It had been rainy and stormy the entire day and the sun was setting. The young king Elendin stares out over the city of Riadan from the highest tower of his palace. He let's out a sigh before his gaze shifts towards a shield on the wall. It bears his coat of arms and used to belong to his father and his father before him. Now it was his to wield and his task to protect the realm against any dangers.
How is he supposed to surpass his father? One of the most beloved kings to this day. "I am but a dwarf, compared to a giant." he mutters to himself before closing his eyes and letting out a sigh.

Soon the advisers from the Great Provinces would arrive and the real work that comes with ruling an Empire would start. His uncle had warned him for their potential serpent like words. They would try to twist his minds with honeyed words and promises. If the Empire was to remain and grow, he would have be to be as strong, if not stronger then his father. Quite the daunting task.

The young king tries to think back to the simpler times. Playing in the Royal Gardens with his friends while his mother watched over him. A smile appears on his face but quickly fades as a new memory arises. His mother, her skin blood red, coughing, wheezing... Dying. The Red Hand Plague^* had swept over the Emperiat province not 6 years ago and left behind a pile of corpses. The province had recovered by now, but many people still lost dear ones, including the young boy Elendin. Now he was all alone, with just his uncle to guide him through this life of politics and intrigue.

A knock... Another knock wakes him from his thoughts. He looks up and turns towards the door. His uncle enters and gives a brief nod. The first adviser was about to pass the Inner-City gates. Even though the sun was already setting and rain was pouring down on the streets, they were filled with people trying to catch a glimpse of these foreign man who were to advise their Emperor. They would pass through the Paragon Path and would see the unfinished statue of Emperor Andèris. Ascended to Paragonship... Will he receive the same honor when he passes away? He waves the thoughts away and returns the nod to his uncle.

It was time to meet his new advisers...

---

^* The Red Hand Plague swept through the Emperiat province and took many lives. It's a contagious disease where the skin turns blood red in certain spots and people slowly choke because their throat swells up.

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---

Heavy, heavy was the rain, which poured down on the noble knights' helmet, tapping lightly and gently, but made sure to make the knight shiver in cold as he thought of the warm bed he'd receive in the kings castle. Bastien looked forwards, seeing the gates in front of him, marking his entrance into the city. Riadan. Once a stout, noble city, now a city stricken with grief for the loss of their king. Or so he presumed. That's how it'd been in Dieuporteille, where two weeks of grief had been enforced by his father. His white noble horse carried the knight into the city, and Bastien found himself surprised to find citizens of Riadan standing there, in the rain, looking at him. For a moment he was taken aback, but continued on his way, through the streets. Luckily they'd left the streets somewhat clear, enabling Bastien to ride past the many people.

The citizens were apparently aware of Bastien's heritage of Dieuporteille, and his fame as a fighter might've superseded him. Several people cheered him on, and some of the women waved their handkerchiefs at him. Bastien acknowledged them by a glance in their direction. He could feel the weight of the burden of the kings' death on his shoulders, and it did not feel right to be merry so soon after his death. The only thing that felt more heavy at this point was his heavy armor, and the metal shield that clanked on his back, being attached over the shoulder with the workings of some leather straps. It was made all the more uncomfortable as his bastard sword clanked against his hip, and against his horse.

He rode through the street that contained the statues of the Paragons, and looked at them as he rode past, bowing his head in shame for not being able to be as great as them. That'd be a long time, a long time since he could ever aspire to be that great. When he reached the statue of the late king, which was still being constructed, he stopped his horse.

For a moment he stood in the rain, looking at the unfinished statue. The townspeople around him became quiet, looking at the knight, watching him closely as he bowed his head down, and spoke some words to himself. “Blessed be his Holy Soul, for his great works and his greater sense of right and wrong. That Sindoras took you for the right reasons we can only hope, but know you left behind an empire worthy of being called the most blessed on Eldas.” When he looked up again, Bastien made a cross in the air, before grabbing the reins of his horse again and forcing the horse to walk again. Now that the man continued on his way, the citizens started talking again, though Bastien did not seem to pay attention to anything going on around him.

The short ride to the castle keep that was home to the new king was.. short. Bastien left his horse in the care of the nearby stablehand, and walked into the large castle. Which meant climbing the gigantic stairwell. It was a task that he'd undertaken a few times before and every single time felt more awe-inspiring than the last time. That didn't take away from the fact that it was quite the climb.

A long ten minute climb later he finally found himself in front of the keep. The entry was guarded by some men, but luckily they recognized him. It wasn't hard to recognize him due to the small, iron seal that was attached to his armor on the location of his heart, which was colored with the colors of his house. He walked inside the large hall, and continued to walk towards the hall where the king would be found -- likely sitting on his throne.

As he approached the king, who was not even a man yet, he could not help but notice the boy had an older man, likely an uncle or family member with him. It did not phase Bastien, since he was a loyal servant, but perhaps it was important to keep an eye on this man. As he stood before the new king, he looked at the boy for a moment. “My king..” he spoke, softly, before he rapidly pulled out his sword. For a moment it put the old man that was with the king on edge, and Bastien noticed the hand of the man being put on his own sword. Behind him he heard movement of some guards, but Bastien kneeled down before anything happened.

He planted his sword into the red roll of carpet that lead from the entrance to the throne. He bowed his head, deeply, deeper than he should have. “My condolences for the loss of your father. He was an honorable man, a good man, whom I knew personally to be a king of the likes we've never seen before. I am sure that you are a man of equal stature, a man of God. As we say in Dieuporteille, Dieu prend et Dieu donne.. God gives and God takes. He has taken your father, but blessed us with your wisdom and youth. I am sure you will become a man like your father, great, noble, brave, but above all.. just. That is how God would see this happen, and so it will happen..”

He stayed like that, kneeling before his king, until he was given the indication that his king was satisfied and that he could get up. When he got that indication, he got up, sheathed his sword and stepped to the side, taking up a position near a large stone pillar, standing there and waiting for the rest of the advisors. He'd heard that the other grand dukes would send someone, too, and he could only wonder who these dukes would have picked..

It's raining, it's pouring,
The old man is snoring.
He went to bed, and bumped his head
And couldn't wake up in the morning.

As the wagon rolled onward, the battering of the rain seemed to be singing. It was singing a song Laxion had not heard in years. He remembered clearly those days, so long ago now, when he would walk the streets of Crimsamara on a rainy day and the children would be running about in the rain and singing their hearts out. Rain was good. Rain was joy. Rain was a blessing. If these were not such sombre times, he would have taken heart at such generous weather. For rain came down from the heavens, by the will of The One (Glorified Be His Name), and it quenched the thirst of the parched earth and it caused to sprout therefrom plants and trees and fruits aplenty, and all manner of food for man and animal alike.

But these were sombre times.

Laxion turned his head slightly and his ears picked up the tune more clearly. He looked at the driver next to him and realised that it was not the battering of the rain which had caused him to imagine the song, for the driver's mouth was opening and closing as he whispered the song to himself. Laxion stared with a sudden despondence at the sight. He turned his eyes away and watched the muddy road ahead. The walls and gates of Riadan rose up before them, and bitterly cold, almost spiteful, winds carried rain and spittle from the huge lake at whose coast the capital of the Grand Kingdom stood. Lake Riadan was the source of the Eskar River, which was wide enough that sea-faring ships could travel upriver till they arrived at the capital city's port. Andalujan expertise had contributed greatly to the improvement of the Grand Kingdom's naval prowess in recent years, though from what Laxion had seen in the Grand IHEL there were a great many advancements which had been constrained to the books, and by the Little Basileus' command nothing was to be said of them to the world outside the Institute. When asked why the Little Basileus would do such a thing, Laxion had scoffed and responded with one word; 'politics!'

The donkey's ears had completely flattened against the sides of its head by this point. Laxion turned in his seat and looked around the edge of the covered wagon to the one behind, which was also endeavouring over the muddy road. The old scholar had not managed to fit all the chests he was bringing along in one wagon, so he had brought along another. The chests were largely full of books, but there were also herbs, powders, various concoctions he had gathered over the decades in small phials, and other things he deemed of some importance. His thirteen year-old student and adoptive son, Torinus, sat beside the driver. He too appeared to be in deep contemplation, and the rain bludgeoning his fiery red hair, though it did not dampen its passionate heat, gave him a very dejected look. The boy was sharper than a razor, nothing short of a genius. Laxion had come upon him some five years back arguing with the Magnificent Library's librarian. He wished to enter, it appeared, but the librarian would not allow a boy in unaccompanied. Laxion had taken pity on the boy and taken him along with him. And they had not parted since, for he was - as Laxion had been when Hosarus found him - an orphan.

As the wagon made its way through Riadan's main gates, Laxion allowed himself to admire the capital city. It had been decades since last he laid eyes upon this place, and the rain gave it a certain lustre and purity. For a few seconds, it was as though this were not the dark heart of all the vices of the earth; what blood-curdling crimes, what petrifying sins, what terrible trespasses and great transgressions, were known to man and not to this city's walls? The wagons continued and soon were passing through the inner-city gate, and straight through the Paragon Path. Crowds had gathered either side of the path and there was a moment of utter silence as the donkey (followed by another!) made its way through the near-hallowed place. Laxion looked from side to side, and he could not help but feel that he was not getting many friendly glances. His eye did however meet more than a few awestruck eyes. When one had dwelled upon this terrestrial plane more than nine decades, news naturally spread of this miraculous achievement. And the works of Laxion Hosarusson were not so paltry as to not have turned heads even among the wider citizenry.
'Tha's the one that wro' some book, righ'?' he heard a lone voice ask.
'He's written hundreds of books! He's completely shattered the ideas o-'
'A'right mate, keep yer pants on!'
'But don't you understand the sig...' and the wagon passed by the arguing pair so that Laxion could hear no more. Other than that however, his arrival was not met with any great level of cheer or excitement. If anything, he seemed to have disappointed them.
'Who's that cute little boy?' some silly girl giggled somewhere. He looked around and soon spotted a group of some four girls looking at the wagon behind him, no doubt eyeing Torinus. Why, the shamelessness of it!

Ignoring the crowd completely, Laxion allowed his eyes to move over the statues of the Paragons. His eyes settled upon a particularly large and elevated one which professed to be a representation of The One (Glorified Be His Name). Laxion frowned and muttered a little prayer for forgiveness.
'Forgive them, oh Great One, they know not what they do.'
While depictions of the Paragons was tolerated back in Andaluja, any depiction of Sindoras was highly prohibited and taboo. And of course, it was completely wrong! The idea that The One (Glorified Be His Name) was nothing but a man was laughable. But the history of mankind proved beyond doubt that even the greatest truths were susceptible to corruption. They passed by an incomplete statue, and Laxion immediately recognised the resemblance of the late King Andèris. It seemed that already he had been declared a Paragon, and more worthy a Paragon there could not be, for he had - and on this all Sindorian priests and scholars were largely agreed - reached the status of Perfecti in life. Laxion muttered a little prayer that The One (Glorified Be His Name) find him worthy and make his judgment and passage to the Celestial Planes swift and easy.

Soon enough they had arrived in the castle keep and a stable boy helped him from from the wagon. Torinus soon joined him and the stable boy informed him that they had been expected, and a guide would lead them to the king. Laxion thanked him and soon found himself following a young man not six years older than Torinus. Were it not considered rude, Laxion would have requested some time to change from his travel-clothing and make himself more presentable to the king, but it appeared that custom dictated that he pay his respects to the king first and foremost. With Torinus at his side, he stepped into the throne room and allowed himself to register the grandeur of the place. He had read much about it, he had even had the privilege of accessing its plans in the archives in Crimsamara, but seeing it with his eyes in reality was completely different. His eyes at last moved to the throne, and the young king who sat thereon. Beside him was an older man - undoubtedly the late king's brother - and to the side was a younger man, armoured and just as wet as Laxion and Torinus.

Laxion stepped forward until he was stood some five strides from the throne. Rather than getting on his knees, he bowed deeply. (For Sindorians bent the knee for none other than The One (Glorified Be His Name)!)
'Laxian Hosarusson, my liege,' he said respectfully, 'and my son, Torinus.'
Torinus looked at the king for a few seconds, a boyish smile spreading across his face. He was sure that he and the king would hit it off when they got the chance to talk a bit! He caught Laxion's angry glare and quickly bowed his head in respect.
'Uh, my lord. Thank you,' he stuttered, before realising that he had not given a reason for thanking him, 'for...for having us.'
'The passing of your father has opened a wound in the hearts of the people, my liege, and even as I departed from Crimsamara there seemed to be a shroud of misery upon the place. Know that he meant much to our people. He was a good king, a kind king, generous and wise. You stand upon the shoulders of giants, my liege, and it is my firmest belief that you will see better and go further due to it. I have left the quiet joy of my study, my liege, that I may serve you as best I can. I hope I will be worthy of this trust, and that you yourself will find in us some worth - however small,' he raised his head and looked at the young king once again. Then Torinus spoke up again, to Laxion's surprise.
'You'll be a great king!' he said rather louder than was necessary, 'uh, my lor- my liege.'

Laxion sighed and felt himself die a little on the inside. Torinus was certainly acting far more stupid than he was. Whatever it was, he would have to have a word with him later. Bowing one last time, Laxion made his way to the side and stood by the pillar on other side of the aisle from the wet knight. Torinus quickly joined him there and glanced at the boy-king often, that boyish smile back on his face.

Pouring rain, again. It was a 4 day ride to Riadan from Tarugerdam and rain was coming down neigh every day. Grenn and his retinue knew rain, they were Driftmarkers. Dirk Swerbaght, the boney paymaster of his company the Iron Sovereigns, had mirthlessly accounted the rain to the Paragons sadness and had drawn several laughs from the other Sovereigns in the roadside inn. Grenn wondered what the Paragons were sad about the rest of the year that entitled the Driftmark to the constant crap weather. It comforted Grenn to see Raidan knew rain as well. A bit of home. Thirty-one soaked riders had gathered around him. All but one where Iron Sovereigns and Grenn looked over them as he turned his horse.

“Gather round lads!”

He stood in the stirrups to shout it, his voice bouldering over the wind, a tone for commanding during the turmoil off battle. It switched to a softer and calmer tone as the riders had gathered.

“That there-“ Grenn pointed a thumb over his shoulder while nodding sagely “is Raidan, your Imperial Capital. Now the officers talked about what that means right?”

Most Sovereigns smiled, some showing the boredom of endless repetition. Grenn had his officers drill this for the last few days when his retinue was in camp. He looked around as he let the pause fall, his face going from sagely to irritated till one of his soldiers spoke up.

“It means we are to behave, curtsies-“ the soldier made a poor curtsy from horseback “kissing hands, arses and so on.”

Grenn nodded as several laughs came up, they silenced when Grenn clapped his right hand into the swaddled plated gauntlet on its left and started speaking:

“Eloquent Balkend. What else?”

Grenn’s gaze went over the men clothed in unadorned grey surcoats to his left over their mail and leathers, raising his voice for the last bit.

“Iron Discipline.”

The entire group responded as one and evoked an appreciative nod of Grenn.

“Good, now let’s get out of the sun.”

A short moment of eye-contact between Dirk and Grenn while Grenn turned his horse was the que for 15 of his men to follow the old paymaster to the South Gate. Grenn and the remaining 15, conveniently these were actually wearing the boar and river of House Albraght above the plated fist of the Iron Sovereigns over their grey surcoats. The citizens of Raidan welcomed Grenn and his retinue with a murmer because of the lack of heraldic display. On Grenn’s left he could hear talk about his metal gauntlet swaddled in oiled cloth, and soon after he could pick up ‘Driftmarkers’, ‘Iron Souvereigns’ or ‘Albraght’ along the way. Grenn could feel the disappointment in the air, not only because of the rain, but also because of this ‘lesser adviser’ from a ‘lesser region’ was what they had been waiting for. He didn’t mind. Grenn knew what the Driftmark was, and he knew what others would think. It just meant that Grenn picked up the pace after they had passed the Westgate.

The ride was uneventful and all but two of his retinue had split off to make the chambers ready and unload their belongings. Grenn just dismissed the last two as a lackey with a towel sped towards Grenn and offered it.

“Good Evening Lord Albraght would-“

“No need, they can know I rode through mud and rain.”

Grenn said as he pushed the towel aside and set pace for the throne room.
As his announcement was being made he sized up the king, but most of all the man standing behind the throne; Rurik Aventash. Grenn knelt when his announcement ended.

“Your Grace. My King. The Driftmark is at your service now and always.”

He saw the rain dripping from his nose onto the now muddied red carpet and suppressed a grin.

“That the Albraght family may aid you in times like these. After the loss of the great Emperor.”

He took his rise again after being given some form of recognition and stepped towards Bastien de Warenne, trying to look amiable as he came up next to him. After a headbow of genuine respect he leaned in for a soft word.

“Good to see they send the likes of you Dwarenne.”

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.



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.



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. "The gate toll," 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.

"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," 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. "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."

As the first three of his new advisers arrived, the young emperor simply acknowledged them with a nod and thanked them for coming without much flare or speeches. The boy was clearly nervous, but was keeping it together rather well. At times his uncle would lay his hand upon the boys shoulder and smile at him to assure him.

Elendin looks over at the small group to the right of him. They all seemed to be observing him one way or another. His eyes wander off to Torinus and a small smile appears on his face. This smile quickly disappears as a servant storms into the room and runs up to the throne. He bows hastily and catches a breath. "My liege. My deepest apologies for bursting in like this, but a large group of Khargats is approaching the castle. Many of them have also started setting up camp in the middle of the Paragon Path, Kings Row and other major roads, sire. Should I dispatch the guards?"
Ruriks and Elendins eyes meet for a second before returning their attention back to the servant. Rurik takes a step forward to take the word, but is halted by raised hand of Elendin. "Let them approach. I want to hear the reason why these so called Khargats dare to enter our precious city." He waves the servant away, who leaves with one last bow. Rurik looks back at the boy with a raised eyebrow, but doesn't question him.

Some time passes before the large doors to the throne room open once more. This time three man approach. One clearly being of better stature then the other two. He bows before Elendin and introduces himself as Chugo, the adviser the Khan has send. As soon as he is done, Rurik steps forward, a thunderstorm upon his face. "How dare you even enter this precious city, you Khargat scum! This is a blatant insult to our beloved emperor! There is a reason we didn't send your Khan an invi-..." "Uncle! That's enough." Elendin leans forward in his throne, elbows resting upon his knees, looking inquisitively at the Bey. "What my uncle meant to say was that it would have been nice if we warned ahead of time of your approach. While Riadan is large, we do not have the space to house all your man and they are currently blocking important routes of our beloved city. I must ask you to camp your cohorts outside of the city gate. North of lake Riadan there is a patch of land you can use for this. This is not a request, it is, in fact, an order, lord Chugo. If you are indeed willing to take a place in the council of advisers, then show your utter loyalty by following it." The boy leans back in his throne, his face quite red from the anxiety that came with talking aloud to this... man.

Rurik shifts his look from Chugo to Elendin, let's out a near silent sigh and retakes his position besides the throne. The look on his face says enough about his thoughts. He does not agree with the boys words, but remains silent. He closes his eyes, gathers his thoughts and opens them again, his face showing no emotion anymore.

---

---

A slender body shifted under the soft bed sheets. Eyelids closed against the dim starlight coming in from the window and her breathing deep and relaxed, all the muscles in her face and body were totally at peace, like a baby in its first throes of slumber. Not a twitch, not a spasm, barely any movement of her breasts rising and falling with each intake of air; such was the depth of her oblivion. This was a body totally at peace, at rest, at one with itself, rejuvenating the mind and muscles before the onset of yet another difficult day.

The sound of steps awoke her. "Mmh, who's there?" She called out, half-asleep. Her eyes opened slightly and caught sight of a blurry figure standing a few meters away from her bed. Then she saw the dagger.

Her grogginess immediately went away as she grabbed the sheets with a sweeping motion and threw them to the direction of the man that was already charging at her, brandishing the dagger in his right hand. Hurriedly, she searched under her pillows for her own dagger. "Oh no," she whispered. It wasn't there.

*riiiip* Millions of thoughts were passing through the mind as she turned her attention to the man. He had already ripped through the sheets and was now inches away from her. It was too late. Before she could even call for help, he had already lunged at her. The last thing she saw was the glittering edge of the dagger under the light of stars.

*stab*

Layna awoke to the sudden rocking of the carriage. Her eyes shot open as she gasped for air a few times before realizing it was all a nightmare again. She coughed ruggedly a few times and the sound of the coughs prompted the carriage driver to stop. "My lady, are you alright?" The driver's head poked through the window curiously. "Yes, I'm fine," she said sharply. "Why did you stop the carriage? Do you think the king will wait forever?" She added, slightly irritated.

"O-of course not, my lady. I'll continue right away, my lady!" The old driver immediately said and made for the reigns, quickly regretting his actions. "Wait," Layna's voice was heard once again. "Bring me the small leather flask from the top of the carriage. I think it's inside the smallest chest," she said. "Yes, right away my lady," the driver quickly answered and climbed on top of the carriage. After a brief search he came down again and passed a medium-sized leather flask to her.

"Go on, now." She said as she took the flask from his hands. She looked at the Imperial Palace standing atop the small hill at the center of the capital city of Emperiat, Riadan. "We're quite close to the palace so hurry up!"

The man returned to his seat, grabbed the reigns and with a sharp whipping, the horses started trotting down the road. Layna slumped back into her seat and sighed. She examined the flask in her hand for a brief moment before pulling on the cork. The sweet scent of Meda-Chaban wine filled the carriage compartment. She stayed still for a moment, letting the scent assault her nostrils before gulping down a couple of mouthfuls.

Her father didn't know about this little hobby of hers. No one knew. Not even her supplier knew the who was the person buying his wine. It was her little secret. The wine was the only thing capable of making her forget that night. Fortunately, her dagger was there and the assassin was dead. The mental demons harrowed her, though. Subconsciously, her hand trailed off to the scar under her eye, touching it. Realizing it, she brought it down and clenched it tightly while gulping down more of the wine.

"Ugh, what am I doing? I'm going to meet the young king soon. I can't be drinking like this..." she thought and put back the cork on the flask, sealing it tightly before storing it inside her bag.

The carriage abruptly stopped again. The sounds of horses neighing and the driver trying to calm them down could be heard. "Make way! Don't you see the sigil on the side of the carriage? Do you know who this is? Make way!" Layna heard the driver shouting. She poked her head out the window and realized they were already at the Paragon Path, as evident from the multitude of statues of the Paragons of old. Layna slowly made a cross over her chest before shouting at the driver.

"Why did you stop again? Who's blocking the way?" She asked, her tone showing her displeasure. "Eh, It's nothing, my lady," the man said nervously. He knew the personality of his liege's daughter so he couldn't very much say to her that a bunch of Khargat savages were blocking her way to the palace. Alas, he rolled his eyes when her voice sounded once again. "Then why are you shouting?" She said and poked her head out the window once more.

Now, you got to understand that all self-appreciating Belintashians, with the exception of the traders - they are forced to keep up appearances for the sake of trading. They all immediately spit when they come in contact with Khargat savages. The Khargat invasion is still fresh in the minds of the people of Belintash so it's understandable that they would harbor deep resentment towards the Khanate.

Layna is, of course, amongst those people. She, however, much like those traders, has to keep up appearances whenever she comes across the savages. Her line demands it from her. Her hatred runs deep, yes. But the face of her House is more important than a couple of barbarians.

She threw an ice cold look at the fur-clad, axe-wielding man in front of her carriage. "What do you want?" She gnashed her teeth and said. The man rubbed his thumb and index finger towards her. "Of course, that's all you lot want..." She said mockingly. Layna glanced at the driver and made a motion with her head before retracting it back inside the carriage. The driver got her message and, after fishing through one of his pockets, grabbed a small pouch and threw it at the armored Khargat.

The man weighed the pouch in his hand before sneering and walking to the side. He made a bowing motion and held his hand towards the road. The driver growled before once again whipping at the horses and dragged the carriage away.

The rest of the ride to the palace was uneventful. They passed in front of the half-completed statue of the late King Anderis. Not even a year had passed since his death and the church had already declared him a Paragon. Layna didn't think much about it. Ever since that night, she had stopped coming along with her father to the capital and so she didn't have much contact with the late king. She was with her father, discussing some things regarding the management of the mines when suddenly a messenger barged through the doors of the meeting room and made the announcement of the murder.

Her father was devastated, to say the least. King Anderis was a close friend of his. They even fought together when they were young. The only thing she could do at the time was to just sit beside him, holding his hand while he was mourning. When the letter came, announcing the ascension of the young Elendin to the throne and ordering her father to send an advisor to the young King, she jumped at the opportunity. She had long taken note of her father's slowly degrading mental and physical state.

It took her some time until she persuaded her father to send her in his stead, but in the end, she succeeded.

The driver stopped the carriage, climbed down and opened the door for her. She walked out and looked at the long flight of stairs ahead of her. She tidied up herself a little; She wore a simple traveling outfit native to the northern lands. Layna looked over at the driver and said "take the horses and the carriage to the palace stables. Take this," she fished a small insignia of her House from her bag and gave it to him. "Show it to the guards if they ask whose carriage it is. Also, take this pouch" she gave him a pouch filled with silver coins. "Find an inn. Treat yourself to some ale. It has been a long way from home and we'll be staying here for some time," she finished saying. The man nodded as he received the insignia and the pouch and, after bowing, he climbed up the carriage and left.

Layna turned her attention back the stairs and, after letting out a sigh, she started ascending them.

It didn't take her long to reach the peak. She showed another insignia to the guards in front of the palace gates. The originaly questioning guards relaxed and bowed while making way for her. After a couple of minutes, she reached the doors to the throne room. Suddenly, shouts and curses came from inside the throne room and she motioned the steward to wait before announcing her arrival.

"How dare you even enter this precious city, you Khargat scum! This is a blatant insult to our beloved emperor! There is a reason we didn't send your Khan an invi-..."

"More barbarians? *Peh*" she spat, much to the surprise of the steward. But then she heard a young voice calling out to the previous person. "Uncle! That's enough."

"And that should be the young King Elendin..." she thought and continued listening.

"What my uncle meant to say was that it would have been nice if we warned ahead of time of your approach. While Riadan is large, we do not have the space to house all your man and they are currently blocking important routes of our beloved city. I must ask you to camp your cohorts outside of the city gate. North of lake Riadan there is a patch of land you can use for this. This is not a request, it is, in fact, an order, lord Chugo. If you are indeed willing to take a place in the council of advisers, then show your utter loyalty by following it."

"Heh, at least he has some common sense. Must have taken it from his father..." she thought and smiled. After that, she didn't hear anything else and so, she nodded to the steward to finally announce her arrival as she entered the throne room.

Layna walked through the middle of the room, past the barbarian emissary and knelt down on one knee while taking off her cotton cap. "My condolences Your Grace, for your loss. The late King Anderis was an honorable man and a stalwart leader, much deserving the title of Paragon that has been bestowed upon him. My father, Basil Farwynd, sends his apologies for not being able to personally come and be your Your Grace's advisor. His health has not been the best as of late and as a result, he sent me, his eldest daughter, Layna Marie Farwynd, in his stead. I hope my services will prove to be worthy of the title of advisor to the King" she said with her soft but loud and clear voice.

After receiving the signal, she stood up and, after glancing at the Khargat emissary with a look of disdain, walked to the side, taking her place next to the little boy standing beside an old man.

---

---

Bastien stood by idly, taking note to the old man that followed him along with.. what seemed to be a small child. And for Bastien, who had traveled alone, this seemed like a strange thing to do. Never the less, Bastien was indeed familiar with the man, who called himself Laxion Hosarusson. A good man, as far as Bastien knew. But he did not know much, as Dieuporteille and Andaluja were far apart, despite their political ties being perhaps the strongest within Emperiat.

Listening to the man speak, he noticed how Laxion took great care to craft his words, only to see his craft shattered by this boy he had brought along. Bastien contained himself, but a small smirk could be read upon his lips. The small boy was naïve, to think he would be able to become friends with the king, let alone come close to his greatness. But perhaps the king found it endearing. He was merely a child after all. A great child, but a child none the less.

As Laxion stepped aside, he stood across from Bastien, whom lowered his head slightly and bowed it for Laxion, acknowledging the mans presence. Now that they were both advisors, perhaps Bastien could get rid of the mantle of 'youth' he had compared to this man and show that he was in and of himself a force to be reckoned with, whether it came to combat or intelligence.

The next man was a man who looked to be from.. some pig farm. He had the looks of a brute, a mercenary with no honor, and little did Bastien know that was precisely what the man was. He introduced himself, and clarified whom he was precisely. They were neighbors. How.. amusing. When the man came up next to Bastien and whispered into his ear, Bastien spoke back, not bothering to lower his voice too much. Bastien of all people was not afraid to let those around him hear what he had to say..

“First of all, it's de Warenne, not 'Dwarenne.' That not every man in the council can speak like a man and instead speaks like a peasant child, that is fine by my, but I would appreciate you would at least show me the respect I deserve, and attempt to pronounce my name correctly. Second off, I am here to provide the king with my sacriligious duty to provide comfort, council and security. Not make friends with the sorts of you. I've heard of you. You're a vagabond, a man without honor. Your company much the same.. woe the days, where chivalry still existed.”

Bastien had caught on to what the man was trying to achieve here - friendship with Bastien, to work together against the other advisors. Bastien was not going to play this game and he was going to make it clear from the start. Anyone that wished to play a political game here would play with Bastien's father, in Dieuporteille, and not with Bastien in the court. It was not only his duty as a knight of Saint Michél, but also the duty of a religious pious man like Bastien, to aid his king.

The entire argument could've continued, but a servant swinging the doors open put a stick in the wheels of that conversation. When the servant spoke of the Khargats, Bastiens' eyes widened. Khargats. In Riadan? Bastien's hand made a wide motion to his blade, unsheathing the first few centimetres of the blade as he looked to his emperor. As the situation played out, Rurik made it clear that he did not appreciate the Khargats - much to the approval of Bastien. The Khargats were filthy heathens and now they were setting up camp near the Paragon path, no, ON Paragon path? An outright insult.

When the emperor spoke to the filthy heathen, Bastien interrupted the emperor, and stepped forwards, now fully unsheathing his blade and stepping between the emperor and the Khargat. He stared Chugo down, his armor and helmet making sure to give him a serious and threatening look -- as much as he could look threatening to such a savage creature like Chugo. They were barely human, barely resemblant of any shape or form of chivalry. Where as the Driftmark peasant-mercenary was a knave and nothing more, it was excuseable.. Chugo, however, was merely an ant, not fit to set a single foot within the city of Riadan, and if you asked Bastien, not fit to set a single foot within Emperiat.

“My emperor, with all due respect, but as I am now your advisor, I must agree with your uncle. These.. Khargats..” The word left his mouth with as much disdain as he could, making it clear that he did not dislike, no, he hated this man and his people. “They are heathens, and their tents in Paragon path are not merely a logistical problem, but a religious insult. I am sure they did this on purpose and this must not go unanswered. I stand with your uncle, allow me to remove this peasant from your court, that we may continue our duties in peace without having to deal with these petty attempts at gaining power in your empire.”

He raised his blade, holding it out in front of him and aiming it at the Khargat. It was then that a lady appeared, kneeling down before the king and introducing herself. Layna Farwynd. She was introduced by the steward, but then repeated it herself as well, as if it hadn't been clear. At least the look she gave the Khargat emissary was enough to convince Bastien that she was okay.

“My king, I have traveled her alone, for fear of burdening you with the task of caring for my entourage. Laxion merely carries a boy with him, and the Driftmark peasant-noble assumedly carries naught but his would-be soldiers with him. Miss Layna,” he spoke, motioning to each of the individuals he mentioned when he mentioned them, with his free left hand. “Miss Layna has likely not brought anyone with her, as is common courtesy not to burden a receiving lord with the task of supplying your people. So what does this Khargat.. this Khargat peasant, savage fool do?”

He turned his head and looked back at the king, before uttering his next words, “... he brings an army, milord, he brings an army to show you how peaceful and benevolent he is. If I had not respected your word so much, I would have executed this fool on the spot, but my duties as a knight of Saint Michél and above all knight of Emperiat and of God, compel me to follow your orders. Never the less, consider what I am saying.”

When Rurik had his outburst, the Bey's face was utterly placid. His eyes lazily glanced towards this stranger, and his face betrayed hardly emotion save that of mild amusement. He made this man (evidently the king's uncle; he had heard about this man!) look like a petulant child having a tantrum before his parent. Of course, this was exactly what the Bey had intended to do and he had come prepared for such a reaction. The servants, however, looked on in something between shock and horror. They knew the implications of insulting the Khan or one of its Beys, and from the look of their eyes it would appear that they half expected something terrible to happen. Then they looked to their master, and in a moment their faces became calm as was is. It would seem that here, their master was a very different person indeed.

When Elendin responded with tact it showed him more wise and respectful than Chugo had expected, and in all truth he was somewhat taken aback. Still, the boy hadn't even acknowledged the gift left at his feet. Normally Chugo might have taken that as a direct and calculated insult, though perhaps this young emperor was simply overwhelmed. "As you wish, so it shall be," he answered the emperor's command. Turning to one of his servants, he relayed the order, "See to it that this is done." that servant gave a short bow directed somewhere between the Bey and the emperor, then hurried out of the throne room.

He bowed his head slightly in respect, then silently contemplated upon how this uncle was so weak as to not even control his nephew of some eleven odd years. Perhaps the uncle would not prove to be so much as an obstacle to the Khanate's goals as one might have initially thought. His thoughts then turned back to his men, the utter fools that had evidently camped in the middle of the streets for lack of other orders. He began to weigh the benefits of having them nearby in the first place; they had been a necessary escort and it would be useful to have a hundred good men at his disposal, yet at the same time, keeping a small army outside the city would be sure to be received poorly by some...

Such thoughts were rather brusquely brought to a still when some fool of a knight drew his sword at Chugo and confronted him with even more vitriol than Rurik had. Here, the Bey was genuinely surprised; to threaten an emissary was something that his own Khan would never dare stoop so low as to do. 'And they think us savages!' he thought.

Try as he might, this time his face was not so stoic and a tinge of broiling ire crept into his eyes and became evident in his tightened jaw. Perhaps he had drank too much wine on his journey, though Chugo still retained that restraint uncharacteristic of most Khargats. Calmly, he glanced towards the knight. He thought of the dagger hidden within the folds of his robes, though he was conscious enough to not hover his hand over it. The element of surprise was all that he would have were Bastienne to attack him right then and there. Chugo had received martial training of his own as a Bey in the Khanate's armies, though of course he was an officer and not some common warrior. He knew that this knight would have the obvious advantage with his armor, experience, and sword if it came down to it.

He had been allowed the times to think these quick thoughts while some other dignitary, a woman no less, made her appearance. She looked down upon him with the same scorn that the others did, an he returned a cold stare for one brief moment. Then the Dieuporteillan knight spoke again, and Chugo found the attention once more upon himself. A rush of adrenaline came upon him; it was here and now that he realized the gravity of this situation. Everything depended upon what he did now, everything from the Khanate's future to perhaps even his life.

Fortunately, Chugo had always had a quick mind and a sharp charisma. Hardly a moment after Bastienne had finished, Chugo addressed the emperor once more with calculated words, "Having seen this man's display," he began, gesturing towards de Warenne, "...I think it evident to your majesty why I was given such a large escort. Brigands haunt the countryside, and you have seen how many of your subjects will offer us no hospitality or even stoop so low as to threaten an emissary. Nonetheless, no insult was intended and those under my command will be disciplined for any ill acts."

With that hopefully deflected, it was time to outmaneuver this fool and retaliate in like. "And as in for his allegations," he started in a louder and more authoritative tone that demanded the attention of all nearby, gesturing once again to de Warenne as he spoke, "...I feel it my place to remind you that the Khargat hosts in all their strength have supported your father in all of his wars as they will continue to support Your Majesty, and that many a conquest was won by the blood of my people. Similarly, our herders bring the meat that feeds Your Majesty's towns and our merchants bring commerce and exotic goods to the empire. What can he offer you? A few knights, perhaps a mob or two of levied peasants? Our horsemen are second to none as history attests, and our warriors more numerous than his."

"The Khan has seen fit to send You Majesty gifts and his regards," Chugo went on, reminded Elendin about the bow and horse that he had been offered, "Whereas this knight has brought you nothing but his dogmatic belligerence. He accuses me of grasping for power here, yet what else is he doing by pointing that blade at my face and trying to sow discord between your court and between my Khan and yourself? Your Majesty, I think you wise. I think that you will see the wisdom in bringing about a new era of cooperation and friendship between the Crown and the Khanate; let none seek to blind you to the truth or sully my earnest words with lies."

And now Chugo was confident that he had won this exchange and outmaneuvered the knight in this 'debate' if it could even be considered such, though he was still ever wary of growing too too arrogant in his victory. He knew not what this emperor's temperament was like or how the knight would react. Still, he glanced back to the Dieuporteillan for the briefest of moments and a tingle of mocking triumph showed in his eye. Yet for the rest to see, he remained ever calm. He would let his adversaries look like the angry and uncontrollable fools that they were; he knew that any aggression on his part would only reinforce what Elendin would have surely heard about the Khargats and their supposed savagery. It would be best to prove him wrong and make him question what he knew of the Khanate.

Like all the rest were no doubt doing, Chugo Bey looked expectantly at the emperor, though in his face he tried to show some empathy. It was slowly becoming clear that this boy was being ripped apart by the pressure of this court; Chugo immediately realized that if he could offer the young emperor any calm or reprieve from that pressure, he would be like a father of sorts. Chugo, ever opportunistic, would be sure to try and exploit that trust if ever he could achieve such a status.

Laxion kept his eyes upon the boy king for a while, but eventually he placed a hand upon his son's head and surveyed the other two men. When his eyes turned to those of the young armoured knight, he found that the knight was looking his way. He held the man's gaze for a few moments before the knight lowered his gaze and nodded in respect. Laxian did likewise. He did not know the man, but he assumed that he was one of the young king's new advisers. No news had reached him about the identities of those who would become his acquaintances at court, and Laxion hardly felt that it was necessary for him to know anyone. He was here, first and foremost, to advise the king and to teach him. He knew well the intrigues which were bound to take place in a king's court, especially in the court of a young and pliable boy king, but he was not interested in partaking in such petty games. He was a man learned in many things, and especially in the history of people and nations, and he knew well that such games and politics only served to weaken the state and bring about its doom. He would be the piercing light which helped the young king see through the deceit and read the intentions of men like the scholars of Crimsamara read the pages of endless tomes and volumes. He rubbed Torinus' head once more and looked at the young boy with a smile. Torinus' gaze did not waver from the king and Laxion could not help but raise an eyebrow.

Now that he thought on it, he had not seen any children in the royal palace. The king was, as far as he could tell, very much alone. Friendless. Perhaps Torinus would be able to provide the young king with the much-needed company and lightheartedness of one his own age. Indeed, it often escaped the minds of lesser men, but not Laxion's, that the young - whether they were kings or not - desperately needed company and time to play so as to develop into well-balanced humans. And there was a certain gravity and severity in the face of Rurik that foretold a disposition which could ill-tolerate 'play' or perceived 'time-wasting'. And though he could not tell for sure, this knight-adviser also seemed of the hardened stock - his eyes, as he looked from the king, to Laxion, to Torinus, disclosed some of his ill-concealed thoughts on children. Mere children.

A sound near the great room's entrance caught Laxion's attention, and an announcement was made for one "Lord Grenn Albraght". A tall, thickset man made his way in and made it known, as an almost excessive amount of mud and rainwater dirtied the red carpet, that he was the Driftmarkian delegate. Laxion made it a rule to reserve judgement of others until such a time where enough information had been gathered on them to make the judgement both fair and accurate. His travels and exposure to people of all cultures and creeds, and his deep studies and understanding of the histories of different peoples, had made him particularly tolerant of those who were different, willing to make excuses for those who did not act in ways which conformed with his own cultural and religious prejudices. There was no denying, for instance, that this Lord Albraght had come in with an air of irreverence and barely-disguised conceit. But was it not right that one feel comfortable in the presence of his master and liege? Was it not right that of all places, one should feel at home here in the great palace of his royal majesty? Why should immediately encompassing and being comfortable with the role of an adviser be perceived as irreverent or conceited? If anything, Lord Albraght was showing them all how an adviser should carry themselves. There was no need for formalities and pomp and ceremony when one was here to be a close adviser of the king and give him sage guidance in matters spiritual and mundane.

“First of all, it's de Warenne, not 'Dwarenne.' That not every man in the council can speak like a man and instead speaks like a peasant child, that is fine by me, but I would appreciate...” Laxion had not seen Lord Albraght do anything untoward, let alone something which warranted the sudden and hostile reaction which the knight now gave. Before the king could intervene and settle the issue, the doors of the throne room swung open once again and introductions were made for "His Esteemed Lordship, Chugo Bey". The atmosphere in the throne room grew markedly hostile as the Bey made his way in and offered the king the regards of the Khan and his gifts - a war-bow and a horse! Either the Bey was being deceitfully diplomatic, or this gift meant the Khan truly saw in the boy king an equal, or a desired equal. The war-bow was the pride of the Khargats, no bows in the land were of a higher quality or better craftsmanship. Likewise were their horses, for they were a nomadic people and took great care that their horses were of the finest quality. The bow and the horse were their means of survival, their pride, and to give them as gifts to anyone was the greatest symbol of respect and esteem. Laxion looked to the king and hoped that he would hurry to accept so tremendous a present from so important an ally.

But perhaps the scholar, despite his great knowledge and understanding, failed to understand what was running through the minds of the others. It had been so long since he had to deal with petty minds that he had not paused to wonder if some of the minds present here were of that sort. For that reason, Rurik's sudden outburst left the old man rather stunned and somewhat confused. But quickly did realisation dawn upon him, and he leaned back into the pillar and prepared to weather the storm of pettiness and bigotry which burst forth. This, more than anything, confirmed to Laxian that Rurik was indeed of the hard sort; of the somewhat inflexible type, set in his culture and ways. He did not blame him, it was natural. And he did not think that it made him any less an honourable or chivalrous man, any less intelligent, but perhaps something the less wise, and thus something the less closer to Perfecti.

The boy king, however, surprised him. Rather than giving fuel to his uncle's xenophobic outburst, he remained calm and attempted to heal the diplomatic insult delivered to the Bey. For a few moments Laxian wondered at the wisdom with which the king acted compared with the foolishness of the uncle. Which, he wondered, was the veteran statesman, and which was the unqualified child? Laxion looked at the Bey and saw that he was yet calm and responded rather agreeably despite the grave insult delivered him. The Khan had clearly sent of his men the one whose breast had the greatest expanse, the greatest patience. He was about to speak to the young king, advise him to accept Khan's gift, but it appeared that the storm which he had thought settled was only now brandishing its true furies.

The adviser-knight drew his sword and made a stand before the Bey. He accused him and reprimanded him, and invoked the king to see the truth of this "savage's" purpose, and he pointed his blade at him and stood there most threateningly. Laxion put an arm around Torinus' shoulder and brought the boy closer to him, whispering a quick prayer for mercy. And when the storm had reached its zenith and Laxion was bracing himself for its disastrous crescendo, the doors of the throne room swung open and the arrival of "Her Noble Ladyship the Heiress of Belintash, Lady Layna Marie Farwynd" was announced before all.

With supreme calm, and the coolness of the Belintashian peaks, Lady Farwynd made her entrance. She did not so much as glance at the scene of discord before her. She knelt before the boy-king and gave him her condolences as though a disastrous confrontation was not taking place beside her. Why, this was no woman! This was no human! Blood could not run through those veins, and that which appeared like flesh was not flesh and that which appeared like skin was not skin! It was ice and steel that ran through her. She was a being of solid stone! Carved from the mountains, nurtured on iron and snow, built that no emotion should ever run through her. Laxion shivered slightly as he looked at her. Was this what it felt like then? Was this what it felt like to see the people who made of these courts and intrigues and politics a home? It was certainly far different from the detachment and warm safety which observing them through the pages of a tome brought.
As she rose, there was in her eyes for the Bey the slightest flash of disdain. But then she turned and stood like a statue beside him and Torinus. Laxion dared not turn his head and acknowledge her. Nay, he could not even bring himself to speak or advise the king. Silence, he thought to himself, was for the best. Would that he could melt away into the pillar behind him!

Then the Bey spoke, and though he was calm, Laxion knew that the situation had transcended the realms of calmness. And though he spoke eloquently and overturned all the Knight of Saint Michél's arguments, Laxion knew that he spoke to many a deaf ear. Only that foresight which the young king had shown before could put this all to rest for now. But the trumpet of war had sounded, and Laxion would have no part in it!
There was a sudden movement at Laxion's side, and when he looked down, he found that Torinus had released himself from his embrace. The boy stepped forward, a small frown on his face.
'Tell them!' he shouted, looking towards the king, 'tell them to stop! Have they no respect for their lord and master! They draw their swords and tongues before you with the utmost disregard for your presence and your authority. Is this the court of the Grand King of Emperiat, or is it a playground for children?' and though Laxion had enough time to consider the irony in what the boy said, Torinus did not have enough time to finish, for his father stepped forward and dragged him back.
'F-forgive him, my liege. An overexcited youth. The untamed fires and passions burn yet within him,' he made an apologetic bow toward the king, before looking towards the Knight of Saint Michél and the Bey.

'Though, perhaps, there is some truth in what he speaks,' his ancient head turned towards the two culprits, and his old eyes stared long into them before he continued, 'would that you both draw back, for this confrontation is most unseemly, and most disrespectful, before our king.'

“First of all, it's de Warenne, not 'Dwarenne.' That not every man in the council can speak like a man and instead speaks like a peasant child, that is fine by my, but I would appreciate you would at least show me the respect I deserve, and attempt to pronounce my name correctly. Second off, I am here to provide the king with my sacriligious duty to provide comfort, council and security. Not make friends with the sorts of you. I've heard of you. You're a vagabond, a man without honor. Your company much the same.. woe the days, where chivalry still existed.”

Grenn had to put up his most lack-wit smile to suppress the urge to punch the man’s throat. He had heard that de Warenne was a self-righteous and disdainful cunt but had still had expected a bit more pragmatism from a man of his stature. Retorts referring to raised trade tariffs imposed by the Mark or cargo ending up lost raced to the surface before Grenn decided against it. Too soon to put any cards on the table, even if his intentional mispronunciation had drawn out enough information. He decided on the simplest of retorts.‘Good to hear my reputation precedes me, still good to see you here, de Warenne.’

The lack-wit smile didn’t leave his face, but his eyes hardened. He didn’t bother about the effects as the servant spoke of the Khargats.

Grenn followed the exchange of insults and courtesies closely. A highpoint for him being lady Farwynd, though not necessarily for her arguments. The entire exchange between de Warenne and Chugo unfolded before his eyes. He had to hide his amusement when the King rebuked his uncle and de Warenne jumped in ‘like a peasant child’. When de Warenne drew his blade however Grenn couldn’t help but take a more active role. Stepping forward while with his left, plated, hand he made the universal calming gesture of lowering and raising his hand, palm to the floor. He even winked at de Warenne when he raised the finger of his right hand and looked towards the King to indicate he was waiting approval to speak. The Khargat had already taken the floor however, and Grenn waited patiently when Laxion’s boy moved up in an amusing anger:

'Tell them!' he shouted, looking towards the king, 'tell them to stop! Have they no respect for their lord and master! They draw their swords and tongues before you with the utmost disregard for your presence and your authority. Is this the court of the Grand King of Emperiat, or is it a playground for children?'

Grenn didn’t even try to supress a smile, he even bared teeth when the Laxion stepped in:

‘F-forgive him, my liege. An overexcited youth. The untamed fires and passions burn yet within him, though, perhaps, there is some truth in what he speaks, would that you both draw back, for this confrontation is most unseemly, and most disrespectful, before our king.'

Decent save, and a good move to bring the boy to court. He would have to keep an eye out for this advisor from Andaluja. Grenn turned his head again to see how the exchange affected the king, and to gently try and keep it clear that he still wanted to speak.

(would he be ignored he'd step back with a smile and nod at Torinus, read the hider content at your own risk ^^)

The word bellows throughout the hall, seeming much louder then a mere child could ever produce. All heads turn towards the young emperor whose face seems red and his eyes dancing around the room, taking each face in.

"It is preposterous that I even need to say this, but it seems that the children here are more mature then the lot of you!" He rubs his temple and takes a quick glance at his uncle who seems to be simply observing the situation. The boy turns his head back to the group. "My father kept this Empire running and saw it blooming like it never did before. I do not tend on plunging it into civil war in my first week, because my advisers were arrogant enough to slice each others heads off!" The emperor let's out a shivered sigh and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again the anger seems to have receded.

"De Warenne, I appreciate your input, but the Bey was smart enough to follow my command and has thus showed his intentions. I understand your hatred for the Khargats run deep with you, as well as with my uncle, " He motions to his left, his uncle simply nodding in agreement. "But they belong to the Empire, just like Dieuporteille. My father integrated them, just like his forefathers did with Dieuporteille. Hating them is one thing, and I'll give you plenty of space to object to any things they bring during a council meeting, but I'll not allow basic threats of murder in this palace! Even if he were to spit in my face, you would not interrupt me and proclaim his life forfeit!" His eyes shift from Bastien to Chugo and they narrow.

"As for you, Chugo Bey, we are well aware what the Khargats have brought to the Empire, but do not forget the importance of other provinces just because your own part seems so great. Unity is what makes Emperiat great. Were it not those horseman of Dieuporteille that allowed us to finally defeat you after all? Best keep that in mind before speaking about the weakness of some of the provinces. Anyway, you see the effect your presence has on the court, and it seems a normal introduction between monarch and subject is too much to ask. So I ask you to take your gifts and your... servants and leave the throne room. At a later time, when my other advisers have found their designated rooms, we can redo this in a proper way without my other subjects threatening your life," He casts a neutral glance at Bastien before returning his gaze to Chugo. "and then I'll accept your gifts in the customary way as is tradition with your people. A hastily accepted thank you would not be enough."

Closing his eyes once more he allows silence to settle in for a moment. He turns his head to the three remaining advisers. When he opens his eyes again they look tired, really, really tired. "Welcome, lady Layna Marie Farwynd, to the pounding heart of our empire. As for you Hosarusson, do not mind your boy. He and I seem to be the only ones who..." His voice stalls for a moment before swallowing loudly. "Never mind. We still have two more guests to receive. I ask you to not kill each other in the mean time over petty rivalries or border disputes."

The boys leans back in the large throne and he seems to fall unconscious for a moment before his uncle gives him a quick tap on his shoulders. His eyes shoot open and remain staring at the large doors of the throne room, awaiting the next 'adviser'.

During this entire ordeal, Rurik simply let his eyes glide over the group and his gaze locks for a mere moment with that of Bastien de Werenne before moving on. But that one gaze, that split second said more then enough. 'You're right.'

Word flew like arrows and Chugo found himself somewhat overwhelmed as he was surrounded by a dozen different voices. He struggled to take in what they all said; many people in quick succession spoke of him, yet a few others were engaged in completely different conversations. A less patient man would have drawn his blade by now and cut out their tongues!

Chugo, however, had that patience and concentration that was so rarely found amongst his people. Ever cool tempered and of a controlled and placid mannerism, he listened as Laxion fumbled to control the speech of the boy that he had inexplicably brought into this hall. It would seem that children run amok and their elders grow inept, in this wretched day and age. All of this will be made right again when the Khanate has its day!

Regardless, Torinus had proven his bravery and sharpness of mind. Chugo might have been impressed were it not for the boy's utter lack of restraint; in temperament he was more alike the average Khargat than anybody else in the court might have realized. Chugo did not appreciate being dismissed as a childish; it had not been his intent to bring about the petty quarrel, and Bastien had of course left him no choice. The Bey could not help but suspect that were he of any of the other provinces, his arguments would have resonated well and the damned Dieuporteillan would have found the entire court turned solely against him.

As it were, the king had other ideas. He did not blink Elendin's words about the supposed worth of the other provinces, but rather suppressed the urge to speak. It was not an emissary's place to explain to a young emperor why his most loyal knights were incapable swine that could only win a war through overwhelming numbers and cowardly ambushes in the swampland. when the king finally finished, Chugo found himself surprisingly gladdened by the prospect of leaving the room.

His words still measured, he answered back, "So Your Majesty wishes, so it shall be done."

A sharp motion of his hand had the servant that had remained by his side quickly move to reclaim the boxed warbow that had been laid before the king, and with that in hand the two gave short bows before turning to take their leave. In their native tongue, Chugo quickly ordered that servant to procure for him parchment, ink, and a quill. The Khan would be informed of these happenings!

The luxurious carriage that held the silk-clad adviser rolled into the city, white horses lazily pulling it along. Few people were still out and about to watch the ornate sphere-on-wheels be pulled through the rain, which had lightened up quite a bit, toward the castle. Ella turned over on the seat of the carriage, and was now lying down with her face toward the back of the seat. Her hair was somehow still intact with how she had styled it before leaving Yenin, only one of the silk flowers had fallen out of place. Across from her was a guard appointed by Godriek to watch her during the trip so she wouldn't be assassinated during their travels. The carriage struck a rut in the road and shook violently, waking Ella from her nap. Now lying on the floor, hand on her chest, she pushed up and looked out the window. Nearly there. Returning to her seat, she looked across at the guard. "Wauter, how long do you think it will be before we arrive at the castle?"

"A matter of minutes, m'lady," came the response, direct and sure.



They had arrived at doors to the castle. The driver got down from his seat and walked over to the carriage door. It swung open, not by the carriage driver's will, but by Ella's. She darted out of the carriage almost as fast as she had gotten in at the start of the journey. As she got out she stopped a few feet away and stretched. "Finally! Some fresh air!" she said, yawning at the end. "Now, where's the welcoming party?" The question had been out of sarcasm, as she knew that she was most likely late. She walked up to the door of the castle and gave it a few small taps, then a few knocks after there was no response.

Some guards approach Ella Halore rather quickly and escort her inside to the king. The formalities are quickly handled and it doesn't take long for Ella to take her place among the other advisers. The girl was oblivious as to what happened in the throne room not half an hour ago. One of the others would probably enlighten her, but it wasn't the emperors task.

Another 30 minutes pass in silence and Elendin sits back in his throne, awaiting the giant doors to open once more. Rurik looks out of the window above the throne. The moon was already on it's highest point. He takes a step closer to Elendin and whispers something in his ear. Elendin listens carefully and after his uncle returns to his spot, he stands up and speaks to his advisers. "It is late and we have a busy day ahead of ourselves. You're all dismissed for the night. As you leave the throne room, servants will bring you to your guest rooms. The entire castle is free for you to use. The library, castle gardens, dinner hall, all is available to you. Now, rest well, for we have an Empire to rule tomorrow, my... friends." He sits down once more and waves the group away. The advisers step outside the throne room and are greeted by several servants. The large doors behind them slam shut.

Elendin and Rurik stay inside for a while longer before heading towards their respected rooms as well. Elendin sends out a courier to retrieve Chugo. Now they could at least talk in peace.

As Grenn left the Throne chambers Sabine Sydow, the Iron Sovereign spymaster, was convening a small meeting in the Sheepshide tavern near the southgate.
The room was crowded with 15 Iron Sovereigns now clothed in leathers and mail, the usual mercenary garb.

“Men, you are here not as Sovereigns for the coming weeks. You will be taking the guise of regular caravan mercenaries and the like
just to drink and fuck on the cost of our dear Dirk.”

A few laughs went through the room, they were instructed to keep silent and most supressed the urge.

“In return, I ask of you that you bring me information, about the city, about what they say about the king, his uncle, his court and his advisers. If you get offered a job say it pays to little, if it pays enough take only jobs that take you less than 5 days and make sure I hear of it. I want you on your best behaviour. Now I will be whoring in the fancier establishments where the mouths of those at court might be a little looser.”

A grin came over the spymasters face as she teasingly said:

“Now disperse boys.”

As Laxion left the throne room, deep in thought, he did not quite realise that Torinus was not following him as he should have been. The boy had stayed behind, a certain suspicion playing around in his eyes. The king had not been acting normally at all during that last exchange with the Bey. No on had seen it, but Torinus had been watching the king rather closely, and he had spotted the strange actions, that briefest moment when he fell - ever so slightly - back into his seat and appeared to lose consciousness for the shortest second. He was still stood there as the other advisers began to leave, and the seriousness in his eyes quickly faded as he bowed deeply to the king before turning and going after his father.
He caught up with him in the courtyard where they had left their wagons, and the stable-boys informed them that their luggage had already been taken up to their rooms.
'Steve should be up in the kitchen with Cla- uh, makin' sure the cook has everythin'. He'll be down in jiffy to show ye to yer quarters, m'lord adviser sir.'
'Laxion will do, no need for all these formalities,' Laxion chuckled slightly and told Torinus to run up to the kitchen and see that this Steve came down quickly. As the boy entered the kitchen, the sounds of giggling reached him.
'Steve! Not here, not now you dirty litt- ooh!'
'Oh lets 'ave sommadat.'
'Um, Steve?' Torinus' voice perked up as the boy peeked his head round the kitchen door, 'the Lord Adviser Laxion has requested you.'
'Oh! Yes, eh, b'right there, uh, just...just checkin' th- the raspberry pie, ain'at right Clara?' Torinus smiled awkwardly and nodded slowly as he backed away and shut the kitchen door behind him.

'He'll be right down,' Torinus informed Laxion when he got back down, 'he's just tasting the raspberry pie with Clara,' Laxion gave Torinus a funny look and Torinus shrugged bashfully, 'it's...it's some good raspberry pie?'
Rolling his eyes, Laxion turned away and allowed himself to inspect the architecture of the courtyard for a while. It was a rather large courtyard, square in shape and stone tiling. There was a large pathway which led from the courtyard to the castle gates, and several staircases which led up to the ramparts. The courtyard also led into the stable, which had within it a staircase leading to the back entrance of the kitchen, and several other entrances and stairways leading to different parts of the castle complex.

When Steve finally descended, he led them through one such entrance and up a series of staircases, before going down a long hallway and leading them up a spiralling staircase into a large tower overlooking the courtyard. The tower had one large room and two smaller ones. The large room was only accessible through a small doorway from one of the smaller rooms. The smallest room, which Torinus took, had its own entrance, but also had a little door leading into the small room, which Laxion took for his own. The large room had within it many empty shelves and three desks, and Laxion immediately, without evening getting changed or inquiring about the baths, set about placing the many tomes and books he had brought with him on the shelves. Various phials and powders were placed on other shelves, and piles of paper and parchment were put neatly on one of the three desks. Ink pots and quills were likewise neatly placed, ready for usage at the shortest notice, and for some half hour the old man was distracted by a particularly fascinating tract in a tome he had read many years ago discussing the reasons behind Salon's decision to drink the hemlock, written by Merikles, one of Salon's most brilliant students. Many questioned the truthfulness of Merikles' account, and whether much of what he attributed to Salon was indeed Salon's own thought.

He was torn from the work by Torinus.
'Did you notice the king earlier?' he asked as he walked in, crunching on an apple.
'Hmm? The king? Yes, he dealt with that fiasco rather well,' Laxion did not raise his head as Torinus took a seat on one of the wooden chairs.
'I mean, didn't you notice anything odd about the way he was acting?' at this Laxion raised his head and gave the boy a quizzical look.
'Odd? What do you mean?'
'When he was speaking to the Bey, for the slightest moment there, he seemed to lose consciousness. Did you not see?' Laxion looked at the boy gravely before he continued, 'I mean, you've heard the rumours. If that's anything to go by then he might be seriously ill. Don't you think you should check? Maybe you can help him,' Laxion slowly closed the tome and placed it on one of the two empty desks.

'There is but one way to ascertain the truth,' he sat at the writing desk and picked up one of the pieces of paper he had placed there earlier and, lifting the quill from the ink pot, began scrawling quickly on it. It was a short letter, and once he had signed it with his name he blew on it and told Torinus to bring the candle, and the seal which the Little Basileus had handed him before his departure. Once the letter was sealed, he gave it to the boy and told him to go to Rurik and give it to him.

'Wait, Rurik? Are you sure?' the boy seemed uncomfortable with Laxion's choice.
'Why ever would I not be sure? He is best placed to know, is he not?'
'But what makes you think he would tell you even if he did not know?'
'Why would he not tell me the truth? Does he not want my medical experti- ah...' realisation dawned on the old scholar and he sighed. Politics.
Rurik would not give such critical information to one whose loyalties were potentially with someone else, he would most likely not want Laxion's expertise even if he needed it - what was there to guarantee that he would not use his closeness to the king for some malignant purpose? Had not the late king himself been done in by one of his most trusted advisers after all...
'Torinus, I am not here to play these political games, and you should not either! I understand what you were doing in there now, curse your idiotic attempts at political manoeuvering! You shan't continue with whatever feeble plot you have, and you most certainly shan't drag me into any of it. Cease, boy, and do as I have told you.'

Torinus raised his hands in an attempt to profess his innocence of all that Laxion accused him.
'Off with you, and none of these antics you hear?' the boy nodded meekly and quickly scurried from the room. Laxion watched his departing back with some severity, before sitting back in his seat and thinking on what the boy had said and done. He wanted nothing to do with any of this cursed politics.

He stood up and ran his hand across the spines of some of the books until he came across a slim volume. Nilu Fratacelli's On Kingship. It was a book cursed by the clergy in Dieuporteille, and the likes of Ser Bastien would probably set the Inquisition upon him if he found it here, but it was tolerated back home. Some scholars condemned it, others differed and praised it, others thought it an evil work, but a necessary work. Why was it so condemned? Why was Fratacelli's name amongst the most cursed, a synonym for all things perfidious and treacherous? It was because he spoke of politics in this work as it was. He did not embellish it, he did not glorify rulers as saints. He spoke of them as the base political animals they were, and he bared to the world their antics and wiles.

Laxion had no wish to enter this political maelstrom, but he would be a cursed fool if he did not tread carefully! He sat back down, and he opened the book.

---

---

Layna looked at the disoriented girl that some guards had brought into the throne room. Surprisingly enough, she turned out to be an advisor as well. "I don't really know what the Yenin higher ups are thinking..." Layna thought and sighed.

Afterwards, the boy king's uncle spoke up, dismissing them for the night. Layna slightly bowed towards the King and left the throne room, following the servants that were waiting outside to take her to her quarters. "This way, my Lady," the female servant that was waiting on her bowed and pointed towards a flight of stairs. Layna simply nodded before following behind the servant.

They climbed two more flights of stairs before they found themselves in a long hallway filled with doors. They walked, passing a couple dozen of doors before the servant girl stopped in front of a small flight of stairs that ended at a lone door. "Your luggage has already been delivered to your room by the personnel of the palace, my Lady," the girl said respectfully. Layna stopped and examined the girl from top to bottom with her gaze, an action that made the girl's face flush red. The girl lowered her head, looking straight down to the floor whilst trying to hide her embarrassment.

Layna extended her hand and grabbed the girls face. Bringing it up and looking straight into her eyes, "What is your name?" Layna asked.

The guests actions greatly startled the servant girl. She didn't know what she did wrong! Beads of cold sweat could be seen on her forehead, "D-D-Dalia, my-my Lady!" The girl stammered out an answer. "Hmm, Dalia," Layna repeated the name a few times. "Dalia, Dalia, Dalia. Good name!" she said and released the girls face. She put her right hand inside one of the inner pockets of her top and fished out a silver coin. She grabbed and gingerly placed the coin in the trembling hand of the girl and with a warm smile on her face she said, "Every day I want you to come here, around this time, and tell me about the things you heard. Be it gossip, news, stories, anything and everything that has caught your ears. Of course, that'll be our little secret, what do you say?" Layna asked the girl.

The little girl struggled with her conscious for a few moments but in the end, the shiny lustre of silver in the eyes of a commoner like her won her over, and she happily agreed. "Good! Now go!" Layna said with a big smile on her face. As she watched the girl heading downstairs, however, the smile disappeared and her face returned back to its previous blank look. Layna turned around and walked up to her quarters.

The room was spacious, exactly what you'd expect from a palace guestroom. A large, King-sized bed was situated on the right uppermost corner of the room, on top of a raised, tiled floor. A few feet to the left of it was a large bookshelf that extended all the way to the door of the room. A desk was conveniently located in front of the bookshelf with all the necessary writing materials ready for usage.

Far on the other side of the room was a closed off space which, Layna presumed, was the privy. More bookshelves and some painting of past royalty that decorated the four walls of the room filled the rest of the space.

And then there was the balcony, overlooking the whole of Riadan. The moon had reached its highest point and so most of the city was asleep at the time, apart from a couple of inns here and there that still served the occasional traveler or the brothels and whoring houses that satisfied the innermost desires of men and women.

Layna opened up a small chest, the same one from which the driver had gotten the wine flask. As one would guess, it was filled with all sorts of alcohol. Wine, ale, beer and mead carefully selected and imported by her personally from all over the world. Layna even made business deals with Khargats in order to get some of the rare varieties of alcohol that were in her possession.

Layna picked up a large bottle of wine, grabbed a wine glass from a cupboard and headed out on the balcony. She opened the bottle and poured herself a glass of wine. "So many 'advisors' and so little time..." Layna thought as she sipped on her wine, deep in thought.

As Grenn Albraght returned from a meeting he could see Drik Swerbaght waiting for him on one of the benches outside his chambers. Dirk stood up to walk with Grenn.

“Not a complete fool Dirk. It went well enough. We’ll give it time now.”

Dirk nodded as he walked along. In a comfortable silence. Just as they were about to split off to go to their own chambers Dirk took a single coin from his pouch and flicked it towards Grenn.

“Really? No one. I told you Dirk, a small house among the great. It’s not only wealth that counts here, it is history, pride-“

Grenn caught the coin out of the air.

“Size even, don’t let the ladies fool you.”

Dirks laugh turned into a coughing fit into a handkerchief that he quickly folded to hide the blood he had just coughed up. With a raspy voice he added:

“Time to leave a mark than, Anything you’d have me set up for tomorrow morning?”

Grenn opened the door to his chambers but didn’t have to think about it.

“How about our loveliest adviser, our interest should align.”

Dirk nodded as he headed back to his own chamber for a good night’s rest.

A servant is send out to let Chugo know the emperors will speak with him. Instead of being led back to the throne room, the servant leads the Bey to the emperors private quarters. The servants knocks on the door and after several seconds opens the door. He bows and let's Chugo enter.

The room is not that big, but cozy nonetheless. The fireplace is burning and in front of it stands a comfortable chair with Elendin in it.

"Welcome Chugo. Let us talk reasonable now, without the interruptions of those who'd like to see your head on a spike."

---

The Bey stepped forward and outstretched his arms to warm them by the hearth, careful not to bring his fine clothes too close to the flames. After a short pause, he chuckled lightly and spoke, "My head on a spike? Yes, I had not expected the Dieuporteillan to love me, but I had also not taken him for one that would brandish a blade before me in court. Wars have been started over less."

Though that might have been taken as an ominous threat, he continued nonchalantly and with only warmth in his voice, "Though I hope that you see I have come here searching for peace, not war. That you have such trust and good will to meet with me alone is an honor to me indeed; I only hope that through those gifts that I offered you before, this kindness might be reciprocated."

'There,' Chugo thought to himself, '...I must remind him of what I offer, lest he favor the damned Knight over me!'

---

The emperor claps his hands together. "Of course! Your gifts. I accept them wholeheartedly. My apologies for not accepting them sooner. It might have angered those other baboons even more if I had. But where are my manners. Please, sit." He motions towards a chair opposite to him. Next to it stands a side table with a glass of wine on it. "Let us talk about this... peace. Your Khan must have had a reason to send you without warning. What did he hope to accomplish?"
Instead of looking at Chugo Bey, he stares intensely into the fire, as if he expects something to see in it.

---

As he listened to Elendin, the Bey found his way into that seat and lifted the glass of wine to his face, then inhaled deeply. It was a habit, of course; all the better to savor the scent of those spices that mulled a good vintage, and all the safer if the wine was by chance laced with a poison that had a known aroma.

'Being forthright is perhaps the best approach, for he is discerning for his age. Still, I must watch my wording,' Chugo thought to himself.

Seemingly satisfied with the wine's taste, Chugo gulped at it then answered with that rare thing called honesty, "If it stirs your forgiveness more readily, know that I was ordered here the very day that word reached the Khan of a call for councilors, and we rode hard for this city. No messenger would have arrived much sooner than I.

As in for why? The Khanate of course despised your grandfather who fought with the Dieuporteillans and gave our hordes their first taste of defeat in memory. You know that we too chafed under the reign of your father, to say the least. No doubt he was loved by many, but not by my people. We suffered with what additional regulations he set upon our herds and how he sought to cut away at our autonomy so as to centralize the state. You will no doubt have heard that attempts to settle our migrating bands and convert us to your religion have also led to nothing but scorn.

In you, the Khan sees the potential for a better future, and a time of newfound friendship between the Crown and the Khanate. He sees the potential for us to earn a better better place in the empire. Being no fool, Your Majesty, you might see these ambitions as greedy and self-serving,"

Chugo drank even more wine now, as was his tendency. "...and in truth, these goals are just that. The Khanate naturally wants more power for itself, but in exchange for a better position we could offer you much as well. And of course, beyond simply trying as I might to persuade you to do as Elbek Khan would like and serving as the Khanate's foremost ambassador, I can do my best to advise you with a clear and objective mind that has experience in many different things.

My goals are now laid bare before you, but even so, if it beseech Your Majesty I would have you still think of me as a friend and loyal servant. The Khan is not the only lord that I owe fealty to; I will do all that I may to serve you as well as him."

---

The young emperor stays silent for a couple of minutes after the Bey finishes answering his questions. The fires in the fireplace dance around the wood, slowly burning it away, leaving nothing but charcoal in it's wake. The reflection of the fires can clearly be seen in the light blue eyes of the boy. "Advise is all I ask for. I am to overcome the deeds of my father, yet I am still so young." He looks up from the fire and back at Chugo. "I hope your advise and that of others can lead Emperiat to a brighter future. It does me well to hear these, I hope, honest words. Every adviser is probably here with the intention of strengthening the position of his province and people. I make no illusions of that."

He takes a look at his own, still full, wine glass. With hesitation he picks up the glass and takes a sip. He frowns and shakes his head. "I still don't like the taste of it." Something of a snicker escapes his mouth before he looks down at the ground. "It has been two generations since your people were subj-... integrated into our beloved Empire. Perhaps it's time for some more permanent and better agreements, just like the other Provinces. Don't you think so, Chugo Bey?"

---

Chugo listened silently until the emperor was done. His slip of the tongue triggered nothing from Chugo; after all, if the Bey had remained stoic before Bastien's earlier outbursts then one near faux pas in the emperor's wording was hardly of significance.

When Elendin was done, Chugo glanced down at the wine glass and shrugged with some mild amusement. "In truth, most men hate the taste. Usually they do not drink it for the flavor."

That seemingly innocuous attempt at humor was also the Bey's means of buying a few precious seconds of time to think. Agreements, to be sure, were what he had come for; yet the words 'like the other Provinces' drew alarm. Did he already think of the Khanate as just another mere province. Had their power, their respect, their independence all waned so much?

Perhaps this was a subtle response to what I said of the late king's attempts to reign in our autonomy. If so, this boy is crafty and already as dangerous as any other one of the vipers in this city,' Chugo found himself thinking.

All of that having raced through his mind in a few moments with nothing but a somewhat vacant look in his eyes to betray his thinking, Chugo attempted to reply naturally, "Indeed I do look for the long term, and so more permanent agreements are warranted. Of course, you speak vaguely of what these 'better' pacts could be. Perhaps talk of these agreements is a path best trodden in the future; there is time to be had, after all."

As soon as the words came from the Bey's mouth he instantly regretted them; sure, now was he was unprepared and it was a poor time indeed to iron out any agreement of great importance. But now it might be a decade before the chance would come again, and in the meantime he would have to answer to the Khan for his lack of progress! Was now even such a bad time to iron out such an agreement? It was true that Chugo was taken by surprise, yet now there were none of the other wretched snakes masked as 'advisers', and that uncle was nowhere to be seen...

Chugo's mind was wracked by all these thoughts.

---

Elendin looks up from and finally faces Chugo Bey, eye to eye. "You're right. These terms can't be ironed out in the blink of an eye. All in due time. Unfortunately there are more pressing matters that need to be dealt with first. These matters will be discussed tomorrow and I hope that you and the other advisers can guide me through it in... safety." His eyes drift off to the fire once more.

The silence seems to last forever until he shakes his head and he finally continues. "But that's tomorrow. For now, let us raise the glass and toast to a long and prosper future for the Empire and it's People." The boy picks up and raises his glass before taking a sip. His face turns sour once more as the taste of the wine spreads across his mouth.

"Let us turn to our beds for tonight. Tomorrow shall be a hard day and one should be well rested. Lord Chugo, I thank you for the visit and your, what I hope was, honesty. I wish you a goods night rest." Elendin gives Chugo Bey a slight nod of approval, with it simply ending the meeting.