Magic Of Light

Royal Feast

Lord Condredar took a long gulp from his cup. By the gods, he needed a drink. He sat at the King's table between Lord Merwan, who already had more wine than he should have and Lady Licalle, who haven't drunk enough to stop prattling on about clothes and jewelry. Condredar found hard to concentrate on Lady Jeanne, a pretty little bird sitting opposite him. She had long, black hair, white skin and a pretty face, and she was the reason why Lord Condredar haven't turned over the table on Lord Merwan yet. 

The King's feast was in full swing. At the head of the U-shaped table sat King Galdinor Faerden, sipping his wine and putting chunks of meat into his mouth. Next to him Queen Elibeh Faerden was eating with a stick which resembled a haystack fork except it had only two tines, and was made of gold. The Queen claimed that she didn't like her hands getting greasy, but Condredar was sure that she only wanted to show her royal superiority over regular people. Pathetic. For Condredar's annoyance, more and more noble women took up the custom.

Next to the King and the Queen sat the most influential nobles, or as Condredar saw it, the ones doing the most bootlicking. Condredar bore their company only because he wanted to be close to the place where decisions were made and the important information flowed. On the other two sides of the table less important nobles stuffed themselves with the free food and wine, gossiping and pretending to be important. What a pitiful lot.

In the empty space between the wings of the long table jugglers and acrobats were entertaining the crowd, throwing balls and sticks in an intricate pattern, while one of them blew fire towards the ceiling. The King's musicians were playing a quick piece, trying to be heard over the chatter and the noise the people made. Condredar smelled the burned oil coming from the fire-blower, but it it was gone in a moment and the smell of roasted food and cooked vegetables came back, fortunately outdoing Lord Merwan's sweaty body odour.

Lord Condredar, bored, chewed on a chicken leg, and continued to watch the Lady Jeanne. Her eyes locked on Condredar's, and the first time she didn't look away sheepishly. By Golatran, she had beautiful eyes. Condredar thought he saw a spark in them, and he stopped in mid-motion, the chicken leg in the air. The girl looked away, but Condredar already knew that the way to her bed just have opened. He tossed the half-eaten food on his plate, and smiled at the girl. She smiled back. The night started too look better.

The jugglers and the acrobats finally cleared the floor while rewarded by a weak applause. Condredar didn't bother. The King signaled the Master of Ceremonies, who stepped to the empty space. The musicians stopped playing, and the people hushed each other, the noise died down to whispers.

"Your Highness, My Queen," the Master of Ceremonies said, "let me announce someone from the far south, from the land of eternal sunshine and endless sand dunes, who represents one of the noble families of the Kingdom of Kollavan: Hullasam hem Jivraim, the Sharek of Neisha.

All eyes turned towards the big double wing door at the end of the hall. Three men walked in wearing exotic clothes. They were dressed in white robes, which were wrapped around their upper bodies making elegant creases, the rest falling down to their feet like skirts. They had strange hats that looked like a roll of fleece wrapped around their heads. There was nothing female about them, though, they walked straight and tall, and there was an air of authority around them. Condredar himself watched them with curiosity. Of course he knew the tales circulating among common people about the southern kingdom, and a few times he talked to wayfarers who actually had been there, but the stories always sounded exaggerated. This was the first time he saw someone authentic coming from the Kingdom of Kollavan, and not less than noble ones at that.

The one leading the group seemed older than anyone Condredar had seen, his deeply tanned face was wrinkled, and he had long white beard, woven around small gems that glinted in the light of the chandeliers. He held a long, richly carved stick in his hand, made of some kind of bone, as far as Condredar could tell. Judging by the way the Sharek limped, he needed the support. The two other men were much younger, but still well into their middle ages. They also had dark skin, but their beard was much shorter and hadn't gone gray yet.