Brian Pratt - The mists of sorrow

When they take their seats, he leans forward to better be heard over the musicians. “Word came that another force is on its way up from the south,” he tells them. “Should be here in a day or two.”

“How many?” asks Jiron.

“Not enough to cause us any problems,” Illan assures him. “It may be a delegation to discuss the cessation of hostilities.”

“That would be welcome news indeed,” nods James. “Are they going to want their fort back?”

Illan laughs, “Probably. But they’re not going to get it. Reports say that they stripped their southern territories of soldiers in anticipation of the summer’s campaign in Madoc. Most of those have been slaughtered since our first attack at Lythylla.”

Just then Delia comes in from one of the side entrances, with her hand resting on Shorty’s arm. When they join them, Shorty has a big smile on his face and Jiron arcs an eyebrow at Delia.

“Oh stop what you’re thinking right now,” she says, a slight blush coming to her face. “It’s nothing like that.”

James glances questioningly to Shorty who grins and says, “I asked her if she would like an escort and she said yes.”

“Escort,” snorts Jiron.

Shorty pulls out her chair for her and holds it while she sits down.

“Thank you,” she says to him.

“You are welcomed milady,” he replies with a bow. Then he moves down the table and takes his seat.

“…I tell you it is true!” Potbelly’s voice comes to them before he enters through the main doors. Scar, who’s walking beside him nods in agreement.

“Oh lord now what?” James says.

Jorry and Uther walk with them and you can see they aren’t buying whatever it is the other two are saying.

“I swear it! She had three breasts,” continues Scar.

“In your dreams maybe,” counters Jorry.

Uther crosses to their table and asks Jiron, “Have you ever heard of a three breasted woman?”

“Can’t say as I have,” he replies.

“Ha!” Jorry exclaims. “I thought not.”

“He wouldn’t have known her,” insists Potbelly, “she only came to our fights. Once in awhile she would invite us back to her place for a little entertainment.”

Under his breath Uther says, “I bet it was little.”

“Ah, what do you know from anything?” blusters Scar.

“I know a lie when I hear one,” retorts Jorry.

“Enough!” shouts Illan.

The entire hall falls quiet and the musicians abruptly stop as all eyes turn to them. Realizing they are now the center of attention, they glare at each other and take their seats at the table. When no further commotion happens, the musicians resume their play and the normal murmur of the guests returns.

Devin and the rest of the recruits arrive as a group and take their places at a nearby table. The last to enter is Aleya. When Jiron sees her he freezes in place. From somewhere in this fortress she’s found a dazzling blue dress that fits her perfectly.

Delia reaches over and pushes up his chin to close his mouth. “Go over there and escort her to her chair,” she urges.

Getting up, he hurries over and just as Shorty did with Delia, he offers her his arm. Placing her hand upon his forearm, she strolls with him back to their seats. James gets up and offers her his chair so she can sit next to Jiron.

“Thank you,” she says as she takes the offered seat.

Jiron practically thrusts James out of the way so he can be the one to push her chair closer to the table once she’s seated.

Rather than be angry at the rude way he was pushed, James grins at Jiron.

Once James and Jiron have taken their seats, Illan stands and takes his goblet in hand. Banging it three times on the table, he stands and waits until the hall has quieted. Nodding to the two guards at the other end of the hall, he signals for them to close the main doors.

With every eye on him, he raises his goblet and says, “For Madoc. May her future be better than her past.”

Throughout the hall, glasses are raised as the guests cry out, “For Madoc!”

Once everyone has taken a drink and thus honored the toast, Illan sets his goblet down and says, “Friends and comrades. I for one never thought I would host a dinner here in the fortress of Al-Ziron.” At that several chuckles sound out from various men in the hall.

“Tonight we honor one who more than any other made this happen,” he says. Picking up his goblet once more, he turns to James and says, “To James. Mage and ally of Madoc, without whom Madoc would even now be grinding under the heel of the Empire.”

“To James!” the cry resounds throughout the hall. Jiron glances to his friend and grins. He knows how James hates the spotlight and would rather just sit at the fringe observing.

“Now,” announces Illan, “let the feast begin!”

From the sides of the hall, men bearing platters of food enter and begin sitting them on the tables. Not a great variety, nor are there any specialized treats, this is the best that can be had on short notice.

During the meal, the talk gravitates from the past, to the future then back to the present. All are hoping for a complete and quick halt to the war. Once the feast begins to wind down, Delia takes Shorty by the hand and soon has him out on the floor dancing. Aleya, not one to be outdone, drags Jiron out as well.

The night is spent with feasting, music and friendship. They all try to forget that their group will soon be splitting up as James and those going with him leave on the morrow. At one point the musicians fall silent and are given a break while Jorry and Uther regale those at the feast with a tale of how they got the better of an assassin who was trying to kill Jorry. Seems he besmirched the daughter of a well-to-do merchant who hired the assassin to take care of him. One thing led to another and the assassin was eventually handed over to the town guard and the matter was never again brought up.

When they finished their tale, the listeners responded with a vigorous applause. Scar and Potbelly were about to start in on one of their own when the musicians started up again. Scar glances over to the musicians and was about ready to tell them to stop when he sees Delia standing there next to them. Giving him a glare and shaking her head, she moves to Yern and drags him out to the dance floor. Apparently she wanted to dance more than hear another of his wild tales.

About this time, Miko makes an appearance. Blood soaked clothes and some serious bags under his eyes, he walks through the main doors. James notices in one hand he’s holding a half eaten tart. Where he managed to acquire one of those he has no idea.

Plopping into the seat next to him, Miko stuffs the remainder of the tart in his mouth.

“Where did you get that?” James asks him.

“The cook,” he replies. “One of the men I healed was his brother. He asked me what my favorite food was and I replied ‘Tarts, though I doubt if there are any to be had here.’ Well, two hours later here he comes with a plate containing half a dozen steaming hot tarts.”

“Don’t suppose you have any left?” he inquires.

Looking somewhat guilty, Miko shakes his head. “Sorry, that was the last one.”

James pats him on the shoulder and gives him a grin. “That’s okay,” he says. “After all you’ve done for everyone, you deserve them.”

“Next time I’ll save one for you,” he assures him.

A few minutes later, Brother Willim and the other two priests of Asran enter the hall and make their way toward them. When Brother Willim draws close James indicates the chair recently vacated by Jiron while he’s out dancing with Aleya.

Taking the seat, Brother Willim leans back in the chair and sighs. The other two priests join Derek and the others at their table.