grey whiskers as a serving maid poured him a large measure of brandy. He swirled the amber liquid, watching the rich dance inside the many faceted crystal chamber. “The man’s a buffoon. And just because he’s President of the Guild, and Lord through marriage, I’ll have you note, as opposed to direct bloodline, we have to endure his terminal self-congratulatory speech; and I use the term ‘ speech ’ in its broadest possible sense. I don’t know about you, gentlemen, but personally I’d rather stick my own head up my own backside. Or even, and this ably illustrates my despair, up his backside!”
They broke into laughter, but they caught the chatter at the next round table and faces soon soured.
“Pepper, what have you heard about these new tax increases? Do you think there’s any meat to it?” Rokroth took a hefty gulp of brandy, dribbling just a few drops down his rich gold waistcoat.
“Not from the King himself, but the rumour mill is hard at work. If the gossip is to be believed, we are due another hefty tax hike, not just on imports, which affects us all, but on the bloody sales! And only six months after the previous inflation. It’s said Yoon wishes to extend his bloody Moon Tower by another thirty levels and we, we have to pay for the folly!”
“A disgrace.”
“Ridiculous.”
“A bloody outrage is what it is.”
They chatted about the changes in King Yoon’s tax policies for the next ten minutes, then talk turned to the King himself.
Rokroth lowered his voice, and looked around in an almost conspiratorial manner. “Some say his outfits have become more and more garish, and more and more expensive. He has started wearing thick make-up like the players who walk the Vagandrak stage, and that he giggles at random moments like some child embarrassed about a puddle on the kitchen floor.”
“There have definitely been changes to his character during this past year,” said Pepper, his face growing serious. “Not only does he seem obsessed with the building of this tower, what was it called again? The Tower of the Moon? He has a thousand men working round the clock, which must be costing our Kingdom a pretty penny. But worse, you remember last winter, the army was cut back?”
“By forty thousand men,” said Rokroth, grimly. “Now, we have barely enough to patrol our borders with Zakora and the Plague Lands.”
“Yoon claims they can be called up in an instant, if needed; yet Desekra Fortress is manned by a skeletal force, less than ten thousand, and the navy lies hobbled far north at the Crystal Sea. Why use so many war triremes if there are no experienced crews?”
Great Dale was nodding. “It is a drastic cost-cutting tactic, I’d wager.”
“But why? To build this damn tower? I tell you, the man is obsessed. But it cannot just be for that. Forty thousand men stood down! I swear by all the gods, if King Tarek were alive to see the mess Yoon is making of his realm.” He sighed. “I miss the old bastard. He was a hard man, but fair.”
Rokroth nodded. “And spinning in his ancestral tomb, no doubt, at the effeminate, gold-pissing popinjay into which his son has metamorphosed. Serving girl! More brandy! Over here, girl!”
“I swear, people are getting nervous on the streets. There is less laughter. People walk on, with hurried gait, heads down, not wishing to offend. And have you noticed the King’s Guard?”
“I doubt it, he travels in a gilt-laden carriage!” laughed Great Dale, and they laughed alongside him.
“No man, but seriously,” persisted Pepper. “There are more guards.”
“You’re imagining it, man, surely?”
“I tell you, I am not!” and he slammed down his glass so that brandy slopped over the rim.
There came a sudden disturbance at the entrance to the hall, accompanied by raised voices. There was a shine of armour and a man marched forward, King’s Guard, with a short black plume denoting captain. He strode down the central carpet, and behind
They broke into laughter, but they caught the chatter at the next round table and faces soon soured.
“Pepper, what have you heard about these new tax increases? Do you think there’s any meat to it?” Rokroth took a hefty gulp of brandy, dribbling just a few drops down his rich gold waistcoat.
“Not from the King himself, but the rumour mill is hard at work. If the gossip is to be believed, we are due another hefty tax hike, not just on imports, which affects us all, but on the bloody sales! And only six months after the previous inflation. It’s said Yoon wishes to extend his bloody Moon Tower by another thirty levels and we, we have to pay for the folly!”
“A disgrace.”
“Ridiculous.”
“A bloody outrage is what it is.”
They chatted about the changes in King Yoon’s tax policies for the next ten minutes, then talk turned to the King himself.
Rokroth lowered his voice, and looked around in an almost conspiratorial manner. “Some say his outfits have become more and more garish, and more and more expensive. He has started wearing thick make-up like the players who walk the Vagandrak stage, and that he giggles at random moments like some child embarrassed about a puddle on the kitchen floor.”
“There have definitely been changes to his character during this past year,” said Pepper, his face growing serious. “Not only does he seem obsessed with the building of this tower, what was it called again? The Tower of the Moon? He has a thousand men working round the clock, which must be costing our Kingdom a pretty penny. But worse, you remember last winter, the army was cut back?”
“By forty thousand men,” said Rokroth, grimly. “Now, we have barely enough to patrol our borders with Zakora and the Plague Lands.”
“Yoon claims they can be called up in an instant, if needed; yet Desekra Fortress is manned by a skeletal force, less than ten thousand, and the navy lies hobbled far north at the Crystal Sea. Why use so many war triremes if there are no experienced crews?”
Great Dale was nodding. “It is a drastic cost-cutting tactic, I’d wager.”
“But why? To build this damn tower? I tell you, the man is obsessed. But it cannot just be for that. Forty thousand men stood down! I swear by all the gods, if King Tarek were alive to see the mess Yoon is making of his realm.” He sighed. “I miss the old bastard. He was a hard man, but fair.”
Rokroth nodded. “And spinning in his ancestral tomb, no doubt, at the effeminate, gold-pissing popinjay into which his son has metamorphosed. Serving girl! More brandy! Over here, girl!”
“I swear, people are getting nervous on the streets. There is less laughter. People walk on, with hurried gait, heads down, not wishing to offend. And have you noticed the King’s Guard?”
“I doubt it, he travels in a gilt-laden carriage!” laughed Great Dale, and they laughed alongside him.
“No man, but seriously,” persisted Pepper. “There are more guards.”
“You’re imagining it, man, surely?”
“I tell you, I am not!” and he slammed down his glass so that brandy slopped over the rim.
There came a sudden disturbance at the entrance to the hall, accompanied by raised voices. There was a shine of armour and a man marched forward, King’s Guard, with a short black plume denoting captain. He strode down the central carpet, and behind
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