Frays in the Weave

Build-up

Arthur showed little surprise at how fast the exhilarating mood deteriorated after the returning imperial officer held his speech. It had Ken more than a little worried though.

For all his arrogance and flamboyance Arthur was little more than a boy. He might think he knew the moods of men and women. Ken even admitted he was an expert student, but a student nonetheless.

Verd oozed with mistrust, and that was not normal. The general had arrived at the most opportune moment and his speech, for a layman, had been quite good, if a bit terse. It was its contents that had Ken thinking. Keen needed that trade. Even if the returning caravan represented only a trickle of that need it was still a resounding success beyond anyone's wildest dreams. Add what Arthur said was a massive increase in landing shuttles and Verd was receiving far, far more than a trickle.

People here should have noticed. General de Laiden's triumphant report should have been but the last of a long line of good news, and yet Verd seethed with unrest. Arthur didn't notice, or rather he did, but he amounted it all to the glum nature of those living here.

Ken mulled over that for a while. Arthur would, of course. If his visit here last year was his only reference. Ken knew for a fact how strangling the raids must have become. When bounty became sparse it had to mean there was little left to loot. He could well imagine the sulking stares Arthur had grown to take for granted.

For now Ken waited. He had found an almost static statue on Ming Hjil de Verd, climbed its head with the help of an expecting audience. He rewarded them with a mild Weave of memories from a happier visit here some sixty or so years ago. It didn't detract much from his attention and surrounded him with an island of satisfied people in a sea of anger.

He couldn't believe the council hadn't noticed it earlier. He had, for days, and today it was just about to blow. Tension rose to where he could taste fear, apprehension and anger. Surely someone in charge would notice it by now, and the very worst thing they could do was...

***

... of course what they did. Always trust uniformed stupidity to surprise you when you were certain a bad situation couldn't be handled any worse.

Arthur slammed the door behind him, used all the strength he had gained during long months on the road and forced his way into the tavern.

It was packed. No merry singing here. Scared children and their mothers. Idiots! Why don't you stay home instead of trailing a mob? "I apologize for my rudeness. Where can I find my way to the roof?"

He received a mute nod in the direction of a counter and slowly waded in that direction.

"No guests here!" the owner shouted. Late forties, probably had a few of her children working here as well.

Arthur took care not to step on anyone sitting on the floor. For a moment he hung precariously on one foot searching for a place to put the other down. "This guest will. I'm a taleweaver." He had to look stupid, and he wondered if he wasn't overusing his status. Apparently not.

A path to the counter cleared as if by magic and he crossed the room.

"Feed them!" he said when he reached the awestruck owner. He dug for a few coins, winced slightly when he noticed the yellow glimmer but slammed them down anyway. "This should cover all their needs." Had bloody better! Could probably buy me the entire tavern. Seven gold shields. Harbend will have my skin if he ever learns.