The officer packed as fast as he could, listening to the footsteps in the hall. He grabbed up the notes, the maps, the rough charcoal sketches, cramming it all into the little black-wood chest. His heart hammered at his ribcage, and his face was coated in sweat. He had to get to Battlegrounds. Now.
It was arranged even quicker than he’d hoped. A courtesan booked for a brief stroll outside the city. A guard who turned blind eyes as a side business. A horse and groom to meet him on the road. An hour from now, he’d be just another debauched soldier, fleeing from just another jealous rival. And he’d be on his way to Battlegrounds, and safety.
A knock sounded at the door, quick, regulation, precise. The officer stopped, looked back at the door. The knock sounded again, harder and less patient. He closed the chest slowly as he answered.
“Who is it?”
“Message from the Konig,” came the reply, the gruff tones of one of the dwarves.
The officer looked about the ruin of his room, his heart working even harder now. He took a few breaths, wiped a handkerchief across his brow, and opened the door, bearing the smile of familiarity.
“I just spoke to the Secretary, why would the Ko - “ He stopped when he saw the swords.
There was a dwarf at his door, in the usual uniform; but behind him were a dozen or more dark elves, earth-toned leathers, blackened blades, watching him with icy, threatening calm. The officer backed up from the door, and the dwarf and his men came forward to meet him.
“We need to have a talk,” the dwarf said as his hand flashed with mana.
