I was rudely awakened by a loud, relentless pounding on the door to the room where the troupe’s men were huddled in uneasy slumber. As my drowsy mind began to stir, the rhythmic pounding echoed like heavy fists against a drum, each reverberation sending a shockwave through my foggy thoughts, as if someone had taken my head and transformed it into a battered drum that was being mercilessly beaten.
The forceful knocking was soon accompanied by Eigosh’s booming voice reverberating down the hall: “You lot need to get up! We have a performance tonight at the palace. We need to be setting up this morning - this is going to make us rich!” His words, punctuated by his passionate, urgent tone, cut through the murmur of groggy protests. As he continued, his voice blended with the ambient sounds of creaking wood and distant murmurs of other early risers, but I found myself momentarily lost in a haze of exhaustion. In that brief lapse, Kluko’s interjection rang out like a calm command amid the chaos: “We heard you, hold your horses! We’ll be out in a minute.” The sound of his familiar, slightly amused tone mingled with the fading echoes of the pounding, and I felt a surge of relief as the relentless beat ceased.
My head sank back onto the pillow, and I intended to reclaim a few more moments of sleep, but a firm hand shook me, jolting me back to consciousness. As my bleary eyes reluctantly opened, I found myself rubbing away the residual sleep. The hand belonged to Xaset, whose handsome features were illuminated by the dim morning light, his vindictive smile playing upon his lips like a secret challenge. He withdrew gracefully, leaving me to groan under the weight of my rumpled blanket, squinting at the window where pale light seeped through the timeworn wooden shutters.
“Damn, what time is it?” I thought, as the soft clatter of the shutters and the distant cooing of early birds provided a subtle counterpoint to the chaos. The sun had yet to fully announce its arrival, casting only a faint glow that betrayed the early hour. Eigosh, typically one of the later risers in our ragtag group, was now pounding on our door with surprising urgency, as if time itself had become our enemy. Surely, I reasoned, it wouldn’t take all day to set up for a performance—even if it were at the palace. In our world, if pressed, we could transform even the simplest of tasks into an hour-long spectacle.
Why did this early morning call have to fall on such a day? This was the first time in weeks I had surrendered to sleep, overwhelmed by the rigorous nightly ‘training’ sessions. Last night, as though the floodgates of exhaustion had been unleashed, I had plunged into a deep, unyielding sleep, leaving behind the constant, relentless healing from countless battles. Now that the relentless onslaught of fighting had ceased, fatigue clung to me like a persistent shadow.
Then, amidst the residual haze, the booming message from Eigosh sliced through my thoughts again, hammering into my skull and intertwining with the threads of my secret plan. “That’s not possible,” I thought incredulously. “Surely we will not be performing for at least a few more days—I still have crucial aspects of the plan to put into place.” The conflict of ambition and duty stirred within me as the others in the room began to stir at Eigosh’s persistent demands. No one relished the thought of enduring his pounding on the door once more.
Kiko, ever the practical one even in the groggy early hours, called out, “Chrix, could you cast a cleaning spell on me? It looks like the boss is desperate to be heading out early. I bet he won’t be wanting us to spend time on such things as washing. He’s so desperate for the king’s gold that he doesn't know what’s good for him.” His voice, edged with both humor and resignation, filled the room. I nodded, my mind still fighting off the remnants of sleep, and carefully formed the intricate magical weaves in my hands. With deliberate, graceful movements, I released the spell’s shimmering energies onto him, enveloping him in a brief, sparkling glow. Not wanting anyone to be left behind in this sudden burst of magical cleanliness, I extended the same enchantment to all the men in the room, including myself. Now, at least we were freshly groomed for the day ahead—a small victory that allowed us to meet the boss's demands with a semblance of dignity.
After a few minutes of stumbling and groaning while gathering ourselves, we emerged from our room in a flurry of motion. As the old adage goes, you can only put trousers on one leg at a time—a truth we discovered in our clumsy haste. Meanwhile, the voices of the women in the adjacent room erupted in angry conversation, their door having endured a similar barrage of pounding. As we trooped toward the common room, the cacophony of early morning grievances mingled with the distant clatter of utensils and the soft murmur of other occupants.
At the inn’s door leading to the courtyard, Eigosh awaited us with a determined, almost contagious energy. With a broad gesture, he swung open the door, beckoning us to follow him into the crisp morning air. “We should be able to get some breakfast at the palace,” he declared, his tone filled with optimistic urgency.
“That ‘should’ had better be a ‘will,’” Tuallez remarked wearily, his tone dripping with the fatigue of early labor. The orcs in the group grunted in assent as they, too, had already gathered in the common room. Close to the smoldering hearth, where a few embers still clung to life, a lone figure swathed in a thick blanket muttered discontentedly about having to take the embers outside. It was yet another quirk of the shared sleeping arrangements, where one’s sleep was often disturbed by the restless antics of others. Despite the general murmur of discontent, we filed out into the lingering darkness of the early morning. I paused to inhale the cold, crisp air—a sensation that awakened my senses with its invigorating chill. Above, the sky still clung to the vestiges of night, stars twinkling faintly alongside the distant blush of dawn. My breath, visible as ephemeral vapor clouds, mingled with the chill as the sun’s warmth remained a promise yet to be fulfilled.
Under the excited direction of our boisterous leader, we were instructed to push and pull a creaking cart through the paved streets, shunning the horse-drawn alternative. The cart groaned and creaked over the uneven cobblestones, a discordant symphony that accompanied our reluctant march toward the palace. Eigosh, undeterred by the labor, filled the air with enthusiastic declarations: “Are you ready for the performance of a lifetime?” His voice echoed with fervor as if the very streets themselves were about to burst into song.
Yet, his exuberance met with silence from our troupe. None among us felt particularly ready or willing for anything beyond the basics of survival at that moment. As I trudged along, the cold, hard cobblestones pressed against my bare feet, each step a reminder of the biting chill that still gripped the awakening city. Around me, the early morning hustle of tradespeople began to stir. Roughly dressed porters hefted carts laden with goods, while market stalls sprang to life with the bustle of vendors and the vivid scents of fresh produce, earthy spices, and baked bread blending into a tapestry of urban life.
We traversed the city’s lifeblood—a dynamic interplay of early morning commerce and diligent preparation. Following the fervor of an overly excited Eigosh, we slowly advanced toward the outskirts of the city. After ten arduous minutes of hauling our creaking cart over uneven, time-worn cobblestones, we entered a wealthier district where the houses grew increasingly grandiose. Lavishly decorated estates, with intricately carved facades and meticulously maintained gardens, spoke of opulence and status. Dim lights flickered on in some of the stately homes, hinting at the early stirrings of the servants’ preparations; no self-respecting noble would start the day without such elaborate rituals.
The closer we drew to the palace, the more magnificent the surroundings became—a clear measure of proximity to power and wealth. We rounded a long, tree-lined boulevard just as the sun’s rays began to assert themselves, scattering glittering beams of yellow and white over the palace’s roof. Squinting in the early, muted light, I struggled to discern its structure. I had expected a formidable, castle-like fortress, yet I was surprised to see an elegant edifice: a sprawling mansion set against a backdrop of open space, protected only by a sleek cast iron fence and vigilant soldiers at its gates. It exuded a comfortable warmth, with expansive glass windows that invited the sun’s rays to flood the interiors.
With youthful exuberance, Eigosh practically ran across the empty, dew-sprinkled square, leaving the rest of us laboring behind, pulling the cart with weary determination. I watched him engage in animated conversation with one of the guards at the gate—a conversation punctuated by enthusiastic nods and brisk gestures. As the guard swung open the gate, his eyes momentarily meeting ours, Eigosh continued to speak with someone out of sight. For several minutes, we lingered in the subdued darkness of the palace square, our battered wooden cart standing in stark contrast to the grandeur around us. Dressed in our work clothes—an unintentional camouflage for a troupe of entertainers—we resembled a ragtag working party rather than the theatrical ensemble we were meant to be.
During those waiting moments, I drifted over to Eigosh, who shifted restlessly on his feet, his excitement barely contained in the early hour. He greeted me with an exuberant smile just as a fancily dressed man materialized at the palace gates. His attire was an ostentatious explosion of color and style—the gaudy suit clashed spectacularly with the serene, meticulously kept garden behind him, as if splashed on by a careless artist. With a tired yawn, Sharro leaned over and murmured, “Not the best sight to see this early in the morning. Luckily, I don’t have any breakfast in me as I might have just lost it.”
The gaudy man clapped his hands in delight upon seeing our troupe. In a high-pitched voice that seemed capable of rousing the dead, he proclaimed, “Good to see that you got my message to get here so early. Let me show you to the outdoor stage where you’ll be performing tonight. Then you can set up. It must go well tonight, as the king is entertaining a full assembly of the house of lords.” With a grand gesture, he signaled the guards to let us pass through the gates. We began to navigate the tree-lined pathway into the garden, where each step revealed a landscape meticulously maintained, every branch pruned into an exacting shape that, while beautiful, lacked the wild spontaneity of true nature.
Soon, we arrived at a rectangular garden area encircled by a neatly trimmed, gated hedgerow. In its center lay a shallow hollow, bordered by tall hedges that formed a natural amphitheater. At one end of this space, a wide wooden stage stood, its heavy curtains gently swaying in the breeze and whispering secrets as they rustled softly. Under the glow of hovering magical lamps, several men busied themselves setting up a low wooden platform—presumably the seating area for the awaiting audience. “Let me show you the stage, and you can start setting up,” the colorfully dressed man announced, his tone laced with both authority and excitement.
Following him along one side of the garden, we maneuvered our cart around a hedge, its wheels groaning in protest against the uneven terrain. The view behind the stage was obscured by further hedges, which served as a natural backdrop separating the front of the mansion from the backstage area. The entire garden and stage setup combined to create an impromptu theater that promised an evening of splendid performance—a marvel of organization that spoke volumes of the palace staff’s well-honed efficiency.
As we halted the cart, a man in practical work clothes approached us with an easy, measured greeting. “Hi. I’m Ceesib, the stage manager for His Majesty’s garden theater.” His voice was calm and professional, the perfect foil to the earlier chaos. Eigosh greeted him with a firm handshake, while the colorfully dressed man chimed in, “I’ll leave you all in his capable hands, but remember that you must be ready to perform just as the sun is setting.” With that, he nodded to Ceesib, who bowed deeply in response before disappearing into the backstage shadows.
The bright sunlight gradually warmed my chilled skin as I settled down for a much-needed break. It was mid-morning now; we had completed our preparations for that night’s show. The stage was set with every prop meticulously arranged, each item inspected by Eigosh not once but ten times over. Our team operated like a well-oiled machine—a rare moment of efficient artistry in our otherwise chaotic lives.
Ceesib later apologized for his boss’s unyielding early morning wake-up call. “He always does this. Every time the show’s important, he panics and gets the troupe to come at some unearthly hour, which always ends up with us sitting around waiting most of the day. All you traveling troupes always know what you are doing. It’s the locals who are unorganized.” He continued, his tone softening with a mix of admiration and exasperation, “But then, when you have to work for a king as demanding as His Majesty, you become overly nervous that everything is perfect. The boss will be here several times today to check on the preparation, so just keep busy—it calms his nerves. He really is a good boss when it comes down to it, but the pressure from the top can sometimes overwhelm anyone in the palace.”
Eigosh, never one to be deterred, flashed a confident smile and declared, “With what the nobles will be paying us, we can put up with one early morning.” Fortunately, breakfast had been provided—albeit later than we might have preferred—but at least it was of commendable quality. I sat there savoring a hearty pork pie when Xaset approached with that ever-present, mischievous smile. He had taken it upon himself to explore the sprawling palace and its secretive grounds, scouting out potential vulnerabilities for our planned heist.
Seating himself beside me, Xaset grabbed a piece of the pie, biting into it with a ravenous hunger that sent pastry crumbs cascading onto his lap, which he promptly scooped up and devoured with a satisfied chuckle. “So, what did you find?” I inquired, my tone a blend of curiosity and anxiety. He pointed vaguely to his full mouth, a silent command for me to wait. For several long, suspenseful minutes, I sat quietly, tapping my foot in impatient rhythm as I allowed him to finish off the pie. Finally, between bites, he murmured, “I’ve found the dammed sewerage entrance for the palace. It’s fortified with iron bars, but we can take care of them.”
“Any sign of the treasury, though?” I pressed, my voice low with urgency. “No such luck at the moment,” he admitted, his tone tinged with frustration. “I even broke into the main palace through one of the servants’ entrances. I was able to explore for a while, but there’s no sign of anything resembling a treasury. It’s a vast place, and I didn’t manage to comb every corridor. We’ll have to stick with the original plan and obtain the location from the king's treasurer.”
Glancing around at the rest of the group, I sighed, “We’ll need to consult the others soon and get their help. Tonight’s performance has thrown my plans into disarray, so if the worst comes to the worst, I suppose we’ll have to improvise.” Xaset’s smile deepened as he replied cheerily, “Just the way I like it, then!” I countered, a note of determination in my voice, “Good for you, but I want this to go well. A lot is hanging on the success of this job.”
The remainder of the day passed in a subdued, almost reverent silence as we rehearsed our acts for the king and his assembly of lords. The only moment of levity came when the king’s visibly nervous entertainment manager made his rounds to check on our progress. Ceesib, ever the consummate professional, led him on a guided tour of the fully prepared stage, repeatedly highlighting the intricate details and careful setup. Each tour seemed to soothe the man’s frayed nerves, though he couldn’t resist returning several times over the afternoon. His repetitive visits, each as meticulous as the last, underscored the pressure that came with serving a king whose demands were as lofty as his wealth. I couldn’t help but think that the king must be an exceptionally exacting man if even his entertainment manager was on the brink of panic.
--
It was an hour before sunset, and the garden theater was starting to fill up with its elegantly dressed audience. The fading light painted the sky with streaks of orange and purple, and the air was heavy with the mingling scents of blooming roses and freshly trimmed grass. This was truly looking like a gala event as it seemed that all the guests had come wearing their best clothing and glittering jewelry that caught the light like tiny stars. I had positioned myself to see the front of the house by hiding behind the lush, dew-speckled hedge that blocked off the backstage area. Nestled in its shadow, I had an excellent view of the incoming crowd and the final, frantic preparations that crackled in the cool evening air.
All of the planks had been meticulously laid out for the seating area, their worn wooden surfaces reflecting hints of past grand celebrations. Now it was filled with chairs that had been placed in neat, deliberate rows. The chairs spoke of the king's wealth as they were all well-made with bright red felt coverings that seemed almost to glow against the encroaching twilight. For the hundreds of chairs alone, it seemed that the countless hours of masterful craftwork needed to produce them would have been excessively expensive. I wondered how much expense the rest of the garden had incurred, with its elegantly carved statues and gold-plated plinths that shone with an almost otherworldly luster under the dimming sky.
Halfway to the back of the seated area was a small platform where a few chairs and tables were laid out, which I presumed was set up for the king and his party. The platform was arranged with sumptuous drapes of golden material hanging off the side, swaying slightly in the gentle breeze. It looked as if some grand emperor was about to inhabit his imperial box at the coliseum, with the opulence of every fold and seam whispering promises of untold power and grandeur.
Nobody was on the platform at that moment, but the garden was filling up with a chattering crowd whose excited voices wove together into a vibrant tapestry of sound. As I surveyed the new arrivals, I noticed with interest that there were mainly two kinds of guests. The first were men and women dressed in overly colorful, gaudy clothing, their garments a riot of clashing hues that practically vibrated with energy. These guests, with their youthful faces animated by gleeful chatter, were happily engaging in animated conversation among themselves, pointedly ignoring the other, more staid crowd entering the theater.
The other group of guests was not happily chatting away. They all wore somber expressions as if they had just eaten something sour, a lingering taste of discontent in every line of their faces. From the looks of them, my guess was that they were the nobles of the kingdom. I could practically smell the rich, heady aroma of power and old money on them—a potent blend of expensive perfumes and the unmistakable tang of aged leather and polished wood. Their wealth was as apparent as the fine-cut and expensive material that made up their elegant robes. The resources required to produce such quality clothing spoke of a long and storied history within the kingdom's elite classes.
The men were all carrying weapons but had no armor protecting them. They wore smart, tailored suits that fitted them like a second skin, a stark contrast to the ill-fitting, mismatched attire of the king's cronies. All of their suits were in dark, conservative colors that stood in direct opposition to the flamboyant vibrancy of the other group. The gowns on the women were spectacular, adorned with intricate golden and silver accessories that sparkled as if forged by the very light of the setting sun, making a bold statement against the backdrop of the gaudy-clad women of the other party.
I could see some envious looks flickering in the eyes of the colorful women as they cast furtive glances at their counterparts, their eyes catching every glimmer of jewelry that shone in the last rays of the sun. I guessed that deep down, they knew how ridiculous they looked in comparison, and many would have killed for the expensive accessories draped about the more elegant group.
There was no mixing between the two groups. As they entered, they moved with deliberate precision to sit in isolated clusters, each group seeking comfort and familiarity in their own company as they filled up the hall like two contrasting currents in a grand river.
I heard some rustling beside me, and Sharro’s head appeared over my shoulder, her eyes sparkling with mischief and excitement.
“I’ve come to spy on what’s going on out front. Why should you be the only one to have some fun? Wow, look at all those women and the wealth on display. I’d like to get my hand on some of those accessories,” she said excitedly, her voice lilting like the chime of delicate crystal.
“Me too,” I said innocently, a slight smile tugging at my lips.
She looked at me flatly for a moment, as if weighing my words against the cool night air. “Oh, very funny, but seriously – there’s a lot of money around those beautiful necks, just up for grabs. Let’s hope that there’s some significant drinking tonight before we circulate for tips. I’m sure I can pick up a few shiny items for my own collection.” Her tone shifted, laced with a conspiratorial urgency that spoke of past escapades and unspoken promises.
Then, with a sudden seriousness that cut through the revelry like a sharp blade, she leaned in closer. “Remember to stay close to me tonight, as we don’t want a repeat of the last time,” she said as if this had been on her mind all day—a subtle reminder of past misadventures hidden beneath the gaiety.
“I’ve learned my lesson, don’t worry,” I replied with a half-smile, my words floating into the cool evening air.
Her moment of vulnerability passed as quickly as it had come, and together we watched as the magical lights shot up into the air. They were cast by several magicians who served the king, their robes flowing and faces alight with concentration. I could spot them immediately by the distinctive crown embroidered on the right breast of their livery. As they performed their mesmerizing magic, the air filled with the crackle of energy and the soft hum of incantations. I tried to discern the nature of the spells they were using, but their movements were too quick, as fleeting as sparks from a firework. The raising of the magical lights illuminated the outdoor theater, signaling the deluge of guests streaming through the ornate gates nestled within the outer hedges. The chairs quickly filled up as people shuffled in, the soft rustle of fabric and murmurs of anticipation mingling with the ambient sounds of the evening. The colorful members of the crowd continued their animated chatter, their voices buoyed by excitement and the promise of a night filled with spectacle.
The only empty seating in the whole theater was atop the lavish platform reserved for the king and his party. At length, several trumpet players came marching out from one of the side entrances. Standing at rigid attention, they blasted out a resounding fanfare that silenced every conversation instantly. As if caught in a collective spell, everybody rose from their seats as a grand procession began to enter the garden. The king emerged first, all by himself—a young man whose presence was as striking as the vibrant, tight-fitting suit he wore that accentuated his slender frame. I was considerably impressed with how the suit clung perfectly to him, as though crafted by magic to highlight his every line and curve.
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“I guess we know who the trend-setter is for the crowd here,” Sharro giggled, her tone light yet edged with admiration. “Strangely for him, it actually works.”
“But not for anybody else,” I replied with a wry smile, the comment hanging in the air like a mischievous secret.
“Such is the way when you emulate people,” Sharro remarked, her eyes twinkling with a mix of sarcasm and genuine awe.
Behind the king strode the Earl of Chadwick, his gait dignified yet carrying an undercurrent of tension, with his daughter poised gracefully on his arm. She was dressed in a spectacular gown of deep, dark blue with golden trimming that accentuated her natural beauty, each fold of fabric whispering of royal elegance. Her long blond hair cascaded in luxurious curls down one side of her delicate neck, catching the light with every subtle movement.
“It's amazing what money can do for you,” Sharro commented, her voice tinged with envy as she watched the interplay of wealth and beauty before her.
I just grunted noncommittally, choosing to remain silent and reserved in the face of such bold display. I certainly didn’t want to express my opinion too openly to the woman beside me. The daughter of the earl looked truly radiant at that moment, and even though Sharro’s envy was palpable, it was hard not to admire her beauty as well. From what I could tell, the king obviously found her equally captivating, as he kept glancing over his shoulder with open expressions of desire and longing.
Behind the earl and his daughter, a cluster of several more women in elegant dresses—each with a bold splash of color—moved quietly among themselves. Their hushed conversations were punctuated by furtive, dagger-like glances aimed at the noble lady in front of them, their eyes flickering with a mix of admiration and simmering rivalry.
“Who are they?” I asked, surprised at the sight. They were unescorted by any men, a deviation from the norm where noble processions were typically flanked by their husbands. The absence of male guardians created a subtle inconsistency, one that the atmosphere of the evening only deepened with its air of scandal and intrigue.
Sharro laughed softly, a sound like tinkling bells in the twilight. “The king spent some time in the kingdoms to the west and brought back some rather scandalous customs. Those ladies are the start of his... how do I say this? His collection.”
“Collection of what?” I asked, my curiosity piqued and my voice a mixture of intrigue and mild reproach.
She fixed me with a flat stare, as though I were intentionally being oblivious. “Oh,” I said slowly, a dawning understanding in my tone. “I think I understand.”
“It certainly is scandalous in the court, and I think the earl is here to put a stop to it,” she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper amid the murmur of the crowd.
“Oh - how?” I pressed, eager for details.
“By marrying off his daughter to the king. The nobles are all worried about a legitimate heir to the throne. They also want to rein in some of his excessive spendings. There’s a lot going on tonight in the world of court politics. My guess is we’re not going to be the only entertainment,” she said with a sly smirk, her eyes glinting as if reflecting secret plots.
By now, the king and his party were seating themselves on the platform draped in golden cloth that shimmered under the glow of the magical lights. One of the women in the king's entourage sat very close to him, her body angled in a way that hinted at intimate closeness as she pressed the exposed side of her body against him, whispering softly into his ear. The king responded with a warm laugh, then bestowed a gentle kiss upon her cheek—a gesture that drew a delicate blush to Jessika’s face and provoked a flash of anger from the earl. I wondered curiously what had been said that could have upset them so, but from their reactions, it was clear that the words exchanged were far from trivial.
“Time for me to go,” said Sharro, her voice a mixture of excitement and urgency. “Good luck with your part of the show. Be seeing you afterward for the collection.”
I nodded, my gaze fixed on the ever-changing tableau of the crowd as the magical lights all moved toward the stage, heralding the start of the performance. I heard the curtain rise, and Eigosh began his introduction with a commanding presence. He was in top form, his voice booming through the theater as the crowd—and even the king—reacted with hearty laughter and applause. There was a hint of theatrical exaggeration in his performance, as if he were both the narrator and the star, a person who reveled in being the center of attention.
Then it was time for the grand opening act of the night’s show. In my opinion, Eigosh had been bright to put the best on first—Tuallez and Sharro, with their extraordinary yet dangerously exhilarating performance. Instead of fixating solely on their act, I found myself captivated by the crowd's reactions. Looking out into the garden, I could see faces lit up with wonder and excitement as Sharro moved in a sensual, almost hypnotic manner across the stage. Gasps rippled through the audience as knives were thrown with a precision that narrowly missed the acrobats’ agile bodies. Halfway through the act, I shifted my focus to the king’s face. His expression was a blend of lust and rapt attention as he watched the stage, his eyes dark with desire—a sight that stirred unease in me. This concerned me further when I noticed the subtle frowns on the faces of the noblewomen around him; it was as if they, too, sensed the dangerous undercurrents of competition that swirled around the trim acrobats. Their discontent was palpable, a silent tension woven into the very fabric of the performance.
The earl, meanwhile, appeared increasingly uncomfortable, his eyes darting anxiously as he whispered urgently into his daughter’s ear. She wore a fixed smile, a mask of stoic bravery concealing the storm of emotions beneath as she sat beside the king.
I guess it’s not going according to his plans, I thought. Maybe he has not properly thought through the idea of marrying off his daughter to a man like this. If I had a daughter, I would want them nowhere near this king.
At the end of the acrobatic act, the king stood up and applauded loudly. The women in his party joined him, clapping with restrained enthusiasm, though their sour expressions betrayed their inner displeasure.
The rest of the night unfolded in a series of performances that captivated the majority of the crowd. Yet I could not help but notice that most of the nobles, despite their finely crafted masks of composure, were too preoccupied with watching the king on the stage to fully enjoy the spectacle. Their reactions were difficult to gauge, but one thing was clear—their discontent simmered beneath the surface.
Finally, it was my turn to perform my mentalism act for the king’s court. As I ambled onto the stage through a swirling cloud of red stage smoke—a haze rich with the acrid scent of burning incense and the faint tang of magic—I heard whispers from several in the crowd about my height. The smoke had been produced by a magical device provided by the king’s stage manager, an intricate contraption that hissed softly and added an air of mystique to the performance. Along with a few other carefully orchestrated effects, it was designed to enhance my act for tonight’s sophisticated audience.
Eigosh had given me a grand introduction, so it was now up to me to live up to his promise. After a mystical, vague introduction that left the audience shrouded in curiosity and wonder, I declared, “I need ten people from the audience to be controlled by my magical power of mind control. They will need to be people of great power and wealth if they want to resist my hold.” My voice resonated through the charged silence of the theater as I scanned the crowd, searching for the type of participant whose eyes would gleam with the thrill of challenge.
I looked closely at several individuals who had reacted, deliberately ignoring the nobles, as my interest lay solely with one of the king's men.
“They need to have a wealth of a kingdom under their control,” I intoned in a voice that dripped with mysticism and conviction. This earned a slight, approving reaction from a large man sitting close to the front, his eyes widening ever so slightly.
I then pointed out several people in the crowd who all gleefully made their way up to the stage—most of them women from the gaudy group, their laughter light and unburdened, while the stolid nobles appeared too reserved to partake in such frivolity. The last person to approach was the very man who had caught my attention earlier. In that moment, I suspected he might be the kingdom’s treasurer.
With deliberate flourish, I pulled out a pendulum that shimmered with hidden light and began the performance. The volunteers fixed their gaze on its glittering surface, their eyes reflecting the pendulum’s hypnotic dance. My show proceeded as usual—until the moment came when I had hypnotized them all and commanded them to perform the usual trick of making a fool of themselves. The king, ever the enthusiast, roared with laughter, shouting suggestions that sent the volunteers into a frenzy of comic missteps. Some of his suggestions were met with uproarious laughter, while others, too immature or even rude, provoked gasps from the nobles. I merely smiled, my face betraying no hint of the internal struggle between maintaining my act and defusing the tension that rippled among the audience.
For the final act of the show, I instructed all ten volunteers to draw pictures of their secret love, a whimsical exercise intended to reveal hidden truths to the assembled crowd. Standing beside the treasurer, I leaned in and whispered, “Your secret love is the money in the treasury. You will draw a map to its location.” A slow smile crept over his features as he began sketching on his paper, a sentiment echoed by the other participants. When it came time to collect the drawings and display them to the audience, I secretly swapped the map for a simple picture of the woman he had been seen with during the show. I could only hope it was his wife, for the delight that played across her face suggested that, if not, she soon would be.
At the end of the show, the king rose to give me a standing ovation, reminiscent of his earlier applause for the opening act. When I bowed in return, he gestured for the crowd to be seated and then turned his attention to the Earl of Chadwick with a condescending smile. “We are most grateful that you brought this delightful show to our court, and of course, your delightful daughter for us to see. You have our ear, as I think that you have a request to make to the throne,” he finished graciously, his tone as polished as his speech, as if he were performing for his own private audience.
A heavy silence fell over the garden until it was broken by the sound of chairs scraping the floor—the slow, deliberate movement of the Earl of Chadwick and his daughter as they stood with solemn expressions and turned toward the king of the realm. The king’s benevolent smile remained fixed on his face, as though he were eagerly awaiting some monumental announcement. From my vantage point on the stage, I could see the nobles fidgeting slightly, their body language defensive and tense as if bracing themselves for an inevitable confrontation between the two formidable powers of the kingdom.
“You are so gracious, Your Majesty, to thank us so,” said the earl, his voice resonant and clear as he stepped forward. “I not only stand before you as a lone noble but in this endeavor, I represent the full might and unity of the house of lords of this fair kingdom.”
“Do you, now?” asked the king with a tone that bordered on boredom, as if the subject were a tedious obligation rather than a matter of state. “And what does my house of nobles want of me now?” His voice dripped with mockery, and I could almost taste the bitterness of his disdain.
I could sense the anger radiating from the nobles in the crowd at the dismissive way the king spoke of them. Several of the lords and ladies nearly stood up, only to be restrained by gentle but firm hands from their peers.
“We are concerned for the kingdom and the royal line, Your Majesty,” declared the earl in a firm, projecting voice that carried across the hushed theater. A chorus of “hear, hear” echoed from the assembled nobles, their unified cry a stark contrast to the dismissive sneer on the king’s face, which quickly morphed from measured boredom to simmering anger. His frown deepened, a mirror of the discontent radiating from the women behind him—each frown telling a story of personal stakes and hidden grievances.
“What, pray to tell, do you want me to do about it?” the king asked mockingly, his words dripping with sarcasm as if the matter were as trivial as a child's squabble.
“We are demanding that you lower the taxation of the kingdom,” the earl proclaimed loudly, his voice booming through the garden. “Your building project for this city is disrupting and weakening the kingdom. The lavish constructions are wasteful and unnecessary. It would be best to divert the funds toward defending the realm—or to leave it in the hands of the lords.”
He continued, his tone rising with urgency, “The southern part of the realm is under threat by orcs. We know that the orc empress is lamenting your breaking of the oath made to them. In retaliation, they are raiding lands to claim the money promised to them by the kingdom. You must redirect funds to honor that obligation.” I waited, my heart pounding in anticipation, to see if the earl would mention the looming threat from beyond the wall, but nothing more came. Had they forgotten the danger, or was the lure of wealth so blinding that the impending peril was willingly ignored?
The king’s face reddened in reaction to the threat from the lords, a flush that spread like wildfire over his features and startled the watching crowd. His display of emotion was shocking, and even his cronies exchanged uneasy glances as the confrontation escalated.
With a forceful slam of his hand onto the table, he roared, “I will have my splendid city! My short-sighted forefathers squandered all their efforts on the wall and nothing for the city itself. You short-sighted fools! Future generations will look back on my building with wonder and bless my name. Surely it is only a short period of pain for you to bear. The orcs do not trouble us here; they only pilfer from a few feeble towns and estates.”
The king’s outburst sent shockwaves through the garden. Members of the house of lords leapt to their feet, their anger simmering as the earl, now the voice of all, bellowed above them, “We will not bear the crushing weight of these taxes, for they will destroy the kingdom!” His words were met with a thunderous cheer from the assembled nobles, though the rest of the court jeered in dissent.
The king seemed to draw strength from his supporters and quickly shifted the subject, a smile playing upon his lips as if the earlier anger were but a passing storm. “You mentioned concern for the royal line, as well. I seem to be doing quite well in that respect,” he said, turning to look at the woman behind him with a knowing smirk.
The earl blushed, a deep, reddened hue that betrayed his discomfort. “We demand that you put aside your scandalous pleasures and take a wife, as is proper for a ruler of our kingdom. We are not accustomed to the excesses of the western kingdoms. It is simply not proper.”
The king laughed, his mirth mingling with a hint of defiance, while the women behind him appeared visibly anxious at the prospect of a proposal that might strip them of their favored positions. “My dear earl, do you perhaps have somebody in mind for me to marry?”
“My daughter is most willing to fulfill her duty to the crown and the kingdom,” he declared, his voice heavy with pride and resignation.
Jessika maintained her fixed smile, though I could see the flicker of unhappiness behind her composed facade.
“Well, she is most beautiful, but marriage is not for me,” said the king with a light, almost teasing smile.
Then, with a roar that reverberated through the hall, he shouted, “And I will have my city if I have to squeeze every copper penny out of you!” This proclamation sent the assembled lords into a frenzy of shouting and discontent, their voices rising in an uproar directed squarely at the king.
The king, ever in control, glanced to the side and nodded to one of the guards at the edge of the theater. Just as the earl was about to speak again, the rhythmic beating of drums suddenly filled the air. Along with most of the others, I pressed my hands against my ears as the pounding sound continued—a sound not emanating from a jovial band but from the powerful war drums of an approaching army. The deep, resonant beats reverberated through the garden, shaking the very ground beneath us, as if each thump echoed the pulse of impending conflict. Then, the harsh clatter of iron-clad shoes on gravel broke through the tumult, heralding the arrival of a formidable force.
Looking around in surprise, I saw many of the nobles drawing their weapons, their movements hurried yet precise. Amidst the clamor, the scraping of steel as swords were unsheathed went almost unnoticed beneath the deafening drumbeat. A vengeful smile spread across the king’s face as one of the women from his “collection” placed her hand possessively on his shoulder, casting a possessive glance at the earl’s daughter, as if to claim her in a silent, unspoken duel of affections.
Before anyone could react further, columns of iron-clad soldiers emerged from every entrance to the garden theater. The sight of these warriors marching in unison—a phalanx of dwarven might—drew a collective gasp from the assembled nobility. These were clearly not the king’s regular troops; judging by their stout, muscular builds and the intricate craftsmanship of their heavy armor, they were dwarves. From head to toe, they were clad in thick, imposing metal armor, their heavy helmets and long, braided beards lending them an aura of ancient, indomitable power. Each warrior wielded a massive ax or sword, the weapons thumping rhythmically against their robust shields as they advanced in perfect time with the cacophony of footsteps.
“This king is not one for just the theater,” I mused, a note of admiration in my voice as I recognized his shrewd use of both spectacle and might. “He knows the politics of power as well.”
Amid the turmoil, one of the nobles bellowed, “To me!” and, as if in a sudden, unified decision, nearly all the nobles in the garden—except for the earl on the platform near the king—formed a tight circular formation, swords drawn and faces etched with steely determination. They turned outward, their eyes blazing with resolve. Over the clamor, I distinctly heard a sharp cry of, “Traitor to the kingdom!” aimed directly at the king, who, in contrast, wore an untroubled smile as he regarded the dwarven army now encircling the theater.
The earl, his protective instincts flaring, pushed his daughter behind him and was just about to draw his sword when one of the king’s magicians cast a spell of immobility. From a magical perspective, I was thoroughly impressed—the spell was executed with a precision that far surpassed any I had witnessed. However, its effect was catastrophic for the earl, as thousands of glowing red lines erupted around him and his daughter, freezing them in mid-motion. The earl’s hand was caught in the act of drawing his sword, and his daughter’s face was locked in an expression of fierce anger and defiant sorrow, a silent testament to the peril of the moment.
As if following a silent, ominous command, the dwarven warriors slammed their shields against the ground. The resulting grating noise, as the sharp edges dug into the gravel, reverberated through the theater. The non-noble guests screamed in terror, yet the circle of nobles remained unnervingly still.
The king raised his hand for quiet and, with theatrical ease, announced, “Don’t worry, my loyal citizens. These fine gentlemen are my construction workers. All they are here to do is show their support to their employer.” His tone was light, but the underlying threat in his words sent a shiver through the gathered crowd.
The king continued with an unsettling smile, “They will need paying for tonight's services, though. May I suggest that the ladies and men of the noble families make some form of contribution to the cause of building a greater city?” His suggestion drew a cheer from the dwarven warriors, their clanging armor echoing in approval, while the shocked gasp of the nobles filled the air with a palpable tension.
“You wouldn’t dare!” shouted one noble, rallying his fellows into a tight circle.
“I would,” said the king coolly. “The precious items that adorn you and your noblewomen will be used to pay for my city. You can either leave without them, or we’ll take them off your cold, dead bodies. It’s your choice. I must admit that I would prefer the latter option, but I’ve been told that I need to be a merciful man.” His smile was disturbingly pleasant, a veneer of civility masking the harsh ultimatum.
The nobles’ reactions were electrifying—faces contorted with fury as they beheld the stoic dwarven warriors standing in silent, unyielding formation. One particularly anxious man at the center gulped as he weighed his options before nodding, seemingly resigned to the inevitable. Trapped by a massive armed force and surrounded on all sides, their defiance crumbled like brittle parchment.
Amid the dwarven warriors’ steady, relentless presence, I watched as the nobles began to remove their expensive jewelry and valuables with grim determination. Their anger was as visible as the jeweled items clutched in their hands, and, one by one, they moved forward and deposited their treasures into a large, empty chest carried by several grinning dwarves. Though the scene was executed with ruthless precision, I couldn’t help but wonder if I might somehow get hold of the chest’s contents myself.
As this unsettling robbery continued, several of the king’s cronies advanced. They roughly searched the nobles to ensure that every piece of valuable had been taken, and in the ensuing chaos, several skirmishes broke out. The dwarven warriors watched with wry amusement as some of the searchers took liberties with the noblewomen. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the women defending themselves fiercely, their graceful yet potent resistance causing a few of the king’s men to stumble and even suffer a broken bone or two.
Amid this chaos, the rest of the performers returned to the stage to witness the unfolding drama, with the notable exception of the two women who had been singled out earlier.
“I bet we won’t be getting paid for this performance,” muttered Eigosh sadly, his voice heavy with regret, “and there certainly won’t be a tip collection tonight, dammit.”
“Are the women safe?” I asked, a note of genuine concern threading through my words.
“Yes, they're hiding under the stage. I thought it best to keep them out of the line of sight and mind of that king,” he replied grimly. “He was looking at Sharro with too much desire for her own good. If I had known this would happen, I would never have come.”
Now the nobles were slowly being escorted out of the garden, forced to trudge through a narrow corridor flanked by dwarven warriors with their shields held high. A young man in colorful clothes, clearly marking him as one of the king’s men, strode up to us on the stage.
“You lot are to leave with the nobles,” he commanded haughtily. “Take nothing, as we want you out of here now.” His tone brooked no argument.
Eigosh’s face reddened with anger at the young man’s arrogant instructions, but he could do nothing as the man continued, “Unless you want to deal with the dwarven warriors?”
Shaking his head in resigned exasperation, Eigosh leaned in and whispered urgently to me, “Get the girls and for goodness’ sake, put a coat on them to try and disguise them.” I nodded, feeling the weight of the moment as both Eigosh and the other men leapt down in front of the stage to offer cover while I slipped behind. I quickly grabbed two thick cloaks—once used by the orcs for their strongman act—from the wardrobe area backstage. With the cloaks clutched in my hands, I made my way to the small, hidden door at the bottom of the stage.
“Sharro, Tuallez, we’re being forced to leave,” I whispered urgently. “I need you to disguise yourselves in these cloaks.”
Sharro stepped forward and muttered, “Not the best disguise, is it? But I guess it’s the best we can do. Let’s just hope it works, as I’m getting some seriously nasty vibes from that king.”
They hurriedly donned the heavy cloaks, their movements frantic yet determined. Within seconds, the whole troupe gathered at the back of the line of nobles exiting the theater. Unfortunately for us, our makeshift costumes made us stick out like sore thumbs amidst the elegantly attired nobility.
The king, still perched on the platform, observed the proceedings with a satisfied smile. I noticed that the earl and his daughter had vanished from the stand—likely whisked away by palace soldiers, their fate a mystery hidden in the chaotic shuffle. Beside the king, one of the women from his entourage repeatedly rubbed his shoulder and whispered in his ear with giggles that floated like mischief on the wind. When she noticed us shuffling forward among the nobles, she leaned in to whisper to him again. The king smirked, turned, and bestowed a loud, affectionate kiss on her, then produced a gold coin from a hidden pocket in his suit. He placed it into her outstretched hand with a flourish, and in a blink, the coin vanished as if swallowed by the magic of the night.
The king then signaled for his guards, his smile still unwavering as he pointed at us and barked further instructions. At that moment, my heart sank.
“Looks like I’m not going to make it out of here,” said Sharro angrily. “You lot had better come and help me get out of this mess.”
“We absolutely will,” I promised her, determination lacing my tone.
“Make sure Tuallez gets out,” she added urgently. “I'm going to make a scene now to distract them.”
With a dramatic flourish, she cast off her cloak and danced out of the line. She dashed back toward the stage, and the last I saw of her, she was crawling beneath one of the lowest beams while the king laughed heartily as his guards chased after her.
“Remember not to hurt her!” the king shouted, then in a quieter, almost bemused tone added, “What a night of entertainment this has turned out to be.”
I didn’t see the conclusion of the chase as we were swept out of the garden. It was a quick and mostly silent march to the palace’s exit, where we were shoved into a bustling square with the remaining nobles. The line of dwarven warriors had shifted, forming a formidable wall at the front of the palace grounds, a barrier that cut off any return to the garden.
In the center of the square, the nobles congregated into a tight group, their faces flushed with outrage and determination. They whispered fiercely, their glances darting toward the palace as if plotting a rebellion. After a few tense minutes of furtive conversation and exchanged glances, they suddenly split apart and headed in different directions, as if launching a covert offensive.
“That does not look good,” said Xaset excitedly, his tone crackling with the thrill of impending conflict. “I bet they’re off to gather all of their men. This square’s going to become a battleground in a few hours, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Time to push forward my plan,” I said quietly, steeling myself. “It's tonight or never.”
