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Emissary of the Khargat Khanate[/center]

Down the muddied cobble road there came a large and altogether unexpected company: a host of some hundred Khargats bound straight for the gates of Riadan. The rain had only just ceased and so the wagon was still struggling somewhat even upon this paved rode. All around, the thud of horses' hooves upon the road was muddled by the splash of puddles and squishing of mud. Rain ruined a good bow, the soggy ground made horses falter and stumble, and damp had a way of creeping into the nomads' lungs like some sort of festering rot. Already, more than a few longed for the drylands.

At the front of the procession there marched heavy cavalry, some of the Khanate's finest warriors had been sent as the Bey's bodyguard. In the middle there was a train of wagons carrying Chugo Bey himself and those possessions that he had chosen to bring with him. Flanking the wagons were some lighter horsemen, and trailing behind were more heavy cavalry. While unmistakably Khargat, this company resembled more of a warband than a merchant caravan, and when they at last arrived at the capital's gate they were treated as such.

As they drew near, the gates remained closed and the watchmen atop the walls seemed to stare dumbly down at the incomers. Many of the warriors below could not help but idly glance up to examine the ramparts and fortifications. Seasoned as they were, they could all appreciate the monumental difficulty that laying siege to such a city would bring, yet the eyes of conquerors saw no impossibility. Armor could only protect against the imprecise; walls could only stave off the undetermined. As it would happen, Chugo Bey was quite determined to get into this city and claim his place at the boy king's court regardless of whether the king had invited him or these fools atop the walls wanted to bar his entry.

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The head of his procession now brought their horses to heel just before the closed gates, faced by two guardsmen on foot that out looked upon the Khargats rather smugly and bravely seeing as their was an iron portcullis to separate them.

"What do you mongrels want?" one of the guards asked. That man was armored in the uniform of the city guard, though he was on foot and half the size of the lancers just beyond that portcullis. Each of those lancers were armored from head to toe and even their horses were not left unprotected; were it not for their beards and the unorthodox style of their armor, they might have looked like Dieuporteillan knights. The Khanate was not rich and the vast part of its armies were not so well equipped, so there was no mistaking that these lancers were the Khan's fiercest and that they had proven themselves in a hundred battles. Still, where most would quaver this man continued to find confidence in his uniform, his fellow guards, and perhaps that iron portcullis!

"You know what we want," one rider growled in a thick accent.

"By the Khan's orders (forever may he ride!), we escort Chugo Bey to your king's court. Open the gate," another tried, ever so slightly more diplomatic.

The guards inside scoffed at the first and then laughed at the second, and one answered back, "We received no notice of the impending arrival of some Khargat fool come to lick the king's boots, so it would seem that you come uninvited! Turn back and ride for your wretched hills; best hurry, by the Paragons the rain may come back!"

There was utter silence outside the walls, not so much as the whinny or snort of a horse. The lancers met the guards inside with a deathly stare that could bore holes through most men, and while one guard averted his gaze the louder one met the challenge.

"Do you know what happens to brigands that dare attack the capital? Hah, I wonder if you would shed tears and wail like a widow when they-"

"We'd rather shed blood thantears. Open the gate," one of the lancers said, the lot of them rapidly growing irate in the face of provocation. One of them made a point of drawing a small knife where the ones inside would see it.

"Hah, if you savages think that tiny blade could so much as poke us..."

The one that brandished the knife stared on emotionless, clueless as to what insult was being hurled forth until one of his fellows translated. At that point, he burst out laughing. The city guard was now the angered one, his face flushing red!

"He laughs because that is a scalping knife," one of the Khargats explained, and in an instant the color drained from that guard's face and he became pallid.

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In one great gulp, the Bey finished the contents of some bottle of fine vintage. He pulled open the curtain to his wagon and hurled the empty bottle out to the side of the road, then climbed out and strode forward to see what the meaning of the accursed holdup was. His men were there, quarreling with and threatening the gatekeepers. Of course.

From within a fold of his robes Chugo procured a small pouch of silver. [color=Gold]"The gate toll,"[/color] he shouted as he threw the purse to the men in the gatehouse above. The portcullis was promptly lifted while the hapless two right inside could only mutter underneath their breaths as they were suddenly forced aside as the entire trail marched through. Later that week, the loudmouthed guard would be slashed in two by a saber and thrown into the gutter as he left his post. The culprit would never be found, for the man's enemies had been many, and there had been no witnesses and few that even cared to investigate his disappearance.

An especially large crowd gathered along the road to look at these strange, Pagan barbarians that hailed from the hills in the shadow of the northern mountains. Now that the rain had abated for the time being, the people were all free to gawk at the warriors and wagons with an odd combination of awe, terror, disgust, and utter contempt. Passing by the statues of the Paragons and the unfinished statue of the departed Emperor, Chugo gave them a sideways glance before he returned to his new, freshly opened bottle of wine. From the privacy of within the wagon he was exempt from the judgemental stare of the onlookers, but his men trotted right past the statues in plain view without so much as a single sign of reverence. Their way was to simply burn the dead and then leave their ashes to scatter upon the wind. Statues were only meant to be pulled down in triumph by conquerors.

Finding his way into the palace in a similar manner to how he had managed to enter the city walls, Chugo ascended an obnoxious long set of stairs and walked down winding passages before he eventually found his way to the throne room. At his heels were two slaves; he came expecting to be granted the right to remain in the palace, though he preferred to bring his own servants. Upon seeing young Elendin, the Bey's scowl transformed to a smile. He approached and made a sweeping and deep bow, but like Laxion he did not fall upon his knees. In this case, it was more out of concern that he might dirty his clothes than any religious objections.

[color=Gold]"Hail to your grace, Emperor! Long may you reign. I am Chugo, Bey of the Khanate. I have come upon the Khan's behest to join your court as an advisor to you and representative of my people,"[/color] the Bey began, talking with smooth and honeyed words that betrayed nothing but kindness. His voice carried only the faintest accent; he'd engaged in enough dealings with the 'cultured' people of Emperiat to speak this tongue well.

His smile widened somewhat and he snapped. One of his 'servants' behind stepped forward bearing an ornate box. [color=Gold]"I present a gift to you, Your Majesty! It is a fine warbow of our unique style, crafted by the same hands that make the Khan's own bow. Along with this I have brought you a fine horse fit for any king; a mighty charger he is, and already I have seen him brought into the care of your stablehands. My men can train you in the usage of these things if it please Your Majesty, and perhaps one day you will find joy in using them on a hunt! Nothing would honor us more."[/color]