“We’d need longer than a day to hear something witty come from your mouth, Decaster,” Artima replied.
Emery gave Artima a sharp look, as if to tell him to reel it in a little.
“Let’s move this along, shall we? We all have better places to be,” Emery said.
Decaster sneered. “King Tobius has already arrived. He awaits you at the Citadel.”
“Very good. Lead the way.”
Decaster escorted his guests through Tellersted. Lining its well-maintained, cobblestone streets were two-storey, timber-framed rowhouses, constructed of wattle with tiled roofs. Other structures had decorated terraces, balconies, and chimneys. The residents in town were among the wealthiest in the area.
Out the front of the Citadel was an open, paved courtyard with a large fountain at its centre. Dozens of townspeople were gathered in and around the square, curious to catch a glimpse of the neighbouring king.
With so many eyes upon them from all around, Emery was beginning to feel a little more suspicious. There were far too many potential threats to consider each one appropriately.
He would have to trust that they truly meant for peace and that this wasn’t some sort of trap.
The statue in the fountain’s centre was new, cut in the shape of a large crescent moon. Engraved at its base were the words ‘Teller’s Square’.
It, like the other religious decorations around the town, had once been a statue dedicated to the Creator. A knight, if Emery remembered correctly.
Children were playing in the water of the fountain, laughing, and squealing like everything in the world was perfect, until their guardians ushered them away at the sight of the approaching party.
Emery spotted a group outside the entrance archways to the Citadel, seated at a huge square table with a temporary sunshade overhead. He immediately recognised King Tobius, proudly flaunting an elaborate robe of Autumn colours with ruffled sleeves, and tied at the waist by a jewelled belt. It was far too stylish for him to pull off successfully.
Tobius was wearing his bronze crown atop his bald head, and for once it was not tilted or half hanging off.
Emery slowed Shadow down with a tug on the reins, before dropping from his saddle. He took off his engraved helm, passing it to Simen Lowe who promptly handed him his crown.
Artima Lowe and Petir came down from their horses as their guards took the reins from them. Petir was glaring at Tobius Seynard, an expressionless yet piercing stare.
Emery walked with determination towards the Seynards, fixing his crown so that it sat perfectly atop his head, with a gulp of saliva to clear his throat. No one said a word for a few moments as the Blacktrees approached the meeting.
The tension was thick like a morning fog in the air. The rumbling of the thunder from earlier seemed to be drawing closer.
As Simen reached the table, Emery’s helm went tumbling from his hands, crashing onto the cobblestone with a bang. It did, however, do well to shatter the awkward silence.
“S-sorry, my king. I’m so sorry,” Simen stuttered, scrambling after the tumbling helm like a child racing after his toy.
Tobius snickered to himself at the embarrassing situation as Artima Lowe huffed at his son, rubbing his forehead.
“Tobius,” Emery said firmly as they reached their seats. The king of Caldaea did not stand up or offer his hand, merely nodding to his adversary.
Emery rested upon the lavish chair opposite Tobius, followed shortly by Petir and Artima. Simen took a step back awkwardly, trying to gauge the correct distance to stand away from his king.
“King Emery. Marvellous to see you again,” Tobius said with a note of disdain in his shrewd voice. “I saw from atop the Citadel that you brought a force of men with you?”
“And cavalry, yes,” Emery replied quickly.
Tobius nodded. “Not intending on starting another war, are you, Emery?”
“Not today. Not unless we have to.”
“Good, good. I will send word to my one-thousand troops to receive your men peacefully, then. Baron Decaster’s city guards will do the same.”
That was new information to Emery. Tobius had brought his own force as well, it seemed. It added a new variable to the mix, one that sent a chill down his back.
“Thank you, Tobius,” Emery said, ensuring he didn’t let his surprise show. “I appreciate it. We want nothing more than to sort this mess out once and for all.”
Tobius clapped his hands boisterously. “Wonderful! Well then, allow me to introduce my council to you.”
Emery inhaled loudly. Get on with it already.
“Of course, you have met our gracious host, Baron Bennet Decaster,” Tobius said, offering the baron a seat on his side of the table with a gesture of the hand.
“We’ve had the pleasure, yes,” Artima said from Emery’s side.
Tobius gestured to two men sitting either side of him- one was a tall, lanky man with bony cheeks with a stack of papers before him, the other an older, weasel-faced man wearing all black. “My royal advisors, Oren Harrin,” Tobius said; the skinny man to his right bowed, “and Hart Moralis.” The older man in black nodded to Emery coldly.
Emery, however, could not help but notice the giant of a soldier standing to Tobius’s rear in full-plated armour, wielding a war hammer as big as a man.
“And behind me here is Sen Dorval, my personal bodyguard. Some may know him as ‘The Ogre’, a nickname I am not so fond of, but it nonetheless rather accurate,” Tobius announced proudly.
The goliath simply grunted.
“Where’d you find him? Some giant’s tribe from the Creator’s Fist? The boy’s huge,” Baron Artima said, marvelling at Sen Dorval.
Tobius chuckled. “Aye, aye. The boy’s only recently come into my service and is already proving to be… rather talented at what he does.”
Tobius almost seemed overly thrilled to be there, showing off; it was making Emery uncomfortable.
