The advice of the ancestor spirits is like the wind. Abstract, yet they shape the mountains. Their wisdom may seem to be clouded, but their purpose is always clear.

  - The Book of Wise Tellings from the Land of Streams.

  As always with the rich and powerful, simple matters were seldom simple at all. The Hall of Repose, or so this room was called, greeted me with the gentle murmur of water cascading down the walls of blue-veined marble. Upon the circular table lay a feast fit for a king—a bounty of the land and sea, spread out like an artist's palette. Some dishes rested on beds of crushed ice, while others steamed in ornate pots, their aromas weaving about tantalizing scents.

  Lady Aelayah sat poised at the table, her captain of the guard, Farzan, just behind her. Beside her was a man I did not recognize—a scholarly sort, garbed much like the late Yousef. His replacement, I surmised. To my surprise, Larynda was also present, shifting uncomfortably amidst such opulence and high company.

  Across from them sat two men, distinct in their features yet alike in their posture and attire. The elder was a warrior past his prime, yet not so far gone that one would doubt his prowess in battle. Deep lines etched his face, and scars, a ledger of battles won and lost crisscrossed his weathered features. Yet he sat with the rigid posture of a younger man, his gaze sharp and unwavering as he measured me.

  His companion I nearly mistook for an attractive young girl—short midnight hair framed a face of porcelain perfection. Only the tightness of his full lips, set in a near-permanent sneer, marred the illusion. He gazed upon the world with a disdain that was almost palpable. But it was his eyes that held me—deep, smokey grey pools that hinted at secrets and a feral glint beneath their surface. Too beautiful for a man, those features seemed a waste. I caught a wistful gleam in Aelayah's eyes as she regarded him and found myself disliking him instantly.

  Like me, they had come to this dinner clad in armor, or rather, a formal rendition of it. They wore dark half-plate and boiled leather, the metal concentrated around their torsos and shoulders. On their right shoulders, epaulets crafted to resemble a dragon's wing gleamed under the hall's soft light. Their black breastplates were polished to a mirror shine.

  Unlike Larynda, they handled themselves with the ease and grace befitting those accustomed to high society. The girl was so embarrassing at times. Truly, she would be the death of me someday.

  “You will forgive us for starting without you,” Lady Aelayah offered in greeting with a polite smile.

  I took off my heavy helm, tucking it under one arm. Almost automatically I cast Identify on the pair in black armor before me, sparing a quick glance at the arming swords at their waist.

  The pair presented me with a puzzle. Calder, despite his ridiculous name, was an enigma. He had almost as much Mana as I did, yet I instinctively knew he was not versed in its song. Damien, on the other hand, had fearsome attributes. The bracketed numbers hinted at hidden power—yet I felt no real threat from him and was sure that, if I fancied, I could end his life as easily as anyone else's.

  “Gilgamesh, this is my new seneschal, Abbad. And these are the representatives from the Mercenaries. Wing Leaders...”

  “Calder Buttersworth and Damien de Savant,” I finished for her.

  “It seems my reputation flies swiftly before me,” remarked the younger Wing Leader, a genuine smile crossing his features.

  “You think much too highly of yourself. Gilgamesh here is just very well informed, as expected of a person of the court of the Salahaem,” corrected Calder curtly, giving a nod in my direction.

  I gave them my best impression of an enigmatic smile. “Just so.”

  Larynda, who had witnessed me pull off similar feats before, just gave me a blank look.

  “I hear you wish to challenge the decision of the Adventurer’s Guild—a bunch of undisciplined thugs,” commented Damien before biting into a delicate piece of fish.

  I had a feeling some of that insult was directed at me.

  “I would be delighted to take that up for you,” he offered smoothly. “I have issue with the Adventurer’s Guild. It would be both an honor and a pleasure.”

  Taken aback by his boldness, I sat in silence for a moment, shifting in my chair, which groaned under the weight of my armor.

  Finally, I managed a polite reply. “Thank you for the offer, but there’s already another who has decided to challenge the Adventurers Guild’s misguided decision on my behalf.”

  De Savant let out a light, somewhat bitter laugh. “The offer stands. It's an insult to be falsely accused of cowardice,” he said acidly, though I sensed those words were not entirely aimed at me.

  Calder stiffened in his seat but remained silent.

  “Well, now that introductions are made and you’ve been granted the peace of my roof, I’ll explain what I require of you,” Lady Aelayah interjected smoothly.

  “We still don’t know what the knife-ears is doing at this table,” the older man muttered.

  Anger flared inside me, and I clenched my fists.

  “That,” I said coldly, not moving a muscle, “would be my ward, old man. Insult her again, and I’ll gut you like a fish. In fact, I’m tempted to do so anyway… it might make for an amusing distraction.”

  Damien seemed on the verge of laughing, but Calder’s face twisted from fear to indignant rage. “I beg your pardon—”

  “Indeed, I insist that you do,” I interrupted, standing up. Calder’s hand drifted toward the sword at his waist.

  "Don't be a child, Buttersworth. This Gilgamesh fellow could probably kill you in a heartbeat if the men are to be believed. Just apologize, and let's get on with it," Damien admonished.

  I shot Calder a look full of hate, but his hand withdrew from his sword. "Is this old man of any use?" I asked Damien.

  "I suppose," Damien replied, idly picking at another piece of fish. "Some of the men respect him, listen to him. But it’s no skin off my back if you want to call him out here and now. You've got more than enough reason to do so..."