Corco's eyes swerved across the decorated front yard and the people who had taken seat at its tables. Forty-two. He had a hard time putting names to all the faces, but it seemed like all of their collected allies were here to celebrate their apparent victory. As the forty-two small groups of lords and attendants busied themselves with the food and drink in their front, they seemed to have forgotten the reason for their visit. Corco himself did his best to smile and accept the various congratulations which came towards himself.
However, he found himself distracted throughout. The reason was simple: He was worried, much more than he thought he would be. Every time his eyes moved towards the entry, he just couldn't focus on his responsibilities as a host. As the day progressed, his eyes had been drawn over more and more. Sonco and Fadelio were late. By his own count, they should have returned a while ago. He had been confident before, but by now his worry had once again taken the upper hand over his confidence. With slow movements, to make sure that no one would notice his inattention, Corco looked towards the side, to the mercenary who stood guard in the corner.
He would have Dedrick take a few groups of his men towards the inner city, just in case. The prince was about to excuse himself from his onerous duties to ease his mind, but like so often since his return to Medala, his plans were subverted. Without warning, the doors of the inner yard burst open and released the outside world into the exuberant atmosphere. Since the revelry in between himself and the door across the yard drowned out all noise, Corco couldn't hear a thing the new arrivals were saying.
However, just the same he could see his uncle being carried inside by several warriors; and he could see the blood as well. A chill ran down his spine. Corco shot up and sprinted towards the entrance. Like a ripple in a lake, silence spread throughout the yard as more and more lords and attendants turned their heads towards the new arrivals, alerted by the quiet wave from behind. By the time Corco had reached his uncle, the entire place was dead still.
The prince looked down onto his uncle, who had by now been placed on a table by the Saqartu mansion servants. All the while, the guests whose seats had been taken up by the injured warrior had scattered around and observed in shock.
There laid Lord Sonco Saqartu, motionless. His elegant silk tunic had been burned at the edges and dark and heavy spots had formed where blood had soaked the fabric. Its source were the bloody holes which riddled the lord's body. Sonco's eyes were glazed over and swam around in confusion. It was impossible to tell if the lord was still conscious at this point.
"What the hell happened!?
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