Chapter 235: Fracture XL
It was, without a doubt, the oddest tea party I'd ever attended. And considering I'd once traded veiled threats with an infernal power broker over root tea and sceoquel at the edge of an abyss, that was a surprisingly high bar.
My soldiers seemed to think the same. Hundreds of them awkwardly sipped from whatever vessel they could drum up. Cups of all sorts until they ran out, then canteens, arriving eventually at bowls and ladles. The sewer's stench and the strong herbal taste of the brew had already turned several stomachs, and they'd spread out some, away from the grating and runoff, forming impromptu social circles that presented an odd, almost satirical reflection of noble society.
All while the keening voice of a prophet, or soothsayer, caterwauled in the distant outskirts of the city, howling something barely intelligible about death. Or dying. Or something equally grim.
Vicant, our recently discovered and thankfully unoffended regimental Warlock, was nervous. Understandably so. If folklore was to be believed, witches and warlocks spent a great deal of time brewing their concoctions in dark and occasionally subterranean spaces such as basements and caves, valuing the safety such isolation presented. Conversely, plying his craft in the middle of a clearing in the clear light of day, brewing a cauldron directly in view of a wall of soldiers, must have been at least somewhat alarming.
However, after some time, Vicant seemed to be taking a shine to the additional duties. He no longer cringed every time he served the next soldier as if expecting reprisal in the form of a gauntlet to the face. If anything, there was a quiet giddiness beneath his neutral expression. Nothing malevolent.
I stepped up onto a small stone outcropping a few steps from the grate and caught Sevran's eye. He nodded and waved to the rest of the Banner Lieutenants, and within minutes the regiment was assembled and alert, waiting for orders.
So damn organized.
Quickly, I drained the rest of the brew from my stein, grimacing at the taste, then set it aside.
Calm. In control. Confident. My father's voice echoed in my mind. I no longer resisted his counsel as I once had. He was far from a perfect person, and we'd always have our differences, but in this much, at least, he was right.