20.
The
day preceding the banquet was excruciating work. All of the sentries had been
seconded to the labourers, lugging furniture or equipment up the hill to the
Previous castle. This was in full dress uniform, to present a smart face to the
Drakhan, as mandated by the Celcus with more than a hint of Marcia's
involvement. Part of the uniform was tall boots, one of which now stretched
over Aesara's false leg. It made walking that bit more difficult. It made
walking up a hill lugging a heavy box of ancient Elder writings downright
painful.
A
back room in the castle had been given over as a store room for the university.
It led into what was currently a bare room that Celcus had designs on turning
into a museum celebrating the university's work over the years. Something to
make self-centred small talk with the Drakhan high command over canapés and
fine wines.
Aesara
couldn't help but shudder as she entered the Previous castle for the first time
in almost two decades. While she had never visited the rooms they were in now –
reserved as they were for presenting an acceptable face to visiting dignitaries
- they were enough to stir memories of what lay below in the bowels of the
building. Of the horrors that had occurred down there. She didn't know how
Pyrrho made it look so easy, as the small man fluttered among the university
stores and groups of workers, sharing a joke or slyly poking fun at the nearby
Drakhan. He was also, unbeknownst to Aesara, trading information and
instructions with the group of soldiers that had accompanied Marcia and himself
from Fortunestone. They had come to the Drakhan base in various guises, but
mainly as labourers for the merchants of the nearest village and source of
supplies for the Drakhan.
Marcia
had left the labourers behind to become Celcus' personal event planner. She was
wandering about, looking entirely in her element, giving out instructions,
berating any perceived slackening in the quality of food preparation or room
decoration. She had more latitude to also mingle with the Drakhan, seeking
clarification of where what elements of the banquet were to be held where. This
formed a useful opportunity to speak with Volk, the big man in his patched up
trousers stood guard over the Drakhan contribution to the event; barrels of
wine and other drinks along with various delicacies from around the recently
conquered lands. Perhaps he had not
managed to work his way into guarding whatever lay in the depths of the
building where the real secrets were to be found, but a potentially useful
position all the same.
The
day drew on and Aesara became, if not comfortable, then accepting of her
position and task. The three of them had spent much of the previous night
planning what they would do once they were at the banquet. They need to get to him,
the master of this chaos, the orchestrator of the dangerous new wave of
dark technologies. Perhaps they would need to eliminate his disastrous
influence, or perhaps they could just destroy the research and save the seven
counties. They needed answers, and tonight they would either find them, or die
trying. Death would be preferable to Aesara than a fresh capture, and she
suspected the same was true for Pyrrho, despite his confident outward demeanour.
By
early evening the preparations were complete. Aesara stood in the line of
sentries that formed a guard of honour up to the front of the castle. She'd
cursed the dress uniform earlier as uncomfortably restricting and too hot in
the late summer sunshine. However now she was glad of the warmth it provided as
the shadows lengthened and wind picked up. They were kept waiting for close to
an hour, but eventually she could see the small precession start to wind its
way up the hill from the university camp below them. A slightly larger sized
group of senior Drakhan moved to meet them at the gateway to the grounds that
the Previous castle stood on, the two groups pausing to animatedly chat,
laughter shared. They then headed towards Aesara's guard, itself now flanked by
smartly dressed Drakhan infantry who had more sensibly waited inside while the
various dignitaries got their acts together. Volk gave her an uneasy wink from
across the way that Aesara returned with a nervous smile. Aesara's Drakhan
admirer from when she had tracked down Onatas gave them both dirty looks.
The
mixed high council and senior Drakhan delegation slowly made their way through
the guard of honour. Pausing from time to time to exchange a word with a
familiar face, or issue a patronising comment on how well turned out everyone
was. Celcus himself had stopped in front of Aesara, looked like he was going to
say something before thinking better of it and moving on. Did he suspect
something? Would he betray them? Aesara's imagination ran wild with
speculation, she had to force herself to breath more slowly.
With
the delegation disappearing inside, the massed ranks of sentries and Drakhan
filed over to the side of the building where Maria was dictating the final
order of events. Some of the sentries were to act as attendants to the guests,
but most, including Aesara were on background duties. Pouring trays of drinks,
plating meals and various other menial duties. Aesara did not mind too much, it
kept her busy ahead of the final move. Over the way she saw Volk slip into the
drinks storage tent, package in hand.
Pyrrho
drew close to her as she arranged cuts of meat on a pewter tray.
“How
do we stand?” he asked in a conversational tone; had he started whispering
conspiratorially it would have stood out. As it was the din of the preparation
area was more than enough to keep anyone else from listening over them.
“Volk
has delivered your special brew. I've got the mugs arranged ready. Still think
this is an overly dramatic way of doing things. Thought you were more about the
subtle manoeuvring?” she didn't look up, instead contracting on arranging the
food stuffs.
“Normally
am. But the toast is the only time when most of the Drakhan grunts will also
take a swig. We don't have enough people to overwhelm them otherwise”
“The
gossip is that the Overlord will attend the toast”
“Not
like you to engage in camp tittle-tattle” Pyrrho smirked at his sister's slow
entrance into his own world of intrigue “But it's be good if he did. Make a
grab for him and get out of here”
“We
got enough people to break out?”
“Touch
and go. Hope you're up for a scrap”
“As
ever” Aesara growled
“Excellent”
Pyrrho turned and left, Aesara looked up to watch him go.
“Good
luck, dear brother” she said under her breath.
The
ringing of a bell interrupted her sentimentality – an unusual emotion for
Aesara – and she hurried back into the tent where the neat rows of mugs stood
to attention like the gathering masses in the main hall would be. Marcia
bustled into the tent.
“Right
everyone, this is it, get pouring, we need to get this to them as soon as
possible” she instructed. Volk clumped into the tent, barrels under both arms
and large buckets carried in each hand.
“Get
it while it's fresh” he said, attempting to mimic the light hearted voice of
some market trader.
Aesara
moved over and grabbed one of the buckets. She was immediately taken aback by
the smell. The specific process of mulling the wine had been found in one of
the oldest Elder manuscripts owned by the university. While the recipe yielded
and almost unpalatable brew, it was considered a delicacy given its provenance.
The strong taste and foul smell would also mask the extra ingredients Volk had
added, a concoction well known to Pyrrho in his line of work, the ingredients
gathered by the allies outside the camp as instructed by the notes Aesara
smuggled out.
The
recipe called for the brew to be drank quickly after pouring, less the full
impact of the taste be lost. This was undesirable from both the point of view
of keeping up the university's appearances
- something admittedly Celcus would care about more than Aesara – and
unmasking the bitter taste of the added ingredients.
Mugs
topped up, Aesara grabbed a tray and headed over to the main hall. Volk
followed with the other serving staff, Marcia alongside, although she did not
deign to carry a tray. At the entrance Drakhan guards blocked their entrance.
“Out
of the way” instructed Aesara “this needs to be distributed quickly”
The
gruff Drakhan in front of her, the one that had groped her before sneered.
“We're to take 'em in darlin' ” he said “The honour of the, er, toast, er,
pertains to us” he stumbled over the unfamiliar words, obviously instructions
from higher up the command chain. Aesara frowned.
“There
a problem?” Marcia strode up to them
“He
says the Drakhan get the honour of passing them out” Aesara nodded disdainfully
at her Drakhan admirer.
“I've
discussed this with your commander” Marcia said in an authoritative tone,
although the following pause implied she was making up what had been discussed
on the fly. “The honour is to be shared, half from the university, half you and
your comrades.”
The
Drakhan squinted at her “Commander Boots said that”
“Yes,
the dear little man was very keen to be seen as fair, now come come, time to go
in”
“But
commander Boots is a woman”
“I
was speaking figuratively, now hurry up you silly man”
“Alright”
he said “But I'm takin' 'er tray” he nodded at Aesara “She don't deserve no
honour”
Aesara
looked to Marcia for guidance, who nodded. Aesara handed over the tray and
watched the Drakhan go in, winking at her as he turned away.
Volk
went to follow the Drakhan in, but had his way blocked by a squat man in a
lieutenant's uniform. “Not you fatty” he said in a sneering tone “You've got
orders to go guard that stupid museum” and with that he snatched away Volk's
tray.
“It
makes no difference” Marcia said after the Drakhan had disappeared inside.
“Might even serve us well not to be at the scene of the crime”
“Something
not right though” said Aesara, soldiers instinct for trouble shouting at her.
“That's
just pre-performance nerves speaking” Marcia attempted to make light, although
her own instincts were also urging caution.
“Madam
Marcia” they were interrupted by a squeaky voice, one of the camp messenger
boys tugged at Marcia's robes.
“What
is it?” she asked briskly
“One
of the displays in the museum..” he squirmed under Marcia's angry gaze “...it
got knocked down, labourer Olbas did it” the latter confession said at rapid
pace, the messenger then taking off at a sprint lest he be grilled further.
“Olbas
is a clumsy oaf” Marcia grumbled, setting off for the temporary museum.
Aesara
took long strides to catch up “Does such a triviality matter right now?” she
urged
“We
keep up the pretence till the objective is complete. Makes denial easier if
things go wrong”
They
caught up with Volk along the way, who had set off for his new guard duty as
instructed. Aesara made eye contact with him as they drew level, trying to see
if he too shared her concerns. He didn't hold her gaze, instead played
nervously with the mean looking mace at his hip.
Inside
the space set up as the museum was chaos. Labourers, sentries, kitchen staff
all bustled about. Most in some state of confusion. Marcia went to survey the
damaged exhibit, but Pyrrho soon took her place at Aesara's side.
“We
going to make a move soon?” she asked her brother “I don't like this waiting”
“Patience
sister, the brew will take a little time to work its magic. For now we
keep....busy” he stopped, looking about quickly. Face falling as realisation
dawned.
“What's
wrong?” Aesara was quick to pick up on the change in mood.
“The
people here” Pyrrho continued to look about
“What
about them?” Aesara also began to look around, but could see nothing odd about
them.
“I
know them all”
“What?”
“Shit,
we've been betrayed. Aesara, get out” he pushed her towards a door, signalling
to Marcia over the other side of the room to do the same.
Aesara
still didn't follow, but complied all the same, her brother's tone signalling
fear and urgency. It took a few seconds for them to get through the throng of
people and across to the main doors.
Just
as they slammed shut.
Aesara
banged and kicked at them, but the heavy wood, iron framed, offered no give.
She turned back to the room, searching for another exit. Then she saw Pyrrho,
who was looking up at the balcony. The balcony now filling with Drakhan
military, each carrying a version of the weapon Volk had fallen foul of back in
the hamlet. She saw the big man cower by one of the exhibits as he saw the same
thing.
The
crowd in the museum fell silent. All of Pyrrho and Marcia's small force of
soldiers come infiltrators in the same place. Someone had known their secret.
That someone entered the balcony above them all. He wore all black, culminating
in a large black hood that hung low over his forehead. There was now little
natural light in the room, but what there was picked out wrinkled skin and
sagging jowls.
He
spoke in a horse voice, tired almost, resigned. “Aesara, Pyrrho. I believe we
need to talk”
The
two siblings first looked at each other, then back to the man.
“Yes,
father” they said as one.
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