Orion Donner rose immediately to embrace the man who was, by logic greater than mere biological synchrony, his brother. The companionship of Orion ‘The Candid’ (sometimes jokingly called ‘The Right’) and Jakan ‘The Left’ was a thing of legend. As boys, they earned every merit the Imperium had to offer in the realms of academia, athletics, and civics. As young men, they had crafted the institutions of fathers into something deserving of patriotic pride. Thanks to their tireless diligence, the Donner lands had been the cleanest and fairest part of the Imperium triarchy for nearly a decade. Even more remarkable than their achievements was the fact that they had managed to remain honest throughout. Everything they did, they did together.
“Look here,” Orion ushered Jakan to the ledger he had been writing. Together, they gingerly doffed Jakan’s glittering carapace and bloodsoaked undergarments. “Anastasia says the Colosseum underground has got around two hundred thousand units non perishable, and only seventy thousand perishable. Our storehouse has less than two hundred large all together. The fortress though, they’ve got millions.”
The resource to which Orion was referring was food. More specifically, a single unit was the quantity of food required to comfortably feed one man for one day. The numbers felt large as they rolled off his tongue, but the population in need of feeding numbered greater than one hundred thousand. According to the Donner books, starvation could begin in less than a week.
“And the erudite?” Jakan was speaking of the Goldcrest natives hulled up in their ancient fortress. “Have they given a statement?”
“No.”
“Anastasia can break in, though, check?”
“Probably.”
Anastasia was the serving Archwarden of the Mage Guild. Goldcrest was an ancient city of arcanum, and the Mage Guild held the key to every one of its locked doors.
Sereze, Orion’s Squiress entered the Ledger Room. Both men greeted her politely, and she began to unwind one of Jakan’s many sullied bandages. Orion continued his worried inventory analysis.
“We are projected to expend eighty to one hundred and twenty thousand units tonight alone. Why are we throwing this feast again…” his question was rhetorical. He recalled the feast was Jakan’s design. “Apologies.”
“What news of Alexandria?” Jakan changed the subject.
Alexandria Arkham was House Donner’s greatest enemy. Nine months past, she had swept down from the Nautilus Tundra with a horde of monstrous northmen. She believed her family heritage gave the right to rule the continent. Nevermind that the continent hadn’t had a monarch for six hundred years. Nevermind that she had been raised in exile, and her only consorts were barbarians and giants. When the world of men turned upside down, she had been allowed to join the armies against which she had waged war in seeking refuge. She had earned her keep amongst the last of men, but now the common enemy had been defeated. Her ambition would make her an enemy of the people once more.
“None yet. She hides behind fortress walls with the aristocrats.”
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“And what of her horde?”
“They granted themselves permission to camp within the fortress’ outer walls. They have the beast with them, and cannot be evicted. Oh hell.”
Sereze undressed the last of Jakan’s wounds, and it bubbled like a spring. He hissed and bid her fetch Tellomere the herb warden.
“What now?”
“I’ve forgotten to account for the dragon in the ration tally.”
“How much do dragons eat?”
“Hell if I know.”
The greatest soldier in the Queen’s army was Cirrus, a young arctic dragon of cobalt blue and diamond white. Every Arkham king and queen had tamed one, and Alexandria lorded her control of Cirrus over everyone who deigned to rule. How could one claim, she would say, to rule over someone who ruled a dragon? She used this piece of arbitrary logic to argue the same thing she always argued - that she should rule over everything. It was tedious. Unfortunately, Cirrus was trapped in Goldcrest along with everyone else, and he would have to eat too.
Jakan prepared to take his leave.
“Will you send Tellomere to my quarters?”
“Check.”
“Gratit. See you at the tables brother.”
“Check.”
Jakan limped through canvas corridors of dampened blue light to his personal quarters.
“Knock knock,” he called through the crimson satin curtain door.
“Break in,” responded Sirene, his wife of eleven years. He brushed the curtain door aside, careful not to sully them with the bloody discharge on his shoulder and thigh. “Hells!” she remarked at the sight of him.
“Yeah I know. No need to remind me.”
They navigated their cramped room in silence, each retiring clothes stained with a hard day’s work.
“Did you reach Acorn today?” Jakan wanted to know,
“Mhm.”
“What news?”
Sirene regarded Jakan with satirical reproach.
“I am a diplomat of the great Tara Donner.” She told him regally. “I am not at liberty to discuss my discoveries.”
“Mhm.” Jakan responded. “What news?”
“Oh nothing good.” Sirene responded glumly. “Farmers scared bootless. They’ve already been raided by some anarchist posse. ‘The Elites’.”
“Sounds like Goldcrest.”
“Check.”
Goldcrest valley was so large that in order to support men who worked the South tower, a second town had been created. Its homely streets and little shops were nothing like the metropolis of the Goldcrest, but its people had access to quite a bit of food. Unfortunately, Acorn had no military resources and would be unable to defend itself from the looting that was sure to take place in the shadow of food shortage. Jakan made a mental note to research ‘The Elite’. He laid back on his modest travel bedding and enjoyed a few moments of rest with the love of his life. He would have precious few of these in the days to come.
It was Sirene who rose first.
“I love you.” he called peacefully after her.
“I know.” She blew him a kiss as she left.