Bannick leaned back on his chair and burped loudly. ‘Now this is the life, Pylos!’
He bit a chunk out of the leg of roast meat in his hand and washed it down with a draft of ale. The two warriors had wasted no time in getting down to the tavern on the 51st landing as soon as the Assembly had finished. It was a lively space, frequented by a wide range of people: off-duty guards of the tower, visiting diplomats, merchants looking for naïve buyers. The tavern specialised in Nessan wines and Tuirrenian ales but it was the huge Scorian barga turning on a spit in the centre of the courtyard that Bannick most enjoyed. He and Pylos had taken a table near the landing’s edge where the view was magnificent. The first stars were beginning to show in the sky and far below, the flowerfall glowed in the fields.
The open-air tavern, Smithy's Bar, was run by a man whose name was not Smithy. It was said that just as many deals were made in the courtyard of Smithy’s Bar as were made in the Cloud Chamber high above. Tavern games were always in progress at any given hour, many of them involving weapons of some description.
The other thing that brought clientele to the tavern was its collection of barmaids. Smithy’s had gained a reputation for employing some of the sassiest, most beautiful women ever engaged in the fine art of placing jugs of beer on tables. It was no surprise that many soldiers and lonely politicians found their way here, but Pylos was surprised to notice the patrons at a table to his right: Maeldune, his wife Jehenna and the fat bureaucrat Porenutious Windle sat in a booth carved into the tower’s walls. Maeldune and Windle leant close to one another, deep in conversation, discussing something political no doubt. Jehenna was not involved in the discussion; she seemed content to gaze at the traffic of people who were wining and dining on the tower’s terrace.
In a dark corner near the entrance to the bar, the two Pryderi Lara Brand and Arinna Brine huddled over a complimentary bowl of bread that was sitting on the table when they arrived at the bar. The pair spoke in whispers, unsuccessfully trying to avoid attention. Despite Cessair’s cosmopolitan reputation, it had been many years since the people of the tower had seen a Moraen.
A waitress brought over the order Arinna Brine had made almost an hour before. She placed two tankards down on the table in a rough fashion, spilling half the drink over the table. She gave the two Pryderi a haughty look and made her way back to the bar.
‘Clearly we have a long way to go before we are accepted into the wider community,’ Arinna observed, wanting to hurl a simple incantation at the barmaid.
‘What’s this?’ Lara said curiously, touching the foamy head of her drink with trepidation, oblivious to the barmaid’s rude behaviour.
‘It’s beer.’
‘Beer?’ echoed Lara, her voice wrapping itself around the word like a child picking up a newly-discovered toy.
Arinna gave a short laugh. ‘Yes, beer. Try it.’
Lara sniffed it, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
‘I’m a bit scared!’ she giggled.
Arinna laughed. ‘Here you are, about to go on a mission that will probably kill you and you’re scared of some beer.’
‘Oh, I’m scared of the mission too,’ she admitted as she pulled her head up after tentatively sniffing the ale, unaware of the dob of white froth sitting on the tip of her nose.
Arinna noticed the froth but decided it would be fun not to bring it to Lara’s attention. ‘Go on, try it,’ she urged. ‘Everyone else is.’
Lara quickly scanned the bar. Arinna was right. The beer flowed like the Wort River. She saw other patrons take long swigs of the tankards they held, wiping their mouths afterwards and exhaling triumphantly as if they had just done something heroic.
Lara lifted the tankard to her mouth smiling nervously. She slurped the drink and held the ale inside her mouth, unwilling to swallow until her taste buds accepted the arrangement.
They rejected it unequivocally. White spray erupted from her mouth and shot into the back of Maeldune Canna’s head.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Lara gasped, her face a picture of shame.
Maeldune Canna slowly pulled a pristine white handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at the ale dripping down his long, oily locks. ‘Miss Brand, I would suggest to you that if you are to imbibe liquids in public, you might like to choose refreshments more to your liking.’
A roar of testosterone-laden laughter exploded from a table on the other side of the bar. Gunther Ross and a group of border guards from Ganesa had sat down to a game of friggu shock. The game was very popular in Brigantia, Gunther’s home town, as well as in some of Cessair’s less-reputable establishments. A bowl was brought out from the tavern’s kitchen and placed on the centre of the table. The men pulled their chairs closer to the table and surveyed the contents of the dish. Gunther called out to a barmaid, a stunning-looking Kompiran wearing a dress that would shame her parents, to bring another round of ales.
The bowl in the centre of the table contained friggu, an amphibious creature found all over the Myr. The game was simple. Each player took turns to take a grilled friggu out of the bowl where they lay basting in a green liquid. The friggu was placed in the mouth and eaten. Friggu were considered a delicacy on the western continent but very few people had the nerve to eat them. Male and female friggu could not be told apart even on the closest inspection. However, there was one significant difference: when the male friggu was eaten, an explosion of incomparable flavour consumed the devourer. It was impossible to bite into a male and not close one’s eyes in gastronomic delight. The female was a different kettle of friggu altogether. The only thing that burst forth from the female was an electrostatic shock that threw most individuals to a paroxysm of incredible pain.
The Kompiran waitress put the tankards on the Tethrans’ table. They were so absorbed in their game, they ignored her. But Bannick noticed her…
‘I think I’m in love.’
Pylos smiled and shook his head. ‘Do you ever think of anything else?’
‘It doesn’t require much thinking,’ Bannick retorted.
Pylos didn’t bother with pursuing the topic. He cut a slice of barga and dipped it in a bowl of carpu sauce on the table. Bannick was still staring at the barmaid. She had left the Tethrans and was taking an order from Porenutious Windle.
‘So what do you make of all this, Bannick?’ Pylos asked.
Bannick swung back to face the Helyan. ‘About what?’
‘About the Assembly. The Ghul. The Cabal. The mission.’
Bannick’s face changed. The flippancy that characterised his manner was dropped. ‘To be honest, it all concerns me.’
Pylos slurped his beer, wiped the froth from his upper lip and asked, ‘How so?’
‘I don’t think we’re up to it. I don’t mean you and me – I mean the Myr. The Helyans, the Sessymirians and the Arnakki will cope. We have kept our blades sharp, but how will the other countries repel such an enemy?’
Pylos shrugged. ‘I don’t know Bannick. I’m still a little stunned by the squads. What’s the Chamberlain thinking? I’ve got a Spriggan, a fisherman and a priest on my team.’
‘You mean Maeldune’s team!’ Bannick laughed. ‘Anyway, you think that’s bad. I’ve got a novice witch and a Mabbit whose only unique skill is the ability to hop! We should be sending soldiers, but instead we’re sending misfits. And why? For a gesture. A nod to Myrran unity. It’s insane. Strip away the politics. Look at it from a soldier’s eyes. We cannot hope to defeat the enemy this way.’
‘Why didn’t you say something in the Assembly?’
‘Excuse me gentlemen?’
They looked up. The Kompiran waitress was standing by the table, an angel in a cheap, low-cut dress. ‘Can I get you anything?’
Bannick’s sobriety vanished instantly and a wry grin broke across his face. ‘Well that depends, darling. What are you offering?’
She was not shocked by his cheek; this sort of dialogue was standard at Smithy’s and the barmaids were instructed to encourage it. She leant forward placing her hands on the table. Her cleavage leaned out at Bannick and her black hair brushed across his hands. ‘Just what’s on the menu… although I’m sure a little extra can be arranged for the famous Bannick Landen.’
Pylos threw his arms up in disgust. ‘Oh please. I think I’m going to be sick. Just get us some beer please.’
The Kompiran smiled and flirtatiously laid a hand on Bannick’s shoulder as she moved to walk away. ‘Right away, sir. Two ales.’ She swirled and Bannick’s gaze fell to her legs. ‘The great Bannick Landen,’ he murmured to himself.
Pylos groaned. ‘Bannick, they’re paid to do that. Anyway, she said famous, not great.’
‘There’s a difference?’ Bannick smirked, delighted by his friend’s irritation.
Another roar broke out from the Tethrans’ table. Bannick and Pylos looked over as Gunther plucked a friggu from the bowl. The two men before him had both chosen well and were licking their palates savouring every moment. Gunther, on the other hand, was on a losing streak and two times out of two had picked a female. He held the friggu out in front of his face, speaking words too difficult for the Helyans to hear across the space. He popped the morsel into his mouth, bit down hard, and toppled off his seat as the electric shock coursed through his veins.
Pylos and Bannick broke out into applause over the Tethran’s misfortune. Pylos looked over at Jehenna . She was smiling as she watched Gunther shaking uncontrollably on the floor.
‘The guy’s an idiot,’ Bannick stated bluntly.
‘What were we saying?’
‘You were asking why I didn’t challenge the Chancellor’s plan.’
‘And?’
‘I just couldn’t. I think I’ve done enough to the old man. It’s been five years since I bedded his wife and there would be no point in me voicing my opposition to –’
Pylos burst into peals of mirth. ‘I’m sorry Bannick. I just can’t believe you use the phrase bedded his wife just now. Who talks like that?’
‘Well, I suppose I do. I don’t what to describe what I did in unsavoury terms,’ he grinned.
‘Whatever happened to his wife?’
‘Rumours are that he had her abducted by Kompiran assassins and put to death on the Isle of Antaeus.’
‘Really? I heard she was sleep-walking one night and fell to her death.’
‘Perhaps she just threw herself over the edge when she realised how low she had sunk when she climbed into your bed.’
‘Or perhaps it was the knowledge that once she had been with me, she knew nothing else would ever come close and she killed herself in a fit of despair.’
Pylos laughed as Bannick leaned back on his chair and clasped his hands behind his head in smug satisfaction. The Helyan gazed up at the living quarters towards the top of the tower and then looked down to the darkening ground almost 3,000 feet below. ‘It would be a horrible way to go,’ he mused.
‘What? Falling to your death?’ Bannick smirked. ‘I can think of worse ways to die.’
‘I’m not so sure. A fall like that would last forever. It’s not like battle, where you have a fighting chance.’
‘Your drinks gentlemen.’
The Kompiran brazenly stared at Bannick and said, ‘I finish in half an hour, if you want to see what else is on the menu…’ She walked off.
‘Well, Pylos, it’s good to be back here. I always miss Cessair.’
A small shatterbug crawled onto the table. Tiny gossamer wings of blue grey shimmered in the orange glow emanating from the creature’s jewel-like abdomen. Pylos could hear the timpani of the creature’s eight legs clicking on the table. Despite the bugs’ mysterious heritage, almost everyone on the Myr saw them as a blessing, a beautiful adornment of the natural world.
Bannick brought his fist down hard on the shatterbug and splattered it on the oakaen table. Sticky, viscous goo held his hand to the table.
‘Can’t stand bugs!’ grunted Bannick as he peeled his hand from the table with some difficulty. ‘My daughter has one of these for a pet and it’s always –’
Pylos was not listening. He was watching Maeldune exiting the booth he was sitting in. ‘What does she see in him?’ he asked earnestly. ‘She’s one of their greatest fighters and he’s such a… bureaucrat.’ The word left a bad taste in his mouth.
Bannick downed the last of his drink and swung around to see Jehenna’s long legs sweep out of the booth. ‘You know Pylos, for a while there I thought you didn’t like women.’ His speech was slurred. Pylos noticed that his friend’s elbow was sitting in a bowl of carpu sauce.
Maeldune nodded farewell to Windle who scurried up the outer stairs. The Acoran turned and strode across the courtyard with the officious confidence that came from years of political power.
‘Oh no, he’s coming over,’ groaned Pylos.
Jehenna stayed by the booth, aloof and proud.
Bannick smiled insincerely at the Maeldune. ‘Minister, you’re not going to tell us to get an early night are you? You know, big day ahead tomorrow and all that.’
Maeldune ignored the Arnakki’s mocking tone. ‘Oh quite the contrary, Bannick. I’d just like to wish you both well on our mission. This is important work we do.’
The drink had rushed to Bannick’s head and he felt no need to mince words with the man standing before him, embracing fraternity where there was none. ‘Maeldune, I may never see you again after this night, so let me speak clearly…’
‘Sir, at this point in time, I do not think you possess the faculties to achieve that end.’
Bannick shook his head and turned to Pylos: ‘What did he say? Did this thin piece of political…’
But Pylos' attention was elsewhere. Jehenna’s gaze was on the glowing embers under the roasting barga and he was afforded the opportunity to look at her without her knowledge. Physically she was flawless but it was her bearing and not her beauty that had so ensnared him. Her poise and dignity were as potent as any perfume from Khepera. She held herself defiantly, like the finest Helyan women. There was nothing submissive about her and yet Pylos believed he had discerned in her a gentleness that she would never willingly show in public. For many years he had watched her from afar. Her mannerisms, speech and disposition seemed as familiar to him as anyone he knew. And yet, he had never found himself in conversation with her outside the Cloud Chamber.
‘Excuse me, General,’ Maeldune fleered, ‘but when you’re done staring at my wife, I believe your companion has a question for you.’
But Bannick’s question had vanished and in its place a drunken fit of laughter. ‘When you’re done staring at my wife!’ he howled with joy, slapping Pylos across the shoulder.
Fortunately for Pylos, the ridicule was short-lived.
Out of the corner of his bloodshot eyes Bannick noticed the Kompiran barmaid standing by the steps, smiling, waiting patiently for him. ‘Gentlemen,’ he proclaimed. ‘I would love to stay and chat, but we’re up early in the morning, so I think it’s best I head off to bed.’ He stood to go and tripped over his own feet. Maeldune did not hide the disgust he felt for the Myr’s greatest hero, but Pylos jumped from his seat and extended a hand to his fallen comrade.
‘Ah Pylos,’ Bannick slurred as he placed his hands around Pylos’ neck. ‘Always there to catch me when I fall. My good friend, I’ll see you next summer. A steady hand and strong shield, General: good fortunes on the field.’
Pylos smiled, touched by Bannick’s use of the Helyan soldiers’ blessing, and amused by the Arnakki’s attempts to walk a straight line towards the barmaid. He had never seen his friend get drunk so quickly, but thought little more of it as he sat down and stared out across the moonlit lands below.
Bannick was vaguely aware of people staring at him, but he could not focus upon any of them, nor did he care to. All he could see was the curvaceous movements of the barmaid as she made her way down the stairs and into the passageway leading to her room.
Bannick was no stranger to intoxication but he had never before felt so sluggish. His limbs felt like dead weights. The flirtatious laughter had subsided and all noise had become distant and abstract.
She opened the door. All was dark inside the room. Bannick could feel his blood pushing its way through his veins, slow and laboured. The barmaid let go of him to shut the door and he fell to the floor, his arms too heavy to brace his fall. His face smashed into the marble floor and a spout of blood burst from his nose as it broke.
Bannick’s mind was churning. He now realised he had been drugged, but by whom and why? He had never met the barmaid before this night. He summoned up his strength and tried to lift himself off the floor but could not even raise his head.
His vision had blurred considerably but he could make out the barmaid’s silhouette against the open window to his left. Moonlight lit up a patch of floor by the window, but the rest of the room was little more than a black shape.
‘Oh Bannick darling, come and sit by me! The view is so splendid from the window.’
Bannick could not even open his mouth to voice his anger. Suddenly two pairs of hands floated out of the darkness. He was dragged over to the window ledge where the barmaid sat and propped up next to her like a stringless marionette. The barmaid’s hands played with his hair and she nuzzled into him as if they were lovers.
‘How appropriate!’ came a voice from the dark. ‘The Myr’s greatest warrior and womaniser, brought down by a barmaid.’
Bannick could see the boots of the individuals who had carried him to the sill, he could see the barmaid’s hand gently stroking his leg and he could make out a blotchy patch of blood that had dripped from his nose onto the floor. A purple gown was then lit by the moonlight streaming in through the window as Porenutious Windle stepped forward.
‘Windle?’ Bannick tried to say but the word was nothing more than a monosyllabic grunt.
‘Well met, Consul,’ Windle said as he lifted Bannick’s head by the chin. ‘In a few moments, Akemi here is going to take her arm from around your shoulder. Your head will fall back followed by your shoulders. Your heartbeat will increase dramatically, defying the drug that has slowed it down. Your gaze will sweep from sky to earth as you tumble through the air, commencing a 3,000 foot drop to the base of the tower. Your flight will conclude with the sound of your body breaking upon the flagstones below.’
Bannick’s eyes widened as he felt the Kompiran’s arm slide from his shoulder.