The Emperor's Birthday was an event that would drive Guard Captains, Castellans, and Chefs to the brink of insanity. The pressure to entertain and guard not only the ruling noble of the empire but also a hundred other Barons, Counts, Dukes, Generals, and Heroes was a daunting task. This year, instead of forcing such pressure on one of the Ducal households, the Emperor was visiting all four, leaving in his wake exhausted staff and a long trail of dignitaries who were all trying to tag along with the official birthday party.

That pressure extended to Rastfian Earth-Master as he stressed over the shrinking levels of mana in the teleport stone he was managing for the Wolfsburg Guild of Mages. All week-long shipments had been arriving here from all over the empire. While only a few thousand people would be in the castle for the main event, the city would celebrate in every tavern, inn, and dance hall. Wolfsburg had a total of four teleport stones plus the stone in the Legion Barracks. While they were able to handle the traffic, they weren't able to supply the mana needed. And no one had any extra to lend.

The other ducal capitals were just as strapped, having already gone through their own festivals. Every junior mage had been squeezed dry, and while there was a line of citizens earning coins by donating, the average citizen rarely had more than 500 mana to give, and most had far less. The headache from draining your mana was painful, and no one wanted to start celebrating with the equivalent of a bad hangover. The line was filled with people who needed money and didn't care. The average was only a hundred mana per person. The money they paid wasn't a problem. The guild charged four times the normal rates this week and paid out twice as much as normal.

Rastfian was already stressed from his close brush with death earlier in the week. His emotions were ragged. The shame at almost having tried to kill a man vied with wounded pride, finding out he hadn't come close. The Butcher had suffered bruised ribs from a spell designed to shatter armor and break through walls! The other mages assumed he hadn't properly cast the spell, but he knew better. He'd gone for the kill against a dangerous opponent and not only failed but almost been sent to Hades himself. When the Butcher's hand squeezed his neck, he knew he was going to die. The man was a monster with fire and death dancing in his eyes. It was only by the authority of the Duchess that he still lived. And then he'd had to go to lunch with the man, sit next to him, apologize, and shake the hand that nearly strangled him!

And the sausage. He would never live that down. Rasty Sausageslayer, they were calling him now. A bard had heard the story and turned it into an epic drinking song. He and the Butcher were sung about in all the nearby taverns. Sausage and beer would always be a popular lunch, and now he would have to hear that song for the rest of his life.

He ceased his sad musings as a junior mage ran up to him with a report. "Sir, we have a special delivery coming. I thought you would want to know. It's from Rowan Keep."

Rastfian controlled his breathing. More damnable sausage and at the worst time, but he was under direct orders from the Duchess to prioritize the Butcher's shipments, and upsetting her wasn't an option. "Bring it through next, and warn everyone. If anyone so much as smiles crooked at the Butcher, they'll be on recharge duty for a month." Which, come to think of it, might be happening anyway. He walked over to meet the Butcher himself. A wagon of sausage appeared, similar in size to the one before but draped with decorations and a bright red and yellow awning. The Butcher was pulling it, but he had two other people with him.

The first was a bright red kobold who was standing in the wagon. She looked around excitedly, clapping, when she saw all of the people looking her way. The other person was a short man dressed in expensive black armor and a red tunic, the heraldry of the Baron of Gadobhra on his shoulder. He was smoking a cigar and joking with the Butcher, who pointed to Rastfian. Nobles arriving in the city were common today. Nobles arriving dressed for battle were not. The Baron strode straight toward the astonished senior mage and shook his hand.

"Hiya, Ozzy here says you and he are drinking buddies. Got to know each other this week. He also says you might have a problem with a lack of power. I thought I'd tag along with my Butcher and see for myself. Pretty tough situation, I bet. All these people are trying to get to your city, yet barriers are put in their way. I certainly know a lot about that. I've barely had a dozen travelers come visit in the last three months. Terrible when that happens." He paused and took a long pull on his cigar. "Of course, I just lose a few visitors; that's nothing compared to the shit you'll be dipped in if you run out of power to bring people to this party."

Rastfian's spine stiffened in outrage at the words. "If you've come to gloat..." Baron William interrupted him by putting an arm around his shoulder and steering him to a quieter part of the courtyard.

"Gloat? Well, sure, a little bit. But gloating doesn't help either of us, does it? And you really need some help. I've looked into this system. All the guilds in the various cities compete for power to run the teleporters, loaning power and charging for it, and charging interest. Beautiful, I love it! But I didn't come here to talk of my love of capitalism; I came to fix your problem."

Now Rastfian was confused. "My problem? And how do you propose to do that."

Billy smiled, and Rastfian was mesmerized by his pearly white teeth, a few of them pointed. "I think a half-million mana sent to you in the next couple of hours might help you out."

The mage sucked in his breath. Yes, that would get him out of this predicament. Even better, he'd look good when others ran out. "And what is the cost? I can't imagine this is based on my friendship with your Butcher."

Billy patted him on the back. "Good man, cut right to the chase. I like that. No, it certainly won't be free. I've got a large number of my subjects lined up to push mana into the stone at Rowan Keep and send it down to you. Half a million mana in the next two hours. After that, we have a little gentleman's agreement. This bullshit of extra fees disappears. Adventurers, merchants, my people, my aunt, my aunt's dog, and the horse my aunt's dog rides to town on: everyone travels for the normal cost. And if adventuring players are traveling, it's free, and I'll provide more mana to cover them. You do that for me, and I cover your ass today. Right here, right now. Think it over; I'll give you thirty seconds."

The Baron stepped away, smoked his cigar, and admired the pigeons on the walls. Rastfian's mind whirled. He was doomed if he took that deal; the politics of the guild could be sharp as a knife. But failing today, even though it wasn't his fault, was just as bad. No, actually, it was worse. Better to win today and fight tomorrow. And he had a small hunch, based on things the Duchess had said, that both of these men were in her favor. "You have a deal, Baron William."

Billy smiled. He'd never had a doubt which way things would roll. They shook, and Rastfian felt the binding effect of a geas. Billy winked at him. "Just a small way to guarantee we both follow through. I'm off to start the power flowing to you. Nice doing business with you. Come visit sometime. We can do lunch and tour the dungeons."

Rastfian watched as the Baron of Gadobhra walked back to the teleport stone and shouted, "Beam me up. I've got work to do." The Butcher waved to him as he pulled his colorfully decorated sausage cart out into the crowded street, headed for one of the many town squares where people were selling their wares. The kobold chef riding in the back was already heating her grill and frying peppers so hot the smell was clearing the street ahead of them and attracting customers who were following along behind. The Butcher started shouting in a loud, friendly voice.

"Sausages! Get your tasty Sedgewick Sausage right here, hot off the griddle. Have them plain or with onions and peppers hot enough to burn your britches off. Sausage! Get your hot Sausages!

Stavros saw the brightly covered wagon coming down the street and heard a man hawking his wares. He grumbled to his assistants, "Bad enough, we have to deal with those idiots from the Westside Deli, but now this guy is setting up shop? What is the guild up to? I paid good money for this spot!" The assistants made various noises of agreement. They'd been hearing his complaints all morning. The business was brisk, and they were selling meat and bread as fast as they could cut it, but it wasn't as good as it could be. Several other food carts were competing for business in this square. Normally, it was a perfect spot, with the Legion on one side and the barracks of the Red Banner on the other. Hungry soldiers made good customers, and tourists loved to look at the two fortresses and the statues in the center of the square.

To every merchant's annoyance, the new vendor didn't keep to the square's edge but parked his wagon in the center of the court, violating agreements between the various guilds and the soldiers on either side who were tired of arguments between them. As expected, a decurion of the Legion and three soldiers walked out to deal with this newcomer. Better yet, several of the Red Banner marched over as well. This fool would get fined twice and hopefully have his goods confiscated.

Things didn't go that way. The men from the Red Banner waved to the sausage vendor, who waved back, and then each ordered a hot sausage sandwich from the kobold. Flames erupted from the grill, and steam that burned the eyes floated around the square. None of the soldiers was bothered at all, but at the first bite of the sandwiches, they began fanning their mouths and calling for beer. They quickly retired to a table at the brew house and started drinking ale as quickly as possible. Stavros saw the Decurion talk to the Butcher, shake hands, and clap the man on his back. They all laughed about some joke. The Butcher handed each man a sausage on a stick and waved as they returned to their barracks. Lines of soldiers were coming out from both fortresses now and getting food from the grill.

The Butcher took a small banner stamped with the official seal of the Northern Duchy and hung it from the front of the awning:

The Butcher of Sedgewick.

Fine meats.

Licensed by decree of Duchess Claudia Greywolf

Vassily, the next-door brewer, stepped over to talk to Stavros. "Someone new in town. He's driving them to drink with that sausage. Maybe you should spice things up a bit. Maybe he'll give you some pointers." Stavros was too angry even to talk. Vassily walked away laughing, seeing his barmaids carrying out tankards of ale as fast as they could move. Business was going to be good today!