The mass of bodies falls through the curtain into a pile on the floor. Arms and legs writhe as they struggle to get free of one another. Within the tangle, four large human men form a protective shell over a smaller woman.
“By Heironeous' axe get off me!” the woman swears. The voice is that of Larissa Hunter, the able-bodied Free Army captain and elected magister of Dyvers. “I said get off of me you fools. There are people on that stage who need our aid!” Although she commands it, the magister's bodyguards continue to hold her to the ground. Hunter, realizing her men are not following orders, renews her struggle in earnest. The mass of bodies begins to writhe again, violently so, until a leather boot steps forward just a foot away, catching Larissa's attention.
“Let her go, boys.” The voice oozes with confidence and
although she cannot see it, the magister is certain the man's face does the same.
The bodyguards stand up, moving to form a short row behind her. Their faces appear differently than when they had stood on stage. Looking at her hands, Larissa finds a considerable amount of makeup beneath her fingernails. “These are not my men,” she says dumbfounded.
“No, they're not,” the stranger replies. “And I'm glad you can make that distinction. I was worried that the boys here might rough you up to the point of stupidity, and that wouldn't have done either of us any good.” The Oeridian man, standing a few inches shorter than Larissa Hunter, smiled. She is struck by how much he looks like a rat when he smiles and instinctively checks her forearms to see if she has been bitten. “Larissa, sweety, we need to talk.” He reaches toward her, the long fingernails looking like claws.
The magister jerks back from his hand, drawing her sword and lunging in the opposite direction. Her blade rests firmly in the belly of one of her faux bodyguards. The look on his face is frozen disbelief, until all his muscles go limp and the weight of his body pulls him from her blade.
“Touch me and I'll gut you like a pig,” she growls.
“Your pride's been hurt. I understand that. Consider Tharig my gift to you. We'll call it cost of doing business. But now you'll listen, woman, or you'll share Tharig's fate.” The magister looks at her captor's sides, but he has no visible weapons. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she sees the glint of candlelight on steel and knows that her bodyguards have drawn their own weapons. She lowers her longsword, biding her time.
“Where are my men?” she demands.
“They're safe. They're guarding you, actually. Or, at least they were. No doubt the spell has worn off. They've realized our deceit and are rushing here to save you. So let's make haste, shall we? We have business to take care of before your men arrive.”
“What do you want? If you hope to exploit me, I'll kill you and your men by myself, or die in the attempt. This city will not tolerate your exploitation.” Posturing, the magister is unnerved when the man across from her begins chuckling. “What?” she growls angrily.
“Pardon my lack of manners. Truly, that was just adorable.” His composure stiffens and his smile drops away when he sees her bloodied sword begin to rise again. “We're here to speak to you about your speech, actually,” the man continues, the smile gone from his face. “It was very uplifting. Very inspiring. 'With the completion of these docks, a new day dawns on the Free and Independent City of Dyvers. A new beginning!' etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.”
“What qualms do you have with my speech, rogue?”
“Quite simple, actually. War has broken out in the Baklunish west. Veluna has been invaded by its enemies. The Velverdyva Trade Route and the
“All this charade, just to ensure the status quo? There must be more.”
“You're a charismatic leader, Larissa, but not too bright, eh? You inspire people. And after the last two years, people want to be inspired. And that causes problems. That causes waves. And we saw what happened the last time the docks were hit by waves, everything fell apart. And we're here to make sure things don't fall apart. We like Dyvers. And we want to make sure she's safe from…inspiration.”
“And if I just kill you and your men instead?”
“I doubt my boss would mind much. And it wouldn't do you any good. My brother-in-law is a cleric. Although if it'll make you feel better, I guess you can take a swing.” The man's smile returns as he opens his cloak, exposing his belly. He locks eyes with the magister and the two glare at one another fiercely. As she weighs her decision on whether she should strike the man down, he winks at her and disappears before her very eyes. Swinging around, her “bodyguards” are still there, although two of them are picking up the body of their fallen comrade and are walking toward the exit.
“Sorry about that whole tackling thing. Just playing a part, you know?” the remaining bodyguard says sheepishly. She shoots him a dirty look. “It was a nice speech.” Seeing her knuckles whiten about the hilt of her sword, he quickly trots after his friends, not looking over his shoulder. She yells forcefully and swings at where the rat-like man had stood, but her sword cuts nothing but air. The sound of her true bodyguards arresting the imposters brings her little comfort, as she knows they were only pawns. She sits down, and holds her head in her free hand, forgetting about the people she had been so adamant to save only a few moments ago. With the docks repaired, things will return to normal in Dyvers…and it makes her sick to her stomach.
