| Someone in a steep cap with a curled feather... 687 |
[Mar. 4th, 2010|03:14 am] |
Someone in a steep cap with a curled feather flung open the doors of the khav room, shouted for attention, and when he had it reported that the Tyrant's messenger had just been seen returning through the same eastern gate from which he had so lately sallied forthThat the messenger was riding at an appreciably greater speed than hitherto, and that, not three miles to his rear was the funerary procession of Duke Sandre d'Astibar being brought by his last request to lie a night and a day in state in the city he once had ruled
In The Paelion the reaction was immediate and predictable: men began shouting fiercely to be heard over the din they themselves were causingNoise and politics and the anticipated pleasures of the Festival made for a thirsty afternoonSo brisk was his trade that the excitable proprietor of The Paelion began inadvertently serving full measures of liqueur in the laced khavs being ordered in profusionHis wife, of more phlegmatic disposition, continued to short-measure all her patrons with benevolent lack of favoritism
"They'll be turned back!" young Adreano the poet cried, decisively banging down his mug and sloshing hot khav over the dark oak table of The Paelion's largest booth"Alberico will never allow it!" There were growls of assent from his friends and the hangers-on who always clustered about this particular table
Adreano stole a glance at the traveling musician who'd made the brash wager on Brandin of Ygrath and |
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