Daud Bashar rubbed his eyes with a heavy sigh as he sat back in his chair. He had volunteered to hold this year’s council meeting in Marath-Kel, and he was already regretting it. He watched as his servants flooded into the room, carrying silver trays piled high with a variety of expertly seasoned and roasted meats. As the servants placed food on the long table, other servants would frequently step forward from the curtains at the sides of the room to refill glasses with fine wines and expensive brandy. They seemed to dance around the room, providing food and drink to his guests, the other council members of the Delver’s Guild.

“Is something wrong, Bashar?” The man on his right asked him.

Daud looked at the large man next to him. “No, nothing is wrong, Herrman.” He said, then added in a low whisper, “Why would I have a problem with overgrown locusts eating me out of house and home?”

The man next to him let loose a loud laugh, drawing the disapproving looks of several of the other council members.

“You’re right. Why should it bother you? I remember the last time I hosted the council meeting. A certain man drank so much of my beer that he got lost on the way to his room and wound up in my bedroom with one of my servant girls.”

Daud choked on his wine, spitting some of it back into his goblet. “Who would that be?” He said with a mostly straight face.

Herrman let out a small chuckle. “I can’t quite remember. Maybe if I ease up on this fine brandy, it will come to me.”

“Nonsense. Servant, refill his glass.” Daud ordered with a mockingly serious face.

Maybe the council meetings weren’t a complete waste of time and money. Daud thought to himself as he watched the servant hurry forward to refill Herrman’s glass.

Herrman Martin was the council member in charge of Guild business in the Morova region, far to the North-East of Marath-Kell. The distance that separated their territories was as much a factor of their friendship as their personalities. He looks so odd without his furs. Daud thought. Usually his friend wore a heavy mantle of furs, but he had chosen to forego it for a simple green tunic embroidered with silver.

Daud looked out over the rest of the table. Seated at his table were ten other council members, along with their various advisors and sycophants, turning what could have been a relatively inexpensive meal for twelve into an extravagant party for forty-eight as several people flagrantly disregarded the instructions in their invitations that limited them to two extra guests.

“How is Valkirk doing?” Daud asked, turning back to Herrman.

“Talking about business already?” Herrman asked. “You must be desperate to get rid of us. We’re only on the second day of the meeting. Nobody’s even done anything embarrassing yet.”

“Yes, I know, but I’m eager to learn how the man I sent you is getting along.” Daud explained.

“Fair enough.” The man shrugged. “Valkirk is still poor. The Dungeon there is still useless and I still don’t understand why I’m spending money to keep a guildhall there. Enteno seems to be managing it well enough, though. I mean, the locals haven’t hung him yet. Well, they hadn’t by the time I left to come here, anyway.” He said with a light laugh.

Daud’s eyes went wide as he quickly shushed his friend and looked around. “Hey, what did I tell you about saying his name?” He asked.

“Easy, just relax.” Herrman said with a shrug. “Nobody is going to hear us. We’ve both got our men seated between us and the other council members. Besides, it’s not like most of them are sober enough to be listening, anyway.”

“This is true,” He said, holding up a finger, “but you never know when a servant has delusions above their station.”

“You don’t trust your servants?” Herrman asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I do, but only when I can see them. After all, these servants were much like my predecessor’s servants and I know how his position became vacant.”

“You are a frightening friend, Bashar. I would hate to have you as an enemy.” The large Northman commented idly, “What did your man do anyway, to make you so secretive about him. As good as your company and hospitality are, even they can barely convince me to make the trek down here and back, and Valkirk is another month of hard travel from Morova. I can’t imagine anyone in Marath-Kel would have the money to waste on petty vengeance at that distance. I mean, it’s not like your man moved against the Sultan.” Herrman quickly shut his mouth as realization washed over him. “Maybe we should talk about something else for a while.”

“Yes, maybe we should.” Daud agreed. “How are things back in Morova?”

“Well, the barley’s coming in nicely this year.”