It had been Jakan’s idea to throw the feast, and he felt all the worse for it. The people of the Centrum, all of whom were now his people, deserved to celebrate but the timing could not have been worse. To guzzle rations in a city cut off from the world was foolish, but to forgo celebration on a night such as this could have immediate consequences. What was already being called the Second Golden Campaign had been won, and people had hope once more. To impose immediate ration orders could result in large scale mob mobilization. Riot could kill this city much faster than starvation.
Revelers’ hands brushed at the shredded iron of Jakan’s left shoulder pauldron as he wound toward the Donner house encampment. House matriarch Tara Donner had elected to erect it at the dead center of the largest crowd she could find. It did well for her approval rating, but more importantly it kept her safe. Tara was a true woman of the people, and she knew by name the thousand men and women who slept nearest her at night.
Eldwin James and Kaglee Simmers cleared the last leg of Jakan’s path through a sea of fanatics. They were both childhood friends of his, trained and elevated to knighthood by the just eye of Sir Orion Donner, Jakan’s truest friend. Before their fortunes changed, Eldwin was ordained to become line chef, and Kaglee would likely have ended up in prison. He was always nabbing something or other for his spoiled wife Kaylee.
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“Welcome ‘ome brother!” called Kag. The bustle of House Donner’s human buffer was too great for his voice to be heard, so Jakan watched his lips.
Jakan saluted the two of them over the hubbub. A crusty hand gripped a shingle of his glassed armor, and he was jerked to a halt. He did not show his rage or pain as he wriggled free. This was the fifth time today a handsy merry maker had unintentionally unseated one of the dressing’s beneath his shining armor. He was in terrible pain.
“Gratuits Kag. Eldwin.”
Eldwin held open the great blue draw curtain that served as a door to Tara’s monstrous mobile home. From the outside, it had the appearance of a monochrome circus tent. Its fabric billowed about in the wind as though it were as fragile as those structures in which acrobats danced with death. This was an intentional farce. For reasons both architectural and arcane, the Donner Command Tent was as durable as an actual fortress. No arrow could pierce its fabric walls, and any man who tried to shimmy under its foundational folds would find his body conducting a lethal electrical current. Jakan removed his boots in its audio insulated antechamber before continuing inside.