It was quiet in the room where Darion anticipated his soldiers. The commander had requested to be seated in the high tower to avoid curious ears and eyes. A thick stone floor beneath them and nothing but the sky above which made it impossible for the wrong person to pick up on their conversation. The commander observed the servant adjusting the light in the room, he moved his match from beacon to beacon steadily. Eight bronzen bird heads held eight wax candles. They only lit the room dimly, casting moving shadows on the tapestries in between them. Commander Darion’s eyes followed the shadows that crept over the pattern showing the myth of Dore Dore and Abiola. How fitting, he thought and turned around towards the only window in the room.
Not long after the servant and his matches slipped out of the room the guards started to trickle in. They all took their seats and Darions right hand, Indri , stood behind him. Last to arrive was Akzhane, who threw herself on the closest available chair.
“So you know why you are here?” Darion said the second Akzhanes body had hit her protesting chair. His voice rolling through the room dark and demanding, only slightly undercut by the creaking chair.
“A special assignment ” Rufus anwsered.
Darion nodded and slapped a paper onto the table. In the flickering light the lines on the paper seemed to get a life of their own and they looked even more grim and twisted then intended by the artist. Gleaming eyes in wooden masks and wild hair, stared up at the guards. Ashe was the first to respond. “You want us to hunt thóse?” he says, staring at the paper. “What are they?” Rufus asked, pointing his finger at the pamphlet. “Bakroes tricksters.” Darion explained.
“Tricksters with dark magic” Ashe throws in, but before he is able to spew out more facts Darion raised his hand to demand silence.
“They are wielders of magic, but it isn’t said their magic is potent at this point. It feeds on material sources. If the object they stole gave them the power they need we would have heard back from them already. Trust me. ”
“So what’d they steal?” Akzhane interrupted.
“A map that belongs to the Steward.”
Rufus pushed air through his teeth in a shrill whistle. “Say what you will, but these Bacrus have balls.” A soft snickering sound echoed through the room. “And we will have them by those balls in two days.” Darion replied. Not a hint of doubt in his voice. “The Bakroes were spotted in the countryside South of Alder. With our horses we will catch up on them in no time.”
_
By the time Akzhane left the Keep it was dark outside and lanterns spread their light over the square in front of the Mudfish gate. Even though it was late the taverns, street vendors and brothels were still attracting public. Darion had saddled Alzhane with the task of securing the horses, a task she happily delegated to the keep’s stable master. The window of time that gave her meant she could probably get an ale or two.
Her bag thrown over her shoulder, Akzhane headed straight for her favorite tavern, the pink Scallop. Focussed on the huge wooden shell above the door she bumped into a street vendor that was hunched over his ware, and who’s cloak unfortunately had the exact color as the pavement. “Watch where you are going!” He snapped. The man clutched a few brass trinkets he held onto as if they where his children. “For the life of the Goddess, guards or not, you have to keep your eyes and wits about you!” The man scolded when he noticed Akzhanes insigne. He used his one free hand to rearrange the hat he was wearing, and the other to press his brass children closer to his chest.
Akzhane wasn’t sure if it was the light but the way the hat slumped over his ears it looked like the merchant was wearing a brooding hen as a hat.
“I’m sorry.” Akzhane apologized. “I have a long journey ahead and all I can think of is my Alderian parting Ale.” Her eyes drifted back to the pink lining of the shell. The frown on the mans face disappeared to make place for a milder expression. “Of course, of course, nothing but respect for the work you do, defending us civilians.” More like defending the Stewards purse, Akzhane though to herself.
A cold weight was pushed into the palm of her hand. “Take one on your travels and may the Goddess guide you.” When Akhzane opened her hand there was a small icon of a woman holding a sphere and a heart. “Thank you.” She said, but the chicken had already clutched the rest of his ware and disappeared into the night.
