Isolde, sometime apprentice of the Golden College,, watched the men who ringed the great chamber with covert interest. As always when she was let out, there were six hard faced soldiers watching her. None of them had pistols drawn but all carried the black powder weapons on their belts. Any attempt to flee would prove instantly fatal. Not that staying here was likely to be conducive to a long life either of course.
 
The scribe, whose name she had either forgotten or never leaned cleared his throat.
 
“Well witch?” he asked coldly. She withdrew her hands from the ornately carved box and their precious content. Isolde was a small woman with raven black hair, a beauty some would say, but for all her erudition she was no warrior. She didn’t see a way out of her predicament. What would they do if she told them thing weren’t fine? Nothing good certainly.
 
“It is as you hope,” she said austerely. The scribe smiled his pale smile.
 
“Then you will be able to complete your ritual?” he pressed. Isolde nodded.
 
“Two nights from now.” The scribe didn’t like that.
 
“Why not tonight witch? Do you seek to delay our Lord’s glory?!” the scribe screamed, spittle flying from the corner of his mouth. He raised a hand as if to strike her. Gilbrect, caught the scribes arm in mid strike. The knight had shed his armor and was now dressed in an austere woollen tunic with a heart embodied in the centre in red thread.
 
“Now now Thomaz, no doubt madame Isolde has her reasons,” he said with a calmness that belied the steel in the statement.
 
“I need to wait for the aethers to be in proper conjunction, with Morslieb in the quadrant that it is in…”
 
Gilbrecht waved her to silence with a shudder. He made a sign to ward off evil as she knew he would at the mention of the chaos moon.
 
Gilbrecht picked up a small brass shackle from the large table and fastened it around Isolde’s wrist. The winds of magic guttered to nothing as the cold metal touched her skin. How they had come by such a thing she didn’t know but she couldn’t light a candle with magic while it bound her.
 
Cold despair filled her. She had hoped that they would get careless or make some mistake. She was under no illusion about what would happen to her when they completed their insane plan. Both success and failure marked the way to an early grave. Probably via a painful and incendiary ceremony in the courtyard.
 
Just as they were about to lead her away a soldier entered from one of the side doors. At first she took him as another of Sir Gilbrecht’s lackeys but the sudden and hostile response from the other soldiers gave her pause. The two Sigmarites closest to the interloper strode towards the man, not drawing weapons but clearly less than impressed at his intrusion.
 
Isolde seized her chance.
 
“Reiner?!” she cried with counterfeit delight and rushed across the room to the newcomer. Both Gilbrecht and his men were caught by surprise. The were unwilling to simply shoot her down, not so close to the end. She threw her arms around Cedric neck, her white dress brushing against him. The man looked shocked, as well he might.
 
“Reiner, it is so good to see you again!” she exclaimed.

[@POOHEAD189]