Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 70

A festive air danced about the city as the ornate carriage winded its way through crowded streets. Banners swayed overhead, flecks of bright blues, reds and greens against a pearly white sky. Market stalls hung enchanted wind-chimes outside their shops which sang in its tinkles the coming of spring.

Alastair scoffed.

"Has the cold frozen the brains of these folk?" he said as he peered out of the carriage window, the winds whipping at his hood. "When's the Spring Fest supposed to be held?"

"In a fortnight from now. The announcement was quite loud enough. Thought you heard," said a sullen looking Marches from the opposite seat.

"It was a rhetorical question," Alastair grumbled but did not argue.

Beside him sat the king's personal physician, and Ryffin and Marches on the opposite.

The Royal Sorcerer was in a rather foul mood today. On one hand, Sergeant Linder--Draedona's Chosen One apparently, bless his gloomy abyss of a wardrobe-- was far too invested in chasing down the Royal Guards and Alfred in whatever devious plans they were up to, rather than train and practice his newly gained powers. Secondly, order had arrived from a council held up in the temple district that Spring Fest be held regardless of the weather conditions. The Royal Sorcerer's plea of keeping the city gates closed for this year had fallen on deaf ears. And on top of that--

"Is this gilded carriage the least conspicuous thing you could find, Ellanher?" said Ryffin from where he sat beside Marches, his annoyance thinly veiled. "Because announcing to the entire city that a carriage straight from the royal palace is headed toward the Henris Manor does not seem the best idea, if we are to keep this visit a secret from Alfred."

"Won't be a problem," said Alastair. "He's gone to the Isles for a meeting, from what I gathered."

"And yes," said Marches, "this is the cheapest carriage I could find that would be a bit easy on my poor back." He groaned as he tried to sit upright, and a series of pops and cracks sounded from his joints. "Gods, the cold is getting to me."

"You're like a cranky old man," said Ryffin with a good-natured laugh. "Though I suppose a lifetime of sitting at desks would do that to you."

But the Royal Sorcerer did not seem to find it humorous in the least, for he looked downright terrified. "Old?" He squinted at the carriage window, trying to catch a glimpse of his own reflection.

Other times, this would have entertained him, but now he felt but empty inside. Alastair looked away, placing his head against the cold glass as the city flashed by. A much plain looking carriage followed close by, with Eliora, Farren, Linder and Xenro, a golden-haired mercenary who had offered his aid, in case things went wrong. The Royal Sorcerer too had come along for the same purpose, but Alastair prayed that there won't be a need for unleashing either of their powers.

Everything was losing its color before his eyes. The paper banners overhead were a dull grey, the streets muddied with puddles from the melted snow, a great cloud hovering before the weak sun.

When the carriages came to a halt inside the gates of the Henris Manor, he dragged himself out without much in the way of introduction. Marches, who had found a single grey hair on the way, muttered something about his life being doomed and followed suit.

Others went inside except the Royal Sorcerer, who positioned himself by the front doors, magic at the ready in case of anything amiss.

The old servant answered the door like always. He smiled warmly as he stepped aside. "I see the young master has brought guests over. Shall I make arrangements for dinner?"