferior talent."
"Inferior!" Amadi exclaimed, "I am a headliner! I am a show stopper! When people buy tickets to see Evil or The Barber of Wajjun they come to see me!"
"People, people," Rakiv said calmly, as she stared up into the rafters at the back drops of the stage, "We open tomorrow night for a packed house and a Vabbian Prince. I have a pressing need for this play to go off without a hitch."
With a lightning fast move the ranger whipped an arrow out of her quiver and notched it to the bow. From up in the rafters a heavy crack echoed through the theatre and then a rapid whistling as rope began to uncoil. The ties holding up one of the backdrops suddenly snapped and the heavy dowel and cloth began to swing free. Stage hands shouted cries of dismay and warning as the backdrop fell, and with a twang of her bowstring Rakiv loosed her arrow. The projectile whistled through the air, punched through the thick cloth and pinned it to the playhouse wall with a resounding thunk. Rakiv relaxed in her archer's stance as the arrow held the beam and cloth in place, before she turned back to the actors who stared wide eyed at the ranger's feat.
"Please, for your sakes," Rakiv addressed them with a rather frightening smile, "Don't disappoint me."
"Shall we take it from the top?" Amadi turned to Ola as she cleared her throat.
"Yes, do lets," the man answered hurriedly as he made a quick exit to stage left.
The actors hurried away as Norgu waved to his stage crew to re-secure the half fallen back drop. Rakiv capped her quiver once more and slung her bow over her back as she turned her violet gaze towards the director.
"I can't have accidents like that happening tomorrow night Norgu," she stated flatly.
"O-of course not ma'am," Norgu nodded a little shakily, "I promise, all will be in absolute readiness. There will be no mistakes, I assure you and… you have my deepest apologies for all of this."
"Just clean it up and get it done," Rakiv with a smile as she patted his shoulder with a dirt caked palm, "I put a lot of money and effort into this Norgu. I'm sure you don't want to let me down, right?"
The actor flinched as the woman began to squeeze his shoulder, making him lean down in an attempt to escape her grip. Rakiv's smile never faltered as she increased pressure on the director's shoulder until he finally gave a squeak and a fervent nod of his head.
"Of course I don't Madam Maelstrom!" he exclaimed quickly, "It will all be ready! I give you my word!"
"Good," she relented as she let go of his shoulder, "We'll be back tomorrow morning for a final dress rehersal."
Norgu gasped as he rubbed at his sore shoulder and watched as the ranger retreated down the steps.
"Break a leg Norgu," she wished him with a wave of her hand, "Or else I will."
The man nodded earnestly and continued to babble his assurances as Rakiv strode away from the stage. As she made her way down the aisle towards her guild every member present quickly stood to attention. Rakiv gave a small sigh as she pulled off the string of slain geese and handed them to the nearest person, who happened to be Margrid. Koss and Kydar made their approach down the aisle as the ranger began to give her orders.
"Okay, so here's the deal," Rakiv announced, "Last night didn't go so well. Mehtu pretty much ignored us, and we can't have that happen again. One way or another we have to get Ahmtur's attention tonight, so we're going to do our best to impress him."
"And how do you propose that we impress the Mighty Prince of Vabbi?" Dawn inquired.
"Well I've already started on that," Rakiv said as she strode toward the theatre doors, "If any of you were wondering where I was, I got a message late last night from an old… acquaintance. Fellow hunter who's a guest of Ahmtur's and heard that I was in Vabbi. He challenged me to a hunt."
"So you've been hunting all morning?" Alendra blinked.
"Yup," the ranger nodded as she pushed the doors open, "He challenged me to see who could bring in the biggest game. I'm pretty sure that this should have him beat."
As the party stepped out of the playhouse they found a small crowd gathered on the street. Several passers by had stopped before the odd spectacle that lay on the cobble stones at the foot of the playhouse steps. Rakiv descended the steps and waved the onlookers aside as her guild approached. It was a massive cobalt mokele, a mighty mountain dwelling reptile that was easily three times the size of an average man. Several holes in its side marked where Rakiv's arrows had brought it down. The beast had been hogtied and bound with many ropes that had been attached to a makeshift harness that lay in the street next to it.
"Did you… did you drag that thing here?" Melonni exclaimed.
"Well I didn't think far enough ahead to bring a cart big enough for this bad-boy," the ranger chuckled, "Had to get him down here somehow."
Koss gave a low whistle but said nothing as the guild gathered round to inspect the beast further.
"Now this has got to get to that Garden place we're going to," the ranger said, "It's supposed to be presented to Ahmtur so he can judge the winner of the hunt. This is my part to impress him, so I need you guys to come up with ideas too."
"Well uhm… it shouldn't be too hard," Kydar spoke up alittle hesitantly, "There are a few events at the Feast that are contests like your hunt thing. I know that there's a drinking contest every year, and the current champion hasn't been beaten in half a decade."
"I'll take that 'un," Margrid quickly spoke up, "Ne're met a man what had the brass to drink me under the table."
"Then we're off to a good start," Rakiv said with a nod, "The rest of you be on watch for anything you can do that will tip his attention in our favor. Does anyone know if Tahlkora will be there tonight?"
"I talked to her this morning," Koss said as he cleared his throat.
"Of course you did," Melonni grumbled.
"Through the guild emblem," the warrior quickly clarified, "She said she wouldn't be able to make it, since she had to be at the palace for her dad's feast. But she did say that our old pal Morghan is gonna be at Ahmtur's party tonight."
"Wonderful," Rakiv sighed, "Well I suppose there's no helping that. We'll just have to do our best. But like I said, this needs to work people. After this all we've got is Bokka, and I don't think our half-assed play is really going to do the trick."
There were several murmurs of agreement as the ranger slid a hand through her hair.
"So we gotta make this one count, and then hope for a miracle with Prince Bokka tomorrow," she sighed, "But for now, we need to get this big boy to the Garden, and I really don't want to drag him all the way."
"I think I can arrange to have him picked up and delivered," Kydar put in.
"Good, make it happen," Rakiv nodded to him, "For now you're all dismissed. Clean up and get ready for the Feast. Any questions?"
There were none.
"Move out," the ranger said with a nod.
As the group dispersed only Kydar stayed behind and he pulled out his notebook to jot down information for the movers. Rakiv turned to leave as well before Kydar stepped in front of her.
"Can I talk to you for a sec?" the mage asked.
"Make it quick, I really need a shower," the ranger chuckled.
"It's about what you saw last night…" Kydar said.
"You'll have to be more specific than that," Rakiv laughed lightly, "I was drunk off my ass last night. I kind of saw a lot of things."
"I mean at the apartment, when you saw me and Ani!" he exclaimed with exasperation.
"Oooh riiiight," Rakiv grinned at him, "I been meaning to tease you about that. I've been working on this for a bit so let's see here…"
"Rakiv…" Kydar began a little pleadingly.
"Kydar and Ani on the balcony," Rakiv sang, "K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"
"Rakiv!" Kydar exclaimed, "Look, it wasn't like that okay!"
"Sure looked like that to me, fire-boy," she chuckled, "Not that I blame you or anything, she is cute. Little young for you though huh?"
"For one she's a lot young for me," Kydar pointed out quickly, "My little sister is older than she is. And for two, I didn't kiss her, okay! It just… it just happened. She leaned in and next thing I knew she was kissing me. And it wasn't even a full kiss or anything!"
"Oh? What else do you call it when your lips touch her lips?" Rakiv smirked at him.
"I call it a… ugh, why are you being like this?" Kydar demanded.
"Being like what?" the ranger blinked as her eyebrows raised.
"Trying to act like it's all fun and games!" Kydar responded, "You had a much different reaction when you kissed me!"
"Well yeah," the ranger snickered, "Cause that was my mistake. This one is just yours and Anicara's, so I get to laugh at you about it."
"Really? That's it?" Kydar stared at her skeptically, "This is all just a big joke to you? After the look you had on your face last night?"
Rakiv tilted her head at him curiously as she returned his stare. As the scribe looked at her quizzically a smile slowly spread over her face.
"Oh wow," she grinned, "Kydar… do, do you think I like you?"
The scribe would have flushed if the color of his skin had allowed it, but instead he merely stood in silence as Rakiv grinned up at him.
"Wow that kiss at the cave really got to ya didn't it?" she chuckled, "I mean I always knew I had that effect on men but…"
"Oh what ever!" Kydar cut her off, "Look you don't just kiss someone and then that's the end of it! It just doesn't work that way!"
"Kydar how do I gotta say it?" Rakiv chuckled and shrugged, "A kiss is just a kiss."
"A kiss is never just a kiss," Kydar retorted.
"Oh well then I guess you and Ani better start picking out carpets," Rakiv smirked.
A tense silence followed as Kydar ground his teeth and Rakiv only raised an eyebrow, her smile never faltering. Ranger and scribe stared each other down before Kydar finally nodded and stepped back.
"Alright, fine," Kydar relented, "You've got a good poker face, I'll give you that. But remember that you're playing with a psychic."
"Ooo, you gonna read my mind then?" Rakiv taunted, "Cause I warn ya, there's some scary stuff in here," she chuckled as she tapped a finger to her temple.
"Don't need to," Kydar said as he flipped open his notebook again, "Just thought you could use the reminder."
"Mhm," Rakiv responded, obviously unimpressed, "Well I'm heading back to your house. If you feel the urge to barge in on me cleaning up again, try to resist it this time."
"That happened once, in the middle of a pond!" Kydar shouted as the ranger strode away, "And it was an accident!"
Rakiv said nothing, only waving lightly as she walked off down the street. Kydar grit his teeth and looked down as the ranger's crocodile waddled past. The reptile gave the scribe an amused arch of his scaly eyebrows before chuffling and heading off after his mistress. Kydar gave an exasperated groan as he turned back to the task at hand. After such an eventful morning, the scribe could only hope that the Feast would be less of an ordeal.
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The Garden of Seborhin was one of the greatest wonders in all of Vabbi. Though there were many small oases in the Vabbian desert, none were so great or so magical as Seborhin. The Garden had grown up in the middle of an ancient temple, one that had been built to house, nurture and protect the foliage as it sprung up from the rocky sands. While many oases were sustained by natural springs or rivers, the Garden was watered entirely by the great Seborhin trees that floated above it. Many waterfalls poured from the leaves of the levitating trees, splashing down into pools that sent crystal clear streams winding all through the garden.
Like the Grand Forum, the Garden of Seborhin was built into a deep basin and in the center a wide pool of polished stone collected the sacred waters of the four largest Seborhin trees in the garden. To the east of the Garden's basin stood the grand halls of the garden temples, where the horticulturalist priests lived and worked. Though the Garden itself was a fantastic work of agriculture and architecture, it had not been built by Vabbian hands. For as long as history could remember the Garden had stood as a testament to Lyssa's grace upon the desert, and many legends abounded about its origins.
"They say that the great dragon Seborhin himself once dwelt here," Dawn said, "Ah what I wouldn't do to have met so mighty a creature."
"Why, so you could pluck its heart out?" Kydar inquired.
"Among other things, handsome," Dawn smiled at the scribe, "Among other things."
Kydar sighed and shook his head as they stopped before the southern entrance to the temple hall. It had been an odd grouping that had set out from the Raelesin house that day. With Rakiv, Anorah and Tahlkora all off tending to other business, it was a group of seven that made their way through Tihark Orchard and to the Garden itself. The guildsmen had forgone their finery of the previous night after a word of warning from Kydar's parents. Feast parties had a tendancy to get messy, as every man and woman indulged themselves with abandon upon the spreads that were provided. It stood to reason that Ahmtur's feast would be no different. Thus the guild had selected attire that could withstand a little staining, yet would be in keeping with a royal affair. As they came to a stop in front of the guards Kydar dug into his coat pockets in search of the invitations that Event Planner Kazsha had sent to the house, and found his movement's hampered by Dawn's arm linked with his.
"Is there a reason you have to be on my arm tonight?" the scribe asked a little irritably.
"Yes," the necromancer answered.
"And that is?" Kydar demanded.
"Oh well I'm hoping that you'll ward off any unwelcome suitors for me," Dawn explained, "You've no idea how many unsolicited brushes, pinches and gropes I received last night. It was dreadfully difficult to refrain from doing something very unpleasant to someone."
"Well I'm glad you did, we can't afford any incidents," Kydar grumbled.
"Also I hear you've been handing out kisses lately," the undead woman grinned sweetly at him, "And I thought I'd stay close in case you feel like throwing one my way."
At this Kydar yanked his arm away from the woman and gave an unamused snort as he finally produced the invitations he'd been searching for. As the necromancer giggled melodiously behind him the scribe presented the invitations to the guards and was waved inside. The party proceeded inside, and as they passed him Kydar began to notice the tension that had fallen over their little group. Anicara had refused to make eye contact with him all day, and as she skipped past him she continued to avert her eyes. Though Koss and Melonni weren't speaking to each other, the silence between them was nearly deafening.
With everyone on edge it made Alendra want to be more chatty than usual, yet she could find no one who was in any mood to listen to her. The result was several very awkward attempts at conversation that usually left the paragon sighing with disappointment. Of all of them, it was Margrid who appeared to be the most jittery. The corsair captain squinted against the dim light of the setting sun and continually pinched her nose bridge and rubbed her temples.
"Something wrong captain?" Kydar asked as he fell back in with the group.
"Just a bit of the jumpies, bookworm," Margrid answered, "Nothin' ta be yellin' about."
"I… didn't yell," Kydar blinked and tilted his head, "Are you… are you hung over?"
"Hung over?" the pirate scoffed, "I'm a corsair captain, ye cheeky paper pusher! We don' get hung over. No I'm sufferin' from a malady what's far worse than what yew land lubbers call 'hung over'."
"Well then what is the problem?" Kydar chuckled.
"I'm sober!" Margrid snapped at him, "I ain' had a drop o' good spirits in me since this mornin'. I've never been drier in me bloomin' life, and I'm startin' to remember why I dun let this happen!"
"Wait, you're all messed up because you're not drunk?" Kydar arched an eyebrow at her.
"You bet yer pretty under britches," Margrid nodded, and winced at the movement, "Melandru's mercy… everythin's so sharp n' loud n' bright! I dun know how yew folks live like this."
"Well despite the fact that I think you have a serious alcohol problem," Kydar chuckled, "Sounds like you could use a swig."
"That I could matey," Margrid grumbled, "But I gots ta be all dried out fer this contest in a bit. Best ta have the head start of an empty belly."
"I see," Kydar chuckled as he lightly patted her shoulder, "Well just do your best. I'm sure you'll make us… 'proud' isn't quite the word I'm looking for, but I can't think of anything else at the moment."
"Dun yew worry, inky thumbs," Margrid said with a small groan, "I'll have this fellow on' the deck pukin' 'is guts out, or me name ain' 'the Sly', which it is."
"Glad to hear it," Kydar nodded.
"Wow…" came Alendra's coo of awe, "That's… really pretty."
All eyes looked up as the party made their way out of the eastern temple and strode out onto the entry plaza that led into the Garden of Seborhin. The splash of falling water greeted them as the evening song of birds heralded the falling of night. No torches burned in the Garden, but instead stone plinths held shining baubles of cool light that illuminated the festivities. On every level of the great basin, tables had been arranged, all looking down into the center of the Garden. The guild members stared up and around at the spectacle both above and below as they strode across the plaza to the foot of the giant basin. Servers and waiters dashed to and fro, carrying large silver platters piled high with all manner of tasty delights, the very smell of which made more than a few mouths water. The party slowly made their way around to the western side of the sacred pool. There before them stood a wide stone dais upon which stood a shrine to the twin goddess Lyssa. At her feet stood a great horned throne and in that throne sat the warrior prince Ahmtur the Mighty.
Youngest of all the princes, Ahmtur was a man in his late thirties who cut an impressive figure. Even sitting down he was clearly among the tallest men in the room, and though he relaxed on his throne he had the poise of a jungle cat ready to pounce. His dark eyes surveyed the party with an air of satisfaction. Robes of deep crimson and gold flowed over him in a style that spoke of both rich opulence and a warrior's garb. One hand cradled an unadorned pewter goblet, while the other rested on the hilt of a gilded long sword that stood beside his throne. Before the prince stood a long table, which was piled high with the best food in all of Vabbi. The prince's table as usually reserved only for the richest and most powerful men and women in Vabbi, and as such it was sparsely populated.
"Aaand that's the man we have to convince," Kydar muttered to the group, "We are now accepting any ideas you might have to persuade him."
"Perhaps we could fight for him?" Dawn wondered after no one answered the scribe, "He looks like a man who would appreciate a few good men and women in his employ."
"Well unless you can produce an enemy for us, I don't think that'll work," Kydar responded.
"Make a few bodies for me and I'll have just the thing," the necromancer smiled.
The scribe stared at her reproachfully and the pale haired woman only grinned impetuously. The small stand off was broken by the arrival of the guildmistress, who strode up to them holding a large drinking horn in one hand.
"There you guys are, I've been making awkward conversation with bankers and traders for nearly an hour," Rakiv said with a sigh of relief, "Oh by the way Margrid, you've got to try this spiced rum. Normally I'd say it'll put hair on your chest, but this stuff'll put hair on your ass."
The pirate captain gave a truly pitiful whine of despair as she quickly turned away and dashed off in search of something to keep her mind off of drinking. Rakiv blinked in surprise at the other ranger's hasty exit and looked up at Kydar questioningly.
"She's been sober all day, apparently it's killing her," the scribe explained with a shrug, "Have you seen Morghan yet?"
"Mmm, yes I have," the redhead nodded as she took another sip from her horn, "He's seated up there at Ahmtur's table on his left, about three chairs down. The prince has reserved his table for foreigners this year, so there's also a minister from Cantha, two emissaries from Ascalon and a Kurzik high priest here too."
"Are you gonna be up there anywhere?" Kydar questioned.
"Actually all of us are," Rakiv responded, "Ahmtur himself called me to his table and asked that my entire company join him. We've got his whole right hand side for our guild."
"Oh very nice," Alendra spoke up, "He must be taking us seriously."
"Sounds like it," Rakiv said as she took another draught from her horn, "I also talked to Anorah. She said that this ought to be a Feast to remember."
"That's what I like to hear," Koss chuckled deeply, "So when can we get seated?"
"Right now, actually," Rakiv nodded, "I have to check on something real quick, but I'll be right there in a minute."
"Uhm… alright," Kydr nodded, "I guess we'll go and present ourselves."
"Yeah, do that," Rakiv agreed, "I'll catch up with you guys in a bit."
"Alright, oh and if you see Margrid you might wanna fill her in too," Kydar pointed out.
"Will do," the ranger said as she scooted away.
The guild stood for a moment as they looked up at the Prince's table and Kydar finally sighed as he led the way up the short flight of stairs. As they approached Ahmtur raised his eyes and a small whisp of a smile crossed his face.
"Well, if it isn't the freedom fighters I've heard so much about," the prince spoke, his voice bearing deep, gravely tones, "Welcome to my Feast."
"We're honored that you have heard of us Prince Ahmtur," Kydar responded with a bow, "And we are further honored to dine at your table."
"Hah, the honor is mine son," Ahmtur said, his fingers drumming on his sword's pommel, "I have long wished to meet the band of warriors who could threaten Warmarshal Varesh."
"Begging your pardon, Prince," came the voice of General Morghan from his seat at the table, "But the Warmarshal is by no means threatened."
"But of course General," Ahmtur chuckled, "That is why she has expended so much man power on her outposts and garrisons and fortifies Jahai as though it were ready to be besieged."
"She does what she must to protect her people and ensure justice is served, your highness," Morghan defended.
"In my experience general, there is little justice in war," Ahmtur quipped before he turned his attention back to the guild, "Come honored guests, take your seat at my table. The festivities are about to begin."
The guild offered various bows and curtesies with their words of thanks as they made their way around the table to find their seats. As they scooted in, Alendra, who had been itching for a conversation, leaned forward and cleared her throat lightly.
"Prince Ahmtur," the paragon spoke up, "I am a chief tactician in our guild, formerly a tactician of the Sunspears under Spearmarshal Kormir. Your stratagems are a basis for study during Sunspear training."
"Good to hear that the Istani find my tactics intriguing," Ahmtur answered as he turned his head toward her.
"Personally, your highness, I have always found your philosophies more intriguing," Alendra responded.
"Is that so? And here I thought Mehtu had the philosophy market cornered," the prince chuckled deeply, "What, may I ask catches your interest so?"
"Your approach to battle, highness," Alendra answered, "You have made a name for yourself ever since you were young for defending your land from invaders. Nearly every other commander I have ever studied incorporates the idea of justice into their war philosophy, but you don't. I've always wondered… why?"
"An interesting question," Ahmtur mused, "I have often been asked how I vanquished my enemies, but rarely am I asked why. Is it so strange that I refrain from the cliché of 'righteous conquest'?"
"Begging your pardon highness, but to me it is," Alendra nodded.
"No pardon necessary Tactician," Ahmtur answered generously, "War is something that I have seen much of. All my life I have struggled against the barbarous tribes that live in the wilderness, inhumans who constantly seek our destruction. In my many years I have asked myself why I fight them, why I slay and destroy them. After all they are living, thinking beings who, like myself, seek to improve their lot in life through violent means. In the end I came to an answer that few find compelling, yet I find sufficient."
"And what is that answer, highness?" Alendra asked, her brow furrowed deeply.
"That we are all at war, Tactician," Ahmtur said grimly, his fingers curling around the hilt of his sword, "From the moment we are ripped from our mother's loins, we find ourselves thrust into conflict. For all of our lives we fight for everything we have, every scrap of clothing, every coin in our purses. Every advantage we take is one we have wrested from another, every opportunity we receive is one that is denied to someone else. Every drink of water, every bite of food, every breath of air is one that we take that someone else did not. In realizing this, I saw that there is no justice to war. One man kills to protect his property, another man kills to feed his children. Those who are slain die that others may prosper. So it is with all war. The inhumans I order slain are killed that my people might know peace and prosperity, both of which I forcibly wrest from heket and harpy alike. If there is righteousness in this, I have not found it. I find only necessity, only the conflict of life that is the way of the world."
The table was silent for a moment as none were quite sure what to say. Kydar looked up and down the table as he scribbled quickly in his notebook. At Ahmtur's left hand sat commanders and warlords from every continent in the world, and all appeared somewhat shaken by his statements.
"I suppose I must agree vith you, your highness," the Kurzick priest spoke up in his native accent.
"Do you now, Herr Stiener?" Ahmtur asked with an arch of his eyebrow.
"Vell as you are avare, my people have known var for many years as vell," Stiener nodded, "At times I have found it senseless unt terrible, but it is as you say… it is necessary."
"Well I disagree," Alendra spoke up boldly.
"Perhaps, young lady," one of the Ascalonian generals, a man with a great white beard, spoke, "You ought to restrain your tongue in the presence of your elders."
"I respect your defense of station General Aaron, but this is yet my table," Ahmtur said, his gaze hardening ever so slightly at the Ascalonian man, "And I would hear her speak. Please, Tactician Soleer was it? Please continue."
"Your highness I too have known war, though perhaps not as long as you men," Alendra said, clearly undaunted, "And I cannot accept that it is a mere necessity. An appeal to the auspices of the 'nature of the world' does not justify the slaying of men."
"And why do you say that, Tactician?" Ahmtur asked, leaning forward with genuine interest.
"Because nature is unjust," Alendra said, "Upon a small village of gentle farmers it will unleash plagues that cause women and children to sicken and die. It sends storms to sea-side villages that carry men away into the murky ocean depths. It brings death to man and beast alike with no concern for their guilt or innocence, nor does it do these things out of necessity. It is for this reason that we build walls around our cities, that we pave the ground upon which we walk, that we anchor our homes into unmoving bedrock. We do these things because we hope to hold back the unjust and unnecessary cruelty of nature."
"You speak only of the march of civilization girl," the other ascalonian chuckled, "These things have nothing to do with war."
"Ah but they do," Ahmtur chuckled, "She is saying that if I appeal to the auspices of nature, then I am no better than nature itself. But I find no fault in this. I am at war with nature as well, for it seeks to take from me that which I require."
"Indeed you at war highness," Alendra said, "But a man cannot be justified by that which he wars against. Perhaps at first it may seem so. In the beginning you may say, "I slew him because he tried to kill me,", but in time when you yourself are slain then another will say the very same thing. And when that day comes you will be found to be unjust, made guilty by the very thing against which you fought."
A few of the men leaned forward to rebut but Ahmtur raised a finger to keep them silent. For a long moment he studied Alendra and then broke out into light laughter. The paragon's brow furrowed for a moment until Ahmtur gave her a respectful nod and a smile.
"I envy you Tactician," he said, "You possess a compassion and purity that I have never seen in a warrior's heart. Would that all my men and women approached their duties with the same perspective as you. But come now, this is not a day for measuring the weight of our souls, such is the purview of Grenth. On this day we feast and make merry in Lyssa's name. Raise your cups."
The prince's order was immediately followed as all present lifted their drinking vessels and Ahmtur stood to his feet as he lifted his great golden goblet high.
"Let all who hear my voice know," he shouted aloud, his words carrying out across the Gardens, "Last light has fallen. Let the feasting begin!"
A great cheer went up all over the garden and Ahmtur drank deeply from his cup. With a sound of satisfaction he drained the vessel and laughed deeply as the entertainers began to dash, bounce and tumble through the many great tables that stood all across the garden grounds.
"Lieutenant Murunda!" Ahmtur called out.
"My lord!" a middle aged woman in full armor answered with a snappy salute.
"Where are my huntsmen? Let them come forth that they might show me what bounty they have brought for my tables," the prince ordered.
"Hunters, forward!" Murunda shouted.
From across the feasting area, men and women rose from their seats and quickly made their way to the steps of Ahmtur's dais. Among them strode Rakiv Maelstrom, who waved to her guild as she took her place in line with the other hunters.
"Hunters, trappers and catchers of all kinds, I bid you welcome!" Ahmtur spoke merrily, "As you all know, it is a long standing tradition that the tables of the feast are fed by the greatest hunters in all the land. You who have come here have brought the best you could catch for my feast and so I would see what you have to offer. Stand forth and present your kills, and we will see if it is worthy of the festival!"
"Huntsman Wahtu!" Lieutenant Murunda called, "Present your kill!"
A man in roughspun garments of deep green stepped forth and gestured to where a group of servants were carrying in several slain moa.
"I offer these moa to the tables of the feast," Wahtu said, "May they…"
"Hah!" someone laughed.
All eyes lifted in search of the derider, and Ahmtur frowned lightly.
"What is the meaning of this?" the prince demanded, "If anyone here thinks his offering more worthy let him speak!"
"Well then I will speak, your princelyness!" the scoffer spoke up, "And may you all be amazed at my words!"
Attention turned to a tall dark skinned man of Kournan descent, clad in a pristine white tunic belted with gaudy golden bands. His long hair fell down over his back, immaculately combed and held in place by an overly ornate hair sheath. With out an ounce of decorum or fear the man strode forward and hopped up onto the prince's feasting table and pointed his finger to the sky.
"Your highness I bring you the finest, the greatest and the absolute best kill of any man here!" he crowed loudly, "For I. Am. The Grrrreeeat Zehtuka!"
No sooner than he had spoken, a dinner roll flew through the air and struck him in the back of the head. The huntsman's eyes widened in surprise and he spun around, glaring darkly in search of the perpetrator.
"Who did that!" he demanded, "Who dares throw food at The Great Zehtuka!"
"Stop calling yourself that you ass!" Rakiv shouted as she chucked a second roll at the man, "And get down off the table!"
The Great Zehtuka paused and his eyes widened yet again, a look of shock passing over his features before he quickly replaced it with a scowl. With a dramatic flourish he sprang from the table and slowly strode down the steps.
"Maelstrom!" he sneered, "I heard you were banished."
"I heard you were a washed up old blowhard," Rakiv snapped, "Whatever you brought isn't worth crap, compared to what I killed."
"Wait, wait, wait," Ahmtur said, raising his hands for silence, "I take it the two of you are acquainted?"
"Rakiv Maelstrom is one of the most well respected and widely known scarers of game, fumblers of traps and failures of the hunt I have ever met," Zehtuka responded, "Whatever she brought is not even worthy of your gaze, your highness."
"Zehtuka here is one of the biggest liers, tall-tale-tellers and stealers of credit that the world has ever known!" Rakiv answered, "And if he tells you a story about bringing down an Impressive Warthog don't believe a word of it. His daddy, Nehdukah had to save him from it. And it was a baby warthog."
"How dare you!" the dark-skinned hunter gasped, "You dare impugn the name of the Great Zehtuka!"
"Stop calling yourself that!" Rakiv shouted.
"Silence!" Ahmtur demanded.
A lull fell over the feast as everyone immediately followed the prince's order. Ahmtur took a deep breath and then released it slowly before he beckoned to the arguing hunters, silently ordering them to approach his table. Rakiv and Zehtuka obeyed and came to a stop before the warrior prince.
"We will solve this matter in the traditional manner," Ahmtur said, "Each of you will present your kills. Zehtuka, I will allow you to begin. Rakiv, your kill must either match or be even greater than his kill. We will proceed until one of you cannot match the other and when that happens, the other will be proclaimed the victory. Am I understood?"
"Of course your highness," Rakiv nodded.
"As you wish, Prince Ahmtur," Zehtuka said.
"Then Zehtuka, begin," Ahmtur nodded.
"Your highness I bring to your table these warthogs, freshly slain just this morning," Zehtuka said.
He gestured as a group of servents entered, carrying three spitted hogs.
"Beat that," the man grinned triumphantly at Rakiv.
"Your highness," Rakiv said to Ahmtur, ignoring Zehtuka's jibe, "I bring to your table these crested notuka birds, slain at dawn this morning."
Ahmtur raised his eyebrows and nodded with approval as servants entered carrying a rack of the mighty fowl. With a flick of his fingers he gestured to Zehtuka to continue.
"Your highness!" Zehtuka said, "I, the Great Zehtuka bring to your table a pair of tusked howlers, mighty and fat!"
A few oos went up from the crowd as the bloated beasts were carried in, hog tied to cooking spits. Rakiv snorted and stepped forward a little as she locked eyes with Ahmtur.
"Your highness, I bring to your table the delicacy of a scytheclaw behemoth," Rakiv announced.
A handful of gasps were heard as the mighty dead beast was hauled in beneath a company of straining servants. Zehtuka puffed up his chest and scowled at Rakiv.
"Your highness, I would like to end this charade and prove to all who is the greater hunter," he spoke.
"Present your kill then Zehtuka, and we will see," Ahmtur nodded.
"I bring to your table, a rampaging notuka!" Zehtuka called out.
A handful of servants entered, pulling hard on the ropes of the great sled that carried the mighty creature's carcass. Exclamations were heard all around as Zehtuka's kill was presented and he grinned smugly at Rakiv. Ahmtur chuckled deeply as he turned his gaze to the red headed huntress.
"Guildmistress Maelstrom," Ahmtur addressed her, "Can you match his kill?"
"That will be for you to decide, your highness," Rakiv answered, "I bring to your table, a cobalt mokele."
Several more gasps and calls of disbelief rose from the onlookers as another team of servants emerged into the garden. They dragged another heavy sled, this one bearing the body of Rakiv's slain mokele. The mighty mountain beast was hauled in before the prince and he laughed deeply as the crowd began calling out their advocations for who should win the contest. Rakiv simply turned to Zehtuka, grinning in return at him as the man glared darkly at her.
"Well now, do either of you have anything further to present?" the prince asked.
Both hunters answered with shakes of their head, never breaking their glares at one another.
"Then I fear I must call this contest a draw," Ahmtiur smiled.
"A draw!" Zehtuka exclaimed.
"Yes, a draw," the prince answered firmly, "You have matched one another kill for kill. Can any other hunter here best these achievements?"
There were several dark murmurs from the gathered hunters but in the end none stepped forward.
"Then the hunt concludes with Rakiv Maelstrom and The Great Zehtuka," Ahmtur pronounced, "We will feast well tonight!"
A cheer went up from the feast goers even as Zehtuka and Rakiv continued to trade glares. Finally the guildmistress turned to face Ahmtur and offered him a low curtsy.
"I thank you for the honor of competing in your hunt, Prince Ahmtur," she addressed him.
"As do I!" Zehtuka put in hastily as he too bowed.
"And I thank you for bringing such a fine bounty to this feast," Ahmtur boomed magnanimously, "Now go eat, drink and be merry! Let us all feast in Lyssa's name!"
Rakiv and Zehtuka each shot the other a dark glance before the huntsman turned on his heel and strode off into the throng of the party. The redhead rolled her eyes and shook her head as she made her way around the prince's grand table and took her seat.
"How is it that even here, we find someone you have history with?" Kydar questioned.
"It's a small world for us hunters," Rakiv said with a shrug, "After awhile you get to know the major players."
"And this… Zehtuka, he's a major player?" Anicara asked with a curious wrinkle of her brow.
"Zehtuka ibn Nedukah is a lier and little else," Rakiv snorted as she took a swig from her horn, "The only thing I can say for him is that he's pretty damn good at surviving. He gets himself into the dumbest spots of trouble, gets saved, and then takes all the credit for the deed. Every story he tells about his great hunts or conquests or kills is something that somebody else did."
"I can see why you don't like him," Alendra chuckled lightly.
"Yeah, he and I had a bit of a rivalry back in the day," Rakiv said, "But that was before I found out that he was a liar."
"Well at least you matched his kills," Melonni put in, "That puts us in better standing doesn't it?"
"Yeah, we're doing really good so far," the ranger nodded, "But it's gonna take more before we can ask for a private audience. Ahmtur's being nice just letting us sit up here."
"I'm sure we can keep the ball rolling," Kydar responded, "The next big event is the drinking contest."
"Oh that's right," Rakiv perked lightly at the reminder, and leaned forward to peer down the table, "You ready for this one Marg?"
"Don' you worry none, red," Magrid said with a curt nod of her head, "I've got this drinkin' contest in the bag."
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Raucous shouts, cheers and chants rose up through the Garden of Sebhorin, as all attention was held by a series of tables in the middle of the feast. A few small mountains of shot glasses stood piled high on the ground, each sitting next to the contestant who had drained them. All the competitors had so far been eliminated from the contest, save for two. At one table sat Margrid the Sly, captain of the Red Wing pirates. At another sat Zilo the Drunkard, famed booze hound of the Vabbian courts and five time champion of the Feast's drinking competition. Between them stood Ahmtur the Mighty who leaned over the table as he intently watched the proceedings. Already the contestants were dozens of drinks in, and it was Zilo's turn to take the next drink. The crowd of feast goers had gathered around as closely as the prince's guards would allow, and many held coin purses in the air as they shouted out their bets on who the winner would be. A handful of servants stood nearby, holding various flasks, jugs and bottles as they waited to provide the contestants with fresh drinks.
"Yew ain' got noffin' girly…" Zilo slurred, his eyes blinking out of sync as he attempted to stare down the pirate captain, "I haven't been beaten in five years… not about to lose now!"
"Then take yer drink, ye briny booze barnacle," Margrid challenged as she swayed dangerously in her seat, "I ain' but half buzzed yet!"
Zilo snorted and raised the glass to his lips. He paused for a moment to eye the corsair before he tilted his head back and downed the shot. He swallowed, waited for a moment and then slammed the shot down. A cheer went up from his supporters and he smirked at the woman at the other table as a servant stepped up and added his empty glass to his pile.
"And it's back to Margrid," Ahmtur chuckled.
"Gimme, gimme!" Margrid waved at the nearest servant.
The waiter stepped up and poured the drink. No sooner than he had finished Margrid lifted the glass, drained it and handed it back to him.
"Let's keep this show goin'!" she hissed against the alcohol burn, "I ain' gots all night ya know!"
Zilo frowned. Several dozen drinks in and yet this woman still refused to give in. He was about to reach his record for number of shots in a single night, and he began to wonder if he could keep it up. There was only one thing to do now.
"Shots! Four of 'em!" he snapped aloud.
"Oh ho, our champion ups the ante," Ahmtur chuckled and gave a nod to the serving staff, "You heard the man."
Four glasses were set before the man and each was quickly filled. Zilo smirked over at Margrid, certain that the woman would not be able to follow this trick. A quick swipe of his hand and four rapid gulps left the glasses all empty, and with a challenging grin he dropped them to the table, letting them clang about on the wood top. More cheers went up from the crowd as a chant went up.
"Zilo! Zilo! Zilo! Zilo!" the crowd called.
Margrid quirked an eyebrow at the man. It was certainly impressive, and she knew she'd have to drink at least as much to keep up with him. She chewed her lip as she struggled for focus and then half turned her head towards her own supporters. Much of the guild held worried looks on their faces, and were whispering one to another. Only Rakiv seemed unphased as she stared at Zilo. For all his posturing, the man was teetering on his chair like a pine in a high wind. Another stunt like that would end the competition, and the ranger clicked her tongue as she turned her violet gaze down to Margrid.
"Finish him," she mouthed, unable to be heard over the din.
The corsair grinned and swiped a thumb across her nose as she turned towards the serving staff and gestured for another drink. As the servant approached and set down the glass Margrid rose from her chair and quickly snatched the bottle from his hand. As the man began to protest the pirate captain lifted the bottle to her lips and threw her head back.
The crowd's chanting fell silent and all eyes widened as Margrid chugged at the bottle of Krytan Brandy. The golden liquid churned and bubbled in the glass bottle as she slowly drained it, her throat bobbing with each deep swallow. Zilo's jaw fell open for a moment, realizing immediately that he was doomed… unless the pirate woman failed to either keep her footing or keep her drink down. After several long minutes of silence the bottle was empty and Margrid pulled it away from her lips. She tottered a bit and the servant reached to steady her.
"Leave her be!" Ahmtur quickly ordered, raising a hand as he watched the woman carefully.
Margrid stumbled a bit, and caught herself before swaying back in the opposite direction. Several breaths were held as the woman struggled for balance. Finally she found equilibrium, slowly opened her eyes and released a loud belch.
"She stands!" the prince announced with a laugh, "Margrid stands with an entire bottle added to her score!"
Those who had supported the newcomer cheered and several feastgoers immediately began to call out new bets. The guild gave a cry of excitement as Alendra lifted her voice and pumped a fist in the air.
"Margrid! Margrid! Margrid!" her chant went up, soon joined by all around her.
"Well Zilo," Ahmtur chuckled amidst the crowd's chanting, "Can you match her?"
"Of course I can match her!' the drunkard spluttered as he shambled to his feet, "Gimme that jug, you!" he cried, pointing at the nearest servant.
"Sir this is Dwarven Ale," the servant tried to calmly explain, "It's very strong and…"
"I said gimme tha jug dammit!" Zilo slurred.
The servant cast a helpless glance to his lord, and Ahmtur only laughed as he nodded. With a sigh the waiter offered the jug to Zilo, who gripped it with both hands and raised the edge to his lips. Greedily the drunkard chugged, much of the liquid splashing over his face and running through his beard. Even as he drank he swayed on his feet, tilting further backwards as he drained the contents of the jug. The crowd went silent as they watched him drink and after many more chugs Zilo tore the jug away from his lips.
"Hah!" he cried, holding up the empty jug, "I win!"
The declaration died on his lips as his fingers went slack and the jug fell to the ground. His eyes unfocused as his tilted off balance, and with a cocky smile still plastered on his face he tilted backwards and crashed to the floor. Stunned silence reigned over the garden as the drunkard released a loud snore and Ahmtur blinked in surprise as well.
"It… seems we have a new champion," the prince said with a incredulity, "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Captain Margrid the Sly of Dormant Vengeance!"
"Yeeees!" Koss erupted.
"Whoo hoo!" Margrid shouted as she raised her fists in the air, and then her brow wrinkled, "Aw carbuncles…" she groaned.
The pirate woman tipped off balance and collapsed as well, hitting the floor unconscious. Ahmtur burst into uproarious laughter as he shook his head and gave a gesture to call in his court physicians.
"The victory remains with Dormant Vengeance," he proclaimed, "Well done and congratulations to all the competitors."
A cheer went up from the guild as bets were begrudgingly turned over to the winners. Rakiv laughed lightly to herself and then turned her head to her nearest guild member.
"Koss go get that brandy bottle," she said, "Marg is gonna want that as a trophy when she wakes up."
"Yes guildmistress," the warrior nodded as he strode off to follow the order.
"A good showing for your guild, Ranger Maelstrom," Ahmtur's voice came to Rakiv, and the ranger turned to find him suddenly standing beside her, "I find myself very glad that you were invited to my Feast."
"And we're glad to be here your highness," the ranger said, "I should tell you, though, we did not come purely for merriment."
"Oh no?" the prince asked as he glanced down at her, "Then what else brings so fair a lady to my party?"
"War," Rakiv answered.
"Ah, my second favorite subject," the prince chuckled, "No doubt you've come to petition me for aid in Istan's war with Kourna?"
"Not exactly… it's more complicated than that," the ranger clarified.
"I'm sure it is," Ahmtur said with a nod, "But in any case, I'm afraid I cannot help you."
Rakiv frowned a little but did not voice her question as she stared up at him. The prince held her gaze for a moment and gave a small sigh.
"I must admit I would like to," he chuckled, "'Tis too rare I have a chance to flex some muscle and impress a powerful woman. But the attention of my armies are currently fixed at the moment. The inhuman tribes daily assault my walls and I require every man and woman to hold back the torrent of heket and harpy that seek to pour out of the wilderness of Dzalana. Were I less occupied, I might be inclined to heed your plea. But as it stands, I fear that I cannot."
Rakiv nodded slowly. A disappointing turn of events, but somewhat less so than Prince Mehtu's refusal. After a moment she raised her eyes back to his and gave a light bow of her head.
"Well, I thank you for your consideration your highness," she answered him.
"Oh come now, do not be too disheartened," Ahmtur chuckled, "Tonight is not the time for such things. The thousand worries of war plague me daily, but for tonight I set them aside. This is a holy night, one for revelry and exaltation. Come, the food will be served soon and I'm told that one of your guildswomen has prepared quite the treat for us."
"Ah, that she has my lord," Rakiv nodded, "We hope you'll enjoy it."
"I'm certain I will," he chuckled and then offered his arm, "May I escort you to your seat Guildmistress Maelstrom?"
The ranger had to admit, she was rather flattered by the prince's gallantry, but was too distracted to properly appreciate it. She only nodded as she laid her arm over his and allowed him to lead her back to the grand table. Two princes down, two denials of aid and neither of them had even heeded her warning. She was now left with Bokka, the least likely of all three to be of any real use. As she took her seat she continued to mull over the situation, trying desperately to find a bright spot… some means by which to turn this all around. It wasn't until a clinking of metal on glass chimed across the garden that her reverie was broken and she raised her attention back to the feast.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a woman's voice called out, "As you all know, I am Kazsha, the event planner and I am just delighted with how things have turned out so far. Everyone is enjoying themselves I trust?"
A cheer went up in affirmation as feastgoers everywhere raised their glasses in approval.
"Excellent!" Kazsha smiled brightly, "In that case I assure you that your night will only improve. It is with great pride that I announce to you all that dinner is now served."
Another cheer went up as a grand procession of waiters and servants entered the garden, each carrying large silver trays piled high with food. Their entry had clearly been rehearsed as the procession made its way through the tables like a parade, allowing everyone to see all that was being served. The parade made its way past the prince's grand table, where each tray was presented to Ahmtur for his approval. The prince gave nod after nod to each waiter, and upon receiving his blessing the servants turned to carry their trays to the tables.
"I am sure that you will find all to your liking," Kazsha called out as the waiters served the tables, "But the highlight of our evening is an exotic dish that comes all the way from the Battle Isles, from the Great Temple of Balthazar. The Zaishen call it…"
Kazsha paused as several waiters across the garden produced small fire sticks and leaned down in unison to touch the flame to the large dishes of meat. With a whoosh of blue flame the dishes caught fire.
"The Fire God's Offering!" Kazsha announced as light applause went up all over the garden, "I warn you, only the stout should even attempt the tasting of this dish. Indulge yourselves my friends! Let us feast!"
For the umpteenth time that night, the crowd cheered as forks and knives were raised and the feasting began. Hefty portions were doled out and soon the sound of clinking dishes, glasses and utensils filled the air. Waiters scurried back and forth, answering every gesture and call. The guild dug in with gusto, save for Dawn who's pale eyes narrowed a bit as she watched an odd scurrying amongst the royal guards. One of their number rushed to Lieutenant Murunda's side and whispered urgently in her ear. Dawn tilted her head before leaning to one side to catch Rakiv's attention.
"Guildmistress," the necromancer said lowly, "I think there may be a bit of trouble brewing."
Rakiv followed the necromancer's gaze to where Lieutenant Murunda was now attempting to quietly, but urgently hand out orders. Several guards, doing their best not to disturb the feast goers, could be seen rushing to and fro, all of them with one hand on the hilt of their swords. Rakiv's eyes narrowed as a light prickle ran down the back of her neck. Something was wrong… and whatever it was, the guards were trying to deal with it quickly and quietly.
"Alendra," Rakiv said as she leaned to one side, keeping her voice low, "How defensible is this place?"
"Very," the paragon answered in the same hushed tones, "The low elevation is a slight disadvantage, but with how high the walls are around here, it'd take quite a bit just to get in here past the guards."
"Then how would you assault this place, if you had to?" she asked quietly.
"If I had to?" Alendra blinked as she looked around thoughtfully, "Well the north and southwestern entrances would be the easiest to push through… But if I could, I'd use bombards. Fire over the walls. Even if you had mages up there ready to stop incoming fire, this depression we're in is so wide that you'd be out of range of the walls if you fired high enough."
"So… from the sky?" Rakiv asked as she looked up.
"Yeah, why?" the paragon asked as she wrinkled her nose.
Rakiv was quiet for a moment as she stared at the sky. It was only partly cloudy, with bits of naked sky and starlight peeking through. Against the black clouds she could see little, but her keen gaze caught a shift of movement… of something flying in the night sky. Her fingers crept towards one of the large serving platters nearby and her hand curled around one ornate grip.
"Your highness," Lieutenant Murunda announced with a quick salute as she approached the prince's table, "I am afraid we may have a problem."
"Can it wait Murunda?" Ahmtur asked, smiling in good spirits, "We've only just begun eating!"
"Sire I am afraid…" Murunda began.
"Get down…" Rakiv interrupted.
"I beg your pardon Guildmistress?" Ahmtur frowned at her.
"I said get down!" Rakiv shouted as she jumped to her feet.
With a clatter of tableware she yanked the platter up and dove in front of the prince, holding the platter up as a shield. A sharp whistle split the evening breeze as a black fletched arrow hurtled out of the darkness above and struck the platter. With eye blurring speed Rakiv shifted and raised the platter, blocking a second arrow that sped down at them and then twisted the platter to deflect a third projectile.
"Lyssa's mask!" Ahmtur swore.
"Kydar, light!" Rakiv shouted.
"To arms!" Murunda roared.
"O bursting ball of brilliance burn," Kydar uttered as he thrust both hands skyward, "Fireball!"
The orb streaked upward, burning a trail into the night before it exploded high above the garden. The flash of red light was greeted with an angry shriek from on high, and all below gave a gasp of horror. The explosion of light played across the dozens of wings of a harpy war flight that circled above. Realizing that their attempt at stealth had been shattered, the harpies released an ear rending screech as they folded their wings and dove earthward. Steel blades flashed in their clawed grips as they descended upon the hated dirt walkers, their eyes bright with bloody wrath.
"Archers fire!" Murunda ordered.
A volley of arrows launched into the sky, whistling up at the harpy attack formation. Most of the projectiles were dodged, but a few found their mark sending the unfortunate targets tumbling out of the sky.
"Everybody out!" Ahmtur roared as he leapt to his feet and drew his sword, "Murunda get all civilians out!"
Even as he spoke a harpy warrior slammed into the table in front of him and with a swing of its shield knocked Rakiv aside. The ranger tumbled through a platter of vegetables and scrambled to her feet with a wrathful snarl. Before she could counter attack Ahmtur lunged at the harpy, parrying the birdman's blade before plunging his sword into his attacker's chest. With a disdainful kick he forced the avian off his sword and cast about for the next nearest harpy. All across the garden winged attackers landed, their swords and spears laying into anyone nearby. Feastgoers screamed and ran as the harpies attacked viciously, chasing down and slaying any that they could.
"DV!" Rakiv ordered, "Find weapons and take these birds out! Get this under control, now!"
"Yes, guildmistress!" the guild members responded as they sprang into action.
War erupted in the midst of the garden, as harpies dropped out of the night sky and human warriors engaged. A mighty roar rang out as Ahmtur, unarmored and lightly armed, charged into the fray flanked by his soldiers. Rakiv followed, grabbing for anything that would serve as a weapon no matter how temporary. The screams of harpies mingled with the roar of warriors as the chanting of mages joined the din. Koss set upon a pair of birdmen and pummeled them with his bare hands until he was joined by Melonni who aided him in impailing the avians upon their own swords. Alendra gave a heavy grunt as she launched a candelabra over head, its heavy points finding the flesh of a harpy archer and sending it plummeting to earth. A small platoon of undead minons formed a protective circle around Anicara, Dawn and Kydar while the three mages poured out spell after spell.
Amidst the fight, civilians dashed to and fro, screaming as they fled for their lives. Some hid beneath tables, while others ran about in absolute panic. The unluckiest of these found themselves the victims of harpy talons and blade, despite the best efforts of the feast guards. An unending rain of harpy troopers fell upon the garden, their keening battle cries ringing in every ear. With a vicious snarl Rakiv brought down one such soldier with a swing of a broken bottle and turned her eyes upwards. What the harpies lacked in training, discipline and equipment they were making up for in sheer numbers. The clouds above were slowly parting, allowing moonlight to stream down. Amongst the flapping hordes, the ranger's keen gaze honed in on a single figure. One harpy floated higher than the rest, clad in polished armor and his wings decorated with ragged totems.
"There you are," the ranger hissed to herself as she cast about for a bow.
"Drive them back!" Ahmtur was shouting, "Send them back to the skies! Show no quarter!"
"Highness we do not have the numbers for this assault!" Murunda cried as she struck down an offending harpy, "We must sound the horn!"
"No retreat Murunda!" Ahmtur snapped, "We fall back and our citizens will suffer! Fight on!"
"Prince Ahmtur!" Rakiv called out as she pointed to the sky, "Tell your men to focus fire on the leader! Kill him and this ends!"
"He is well out of range!" Murunda called, "We would only waste our arrows. We need a catapult or something with greater range!"
The ranger's nose scrunched for a moment and then she turned her eyes to the prince's long table. It was sturdy and well made, but with the proper application of force to one end… She raised her eyes to a large earthen pot that contained a tall palm tree, and a smile of triumph slowly spread over her features.
"Kydar!" she shouted, "On my mark, blast the base of that thing! Koss, go long and get ready to catch me!"
Both men gave each other puzzled glances, but their guildmistress was already on the move and they knew better than to argue. Rakiv mounted the table and, after dodging a handful of arrows, raced to one end. A twirl of her fingers gave Kydar his signal and the mage sighed under his breath as he launched his spell.
"I hope this works…" he grumbled before he thrust his hands forward, "Fireball!"
The blast struck the pot base, destroying the stone on which it stood and sending it tumbling from its perch. With a heavy crash it struck wood, and Rakiv squeaked as the table up-ended and she went flying. Like a crimson bullet the ranger flew high into the night. Several harpies squawked in surprise as a human flew through what was usually their domain. Only one had the were-with-all to attempt to stop her, and for his trouble he found himself knocked aside by the ranger's sheer momentum. Rakiv splayed her arms and gave a shout as she approached the harpy captain, who turned and moved to draw his sword.
The guildmistress struck him first and both commanders tumbled through the air. Wind screamed in Rakiv's ears and she and the harpy traded blows as the ranger repeatedly prevented him from drawing his blade. Desperately the birdman's wings beat the air in an attempt to stay aloft, but the extra weight was too much and with a scream both of them fell. The ground rose rapidly and out of the corner of her eye Rakiv caught sight of Koss running at full sprint in an attempt to intercept. Moments before they crashed the ranger planted her feet in her foe's chest and pushed off hard, somersaulting backwards and away. The harpy gave a wrathful screech and then a winded cry of pain as he struck paving stones, hollow bones crunching under the impact as he tumbled in a spray of feathers.
"Gotcha!" Koss cried as he snatched Rakiv out of the air with a grunt.
"Thank you commander," she said a little breathlessly as she leaned over his shoulder, taking a moment to catch her breath.
"Just can't calm that crazy streak can ya?" the warrior chuckled as he set her down.
Rakiv could only laugh breathlessly as she watched a series of guards race across the garden and level their weapons at the fallen harpy leader. At the sight of their commander, broken and held the war flight fell into chaos. With frantic wing beats the avian warriors turned to flee. A cheer went up from the Vabbin soldiers as the war flight made a frantic escape, only a few making it away unscathed. Swords were shaken at the sky and a few arrows were launched after the fleeing birdmen as the soldiers beat their shields and shook their spears in triumph.
"Order!" Murunda shouted, "This is no victory! Marshal yourselves and gather our wounded, we have dead to bury!"
Just as the soldiers began to move to follow their commander's orders they parted and saluted as the prince strode through. A very bloody Ahmtur the Mighty made his way across the garden, past the assembled guild and towards the fallen harpy commander. The birdman rasped and wheezed, cradling a broken wing and glaring darkly at the soldiers who kept their spear points aimed at his throat. The prince stepped up and planted a foot on the avian's chest plate and stared down at him with hard eyes, his dark features grim as he inspected his fallen foe.
"Your coloring tells me you are from my lands, sky-rat," the prince said with disdain, "Yet I recognize your armor… it is Kournan, and it's new. Where do you come by that?"
"Hssk… damn you… groundwalker!" the harpy snapped.
Ahmtur narrowed his gaze and then stepped back as he nodded to his guards.
"Take him to Dzagonur, alive," the prince ordered, "I will question him later."
The soldiers saluted and Ahmtur turned away to survey the garden. The night of feasting had turned into a bloodbath, and the prince breathed deeply to still the wrath stirring within him.
"No doubt a good soldier died so he could have that armor," General Morghan, equally coated in harpy blood, commented.
"General Morghan," Ahmtur said abruptly, "As a man of war I have many short comings but one thing I am not, is a fool."
"Your highness…?" Morghan blinked.
"Long have I suspected that your Warmarshal's ambitions were more… extensive than she pretends," the prince said, "And now a war flight descends upon a holy feast, led by one wearing perfectly fitted armor of Kournan steel… and you expect me to believe that he stole it?"
"Highness there is no reason to…" Morgan tried.
"General, it is only by the sage council of my fellow prince Mehtu that I have so far abstained from your little war," Ahmtur said, turning his dark eyes upon the Kournan general, "And I will continue to do so. But if your Warmarshal even thinks of invading Vabbi, know that she will find us more than ready. Remember that your people starve while mine feast, that your soldiers work for pence while mine are paid their weight in gold. Remember that there is more courage and valor and loyalty in the least of my men than exists in all the hosts of Kourna!"
The prince glared darkly at the general, who wisely said nothing but held the prince's gaze.
"You are no longer welcome in my court General Morghan," Ahmtur concluded, "You have till dawn to be beyond my reach."
Sparing the man no further words the prince turned toward the guild, all of whom fidgeted nervously before the enraged royal. Ahmtur studied them for a long moment before he extended a bloody hand to shake, which Rakiv slowly accepted. Prince and guildmistress shook, and Ahmtur gave her a nod of respect.
"I owe you a debt of gratitude, Ranger Maelstrom," he said, "And my respect. You and your guild will be welcome in the halls of Dzagonur whenever you should seek shelter there."
"My thanks," Rakiv said with a nod, "Though it would be nice if we could have a few of your soldiers to send back home," she chuckled.
"Would that I could spare them," Ahmtur sighed, "But as you can see, I will be hard pressed to deal with my own affairs."
Rakiv gave an understanding nod as she looked around, watching soldiers and servants do their best to respectfully lift the fallen from the stones of the garden.
"Then swear me this," Rakiv said as she looked up at the Prince, "Varesh is coming. And she will bring whatever she can against you. Don't let this happen again," she said gesturing to the tragedy surrounding them, "Promise that when she comes, you will be ready."
"On that, guildmistress," Ahmtur said gravely, "You have my word. I will send word to Mehtu and Bokka of this… incident, and urge them to prepare themselves as well. I would urge you to speak with Prince Bokka as well. If anyone will have men and supplies to spare, then it is he."
"I plan to," Rakiv nodded, "Thank you for inviting us to your feast, Prince Ahmtur. It was an honor fighting with you."
"And with you Guildmistress," the prince agreed, "I fear that we will have the honor again far too soon."
Rakiv released the prince's hand and gave him a nod and a small curtsey, which the prince returned with a tip of his head. The guildmistress slowly turned to face her guild, all of whom appeared fairly shaken by the evening's events.
"Let's go," she said quietly.
It was a silent march that led the guild out of the Gardens of Sebhorin. Rakiv could practically feel the tension in each of her guildmembers behind her back. But the ranger was preoccupied with her own thoughts. Varesh's madness knew no bounds and she had set her allies upon innocent civilians once again. The ranger knew she would have to move faster, Bokka had to be convinced. If she failed with the third and final prince Rakiv was certain, that left unprepared, Vabbi would fall.