[i]“There once was a crow named Lucy,
who set out to find his flock.
They laughed and jeered, 
and told him to rightly fuck off.

But Lucy, he did not falter.
He knew deep down they were wrong.
So he found some friends and made his band,
a bunch of birds lead by a mong.”[/i]

Ceara   flipped the stolen lute in her hands, beaming as she finished her  short  song.  “I made that one in about five minutes.  Impressive, yes,  I  know.  I accept tips, if any of you are feeling generous?”

The  knights that she had preformed for didn’t look too pleased, but they   coughed up a polite sum of money for the bard.  Ceara eyed the coins with another grin, clapping her hands twice and turning away.  Nima   approached the table, taking the money and bowing to the gathered   knights.  The thief and her armoured companion retreated to the edges  of  the feast, where servants and stewards went about their business of   preparing to feed the gathering host.  Ceara scanned the room, taking  a  measure of the people already inside the Great Hall.  “It looks  fairly  crowded.  Only the high table is empty.”

Nima nodded.  “Are we to stop singing, then?”

“Stop?”    The thief smiled ruefully.  “I think I’m doing rather well.  We might   make more money if we keep toasting these tables.  Perhaps I’ll even   preform for that high lord that everyone is waiting on.”  As if on cue,   the heavy doors to the Keep swung inward, and every head in the hall   turned to catch a glimpse of the new arrivals.  The thief rolled her  eyes, watching the entire feast gawking at the opened doors.  She began  to form a snarky comment in her throat, but as she looked closer at just  who was coming into the building, the words died in her throat.   Escorted by a few holy knights, a man covered with furs was brought into  the building.  His skin was darker than those around him, and his  clothes  seemed to be missing.

“Nima.”  She whispered calmly.  “Move to the kitchen.  Follow the next servant that passes.”

“Is there a problem?”

Ceara sighed heavily, slowly removing the feathered cap from her head.  “The bard is here.”

The eastern soldier’s voice was as calm as ever.  “The next servant that passes, then.”