A cool breeze swept over the Tyla Plains, blowing through Venduril’s golden hair as the amber morning sun rose from the east, its reflection glistening in the waters of the Tyla River. It had been a long ride from Korphal to get to the western bank of the River. Venduril and his royal escort, a dozen knights and twenty men-at-arms, stood atop a hill overlooking Tretton, a small town straddling the river’s confluence, fishing and farming the land on and water all around the town. Tretton had quaint little bridges and ramps connecting the three pieces of land, both the eastern bank and central land mass were belonging to the Kingdom of Doravier, whilst the west, which he stood on, was his own kingdom of Keravier. Blue flags, a white deer in their centres, fluttered above the town, marking Doravier’s territory, whilst his own men bore white banners with red lions, his own sigil. However the reason he had been dragged from his bed, 300 miles away, was not to study flags in some grotty backwater, though it did help to explain the problem. On the far side of Tretton there was a camp of about twenty yellow tents with their own yellow banners. Addunians. Larger Addun to the north had always claimed that the Tyla plains had been their territory and had invaded it twice before in an attempt to take it from Doravier. Both times Keravier and Doravier had expelled them together, consolidating their already strong alliance. Due to these previous encounters, Tretton was a patchwork of buildings from different times. Tretton was at one point, back in the 2nd Age, apparently a much larger settlement. Venduril could see the ruins and remains of many houses from their position on the hill. During the war to get back the Tyla plains after the first Addunian attempt to capture the land, a powerful elven wizard, Atrion, had destroyed Tretton and the occupying 4,000 Addunians for the Keravieri army and Venduril’s own ancestor, King Celdien Mendar. After doing so, Atrion thankfully disappeared without a trace, after believing the Kings general, Gandar Pendrax, was planning to kill him. Venduril had nothing against those with magical ability, he himself believed it was a superstition and fanaticism that led people to burn wizards and witches at the stake because some prophet of god had said it was unnatural. He did however think that the amount of power Atrion was seemingly reported to have, was dangerous. King Borick, impulsive and somewhat unpredictable, had marched his invasion force through Tyla before either country could react. This camp was the advanced party, here to negotiate the surrender of Tretton, whilst the slower main force marched ever south. Due to the prosperity and relative stability across the continent Keravier’s army was not ready for war, and Doravier, mourning the recent death of its king, was vulnerable. Prince, soon to be King, Thomas was already present with his own soldiers at Tretton. These negotiations would likely be short. Venduril didn’t wish to underestimate Thomas; however the 13 year old was unlikely to be able to shift the Addunians.

King Borick felt decidedly pleased with himself. It was not often he outsmarted an opponent, he generally preferred to hack his way through a problem. Even “the Golden Lion with the silver tongue”, charming King Venduril of “high and mighty” Keravier had been surprised by his decisive action. His usually smug, self-satisfied expression had been changed for one of genuine concern, and a look of weariness, likely from the several days ride it took to get here. He waltzed up to the table of the great hall of Tretton to attend the negotiation. Venduril was already sat at the table, his bodyguards stood ready behind him. Prince Thomas was nervously standing across from Borick, again with his own knights; the young lad was only 5ft tall. The 6ft Borick strode up to the boy, alarming his guards who all placed their hands on the hilts of their swords “My condolences for your father lad, he was a good man” Thomas nodded in thanks to Borick, unsure of what to make him. The boy looked tired as well. Borick felt a moment of guilt looking at his little face; however no blood would be spilled if he just handed over the land peacefully. It was only a third of Doravier’s land and it was never the most valuable land. Shadowed by his own men, Borick then sat at the table as the prince did the same. The chairs were basic and rather uncomfortable, likely never meant for such an important occasion as this. The king patted his large belly and called out grinning “Any ale in this place?” He didn’t truly enjoy drinking, however it numbed the pain and blurred the memories he didn’t wish to feel “I don’t believe now is the time for drinking…” Venduril said glumly. Venduril was usually so pleasant and fresh faced, however now he was slumped on the table, glaring at Borick and looking irritated. A servant walked over and poured a pint of ale for Borick. Protocol would usually dictate that one of his knights taste the drink to make sure it wasn’t poisoned, however under the current circumstances; Borick had no doubt if anything happened to him, his cousin Uther would bring the Addunian army to bear on Tretton, meaning the last thing his rivals wanted to do was kill him. Borick waved away the knight who stepped up to test the ale and, smirking as he did so, threw his head back and gulped down the entire flagon. He felt some of the ale trickle down his chin and then his bushy brown beard. He slammed down the flagon onto the table, wiped the spilt drink from his chin and sat back in his chair “Let us begin then!” he clasped his hands together and abandoned his smug tone, for one of matter-of-factness “I have 30,000 men marching south as we speak, no blood has yet been spilled and I know neither of you have the forces necessary to stop me” he locked his hands together and leant forward “Withdraw from the city and no one need die, I’ll even let your trade caravans through free of charge” he then adjusted his tone again, more serious, on the cusp of threatening, and pointed a large finger in front of him “However if you resist, then I might not just stop at Tretton, and it would be such a shame to ruin your pretty little cities” Prince Thomas looked in deep thought, considering his options and Venduril continued his look of contempt, however Lord Celmont Bastion, a powerful Doravieri lord, smashed his fist onto the table next to Thomas. The child jumped at the shock, not expecting the following outburst “You dare to threaten a king in the presence of his guards” the older man turned to Thomas “Allow me to bring you this cunt’s head, your father would not have accepted such an outrage, and neither shall I my Prince” Borick rose from his chair matching the lords height “Your father also understood the value of his men’s lives” Borick held his hands from his sides “Make the right decision… for their sakes” Venduril leant further forward and addressed the Prince as well “I’m afraid I cannot support you if you choose to resist, not because I don’t want to, but because I simply don’t have the soldiers currently” Thomas again nodded in thanks to Venduril and looked down at the table before him, pondering. It occurred to Borick the young prince hadn’t said a word the entire time. He cleared his throat and breathed in heavily, rallying the confidence to speak up “… Lord Celmont, I respect your input, however I do not appreciate you presuming the manner of my father…” The show of authority pushed the white bearded, old man, Celmont to step back in full plate armour; head bowed “Very well” He then turned to Borick. “… whilst I wish this war could be avoided, I must protect my lands and my people…” He swallowed and continued “… so unless you leave my lands, I have no choice but to resist your intensions” With that, he stood and bowed his head in respect to Borick. Borick returned the nod; the little lad had his respect. His piercing blue eyes from under his dark brown, thick fringe stared up at Borick from across the table. Venduril’s jaw had momentarily dropped, at the boy’s dominance. The king then smiled, creasing his neatly trimmed blonde beard “Well spoken, Prince Thomas… I wish you the best of luck” Borick remarked “Then with that I bid my leave my Lords…” The large man comically bowed to the two and strolled out of the hall. This would be interesting, Borick thought.

Venduril shook hands with the prince, again wishing the pale, thin, young boy luck. Of course Thomas and Borick would never meet on the battlefield, but he imagined the scene would be a fitting metaphor for the two countries they represented. Addun was a large, brutish, well fed warrior against Doravier, small and unimposing but stronger than you may think it. As Venduril climbed onto his horse on the western bridge of Tretton, he considered the coming war. The only way Tretton could resist a force of 30,000 men would be to gather enough soldiers to harass the larger force to slow it down and then block off the narrow streets of the town to funnel the superior numbers into compromising or vulnerable positions. Ven doubted they would be able to get the numbers necessary, but none the less hoped they would. Addunians were straightforward sort of folk, they hardly ever tried complex tactics, preferring to beat their enemy into submission with greater numbers. That mentality meant that their troops were generally unskilled and poorly equipped, with the exception of their knights. A good fighter was likely worth at least five of Borick’s levies. Doravier was, in contrast, known for its excellent longbow men. Out ranging any other archer, they were said to hit their targets 9 out of 10 times. The more he thought about it, the better Doravier’s chances were. A few capable knights guarding the streets, with longbow men on the roof could probably cut down a good number of Addunians. His escort began trotting off, back to Korphal. As they did so, a young, dark haired man came up and rode beside him, His son. He wore similar apparel to his knights, a red tunic under gleaming steel plates of his armour; however he had a small silver circlet around his head, instead of the helmets the others bore. Venduril had himself, a longer tunic, made out of expensive Macian silk, imported from half the world away, instead of the cotton of normal garbs. Over the knee length scarlet tunic was a cloak; the outside was soft velvet whilst the lining was made of bear pelt, warm and comfortable, it was more for practicality than fashion, but in the cold nights, after a day of riding he didn’t care. He wasn’t wearing his crown either; he preferred to only wear it on special occasions, made it more special that way. Robert was already taller than his father and a better fighter as well, but lacked his patience “I do not understand, we may not be ready, but we could at least lend some support to our closest ally, otherwise they may remember this in the future” Robert was always a little terse with Ven, questioning his decisions instead of being respectful and knowing his place “Remind me Robert, how many Kingdoms were there in the heartlands at the start of the 3rd Age?” Venduril knew his son knew the answer, he’d taught Robert himself “Why do you always speak in riddles father?” Ven rolled his eyes “Just answer the question” Robert’s expression was quickly changing from confusion to anger “Fourteen, but I don’t see how this is relev-” Venduril cut him off, glaring at his son “Fourteen! And what happened to them?” Robert sighed in frustration “This has nothing to do with Addun-” the king’s brow furrowed as he maintained his icy stare “The Toreni Empire HAPPENED! A little island conquered an expanse twice the size of Astor!” Astor was the land east of the massive Muraka River, where humans had originally come from, and was currently made up of the Kingdoms of Keravier, Doravier, Addun, Manea and Brevidia “With respect father, they’re not the problem right now” The Great Marsh, surrounding the Muraka River for miles had fortunately dissuaded a Toreni invasion up to this point, but they had a large navy and could easily sail across the Great South Sea and reach the shores of Astor “They are ALWAYS a threat, should we drop our guard, make ourselves vulnerable they could strike and destroy the independence and freedom we’ve enjoyed for so long” Robert finally seemed to get the point “In future Robert, I would prefer you not question my decisions in front of my men” Robert nodded and seemed a little crestfallen “sorry father, I forget myself sometimes” Had he gone too hard on Robert? He had to set an example, but it wasn’t necessary to embarrass in front of the knights, his friends. Thinking for a moment, Ven knew exactly what to talk about to raise his spirits “I looked for you at the negotiations, but you weren’t there…” Robert was looking down at his hands shamefully, but after hearing that, a smirk crept across his face “… and it was quite a long meeting…” Robert glanced up at Ven, still smiling “…And afterwards I went to look for you in your room, but the door was locked…” Robert’s smile turned to a grin and his cheeks flushed bright red “…There were some strange sounds coming from inside your room, it sounded like you were in pain, so I thought it best to leave you alone” Venduril smiled and looked at his son knowingly, a glint of mischievousness in his eye. Loving to make his son cringe he continued “How was she?” a quiet chuckle rose up from the knights riding around him “Father…” Robert couldn’t help but keep smiling, even though he didn’t want to, Venduril continued again “So when is the wedding? I hope you plan on marrying her, I don’t think the church of the Faith would approve of mindless animosity” The knights around them now broke into full on laughter. Robert chuckled himself, squirming from the embarrassment. Venduril was so brilliant at so many things, was it really a surprise that he was an amazing father as well. People always thought he was smug, and they were right.

Toren was quite a beautiful city, tall ivory towers, vast green gardens, vineyards and snow-white houses, not that Toren had ever seen snow. The climate did not allow for such weather, though it did mean a multitude of spices, fruits and exotic fish flourished around the island. Whilst Milanyan wine was considered the best, Toreni vintages were also exquisite, and the vast plantations around the city allowed for great amounts of it to be made. Colourful orchards dotted the city growing apples, pears and oranges. Large trade ships, which were the method of exporting the exotic goods produced here, were docked at the port at the bottom of the vast hill, bobbing up and down in the bright blue, glistening sea. The grand, imperial palace stood at the top of that hill, and out of one of its tall, ornate windows Tiberius peered out at the city. His full title was: Holy Emperor Tiberius Thelius, Gods chosen, Arch Bishop of the Order of the Faith, Lord of the Heartlands and King of the Toreni, however years of having people endlessly recite it had begun to grate of Tiberius. Holy Emperor was more than enough. Tiberius had never truly looked at Toren in the 27 years he’d ruled it, he hadn’t the time to aimlessly stare out of a window. It was the third largest city in the known world, beaten only by the Macian megacities to the east, which was an impressive feat considering the sheer size of that world. He supposed it was partially because Toren was constructed centuries before any other major settlement. It was the first place the elves had landed after their long voyage from a forgotten continent far to the south, at the dawn of the 1st Age. Many of those houses and towers were of original elven construction. A walk down the streets of Toren would suggest that the elves had disappeared from the city they founded, however, after the Astori invasion in the 2nd Age, when the human invaders mixed with the eventually conquered elves, centuries of breeding between the two races had meant that the entire population of the city was partly elven by blood. The paler skin, smaller physique and neater bone structure were all inherited gifts from those ancestors though few still had pointed ears. This hybrid of man and elf had meant the Toreni were nimbler and more organised than Astors and stronger and more fertile than elves. These unique advantages had been a subtle reason behind the success of the Toreni’s empire building. Even though no one was in the room with Tiberius, he kept his back straight and his hands meeting behind his back. He was a stern man; he would not suffer fools gladly. He didn’t enjoy cruelty though and had no real prejudices. Unfortunately his father, Messena, previous Holy Emperor, had come to power through a bloody coup and had given a considerable amount of that authority to the church. The church had then created The Knights of the Order of the Faith, a militarised arm of the Church which kept their own form of justice. They executed heretics, non-believers, magic users and homosexuals; anyone that did not fit into their vision of a new world was put to death. The claims of blasphemy also provided a convenient excuse for getting rid of dissenters without questions being asked, burning them all at the stake. He didn’t agree with the practises, but even he himself was at some risk of being considered no longer necessary to the Holy plan if he started to publicly question the brutal treatment. Tiberius planned to reduce their power in time, with careful consideration and surgical precision which would take time to manoeuvre and prepare. Deep in thought, a knock on the door of his office caught him off guard “…Enter” He turned to look at the door, tucking a stray strand of long, greying hair behind his ear. One of his own men, an Honour guard, in decorative black armour with gold trimmings, stepped through the door followed by someone, currently hidden by the guard. Honour guard armour was similar to Astor plate metal, however instead of the plain steel; Toreni armour was black and ceremonial in looks, with engravings, patterns and symbols all across the plates. A Gold, four pointed star, the sigil of Toren, adorned the centre of the chest plate. They bore rapiers instead of normal swords as well, long thin blades which complemented the fighting style of the more nimble Toreni. The Honour guard clanked a gloved fist onto his chest plate and bowed his head “Princess Talia, Your Eminence” He turned and walked from the room to reveal Tiberius’ daughter. Quite beautiful, with long jet black hair, she always walked with purpose. However Tiberius could see past the façade that fooled most others. A fierce resentment burned in her piercing eyes. She was his eldest child, however since the birth of her two brothers she had been cast aside as heir to his throne. It was not his decision, but as tradition demanded and religion dictated boys came first in matters of lineage. As a result she bore a deep hatred for Tiberius and her siblings. Smiling she took a seat and began “Good morning father, what a wonderful day it looks to be…” Tiberius sat in his own chair, his brow furrowed “What do you want…?” She looked away from him and started to fiddle with a loose quill on his desk, playing with the individual barbs of the feather “Did you know, there are a lot of rumours starting to circulate about Taylor, one of my handmaidens told me this morning. Nonsense of course but…” She glared back up him, still fingering the feather “… should the church ever hear of these things and begin an investigation. I dread to think” Tiberius slammed the quill from in between her hands down onto the table, and placed it into the well where it belonged, staring at her icily “That church you love so much, the Faith is what put you in your current position” She shot up, the chair smashing onto the floor from the force, behind her “No, YOU ruined my life! You chose to listen to them! You are the Holy Emperor for fucks sake” Tiberius rose to meet her gaze, his fists clenched from the rage at her sheer audacity “Ruined your life?! You’re a damned princess, I gave you the world; keeps, suiters, gold. But nothing was ever good enough!” Fuming, intensely glaring at Talia he sat back down “You are a greedy and jealous women… get out” She snarled and strode out slamming the door behind her. Tiberius leant back, scratching his chin stubble, exhaling heavily. There was no love between the two anymore. She was an extreme risk to his plans, but he would give up his throne before he gave the order to kill his own daughter, because of the mother that gave birth to her and the girl she once was. The door, which was still shifting from the push Talia gave it, was caught and gently opened toward Tiberius. His brother, Vonn was there in the doorway “You walk quietly…” Tiberius commented. Vonn smiled, his grey beard moving with the muscles “I didn’t have to be, with that racket” Vonn was perhaps the most pleasant man Tiberius knew. He was charming, cultured speaking Civeli, Astor, Yarkhish and even elvish, including the multiple regional dialects. He was also a military genius. He was commander of the Joint Imperial forces during the Penryn rebellion, only a few years ago, flawlessly defeating the resistant forces within the year and sieging the capital of Cassadar with great success. Vonn then calmly negotiated the surrender of the city. Penryn’s High lord had abdicated and allowed his son to take his place. The High lords were second only to the emperor, ruling over the various Imperial provinces, many of them descended from the kings of the fourteen kingdoms. The larger kingdoms had become independent provinces, like Sadderlon, however some of the smaller kingdoms were combined with one another to create larger provinces, such as Tyle and Vosterson “Talia is aware of Taylor’s affliction…” Vonn calmly shut the door and waltzed up to the desk. He delicately picked up a chair and neatly sat on “She won’t do anything about it, she doesn’t hate him as much as she does you” Vonn’s deep, soothing, buttery voice reassured Tiberius even though his words did little to sway his thoughts “never the less, she was right about the church, if they discover…” Vonn nodded in understanding, resting his hands on his knees. He gave it a long moment of thought.

The conversation with Vonn had been helpful; Tiberius had made up his mind after the talk. He stood outside Taylor’s chambers, four honour guards at his back. He only trusted a fraction of the honour guards completely; those stood with him now were included in that group. Passionate grunts were emanating from inside the room. Taylor had quite the reputation of a womanizer.  He took little care in hiding these activities, simply walking down a corridor and going through a few doors. The grunts intensified momentarily and then stopped. Then footfalls came from inside. Despite this reputation, Tiberius had known the truth for several months now, close to a year. The door opened quietly and a young man appeared, but it wasn’t Taylor. The man, likely about 20, looked unbelievably shocked by the five silent men standing outside “…Just go…” Tiberius gestured at the exit. The skinny, pale man, clutching his clothes to his crotch, slipped past them, his naked behind exposed as he closed the door behind him as he left. Tiberius went into the chambers. His guards remained outside. Thankfully Taylor was already partially dressed; he looked over nonchalantly “Hello father, I’d prefer if you knocked next time” Tiberius glared at him “We’ve talked about this, you are careless. Anyone could have walked in and found your lover” Taylor never really listened to any of Tiberius’ lectures growing up, he was kind hearted and passionate “I don’t care what people think, I won’t hide who I am” Tiberius narrowed his eyes “It not what they think it what they’ll do. My office, now!” He raised his arm toward the door, Taylor reluctantly started off.

Taylor leant back in the chair, glumly gazing at his father across his desk “…Please father, not another lecture-” he would have continued to whine had his father not given him a deathly stare “You never listened to them anyway, so what do you care…” Part joke, part resentment for Taylor’s lack of interest all those years, Tiberius’ face remained sullen “After a brief council with Vonn-” Taylor’s face lit up, a wide smile appeared and he interrupted his father “Vonn! Why wasn’t I told he was here” Tiberius’ expression continued to have a serious demeanour “The reason relates to why you’re here now!” Taylor lifted up his hands in apologies, but rolled his eyes as he slumped back into the chair “You’ve never taken ruling seriously, you’ve never tried to hide your problem-” Taylor interjected again, he knew he probably wouldn’t get away with that again “My Passion!” Tiberius, gave a dismissive wave at the comment “Regardless, you’ve never been thoughtful enough, always so impulsive. And with the past to reference I know your ways will not change, even with my constant scolding… so…” Whatever his father was going to say, it seemed to weigh heavily on him. His normally stern, emotionless face had softened; his eyes seemed particularly red, possibly even holding off tears. He’d never seen his father cry, even at his wife’s funeral “…I’ve decided that… that you are no longer my heir. When I die my throne will pass to Vystr so you are under less scrutiny, less risk…” Taylor’s mouth gapped, with wide eyes, not able to speak for a moment “…Thank you father!” Taylor could scream he was so blissful, he could finally be himself. Tiberius raised an eyebrow, mouth slightly ajar in surprise “…so you’re alright then?” Taylor got up from his seat and started to round the desk to hug his father “Yes father! Vystr was always the better choice, and now I can do what I truly want to” Tiberius held out a hand to stop Taylor “That’s not necessary” Taylor lowered his arms, abandoning the embrace, bit still nodded thankfully toward him “Thank you, regardless” As if almost disappointed by the response he got, compared to the gravity of the news he just gave, Tiberius’ expression returned to its dull self “Could you send Vonn in when you leave then please, I have some other business to address now, with him” Tiberius liked to think that he was an impenetrable stone wall when it came to his inner thoughts and emotions, but Taylor knew his father was glad his son was happy and himself felt relief “I will father, good day” He walked from the room, smiling. As he strode through the door, a new sense of pleasure overcoming him, Vonn and Vystr were stood in the grand, high arching hallway outside. Vonn wore honour guard armour; however unlike the rest, his was shiny silver with a white cloak, flowing out behind him to mark his rank as Supreme Commander of the Imperial armies. Vystr wore a similar tunic to Tiberius, black with purple sleeves and embroidery. His younger brother was shorter and, like his own, had jet black hair, however his was longer. They were conversing until Taylor had appeared, then Vonn turned and smiled cheerfully at the still ecstatic Taylor. The young man slammed into his uncle, wrapping his arms around him in a heartfelt embrace. After the sudden motion, Vonn then returned the embrace; patting him heartily on the back “I thought you’d be pleased” he lingered for a minute and then released Vonn from his arms “I knew he wouldn’t have done that without your encouragement, Thank you!” Vonn squeezed his shoulders lovingly and started toward the door of Tiberius’ office. Looking after Vonn for a moment, he then turned to Vystr “You know?” Taylor asked. He couldn’t help himself, he was still beaming, he felt as though the grin would be permanently etched onto his face “Yes” he nodded as he did so. He was smiling, but there was a hint of worry and regret. Taylor, who was several inches taller than his brother, put an arm round him “You’re going to do excellently, you’re a born ruler”

Tiberius looked up as Vonn entered the room. Again he closed the door calmly and took a seat “Now that that has been taken care of, we can discuss what I originally came here for…” Tiberius nodded. Vonn had not simply come to the capital for a social visit. He was here to report upon the military intelligence gathered recently. Despite his always cool mood, he had apparently hastened here from his keep in Sadderlon after hearing this news. As well as being the largest, Sadderlon was also the eastern most province of the empire, a small part of it along the west bank of the Muraka River, meaning it was the logical place for news and intelligence from Astor to be delivered to. Vonn seemingly loved Sadderlon, vast open fields, bustling cities, Astori culture and a more moderate climate; Vonn hated the humidity of Toren and Milanya, making him sweat in his armour. And whilst part of the royal family he was also considered Sadderlonian nobility, marrying Maria Geravynn, daughter of the high lord of the province. For whatever reason, Vonn preferred the company of Astors over Toreni’s, said they were more trustworthy and honourable “…With me came Lancel Geravynn, I’m sure he’d like some of your time afterwards” Tiberius bobbed his head again in response “Later, now out with it, is their truth to the rumours and whispers…?” Vonn smirked and leaned in closer “…It is as we hoped… The rose bush has the stag by the antlers, its thorns already dug in” It would seem a cryptic riddle to most, but to Tiberius it was a clear reference to the sigils of Addun and Doravier. As predicted, the unstable Borick had invaded the Tyla plains “… I’m afraid though the lion has not stirred from his slumber” This time referring to the sigil of Keravier “No matter, ready our legions” Tiberius was just as ambitious as his father, perhaps more so. Astor was large and bountiful, a pretty jewel that would fittingly adorn his already sizable empire. Tiberius would rule the realms of men and bring peace and stability to the continent.

Hundreds of fireworks of various sizes and colours flew up and detonated in a glorious explosion of sparks above the red ceramic roof tiles of the city of Oyago. Bird and dragon shaped kites joined them in the sky, swishing back and forth in the gentle breeze. Yeng was being carried on a litter through the celebrating crowd. As well as the four servants holding up the litter, he was surrounded by Chosen Blades, master swordsmen who had pledged their lives to the emperor. They wore red, silk tunics and ceramic armour plates on their torso as well as a citrus coloured, decorative yet still protective mask. The people filled the streets, cheering and waving small flags. The sheer excitement of the atmosphere almost made Yeng forget it was all for him. It had been 8 years since his father had passed, leaving him as emperor of the Rho Dynasty, however he was only 8 years at the time and ruling was left to the a council in his stead until now, his 16th birthday. Oyago, capital of the Rho territory, on the Isle of the Phoenix, had a massive population, meaning the central street was completely packed, as Yeng was being carried to the Imperial Palace. The imposing building at the top of a grand set of stairs, which was currently in view, was just part of a larger campus stretching out behind it. By now royal procession had reached the bottom of those stairs. The crowd, being held back by Rho soldiers, with similar armour to his Chosen Blades but open-faced helmets and wielding Guan Dao’s instead of swords, were still cheering, a roar of approval and happiness. Yeng turned away from the palace, to look at his, now official, subjects. He was far from confident or outgoing, but he thought he should at least do something to show his appreciation. He raised up a single hand and waved, the shouts intensified and the fireworks seemed to become more frequent as he did so. An older man, who was part of the procession, whose litter was just behind his own, started up the stairs towards him. His Uncle, Jan-ye, wearing his own ceremonial dress, ceramic armour over a flowing, knee length beige tunic, ushered him toward the palace. Jan-ye was a short and somewhat fat man, at the age of 74. For a human that was an impressive life span and he was quite healthy despite his looks. Jan-ye had been his mentor for the last 8 years, as well as becoming his father figure of sorts. His uncle, a kindly smile on his round face walked up behind him as they ascended the stairs together. Yeng’s ceremonial robes made the climb rather more difficult than he would have liked. The cherry coloured robes went down past his feet, some of the material even dragging along behind him as he walked. He wanted to make the journey go faster by taking two steps at a time, however he knew that would not look very regal. He was almost at the top now, the crowd, still cheering enthusiastically, now seemed distant and faceless; he could no longer make out the individual people down on the ground. Now that he was closer, he could see that the grand building was actually just a gate house. He hadn’t been in the capital for years, but he was surprised how little he remembered about his original home. He had stayed on one of the smaller islands of the Rho’s archipelago. One privately owned by the imperial family where he had been educated for the role he would now finally take. The magnificent gatehouse was easily 50ft, and had a beautiful statue atop it. Two Water Dragons snaking over the roof of the building, their necks entwining in the middle. The blue serpents were a respected symbol in Yarkhish culture, the rarely seen creatures were an auspicious omen, said to bring calm seas and good fortune for sailors. Yeng now stood at the top of the stairs, greeted by an assortment of servants and soldiers. As well as a dozen more Chosen Blades, in mahogany-coloured armour, there were also two in black armour, a half-elf and a Drow, a dark-elf. Elves were the only known beings, aside from dragons, with magical abilities. The black armour identified these two as Mages, powerful magic users. Lastly were more Rho guards and Agents of the empire, who wore black robes instead of armour. Amid the assembly was the Master of Trade, who traditionally completed the coronation ceremony. He stepped forward a sheathed blade in his hands. The minister stood adjacent to Yeng, so they would be in full view of the crowd. He then slowly drew the blade from the scabbard, then passing the scabbard to a servant. Jan-ye had gone over the process with Yeng a thousand times until he was completely confident on what to do. As the master then knelt on both knees, bowed his head and presented the sword to Yeng. He walked forward, softly lifting the blade from the master’s hands, carefully cradling it with both hands. Unlike the eastern kingdoms, who used strange golden crowns to show position, this sword, masterfully crafted for Emperor Jen IV more than a hundred years ago represented the leadership of the Rho Dynasty. It was made for the creation of the Yarkhish Confederation, when the four Dynasties of Yarkha allied against the Toreni incursion into their subcontinent. The Rho were regarded as the De Facto leader of the confederation and this sword was a symbol of that. A moment of intense concentration on the sword had drowned out the noise of the crowd as Yeng brought the blade closer. However as he swivelled back toward the crowd in front of him, the deafening cheers, which had intensified after he took the blade, struck him again. With a final bow of the head by Yeng, the ceremony was complete. The youth breathed a sigh of relief; he hadn’t fallen over climbing the stairs and he hadn’t dropped the sword. Everything had gone according to plan, and more importantly tradition. He was then guided by the assembly, headed by the Trade master, into the striking courtyard of the palace campus. There were several cherry trees, their fallen pink blossom collected by servants for the creation of scented candles. The large, nearly identical buildings housed the different imperial ministries, along the courtyard; whilst at the far end of it was the residence of the Emperor which he was being taken too.

After a rather dull, seemingly endless tour of the residence by the lead servant, Yeng was finally taken to the Hall of Conclusions, the main chamber of the building where matters of state would be discussed. The servants left them as he and his uncle entered the room. Inside were the heads of the ministries, all with different uniforms to match their respective jobs. They rose from their seats to greet their new ruler and bowed in unison. Yeng politely bowed in return, he then knelt on his cushion on a platform raised slightly above the rest. The councillors then did the same, as Jan-ye sat beside Yeng “Good morning Masters” Yeng began. He then used his hands to create the gesture for Please Introduce yourselves. The use of hand gestures as well as spoken language was something unique to the Yarkhish; no other kingdoms used the technique. The man sat closest on his left, wearing fine black robes similar to those outside which were part of the assembly was first “I am Shen Mei, Master of Whispers” he was head of intelligence gathering and counterespionage within the empire “I am pleased to report there was the lowest recorded number of assassination attempts for today” He seemed proud of himself and did not seem aware that Yeng was horrified by this news “There were assassination attempts?!” Yeng asked worriedly, he’d only recently accepted his fate and made his peace with it, now he wasn’t so sure. “A record few yes, the average is at least 6, there were only three today” finally seeing the fear on his face continued “You need not be concerned, my agents are experts in finding enemies of the state. No emperor has ever been assassinated in our care” That reconciled Yeng a little; he bowed his head in thanks, Shen Mei, greying with a neat moustache and beard, bowed back. On his right, the councillor wearing a deep-scarlet robe then started “I am Chei Byeng” His hair was brought up in a traditional ponytail, the sign of military service, however his was longer than normal suggesting a longer than average career “I am your Master of Ships” The leader of the Rho navies and ship building which was, for an archipelago like the Rho’s a very prestigious position. A Drow was next; he wore black armour, again like the two members of the assembly “I am Guan, Master of Flame, headmaster of the Oyago mages” Yarkha was a safe haven for the Drow, few other places trusted or accepted them, especially in light of the increasing religious fanaticism in the Toreni Empire, whilst in Yarkha they were revered for their natural magical ability and were often members of the Ministry of Flame. “As you know, I am Master of Trade, Quen Mei” Yeng recognised the minister from the ceremony, he was the only one not in military uniform, he instead had a salmon pink robe with yellow flowers embroidered in it. He had dark grey hair and looked quite elderly. Wearing standard military armour was “…Master of Soldiers, Maan Shi” assigned as the chief general of the Rho. He looked about 40 with thick sideburns, which, considering the other people in the room was quite a young for the head of a ministry. The last was the youngest, probably mid-twenties “I will be commander of your Chosen Blades, my name is not important…” he had a close shave which was traditional for a chosen blade. “Nevertheless I would like to know it” Yeng inquired politely “Very well, it is Tai…” His mask lay next to him on his pillow. Chosen Blades were orphans to ensure no prior loyalties, recruited as children, they were trained their entire lives to be completely loyal to the Emperor and to be deadly enough to protect him. The 6 different ministries were separate institutions, many interacted often however the Ministry of Whispers was fairly secretive and preferred only to report to the Emperor personally. Strangely the Master of Trade was perhaps the most powerful and influential of the ministers as it made the money that the other Ministries relied upon to function. The ministries recruited and trained their own staff and basically ran the empire, the Emperor’s main role was to control the budget of each ministry depending upon their perceived importance of the time. Emperor Jhe II, known as the Phoenix and regarded as their greatest ruler to date, focused the funding between Ships, Trade and Whispers allowing the Rho to become wealthier and more able to defend their archipelago. After the introductions, Yeng bowed in respect to them and then turned to his uncle “What is your role, uncle?” Jan-ye returned his gaze, and started to chuckle to himself as if the question was amusing “I am merely your advisor. The title of General is a simple nicety nephew; I have not commanded troops for many decades…” He remained cheerful and looked to Maan Shi “…and I believe it is only fair the younger generation gets a turn… especially in light of recent news from the East, a fresh pair of eyes could be useful” General Shi bowed his head sincerely “Nevertheless I for one would be honoured to see do so again” Yeng’s curiosity peaked at this mention of news from the east “What is this recent intelligence gathered?” The Master of Whispers appeared to be immensely pleased to be of service again. Shen Mei began “My agents, deeply infiltrated in both the Toreni and Macian Empires, have reported to me increased gatherings of troops and ships in Sadderlon and Cendryn. This is likely because they plan to invade Astor, which makes sense geographically due to Sadderlon’s proximity to Astor, which makes sense due to the recent escalation in the region” Shen started to stroke his beard in thought, as if more concerned now “…However they have almost always used Sadderlon and Cendryn as staging areas and military hubs before a war so it is possible there is another intended target…” Yeng pondered this “Perhaps an increase in funds for the Ministries of Ships and soldiers is necessary? Are there any other options open to us” The minister of trade politely made the gesture for I may have an Idea. “The empire could well be put off from invasion by increasing trade with them; if we are making them money their people will be unhappy at the prospect of losing this business” That was certainly a more diplomatic way of handling the situation, but could leave them more vulnerable later on. The Master received a few disdainful looks for his suggestion from the other councillors. Yeng had to make a decision but the consequences of that decision would shape the future of his people for better or worse.

Unlike the majority of other northern settlements, small, grotty and cold, Peris, capital of Brevidia was a thriving port. Before the construction of Peris, Brevidia was much like its more western cousins; Tyle, Hjalmar and Vosterson were all bleak and poor, however they then filled a gap in the market. Macian sailors were used to warm air and calm seas making the northern Shivering Shore impassable for them. The same could not be said for the Brevidians, like their ancestors from the Serpent Isles, they were far more used to sailing in the harsh cold and stormy seas of the north, knowing the safe routes and building special rams to smash through ice. The Great South Sea was disputed by the Rho, the Toreni and the Keravieri, but the Shivering Shore was definitively Brevidian. Using this to their advantage, the Brevidians were able to create a short cut for trade between Macia and Astor. Instead of ships having to sail past the Yarkhish Peninsula, across the Imperial Gulf to Keravier, Brevidia’s ships could go past the Horn of Talcia and reach Peris. Mathew was just a dockhand in Peris, which was the main employment of the population, one cog in a massive mechanism. He was unloading crates of various Western produce; fine silks, sugar and spice, from the ship “Iron Bull” one of the aforementioned special ice breakers. It was a relatively small one, however. He looked over to see the much larger “Giant’s Fist” it had three masts and a massive clenched steel fist on its prow. It was currently being loaded; several men were hauling crates onto the deck whilst a giant hefted whole logs, placing them swiftly into the storage bay below deck.  This 20ft monster was apparently rather small in giant terms; however Mathew had only ever seen this one a few times and had nothing to compare it to. Some said that King Mern the Bold was a quarter giant, nicknaming him Mern the Big. It was not the most imaginative name, but northern folk weren’t the most imaginative people, they were however fierce and loyal to their own. Due to their Estor blood, even the puniest Brevidian was broader and more muscular than an Astor. Whilst “Giant’s Fist” was large for a trade ship, even it was small compared to the pride of Mern’s military fleet, the “Thunderchild”, the prow ram was noticeably larger and the deck was longer for a great number of archers to fire from. Despite the cold, Peris was an attractive city, its interesting architecture and aesthetic gave it a certain charm. It had strong, high walls which swept around the city, protecting it from any land assault. A stretch of it was used as a dam, trapping an expansive reservoir behind it and supplying the city with water, from drinking and power to mills that ground grain from the surrounding hills. A cliff stretched out in front and provided the port some respite from storms. On it stood a gigantic lighthouse, three times larger than any other. Called the Great Light of Alexia, after the God of Sun of the same name, a great fire burned continuously on top of it, guiding the intrepid sailors’ home. All were made from grey stone, quarried from the mountains to the north, which had not yet faded, making the city seem almost modern. It was slowly drifting toward evening. Mathew lifted the last crate from below decks and went to lay it on the floor of the warehouse. After collecting his pay he started to walk home. Peris had a tier structure, the walls at the top of the ridge around the city. Then the residential district dominated much of the city. Below that was the commercial district, where the goods brought in on the ships were peddled, and finally the docks. Mathew was tall and whilst not overly muscular, he had a look of health, with dirty blonde hair and dark blue eyes. He had a fledgling goatee, mostly stubble, and much to his dismay he found he couldn’t grow sideburns, beards were seen as dignifying and masculine in Brevidian society, as well as sexy by their women. Perhaps the shameful excuse for a beard on his face was the reason he didn’t have a girl. He wasn’t desperate, he wouldn’t stoop to visiting the local brothel, but he was willing for a relationship. Further up the road one of his friends stood expectantly. Sten was shorter than Mathew, but older and with a full, closely trimmed beard. He was a soldier, still wearing the knee length leather tunic of a Brevidian infantryman. Under that was a woollen gambeson of similar proportions, to keep him warm out on duty, with an open face simple metal helm. He had a hand lazily leant on the hilt of his sword. The two had met at a tavern; they drank together and had been casual friends since. Usually that was the only reason Sten ever really went to Matt, for a drink. Matt himself was wearing a thick, dull-red, woollen jumper. He nodded to Sten as he approached “I suppose I can manage a few pints-” Sten gently stopped Matt with a hand from walking past, though he continued to stare off toward the sea “Give it a minute…” Matt swivelled to peer at what Sten was gazing at. Through the light fog over the water, Matt saw as the sun touched the water, turning the bay a magnificent, warm orange. He hadn’t really noticed before, but now the setting star heated his face, momentarily dispelling the constant, numbing cold. Sten’s generally stiff face relaxed a little and he closed his eyes, getting the same relief as Matt “My mother showed me that…” eyes still closed, voice hoarse, he continued “…Whenever there’s a clear night, rare as they are, this happens…” Sten opened his eyes again, this time they were watery, the last rays of the sun reflecting off his pupils. Sten had only mentioned in passing about his mother dying, it seemed it had affected him more than Matt thought “It’s beautiful…” Matt agreed, patting his friend on the shoulder. Attempting to regain his composure, Sten sniffed as he looked at Matt, in a matter-of-fact tone he said “-Most people don’t know about it, everyone’s already in doors or too busy to notice…” Matt looked around at the city before him. Sten was right, there was little activity below them, and no one was looking seaward “Thank you, Sten…” Before now Sten had been more of a close acquaintance, but after this, Matt felt like they’d bonded. After lapsing in a moment of weakness, Sten sniffed again and started walking up the road again “Fancy the Wench’s Willow tonight?” A tavern they frequented, not the classiest of establishments, but the ale was good and the company better “I could use a drink, yeah”

Matt and Sten walked silently to the Wench’s Willow, both thoughtfully pondering what had happened, Sten seemed to regret breaking down the way he did. When they reached the door to the tavern Matt halted Sten “Drinks are on me, we’ll celebrate your mother” Sten smiled a little and nodded. The two then entered the bar. There were a collection of other dock workers, sailors and a few soldiers like Sten. All merrily drinking and chatting. The dockworkers wore similar clothes to Matt, and the soldiers like Sten, but the sailors had a variety of garbs. Some had thick fur cloaks and chain-mail whilst others only simple leather and cotton tunics. As well as the normal patrons of the tavern there were a few curiosities. Two Knights of the Order, who were generally protecting the chapel of the Faith in Peris. The Order had far less power outside of the Toreni Empire, instead of keepers of the peace in Astor they were only protectors of the religion where it was found. Much of Astor shared a common religion with Toren, however Brevidia was an exception. They still mainly worshipped the traditional deities, or “Elder Gods”, Alexia being one of them. The chapel of the Faith was not the most popular in Peris, most choosing to pray at the shrines of the Elder Gods in their own homes. The Faith claimed there was only a single, powerful god, boringly only called “The Divine Lord”. Worshippers of the Elder Gods instead believed this Divine Lord was just one of many gods of varying power and capabilities, likely based on the deity Taturan, god of Devotion and Order. Reflecting that reduced power, instead of the standard plate, they only had a chest-piece and leather under-armour. They did not have the same fervour for their cause as those in Toren either. The other unusual customer was a large Faleen. Effectively an 8ft tall, bipedal cat person, the majority of them were in the Western Macian Empire, controlling much of the trade throughout the continent. Their thick fur allowed them to withstand the cold, whilst its lighter colouring means they can also tolerate hotter environments like the vast Macian desert over which they hold dominion. The Faleen quietly sat in an alcove by itself, its tail slowly swishing on the floor next to it as it sipped on a flagon of ale. Faleen were muscular and broad-shouldered, Matt could see how the ancient elves saw them as useful slaves, though the slave rebellion that resulted from their enslavement was then the end of the old elven empire. Mathew and Sten joined more of their friends and continued to drink for a few hours.

Next Chapter: New Chapter