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    The Palace of Rubastre boasted a fine feasting hall. A grand staircase, leading down to the main hall where sets of circular tables were arrayed. The more important highborn nobles seated at the front of the hall where the Arch Duke sat. Prince Daegan being the guest of honour for the evening also sat at his table. Mixed among the tables were giant gilded firepits that provided both heat and a light in the hall. While the walls were lined with fire sconces and the chandeliers above provided ample light, the firepits gave a satisfying crackle of the burning logs.


    The feast itself was a disappointing affair. Daegan had stories of raucous Rubanian drinking halls, where northmen clad in furs and steel would gregariously drink themselves into stupor. The guests at the feast were all unsatisfyingly proper. They were definitely drunks, throwing back the Rubanian whitewhiskeys as if it were water, but they were that genteel kind of drunks, the kind that threw about words instead of fists. One of the few things I had been looking forward to. But the whitewhiskey he had to admit was remarkable. It gave a satisfying burn at the back of his throat and lit a fire in his stomach so warm that it made his heart flutter. The courtesans in Reldon had teased that he might find love up here and never wish to return, and with how the whitewhiskey tasted on his tongue and the quick hit of lightheadedness that would follow a swig, they might not have been wrong.


    “Most southerners can’t stomach whitewhiskey, but be careful. You’ll find this will go to your head a lot quicker than a Reinish wine,” Duke Edmund said with a smile as Daegan knocked back his third glass.


    “We have an old proverb in Reldon,” Daegan said, “the remedy of fire is fire.”


    “I have heard this before, but I don’t think the meaning relates to our whiskey,” the Duke responded offering his crystal glass to the waiting attendant to pour him another.


    “No, but I think it’s more fitting when discussing whiskey than when used in war, wouldn’t you agree?”


    “Indeed. Ask any man in this room, you will not find one who doesn’t believe that there is any ailment that cannot be cured with a glass of Rubanian whitewhiskey,” he smiled admiring the clear liquid in his crystal glass, the light passing through it causing it to shine and glitter.


    “An old friend of mine,” Another of the Rubanian highborn at the table — Duke Jared Harfallow as he had been introduced — said, “he would say that whitewhiskey was much the same as a beautiful woman, it demands appreciation.” Lord Harfallow was an aging man, like the Arch Duke, his light brown hair was streaked with grey.


    “Well that’s a sentiment I can certainly agree with,” Daegan replied.


    “You are unmarried, I hear, Prince Daegan. Tell me how you have managed to evade the clutches of a wife for so many years. Have you simply hidden under a rock every unionsday for the past decade? You are what thirty?”


    “Twenty-six,” Daegan corrected him, “it is not so unusual, in my country, for men and women to marry later in life.” It was not the reason Daegan was yet unmarried but Daegan preferred to avoid that topic.


    “A young Prince like yourself, I can imagine you will attract the attention of many of the ladies of court” Duke Harfallow said.


    “And their fathers,” Duke Edmund commented, “and I must admit that another bond of marriage between Rubane and Reldom would be a welcome blessing.”


    “It’s common here then,” Daegan said, “for parents to arrange marriages.”


    “Probably moreso than in your own country,” Duke Edmund said, “quite traditional for us highborn.”


    “I might be forced to do that soon for my eldest, Danielle” Lord Harfallow said, pointing a few tables down to a pretty blond woman, “she’ll be twenty-one before the next unionsday”


    “She has plenty of time I’m sure to find a husband,” Daegan commented, not particularly enjoying the direction the conversation had taken. She was certainly attractive, but Daegan had no interest in entertaining the prospect of marrying some Rubanian girl which was likely what Duke Harfallow agenda was.


    “In your country, maybe,” Harfallow said wistfully, “perhaps I should arrange a meeting for you. She’s strong-minded, that is trait you Reldoni seem to find appealing in a woman, I hear”


    “Perhaps, I — ” Daegan began but was happy when one of Arch Duke Edmund’s guard stepped into their conversation before he began proffering excuses.


    “— my lords, forgive my intrusion,” the man said. Strong Rubanian build, with long blond hair tied back in a knot. He bore Edmund’s grey tabard with the arctic bear emblazoned across the chest, one a Rubanian greatsword strapped to his back. Nothing like a big unwieldy sword to complete one’s dinner attire.


    “Master Grimsworth had been hoping to join your table for the fourth course. Shall I bring him?” The staunch guard asked. An odd thing to interrupt a conversation with, Daegan thought but then again these Rubanians were a strange people.


    “Ah yes, thank you for reminding me, Tanlor,” Duke Edmund said, “please, do fetch him. Master Grimsworth is the head of the Ironworks Guild,” Edmund added to Daegan. “He and Ambassador Ormand had a favourable relationship. I believe he wants to continue that accord with yourself, Prince Daegan.” Line the pockets of the Guild Masters, Ormand had advised Daegan, and Reldon will continue to see a steady supply of the finest Rubanian steel.


    “Was that Tanlor Shrydan?” Duke Harfallow asked in surprise, his face becoming flush with the whitewhiskey.


    “Indeed,” Edmund replied, “joined my guard three years ago. A fine young man and an excellent swordsman, Keltin tells me.”


    “I’ve not seen him since he was a wee greenhorn,” Harfallow said, a wide grin splitting his face, “Aye, a good lad as I recall. Visited my castle in Hardhelm once — entertained my entire hall with the stories of his father, Taran the Hunter.”


    “Taran the Hunter?” Daegan asked, “I’ve not heard of him? Was he a knight?”


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    “Oh, it’s a great story, Prince Daegan,” Duke Harfallow began, beckoning the servant holding the bottle of whitewhiskey for another, “Taran was no knight he was a Hunter. Lived up in the Far North— ”


    “— Master Grimsworth,” Edmund said as Tanlor returned escorting a short, balding man in fine linens. His appearance surprised Daegan a bit, for some reason he had envisaged a large blacksmith of a man instead of this well-dressed man that looked more like a wealthy merchant.


    “Arch Duke Edmund, Duke Harfallow,” Grimsworth bowed respectfully, “And you must be our new Reldoni Ambassador. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Prince Daegan. I am Harald Grimsworth, Head of the Ironworks Guild. Your predecessor and I had a very mutually beneficial relationship,” he said with a shrewd smile. He bribed you and you ensured that the Reldon military had exclusivity to most of the Rubanian steel exports.


    “You will find that Lord Ormand and myself are very similar in our dealings,” Daegan replied.


    “I should hope so,” Grimsworth said, taking a vacant seat at the table, “an urgent matter I wish to discuss with you is the administration subsidy,” — the bribe — “Lord Ormand was unfortunately quite late in his last payment. Five hundred gold marks, to be exact.” Five hundred gold marks! It was ludicrous, even more surprising that he was openly discussing this in front of the Dukes. Ormand had told him that a hundred gold marks had been the agreed yearly price for the arrangement.


    “He wasn’t five years overdue,” Daegan replied, not attempting to hide his displeasure in his tone. How dare this lowborn weasel of a man try to swindle an extra four hundred gold marks. Even one hundred is a considerable amount.


    “In fact this subsidy was something I was hoping to discuss with you also,” Daegan said, feeling irritation rising, “one hundred gold marks, I have decided, is too high for administration. We will reduce this fifty.”


    “Let’s not be unreasonable here, ambassador, the ironworks of Rubastre have long held a good relationship with Reldon.”


    “As have the Ironworks of Garron. And Duke Harfallow’s own city of Hardhelm,” Daegan replied coolly, nodding toward Duke Harfallow, “the Ironworks of Rubastre have suited well for the past few years, but we have found your quality slipping of late.”


    “The river to Hardhelm freezes in winter, this halts the supply. And the Garron Ironworks is far too small an enterprise to cater the ever growing needs of the Reldoni army,” Grimsworth was visibly annoyed. Good “Let’s not be hasty here, Prince Daegan. I believe we may have started on the wrong foot here. I have brought a gift for you, a welcome to our city.” Grimsworth took a small ornate box from his coat, and offered it to Daegan.


    “The latest innovation from our engineers,” Grimsworth said as Daegan opened the clasps on the box. Inside was a pistol similar to the ones that had started being produced in Reldon in recent years, although this was one considerably more decorative. The steel barrel had intricate patterns in the metal and a polished rosewood grip. Inlaid on the barrel was an aquamarine gemstone, two smaller gemstones with the appearance of tiger’s eye adorned the sides of the chamber. Eradite, Daegan recalled, wouldn’t normally use earthstone as ornamentation. Even the use of aquamarine would be considered strange. Both stones were far more valuable in runewielding to be wasted as decoration. It was a fanciful gift, to be sure. One to show wealth, and also trust. But they know that we have already discovered the art of crafting these weapons. If anything it had likely been a Reldoni engineer that had leaked the schematics for the weapon design to the Rubanians in first place.


    “Thank you, Master Grimsworth. It is a fine pistol, it’s a similar design to my own country’s handguns,” Daegan said, lifting the weapon from the box and feeling the weight of it in his hand. He hadn’t practiced much with new weapons, but from what he had heard they were far easier to kill a man with than a crossbow. “The aquamarine and eradite is a curious embellishment”


    “That is the innovation, Prince Daegan,” Grimsworth said with a sly smile. A knowing smile. It made Daegan feel nervous, a slight tightening in his throat.


    “Your Reldoni engineers may have broke new ground with this new design, but it was my engineers and expert runewielders that have perfected it. Much like a crossbow, your Reldoni pistols require reloading. A dangerously time-consuming task when faced against an armed opponent. With one of these new designs the need for reloading is a distant memory. Once you’ve fired your round, the eradite runestone is already forming your next bullet in the chamber. From our tests, it the draw time has been reduced to mere seconds.


    And that’s not even the best part, Prince Daegan.” he said, “one doesn’t even need to be an accomplished runewielder to use it.” Daegan felt his legs begin to shake. He knows. His throat closing, making it difficult to breath. This fucker knows. “Why, it doesn’t require any runewielding at all. Even a cripple can use it,” Grimsworth said. Daegan’s heart pounded in his chest. It throbbed against the pressure on his throat. When Daegan didn’t say anything, Grimsworth continued, “now the matter of the subsidy, I think we could negotiate potentially raising it, wouldn’t you agree?” You slimy little man. This man was sorely mistaken if he thought Daegan would simply back down and be blackmailed. His secret would eventually get out, it always did.


    “Fifty gold marks,” Daegan managed to say.


    Grimsworth scowled, “Fine!” then he showed his malicious smile, “I felt it was such a suitable gift for a cripple such as yourself, Prince Daegan.”


    “Harald Grimsworth!” Duke Harfallow boomed, outraged, “How dare you make such an insult on the Prince. You forget your place.” The Duke’s voice was such a deep angry roar that it pulled the attention of those near them.


    “Oh I meant no offence,” Grimsworth said, his face a mask of mocking innocence, “perhaps I was mistaken, Prince Daegan?” he asked. Don’t you make me say it, you fucking swine. Daegan’s silence was evidence enough for all within earshot. Some whispered to each other, most had enough tact to avoid meeting his eye. Daegan wanted to use the pistol and to blow a hole in the man’s face, and it was more the fear of it not working that held him back.


    “My apologies, Duke Edmund. I find that I am weary from my travels, I think I’ll retire.” Daegan said and rose to leave. Duke Edmund nodded graciously, saying nothing, he didn’t give any emotion on his face. He knew. The other highborn at the table all awkwardly bid him goodnight. Duke Harfallow very clumsily shaking his hand and apologising.


    Daegan did not bid goodnight to Grimsworth but as he walked away from the table, the man called out, “I do hope you enjoy the gift, Prince Daegan. Better to be a cripple than always sitting down, eh?”


    Daegan worried that his legs were shaking too much to carry him out of the feasting hall, but as graciously as he could manage, he walked the length of the room, gripping the handle of the pistol with such intensity that his arm shook.


    It’s a simple task, his father’s voice rang in his ears.


    No son of mine is a cripple.


    What is wrong with you?


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