the townsfolk lined the streets for the parade—an affair put on by the various guilds of Carlon to
honour their king. Priam waved cheerfully enough throughout the extended parade, although he
was bored witless by the time the fifty-seventh flower-draped cart passed him by. He made a
good-humoured speech at its conclusion, thanking the guilds for their efforts on his behalf, and
saying some graceful words about the large number of enthusiastic (but largely talentless)
children of guild members who had performed throughout the parade. The crowd cheered their
king warmly, Priam beamed and waved some more, and then everyone hurried home, remarking
on the cold weather and wondering whether it would affect the evening‘s festivities.
Priam‘s nameday was the one day of the year when he extended his royal largesse to all
the citizens of Carlon, providing them with a free feast (although if they wanted to sit down they
had to bring their own stools). With the tens of thousands of mouths that had to be fed, the public
banquet involved many months of careful planning and preparation. As much as anything, the
banquet was an opportunity for the lords of the various provinces of Achar to demonstrate their
loyalty towards their liege. Earl Burdel of Arcness bred and transported five hundred substantial
porkers, the gigantic Duke Roland the Walker (too fat to ride) of Aldeni supplied two hundred
and thirty-five carts of vegetables and fruit, Baron Fulke of Romsdale supplied enough ale to
keep the Carlonites off work for three days after the banquet, and two hundred and twenty
barrels of his best red. Baron Ysgryff of Nor, understanding that the citizens of Carlon would
need to have something to entertain them once they had drunk and eaten to sufficiency, donated
the services of one hundred and eighty-five of the best whores and dancing boys from the streets
of Ysbadd. All the lords contributed what they could, eager to impress the king, but the most
generous of all was Borneheld, Duke of Ichtar, who donated an entire herd of his finest mutton
and beef, and distributed amongst the guilds a fistful of diamonds and emeralds from his mines
in the Urqhart Hills. Of course, muttered the assembled lords around goblets full of Baron
Fulke‘s finest, Borneheld could afford to be the most generous since he controlled more territory
than any four of them put together.
By nine in the evening the citizens of Carlon were happily gorging themselves at the
various venues—the town hall, the market square, and seven of the massive guild halls. The
whores and the dancing boys were starting to ply their business outside the eating halls. Well
away from the street parties, a less rowdy and more decorous banquet was underway in Priam‘s
cream and gold palace in the heart of Carlon.
The banquet hall of the palace, popularly known as the Chamber of the Moons, was a
massive circular affair that doubled as an audience chamber on ordinary days of the week. Great
alabaster columns supported a soaring domed roof, enamelled in a gorgeous deep blue with gold
and silver representations of the moon in the various phases of its monthly cycle floating amid
myriad begemmed stars (thus the popular sobriquet). The floor was equally spectacular—deep
emerald-green marble shot through with veins of gold.
Tonight the floor was hardly visible beneath the dozens of tables crammed into the
chamber, and (as yet) no-one was drunk enough to be lying in such a position as to stare straight
towards the magnificent domed roof. On the side of the chamber, directly opposite the entrance,
was the slightly raised dais, where Priam normally sat to receive whoever had come calling, but
which tonight supported the royal table. Priam was there with his immediate family (of whom
not many were left), and the most important nobles of the realm with their wives. Jayme,
Brother-Leader of the Seneschal, enjoyed a spot not far from the centre of the table and was,
despite the grim news from the north, determined to enjoy the banquet until he could discuss
developments more privately with Priam.
Immediately below the royal party was a large table seating the sons and daughters of the
highest nobles. From there the tables spread across the floor of the Chamber of the Moons with
the least important guests cramped around rickety tables in the dim recesses behind the grand
circle of columns.
Faraday, eighteen-year-old daughter of Earl Isend of Skarabost, sat soaking up the
atmosphere with her intelligent green eyes. As she had only turned eighteen a half-year
previously, this was the first time she had been invited to one of the grand royal banquets;
indeed, this was the first time she had even been to Carlon. Although Faraday had not been
raised in court, she was far from being out of her social and cultural depth. Her mother, Merlion,
had spent years training her in the rituals and etiquette of court society, while the girl‘s own
natural wit and composure gave her the skills to hold her own in most courtly company. Pleasant
conversation notwithstanding, Faraday‘s green eyes, chestnut hair and fine bone structure held
the promise of such great beauty that she had already caught the speculative eye of a number of
young nobles seeking well-bred and wealthy wives.
Beside her sat her new friend, Devera, twenty-year-old daughter of Duke Roland the
Walker. Devera had a blue-eyed, fair-haired prettiness that Faraday thought extraordinarily
appealing.
Faraday leaned close to Devera, hoping that the intricate knot of her heavy hair, held
together with only small pins of pearls and diamonds, would not tumble down. ―Everyone looks
so beautiful, Devera,‖ she whispered, unable to completely hide her excitement. Her eyes slipped
to the goblet of watered wine she held. Its golden cup was encrusted with small diamond chips.
Noble she might have been, but Faraday was still young enough to be impressed by the extreme
wealth and ostentation of Priam‘s court.
Devera smiled at Faraday. She remembered how she had felt when she first came to court
two years ago, but she was not going to let Faraday know that. ―You should try and look more
bored, Faraday. If people suspect you are in awe of them they will seek to take advantage of
you.‖
Faraday looked up from the goblet, her green eyes serious now. ―Oh, Devera, surely you
have read Artor‘s words in the Book of Field and Furrow? Taking advantage of people is not the
Artor-fearing way.‖ Besides teaching Faraday the courtly graces, Merlion had also made sure her
daughter received strict religious instruction.
Devera suppressed a small grimace. Faraday sounded a little too devout for her liking.
Everyone at court genuinely feared the wrath of Artor, and most respected the Brother-Leader,
but they generally only paid lip service to the Seneschal. Devotion to the Seneschal‘s Way of the
Plough was a trifle too peasantish for most court nobility—indeed, most Carlonites. Besides,
many nobles resented the interference of the Seneschal in the political affairs of Achar. Faraday
would have to drop the expressions of devoutness if she was to hold the interest of one of the better-looking courtiers. Devera assumed Earl Isend had brought Faraday to court and decked her
out in such an exquisite dark-gold silk dress and fine pearls in order to find her a husband.
Devera herself was betrothed to one of the younger sons of Baron Fulke and would be wedded
within the month. She looked forward to the event with lustful impatience.
Well, if Faraday was devout, then perhaps her father could arrange an audience with the
Brother-Leader for her. Devera indicated the white-haired and stooped old man one place down
from the king‘s left hand. ―Have you met the Brother-Leader yet, Faraday?‖
Faraday turned her gaze back towards the royal table and the leader of the Seneschal. He
looked as noble as any other at the table with his well-groomed (and non-tonsured) hair, his
gently waved and perfumed beard and rich clothes. He wore a massive emerald ring on his left
hand, and wielded his napkin with as much grace as the king himself. He had a kindly, intelligent
face, though he seemed preoccupied with some grave concern.
―No.‖ Faraday hesitated a moment. ―Does he come from the royal family itself, Devera?‖
Devera snorted behind her gravy-stained napkin. ―Not he, Faraday. No, Brother-Leader
Jayme comes from an undistinguished farming family somewhere in the depths of Arcness.
Knowing that province, he probably has more than a passing knowledge of pigs, although he
hides it well now. He was appointed chaplain to the royal household a few decades ago—that‘s
where he learned his manners. Jayme was…is…an ambitious man, and he learnt well at court.
Well enough, I suppose, to be appointed Brother-Leader.‖
Faraday was dismayed at the sacrilegious way Devera talked about the Brother-Leader.
―Devera, you must not speak ill of the Brother-Leader. The Brotherhood of the Seneschal elects
the Brother-Leader—the royal household has no influence at all.‖
Artor! but the girl had a lot to learn about the intrigues of both court and Seneschal,