Aurelia splashed him in the face.
Ten minutes later, the servants returned while they were toweling off.
“Pardon the interruption,” said a chubby woman carrying a stack of clothes. “My Lord says with how long you’ve been traveling you might not have proper court clothes.”
Harruq grumbled as he sat on the bed, only a towel hiding his nakedness.
“I have to dress like a pansy noble?” he asked.
“Yes,” Aurelia said, taking an offered outfit.
“I guessed on the sizes,” the servant lady said. She looked to Harruq and frowned. “Though you’re a tad taller and a bit rounder in the arms than I thought.”
The other two servants accompanying her also held clothes in their arms. The chubby one searched through a pile, found something more akin to Harruq’s size, and laid it out on the bed. She then grabbed the remaining towels before all three hurried off, shutting the door behind them.
“Get dressed,” Aurelia said. “We’ve taken long enough. If we tarry, Lord Sully might take it as an insult.”
“Will he take it as an insult if I wear my old clothes and armor?” Harruq asked, holding up a finely woven shirt of white and blue.
“Of course,” Aurelia said. “You would attend a conference of peace dressed in the garb of war?”
Harruq rolled his eyes.
“Can’t we just go find some orcs and beat them senseless instead?” he asked.
Aurelia let her towel drop and held the dress to her chest. She leaned over and kissed him on the nose, then started sliding the soft purple fabric over her head. Harruq sighed but ceased his complaining. Aurelia’s dress was tight around the waist, but she adjusted it as best she could. The shoulders were frilled in a style she didn’t recognize, the bottom stitched to always appear wavy and in motion. It hugged her body tight, and Harruq shook his head at the sight of her.
“You were meant for this stuff, not I,” he said.
“You look dashing,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Let’s go see if Haern is ready.”
They’d brought Haern a similar outfit as Harruq, dark britches with long-sleeved shirts of white and blue. Haern, however, seemed far more comfortable in it. He’d combed his blond hair back and shaved his face. Harruq wondered if one of the servants had trusted him with a razor, or if he’d managed to smuggle in a dagger despite the guard’s request. Haern wore his gray cloak still, and he let it swoop about him as he bowed.
“Aren’t we the dashing three?” Haern asked, wearing a wry smile.
“Let’s not drag this out too long,” Aurelia said. “Enjoy your food, but make sure we discuss other matters as well. I don’t know how Lord Sully will react or what he knows. He’ll keep his information close to his chest, so watch your words.”
“Yes, milady,” Haern said, winking.
She snapped her fingers at him, the tips sparking with electricity.
“Off we go.”
When Lord Sully had said ‘feast’ he didn’t exaggerate. Harruq’s mouth dropped open at the sight. Baskets of bread dotted the tables, along with several filled with a red fruit Harruq didn’t recognize. Each of the four tables had a roasted boar, still hanging from the spit over elaborate plates of silver. Upon their entrance, the Lord raised a cup from his seat at the head of the largest table. A hundred soldiers sat nearby, their plates empty. As one they stood and turned toward the Eschaton.
“To our guests,” Lord Sully said.
“Honored!” the soldiers shouted, slamming a clenched fist against their breast. They sat as one. Lord Sully sipped from his cup, and then the feast began in earnest.
“Please, sit at my side,” he said, gesturing to empty seats at either side of him. “It will allow us to talk.”
Aurelia sat on his left. Harruq sat beside her, while Haern sat opposite the lord.
“You are too kind,” Aurelia said as servants darted about carrying plates, forks, knives, and food.
“Now is time for feasting, and therefore an end to all the formality,” Lord Sully said. “Please, call me Richard.”
For a little while they ate, Harruq thoroughly enjoying the many meats, breads, and seemingly unlimited amount of wine. After a third cup, Aurelia not so subtly reminded him to keep his head. Harruq muttered but obeyed.
“I must confess,” Richard said, sipping from his cup. He’d eaten very little of the meal set out before him. “We did not prepare such a feast solely for you. Today is a special day for us, a night of feasts for all my soldiers throughout the Hillock.”
“What might that be for?” Harruq asked. Aurelia winced at how he talked with food in his mouth.
“Tomorrow we ride to war,” Richard said. Harruq’s eyebrows shot up.
“Against who?” he asked.
“In the far southwest of the Hillock lives Sir Harford Kull,” said Richard. “He was a loyal knight once, and I rewarded him handsomely when he was betrothed to my daughter.”
Richard sighed and put down his cup.
“The matter is too personal,” he said. “I’m sorry. Sir Kull has gathered men and knights, fostering claims of brutality and murder to create war. Now he marches toward my castle. My patience has ended, and war he shall get. You come on an ill night, your elven grace.”
Aurelia pushed away her plate.
“This matter cannot wait,” she said. “Not if what you say is true. Richard… Lord Sully, what news have you heard of Veldaren?”
Some of the soldiers nearby heard her question and responded.
“Destroyed by winged men,” one said, laughing.
“Aye, red men with wolf pets and orc slaves,” said another. “I also heard a seven-headed dragon came out of the sea and swallowed the entire Mordan army.”
“This is no jest,” Aurelia said, her face flushing. “You must know Veldaren has been destroyed. You are not so far away as that.”
Richard crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.
“We’ve heard a few reports, though they are as conflicted as they are ridiculous. Wolf-men roaming the wilderness. Orcs pillaging within the city walls. A legion of undead marching like a proper army. Even worse, I had one merchant claim he saw red men with crimson wings flying among the stars. A poor excuse for abandoning your wares, wouldn’t you say?”
“They’re true,” Harruq said. “We were there.”
All around men laughed, then quieted by a single wave of Richard’s finger.
“You ask me to believe the unbelievable,” Richard said.
Harruq ignored the men.
“Karak stirred up the Vile Wedge and led an assault on Veldaren,” he said. “King Vaelor’s dead. Orcs will soon pour over the north unless you do something about it. Whoever this Sir Kull is, I doubt he’s as dangerous as my gray-skinned brethren.”
The silence that followed was deafening. After a moment, Lord Sully spoke.
“Your story sounds more like a bad dream than truth,” Richard said. “But it has been almost ten years since an envoy of the elves came to the Green Castle. I will not dismiss you so easily. What of the red men with wings? Can you explain that?”
“War demons of another world,” Haern said, chuckling as he said it. Harruq thought the assassin far too amused by their preposterous tale.
“Get these buffoons out of here,” an inebriated soldier called from far down the table. Richard glared but did not spot the offender. He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, looking directly at each member of the Eschaton in turn.
“My scouts along our northern border have reported orcs across the Bone Ditch,” he admitted. “Nothing major, not yet. They’ve crossed before and broke on the walls of Veldaren. Indeed, many were returning to the Vile Wedge, and I thought them defeated. Now you say they had victory. Will they come for us?”
“You must give up this silly fight with an errant Knight,” insisted Harruq. “We think the war demons will give chase after King Antonil and the rest of Veldaren’s survivors. The orcs will come for the Hillock, though. You need to
