The Supreme Warrior *2014 ABNA Contest 2nd Round*

CHAPTER 18: Kaflaen's Banquet

EIGHTEEN: Kafláen’s Banquet

A Realm is a Construct of People and Resources with a Structure that allows it to act as One. By animating this Golem, Leaders learn to make Choices that nourish the People. With diligent care, this Creature can become the King’s most formidable servant; but once the Belief in Common Benefit falls into decay, he holds Nothing but string.

—Orlon 1:1 The Craft of Kings

Marcaner, Seneschal of the Prince’s Palace, was a harried man. With the Harvest Festival upon him, he still had not finished preparing for the banquet that night. The cooks were screaming that they had run out of flour. Meanwhile, an idiotic guardsman attempted to hold up Tomilian’s wagon as the miller made his usual delivery of grain. Luckily, Marcaner spotted the Miller outside his window and waved the guards aside.

The Seneschal’s problems were only just beginning. The half-witted servants had miscounted, causing them to set two places too few in the dining Hall. After ordering the scullions to correct the error, he noticed they also had not set the proper dinnerware at the high table.

Marcaner gasped in horror. He had commissioned a set of fine new porcelain wine cups, engraved with exquisite gold leaf, just for this occasion. The servants, of course, had failed to set them out. They never listened to him. Never.

The Seneschal himself rushed to the storeroom to retrieve the precious vessels. To obtain them, the he had to petition for a special allowance on his household budget. If the Prince did not see the new cups for their table, the Prime Minister might hang him for stealing. One never knew. Such things had happened before.

Marcaner set the new wine cups upon the high table, and then scurried out of the Great Hall. A juggler and a musician scheduled to entertain that evening had failed to report. The Seneschal ordered four pages to locate his wayward performers. Meanwhile, he would scramble to find potential replacements. There were still a thousand things to take care of, and only he could be trusted to do them properly. He never had enough time.

Outside, with all the confusion, no one noticed that the Miller had left three wagons parked in the crowded stable yard. Instead of leaving the way he came, Tomilian exited the Keep from the postern door.

                                                                 *    *    *

The Great Hall of the Prince’s Palace filled that evening to celebrate the Harvest Festival Banquet. The herald announced the Prime Minister, and then the members of the Privy Council—along with their consorts. Next came various Ministers from the Prince’s bureaucracy along with wealthy merchants who also held noble titles, followed by knights and their ladies. After a blare of trumpets, the Eight Lords of the Dryhtern made their entrance.

The assembled guests waited for the clock to strike eight.

The grind of huge metal gears drowned out the guests’ murmurs. The towering stained-glass doors at the South end of the Hall opened majestically, providing a view over the sparse lights in the City and the dark waters of Selinger Bay.

Once the wardens cast open their doors, the gargantuan warrior that loomed over the Prince’s throne slowly turned toward the opening. The metallic man bore an archive of ancient heraldry from Selinger’s Imperial past. He was clad in the armor of a foot soldier, each scale painted with the device of a different ancient House. The plaits of peasant Houses lined the bottom. The grazing animals of tradesmen filled the middle level. Meanwhile, the predators of noble Houses hunted from above. On his head, he wore the Dragon Helm of the Prince’s House. In his hands, he bore an enormous hammer shaped for War.