Between the two recliners, there was a small table and I immediately put my feet up. The whole day had been surreal, and even though I was used to violence and adapting, something was nagging at me. I had been way too calm about the whole situation, and so had the three others in the carriage.

  I suspected that if the Gods, or whatever, gave us the ability to understand and speak this foreign language in a matter of seconds, they could probably also control our emotions. Maybe not by direct mind control, I still felt in control, but by manipulating the chemical balances in our brain or something like that.

  Whatever the case might be, this could be a good situation for me. If I could find a way to stay out of that war of theirs, I would have my freedom, and riches it would seem. The pouch had felt pretty heavy. I would even be granted my own land. Not so sure I was happy about the whole marriage thing. I mean. I had just gotten out of jail in an unorthodox way, I was not ready to settle down.

  It was not like the young girl earlier had been ugly, but something disconcerting I had noticed when she smiled was her teeth. Discoloured already, and she did not look a day over sixteen. If that old. Dental hygiene was a big thing for me, especially if I was going to be snogging with someone. Yet another thing to figure out about this new world.

  My musings got interrupted by a knock. I was too lazy to get up and just hollered, “Enter.”

  Another young girl entered, a rather plump one, but the way her knockers were displayed was quite enticing. So was the tray of food she was carrying. Or at least I hoped so, since it was hidden under a metal dome like you would see at fancy places.

  “Food, Milord,” the girl said in a quivering voice. I noticed that she was not wearing a collar like the two others had.

  “Thanks, just put it over there,” I said and pointed to the table with the fruit bowl. Which reminded me I should see what kind of fruit they had here. Maybe something strange and exotic? Or would it just be the same old boring things that we had on Earth? And if it was the same, how come it was the same? Lots of questions, and no easy answer in sight on the last one.

  She had put down the tray, bowed, and left in a hurry, leaving me alone with my thoughts again. I walked over to the table and lifted the dome and a delightful smell wafted up. The dome revealed a big piece of meat and a loaf of bread. No utensils though. Shrugging, I grabbed the lukewarm meat and took a careful bite. Tasted like pork, so I hoped it was pork and not human. Though the pig might have consumed a human body if getting the pigs to eat bodies was the usual practise around these parts. The bread was a bit stale, and I really missed something to drink, but I would survive.

  While eating I pondered something else. Their Prophecy or whatever foretold they should summon us when they were at the brink of extinction, but it did not sound like they were. Only that the elves had threatened a genocide, but they were not actually doing it yet. To me, it all sounded like someone got a bit trigger happy and broke out the doomsday arsenal a bit early or maybe all too early, and this was not even the end of the world event they were saving it for. Something that was worth looking into.

  What was important was that I had clear evidence that magic was real, and this was a world where might ruled. Meaning I had to find a way to turn my magic power into a weapon. Which was the main focus of my musings, while I ate the rest of the provided meat. Since they had guns, and bullets or balls or whatever the hell they fired were a thing, maybe I could put that together with my power to Link items.

  When I finished I thought I had come up with an idea, but first I had to check out the door in the corner of the room. I quickly learned that it let into a small indoor toilet, which was little more than an open hole to shit and piss in. The miraculous thing was that it did not stink, maybe it was another bit of magic? Or maybe it was something an aeromancer like Linus would do. I chuckled a bit at the thought of Linus inspecting all toilets for foul smells.

  Back in the main room, I grabbed the pouch and pulled a few coins out. They were the size of a silver dollar and was made from gold. Both sides had a motif. On all the coins one side had the same motif, a large star surrounded by twelve smaller stars. On the other side, it had some different motifs. I recognized one of them as being the goat-thingy with a crown, just like the coat of arms of King Alfred.

  I took one and concentrated on it. I wanted it to land on the tray that was on the table a good distance away. I managed to make the attraction between the linked items a one-way thing instead of mutual. I then tossed it with an underhand throw, in the general direction of the tray. It looked like the coin tried to correct its course a little, but not enough to land on the tray.

  Examining the reserves of my power, I discovered it had returned to the level of when I had first discovered it. Since the energy regenerated on its own, I decided to go a little wild with the experimentation. I poured more power into it and managed to get the coin to change direction mid-air. Only two or three degrees, but it was a clear change in direction. During this time, I also learned to slow it down or speed it up, by increasing the pull or push of the link.

  The more I learned, I found it easiest to make two items attract or repulse each other. Which opened up for an interesting notion. Maybe I would be able to bend incoming gunfire away from me, sort of like an invisible bullet shield. That would be pretty cool.

  Even though I only used a quarter of my reserve over the next few hours of experimentation, the whole thing made me exhausted. I thought I would just lie down and relax for a few minutes, but as soon as my body hit the bed, I started drifting off with only one thought in my head, ‘Man, I was right. This bed is really comfy. Would be fun to try to do some more strenuous activity in it.’

----------------------------------------

  A loud knocking woke me from my sleep, no resting my eyes. Yup, I was just resting my eyes. Looking out of the window, I noticed the sun was starting to get lower in the horizon. Estimated there had to be at least two or three hours before dusk.

  “Enter,” I called out as I struggled to sit up. The blonde girl from earlier entered, followed by her mentor. I wondered for a moment if my noble title would allow me to fool around on the bed with the girl. It probably did, but to be honest I was not sure how old she was. For all I knew, she could be jailbait.

  Then I remembered it probably did not matter here, for all I knew she might be past the age of when she should have her first child, but it mattered to me. I might be a criminal, but I had never resorted to rape or seducing those that were not of legal age. It just did not sit right with me.

  “What can I do for you, ladies?” I asked amidst a yawn.

  “We’re not ladies, we’re serfs, Milord,” the matron very politely corrected me.

  “Serfs?” I asked. I had heard the word before.

  “Yes, Milord, we are bound to the castle here,” she said and looked around as if to see if anyone else was listening. “All serfs are equipped with a collar like this. They are used to administer pain.”

  “Shock collars?” I asked incredulously.

  The matron looked speculative for a couple of seconds. “Yes, you could call them that, Milord. Any female born with a power is equipped with one, and becomes a serf.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” I did not mean to say it, it just flew out of me.

  “It’s the way the Gods want it,” the matron said. “Anyway, we’re here to alter more of your clothes. Unfortunately, it’s going to take a while, since you’re much bigger than most men around here.”

  The young girl started to blush and giggle uncontrollably at the word bigger. Her mentor gave her a slap on the backside, which made the girl get control of herself. They started looking around for some clothes. They brought out a heavy looking cloak, made from some kind of black fur. They also found another pair of pants and a tunic.

  The pleasant feeling spread all across my body again, making me sigh with pleasure. The young girl was definitely blushing a lot in my company. It was flattering. I looked at the matron who was giving her apprentice an amused look.

  Returning to the former conversation, I asked, “So you’re basically slaves?”

  They both gasped at that word. The matron quickly said, “No Milord, we’re not slaves. Slaves are forbidden by the Gods. Only the impure races have slaves.”

  “But you just said you belonged to the castle, and as far as I can tell you’re treated like slaves,” I protested.

  “Never say that, lest a priest overhears you,” the matron whispered urgently. Outloud she said, “We belong to a place, an estate. No man owns us.”

  “But you still have to follow the orders of the person who owns the place you’re bound to,” I pointed out. “How is that not slavery?”

  “Please Milord, stop speaking blasphemy,” the young girl pleaded from her kneeling position. Her blue eyes wide and shone with fear.

  “Fine,” I sighed. To me, it sounded like slavery was forbidden, but the rich had found a way to circumvent the laws by calling it something else, and even the kings did it. Mankind was the same no matter what world it was on it seemed. Man would always find a way to exploit his fellow man. I was no better most of the time.

  I could never live with being a slave, but in a medieval society, I reckoned it gave some security as to how your basic needs would be met. As long as no one tried to put a collar on me, we would be good. Though I did not know how I felt about the thought of owning other people.

  What really interested me though was their magic. I looked at them, and just for a brief moment wondered if I should learn their names, but decided against it. Hrothgar had said the King would leave in a couple of days and had implied I was leaving with him. So it would be a waste of time.

  “How does your magic work? Does it just summon the cloth out of nowhere? If that’s the case, why not just make some small clothes and then grow them?” I asked a bit excitedly. The whole magic business was extremely interesting. Almost like getting a new piece of technology in your hand and taking it apart to see how it works.

  “No Milord, it does not. We have a trolley outside, with bolts of clothes, and pieces of leather,” the matron explained. “When we grow a piece of clothing, it takes the cloth from those materials.”

  “Oh, thanks for explain—”

  There was a knock on the door, and I pondered to let it go unanswered. Just to see if whoever had knocked went away or not. I had not even pondered the possibility for more than five seconds when there was another knock, and I heard Hrothgar calling out, “The King summons all of the Chosen for a feast.”

  I looked at the matron and asked, “Am I fit for meeting a king?”

  “Barely, Milord. If I had known the king would have a feast, I would have found something appropriate. Please forgive me, Milord. I shall pass word of my failure to the Overseer, he will contact you to discuss punishment,” the matron said in a thick voice as she kowtowed before me. “I beg you, Milord, please do not punish Milly for my transgression, the error is mine alone.”

  “No one is getting punished,” I growled. “If the king is not happy, then fuck him.”

  The two women gasped.

  “Milord, did you hear me?” Hrothgar called out again.

  “Yes, give me a damn minute,” I shouted back. To the two seamstresses, or whatever they were, I said, “No punishment, and you won’t report it to your Overseer. Are the new clothes done, or do you need to finish?”

  “They’re done, Milord, and you cannot let the King wait,” the matron said.

  “Good, do you need me to model for more alterations?”

  “No, we will use these as a guide,” the matron said holding up the tunic and pants they had just finished altering. I was wearing the cloak. As I strode away from them, the matron whispered, “Thank you, Milord.”

  “Think nothing of it,” I said and opened the door to find Hrothgar with his hand raised about to knock once more.

  “The King awaits,” he said gruffly and started marching down the corridor. Further down the corridor, I could see other people who looked as out of place as me walking in the same direction, each led by one or more persons.

  “Something I forgot to ask, you don’t wear the colours of King Alfred, neither do Linus or Ethan, how come?” I asked to pass time, as we trekked down the corridor which seemed pretty darn long. The cloak was heavy and would need some time getting used to.

  “None of us did, we served the High Hierophant, now we serve you. I myself served in the Unifiers, a military order that is keeping the peace between the kingdoms. Your initial soldiers will be from there as well,” Hrothgar said with much pride in his voice. “Ethan is a brilliant scholar and theologian, as well as a High Priest, though he had to put down the title to serve as an advisor to one of the Chosen. Linus served as a teacher in the Tower of Air.”

  “The Tower of Air?” I asked while I tried to hide my mirth at the ridiculous name.

  “Yes. Each type of mancer, or magic if you wish, has its own school. Though how to use magic is the same across all the types, the applications vary widely.”

  “You don’t have magic?”

  “Very few people have, only one in a hundred has a connection with the essence of the Creator, it used to be far more, but in the later centuries it seems fewer are born with the link,” Hrothgar said. “Would Milord, permit me to ask a personal question?”

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  “Call me Karth when we’re alone, and go ahead,” I said with a sigh. This Milord was getting a bit old already.

  “Milord, we’re not alone, and even then it would not be proper.” He gestured to the people ahead of us. I could not hear what they were saying, so they should not be able to hear what I said.

  “Well you said I’m not a noble yet, so call me Karth already,” I grouched.

  “Yes, Milord.”

  Audibly sighing, I asked, “What was your question?”

  “What power rating do you have? And what form of mancer are you?”

  “Ask me again, when we’re alone, and you’ve called me by my name,” I said with a grin.

  “Milord,” he said with a bow of his head. The rest of the way was made in silence. He led me to a set of opened double doors of the large variant. Large enough that I did not have to bow my head to enter at least. If just barely. A couple of guards in the burnished orange livery stood guards, armed with the halberd.

  Hrothgar had one last piece of advice before he left me to enter the hall beyond the doors alone. “The table with the benches are for you and the other Chosen. Whatever the King says, just bear with it and you should get out of this alive.”

  “So you’re saying they don’t mind sacrificing the life of a Chosen to make an example?” I asked with sarcasm.

  “Milord I would never presume to say such a thing. But there are one hundred and sixty-nine of you. The Prophecy only mentions thirteen.”

  I looked hard at him when he said that. He just gave me a bow and left me. Thinking about what he said, I could not help but think, ‘Great. Not only have they most likely summoned us before whatever the Prophecy foretold, but they also summoned too many of us, because of their massive egos. Since they killed all the women as well, and there were at least four in my group. They could have summoned upwards of three hundred people, and killed almost half of them. Or even more.’

  “Clusterfuck” was the word that sprang to mind as I headed through the doors. Beyond them, I found a decent-sized dining hall. Three sets of tables arranged in the form of a horseshoe. The one at the end was clearly the high table for the King and his family, since it was raised on a platform. The other two tables looked similar, except the one on my right had chairs, while the other had benches. Thanks to Hrothgar I knew which table was mine.

  By looking around, I saw I was not the first Chosen to arrive, but it did not look like there was anyone not from Earth in the room. I counted eleven, including my three friends from the carriage. Soldier Boy noticed me and gave me the stink eye. I gave him a wave with my little finger, which made him look even madder. Seemed to me that he had confidence issues of the small variety.

  I could not help but smile, as I took in the other people. One guy was clearly a bodybuilder, he had far larger muscles than me, but he was also half a head shorter. I had seen many of his types before, and while he might be strong, he lacked the range of mobility and flexibility, meaning he was close to useless in a fight. Unless he fought an idiot standing there taking the beating he could lay on a person. The rest of the Chosen seemed to be ordinary civilians of one kind or another.

  Except for one guy, and he was staring at me. Even without the suit, he just screamed Fed. When he saw I had noticed him, he headed in my direction. Bracing for impact, I took him in. He seemed more a pencil pusher type of fed than a go-getter. So I thought he would be pretty easy to take down, but you never knew with the federal types. They were tricky. Some of them actually knew how to fight, though they did not look like it.

  “Fed,” I said with scorn when he stopped a couple of steps away from me.

  “Scumbag,” he countered.

  “Fair,” I said with a toothy grin. The guy was older than I first thought. Early fifties would be my guess, though he mostly looked younger. He was only a bit shorter than me, but had a whole lot less muscle. He looked like a runner to me. With blonde hair that was starting to turn white. No beard, and blue eyes. Scandinavian descent would be my guess, maybe Germanic.

  “You’re Karth Smith, right?”

  “Would you believe me if I said no?”

  “No.”

  “Then you got me at a disadvantage,” I said with a shrug of my shoulders.

  “Agent Sigurdson, I work mostly bank robbery cases,” he said and offered me his hand.

  “Karth, mostly robbing banks,” I countered and shook his hand. I had never been attached to the Smith last name. Grew up in an orphanage and that was what they stuck me with.

  “I know, I’ve been a part of the task-force trying to catch the Gentleman Robber. You know that there have been hundreds of agents and law enforcement officers across the country, if not a thousand or more, working in some capacity on the case at one time or another? And it wasn’t until that last botched job you were even a suspect. We still haven’t actually been able to pin those forty-one robberies on you. Agent Berenson was most displeased after your interviews.”

  “Aren’t I popular? And I always hated that name.”

  “So you admit it was you?” he asked with raised eyebrows. “Thought that would’ve been harder to get a confession.”

  “Sure, not like you can arrest me for it, I think this is outside of your jurisdiction, and I don’t think there’s an extradition treaty. Unless you know a way home?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then again this could be some new kind of technology, where you trap me inside my own dream and interrogate me.”

  “Like that movie ten years or so ago?”

  “Exactly,” I said with a grin.

  “I doubt that would ever be legal if it existed.”

  “Just what the Fed interviewing me would say if it was real,” I replied with a laugh.

  “I guess,” he said. “So what the fuck do you make of all this?”

  I thought about it for a moment, before answering, “I think we’re caught in the middle of shady shit. Do you know that they’ve slavery here?”

  A dark cloud went over his face. “I know, they call it serfdom, but I call it slavery. Worse, I think they mind-controlled us back when we arrived. I let people get killed without trying to save them. I’m not that person.”

  “Ringing in your ears whenever you got upset about it?”

  “Yeah, you too? At least it has stopped now.”

  “Once, I mean it was not like I would care much anyway, more of an instinct. I’m a black-hearted criminal after all.”

  He looked thoughtful at that. “Never thought you were. You never hurt anyone during your robberies, even the ones that went side-ways, yet you always managed to get away. Except for the last one, but you plead guilty and took the punishment. I can respect that. Though I’m not sure if this counts as escaping jail or early release.”

  “Fucker had it coming,” I spat, and saw the last of the Chosen arrive. At least he looked as lost as the rest of us. He looked dangerous, a fellow inmate. Bald, pretty buff, and I noticed the prison ink on his neck. A fucking nazi, he would feel right at home here, if people had been blonde instead of dark-haired.

  “For causing the hostage situation?”

  “Nah man, I could have gotten us a sweet deal on that with the right prosecutor,” I said. “Wouldn’t be as bad as the sentence I got for blowing his brains out.”

  “What then? We’ve always wondered why. Besides that aggravated assault charge when you were nineteen, which was probably judicial overreach from what I’ve read, you’ve never been suspected or charged with a violent crime,” he said.

  ‘Just haven’t been caught,’ I thought as I looked him up and down. “Billy wanted to have a little fun with one of the female hostages, while I was trying to negotiate.”

  “Fucking rapist. Still a bit harsh maybe, couldn’t you just have slapped him around or something?”

  “She was ten.”

  That shut him up for a minute, before he muttered, “Good riddance.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” I said and did not add I would probably have done the same if she had been of legal age. Rape did not sit well with me. What little I knew of my birth mother was that she conceived me after being raped while still a teenager, and died giving birth to me, because of fucking ridiculous abortion laws and religious parents. Her parents did not want me, so I grew up in an orphanage. All records sealed.

  “So do I just call you Sigurdson, or do you have a first name?” I asked, figuring it was time to change the topic.

  “Anders,” he replied. “What power did you get from that sphere thing?”

  “I’d prefer not to share that,” I told him, as other people started to arrive. “So, slavery, misogyny and racism. What a lovely new home we’ve landed in.”

  “You noticed that as well?”

  “Hard to miss when the colour scheme is the Ku Klux Klan’s idea of a wet dream.”

  “Do you think they noticed?” He gave a chin trust at a group of five that had clumped together. They had that sculpted look that screamed business-man. The manicured nails, the picture-perfect hair, the trim physique, and giving off a slimy attitude.

  “I think all they’ve noticed is their missing overpriced all organically local grown extra-large, extra foam latté and blueberry muffins. To them, it’s just like another day at the country club I bet,” I scoffed. “Oh and their cellphones. Definitely be missing those.”

  That made Anders laugh loudly, but quickly quenched it, when a group of new people arrived. Thirteen of them, finely dressed. The way they looked down their nose at us, but still with a lot of curiosity, I reckoned they were the High Lords.

  They moved directly to their seats but did not sit down. I thought I knew why and moved towards the table meant for us. I came to a stop somewhere around the middle of the table. With the way, I had stuck out at the ceremony or what the hell it was earlier, I figured it best to not sit close to the high table or as far from it as possible. Anders followed my lead. As did a few of the others who moved over to stand next to us, though one idiot, Fatty, sat down close to the high table.

  Less than a minute later a finely dressed guard stepped into the room and took a step to the side. In a loud voice, he proclaimed. “King Alfred, fourth of his name, Protector of—”

  He was rattling off a long series of titles, which I half tuned out. Instead, I was giving the people stepping into the room a good look. The King looked just as I remembered him from earlier in the day.

  Long hooked nose, dark-brown hair that was short, barely covering his ear tips, and a lack of beard. He was taller than most of the other people I had seen in this world, by a half-span or so. He looked to be a bit younger than me, probably late twenties but no more than thirty.

  He was followed by a young teenager who was almost the spitting image of him, just with longer hair, and a great deal of baby fat in his cheeks. Next came an older man, one of the senior priests from earlier in the day, and he was followed by four of the junior priests, including the one who had examined me.

  All of them were giving the Chosen who were still mingling, a hard stare. Stares that could kill. However, it was nothing compared to the stare that Fatty received when the King noticed him.

  Their procession was followed by five more finely dressed guards, who joined the original in herding the rest of the chosen to the table. One of them dragged Fatty to his feet by the scruff of his neck. Under a lot of protests.

  When all the Chosen were standing behind the bench, the King sat down, followed by his son, the senior priest and so on. A few of the others were about to sit down, but were stopped by the guards who had taken position behind us. Then the High Lords sat down at the same time. The guards gave us the go-ahead to sit down. I timed it so I was not the first, nor the last to sit down.

  “Before the feast begins,” the King said from his seat. His voice had pleasant cadence and timbre to listen to. Did not mean he was not a jerk for insulting me at the ceremony. “We shall assign the Chosen to the high hold they will belong.”

  He stopped for a moment, for all to take it in as if it had been difficult to understand. “We will start with Lord Wilbur.”

  They did not say anything, but most of the High Lords looked surprised, none so more than the one sitting the furthest from the high table. He stood to his feet and made a deep bow towards the king, almost hitting his head against the table. “Your Majesty honours me.”

  “I do,” the King said with a sly smile. “I grant you your new subordinate, Lord Karth.”

  ‘Damnit,’ was my immediate thought. The sly smile and the surprise did not bode well. Something was afoot. Even worse, the King knew my name, meaning one of my advisors had told him. Which made sense.

  I felt a guard step toward me, so before he could prod me, I shot to my feet. I gave a bow to the King, figuring half the depth of what Wilbur did would be sufficient. Reckoning it would not be a bad idea to make a good impression, I said, “As Your Majesty commands.”

  “Strong looking, looks to know how to handle himself, polite” the King started listing. “Even have a power rating of twelve.”

  At that, a few of the other Lords looked absolutely green with envy. Wilbur looked like he was about to cream his pants. I, on the other hand, had to clench my fists and bite my tongue, I could see where this was going.

  “All good qualities, wouldn’t you say, Lord Wilbur?”

  “Indeed Your Majesty, you are most benevolent,” Wilbur asskissed.

  “Unfortunately,” the King said. “He has a useless ability called Linking. He can link two objects. Let that be a lesson to pay your taxes on time, Lord Wilbur.”

  “Your Majesty,” the man in question paled and looked absolutely aghast.

  “I expect the taxes to be here by Gyzday, or your brother will inherit the High Hold after your appointment with the Priests of Gyzbohr,” the King said with a cold voice. The translation spell would not let me call the deity, the King mentioned, Grizzly or Boar. It seemed it would not allow me to mock the Gods, which was fair since it was said to be gifted by them.

  “They shall be here by Adeday, Your Majesty, please forgive my tardiness,” Wilbur started rambling. “It shall never—”

  The King snapped at him, “It shall never happen again, and sit down.”

  I sat down as soon as the King ordered, and looking up and down the table I noticed Soldier Boy leaning forward to give me a shit-eating grin. I would find a reason to punch out a couple of his teeth.

  I paid scant attention as the rest of the Chosen were assigned to a Lord. Except for Wilbur, it seemed that the King did it in the order they were seated, meaning I had been right when I thought that the more favour they had, the closer they sat to the King. Soldier Boy was assigned to the Lord closest to the high table, while Anders was assigned to the third lord. What was interesting was his power. He could control the earth and had a power rating of nine. The second highest of all of us.

  Instead of paying attention to who got assigned to who, I instead studied my new liege lord, or what the hell it was called. He was a bit shorter than average, a bit pudgy, and had the lightest brown hair of all of the assembled Lords, and kept it shoulder length which seemed to be the norm. He tried to sport a beard, but it was a sparse beard even if long. It was a mockery of beards, probably a byproduct of him being young. Twenty at most I would say.

  When the last of us had been assigned, the King stood up and clapped twice, while loud saying, “Let the feast begin.”

  A cadre of servants streamed into the hall. Two for each person seated at the tables. The King was served first, then the prince and so on. Then came the High Lords, and lastly we got served. One of the servers placed a large domed platter in front of me. She removed it to reveal some kind of fowl, maybe chicken. There was a whole one just for me, with a loaf of dark bread, some salad leaves, something that looked like small potatoes but were purple, and to the side a couple of apples.

  The other server placed two tankards in front of me, as well as a small glass. The size of a tumbler, but with a handle. She poured what looked like light ale in one tankard, dark in the other and something that looked like dark red wine in the glass.

  A thing I had noticed about all the servers was that they were young girls, plump like the one that had served me earlier, and none of them wore the slave, excuse me, serf collar. I filed the observation away and looked at the high table. The King had not started eating yet, neither had the rest of the table nor the High Lords. The same could not be said for Fatty and half the Chosen. Which earned them a scorching look from everyone, as well as head slaps from the guards.

  When the King finally started to eat after a couple of minutes, so did the rest of the high table. I reckoned it best to wait until the High Lords had started. When they did, I stabbed one of the purple potatoes with the fork and took a hesitant small bite.

  The taste was actually quite good. Tasted like a normal potato, which had been spiced with some very mild chilli, unfortunately, it was spongy like a mushroom and had the same texture. A texture I hated. It was not the taste that kept me from eating mushrooms, it was the texture that somehow was off-putting to me. Next came the fowl. It tasted like chicken, looked like chicken, so it was probably chicken. Or this world’s equivalent.

  I kept to the light ale, despite hating the taste of ale, but there were no non-alcoholic drinks, so it would have to suffice. The rest of the feast was spent in relative silence on Anders and my part. We both chose to observe, as the Chosen nervously chatted amongst themselves, and the High Lords were talking business. The high table was mostly silent, with the only talking being a theological discussion between the King and the senior priest.