The Age of Undeath

9. Vicious mockery - Jimothy

Despite being lumbered with a hunk of wood that didn't respond to his magic half as well as the bagpipes, Jim felt a spring in his step. He had not seen any of Arcatera's nobility in months but still he practiced in his mind exactly how he would regale them with stories of tonight. I came to the Captain's rescue with insults that cut deep enough to leave them speechless and aghast. Of course, the words were meaningless without harmful intent, the magic of melodies and rhythm given new purpose in his hands. But his deeds were irrelevant. A good bard knew to sing of others, not himself, and nothing would top the absolute absurdity of this self-important woman claiming to be Princess Stariel.

Admittedly, she was a jaw-dropping beauty he couldn't help inventing couplets for, just to capture the exquisite curve of her lips against his own—to taste them by word alone was magic—but a delusional beauty all the same. The Elvish Royals had been slaughtered over one hundred years ago when the Empire conquered the region, swiftly after their last remaining so-called god was executed. Jim sighed, admiring the curve of Stariel's waist. What a pity this divine being made mortal was insane.

"Will you shut up about the window!" Stariel snapped, her glare directed at the wall.

"I didn't say anything..." replied the tall one—the gladiator, or whatever she was.

Jim sighed again. Sweet though her beauty and sweeter her choir; Her delusions were thicker than hooligan fire. No, too many syllables, but mmm what a metaphor. Thick as the bonfire smog she condoned? Yes, he had to keep that somehow...

They passed guards and distressed citizens in a blur, Jim's mind preoccupied with poetry. It was almost a shock when the Captain halted their party and ducked into the meagre courtyard of one of the many townhouses lining Sunny Point Boulevard. The Guard House stood down the end of the street, walled in like a fortress, the building within pressed close against the mountainous slopes that cut off all of Tucapon from the Northern Wilds. They had, in fact, passed Jim's apartments and he could testify that the security and decency in this district was a mere illusion.

The group began muttering observations and tactics for getting past the mob that crowded the open main gate to the Guard House. Jim heard none their strategising, totally consumed by the urge to demand who was investigating the robbery of his entire fortune, and when would the thief be caught? He should have stayed at Duval Manor and sweet-talked his way into the kitchens. In all the distress, he was certain no one would have minded if he'd taken home some of the excess food that was now, no doubt, drying out and going cold as every servant scrambled to barricade Duval Manor, clean-up the ballroom, and provide comfort to the party guests.

What angered him more was being reduced to such means. He had not begged for table scraps since he was twelve; had not relied on anyone since realising his true capabilities. Damn the stars, he had earned every penny to his name by serving the Empire that gave them succour, never once letting his father's blood define him, but these vigilantes? What, did they wish to buck the Empire's yolk because life was unfair to them? Jim had honed his ambition and befriended his betters, and then someone conniving, someone who could not try for themselves, had robbed him of his hard-earned freedom. Jim ground his teeth, glaring at the sizable mob clashing with the City Guard.

"Sir Trill, are you ready?" whispered the Captain.

"This is absolute fa'shara," hissed Stariel. "You stand no chance. Let me speak to them at least. Uncuff me—let me tell them the fight must end and continue another day."

"I absolutely do not want you telling them that," the Captain spat.

"They are more likely to quit knowing their cause has been heard! I thought you didn't want further bloodshed. These people know that if they surrender, their lives are either forfeit or bound for prison. Granted, none of this was meant to happen tonight, but for months now my return has been passed from elf to elf like an ember caught in the wind. The spark has lit the bonfire. This was planned to happen at some point, Captain, and now the fire cannot be doused with a sprinkling of swords and a firework display."