Minas Tirith lay shrouded in a thin morning mist.
But the mist could hardly muffle the roar of the Alchemical Production Lines, which had run all night without pause. A fleet laden with supplies was also piercing the fog, sounding its horns as it entered the harbor.
In the corridor of the Lord's Manor.
Hurried footsteps broke the silence.
Ola strode along, his leather armor still unfastened, clutching half a leftover pie.
"Damn it, it isn't even fully light yet."
The dwarf grumbled, filling clinging to his beard. "His lordship only flew back on a pegasus at midnight yesterday, and now he's dragged us out of bed first thing in the morning. Even kidneys made of iron couldn't take this kind of punishment."
"If you'd drunk two fewer barrels of ale last night, you wouldn't be complaining about a headache now."
Caroline walked beside him, carrying a stack of Parchment Dossiers.
The woman at the helm of the Golden Sail Merchant Guild had changed into a smart black hunting outfit today. With her long hair pinned high, she looked particularly brisk and efficient.
She glanced at Ola's red, still-hungover face, her heels tapping a crisp rhythm against the flagstones.
"Besides, calling the inner circle together at a time like this means something serious has happened."
"How serious could it be?"
Ola swallowed the pie in two or three bites and brushed the crumbs off his hands. "Don't tell me that coward Marcus actually dares to come out and fight? Not even if you gave him twice the guts!"
"The fact that he won't come out and fight is precisely our biggest problem."
Kale emerged soundlessly from the shadows.
The Master Assassin leaned against a stone pillar at the corner, toying with the short sword Retribution, his expression cold.
"Marcus isn't