BECMI Chapter 255 – First and Second Impressions

The diplomatic letter had literally come flying in on black wings, depositing itself into the hands of the Captain of the Gate. Captain Rossus Tronsweyr came from Delpha, and was totally inured to the intricacies and eccentricities that powerful spellcasters tended to display. He had simply accepted the formal letter and conveyed it on to King Brucall without batting an eye, leaving it to the spellcasters to go over it carefully and make sure there were no surprises or tricks concealed within it… which there had not been.So it was that they’d been told to expect a showy and flamboyant arrival, but a small party of no more than three. There was to be no grand banquet or celebration, as the missive had been very clear that if something so ostentatious was planned and came to pass, they would be departing quickly until the king had gained some common sense.

That a visiting dignitary did NOT want to be pomped and feted about was a novel idea, as such things were as much entertainment for everyone involved as recognition of noble status.

He did wonder how they would arrive…

The fountain of black flames edged in crimson erupted out of the plaza in front of the main gates to the Royal Palace. All of the guards there instantly stiffened, horns blaring out and weapons snapping into place as it rose up an easy hundred feet in the air.

Then the roses blossomed from within it, black as silk, with thorns edged in shining silver that were as long and deadly as spears. Black skulls slipped down from the dark roses, swirling and gathering shadows to themselves as they did so, and gathered up in a double line in front of the great rosebush there… becoming skeletons dressed in fancy hats, long-frilled coats and precisely-pressed trousers and boots, with ostentatiously useless ceremonial halberds in hand forming an archway and bright crimson roses on their hats and in their lapels.

“At ease!” Captain Tronsweyr called out, raising his hand, the exasperated and resigned undertones to the command doing more to ease jitters than an infuriated roar would. “This is our guests arriving!”

The alarms tapered off, although everyone stayed at their posts, watching with interest and professional assessment as the mysterious people who had conquered the pirate den to the south made their appearance.

With a sibilant rustling that sounded like the whispers of deadly secrets to the ears, making many listening them go white, the roses peeled aside, revealing a stairway going down into the ground, and a trio of people coming up out of them.

The man was a head taller than the first woman, mature, strong, vital, exuding power and importance. His black suit was done in an older style that nevertheless exuded precision stitching and folding, every crease and seam looking like it could cut a sheet of paper, jewels glittering at throat and hand and wrist… and a glittering diadem of black star sapphires in place around his brow. His beard was dark, but flecked with a silver that only added to his air of maturity and competence, and the Sword at his side glimmered with a fell and deadly magic that had it hanging there and not even tugging at his waist, as if it was floating there and tensed to leap into his hand.

He looked like a king, and he held himself like one.

The second woman looked human, standing as tall as the king, in exquisite form-fitting leathers that fairly screamed craftsmanship. Her first step forward caused sweat to break out on Captain Tronsweyr’s forehead, as muscles rippled in ways that screamed death and danger to a fighting man, the laziest effort on her part conveying that she was very, very dangerous and drawing all eyes to her. Although tall and slender, the curves of her shoulders, hips, and waist, leading down to those incredible legs, had his blood roaring in his ears, and the way her golden hair flowed about her upper body, shading half her face and seemingly framing an eye so blue had the mere glance of it causing his heart to skip like someone had just poked it.

He knew who she was, and he wanted to curse in fear and scream in excitement all the same. Twelve years ago, he’d been sent to take sword lessons from her by General Bronswer, and naturally had never forgotten her.

The elfin a half-step behind the king and next to her, however, looked like death in scarlet and black, her skin whiter than a cloud, her rippling hair darker than a raven’s wing and the tips red as fresh blood as she simultaneously seemed to be fallen into shadow and blazing within it. Her dress of scarlet and black silks looked like flames clinging to her as she walked, the supernatural grace and poise in every movement a deadly warning to everyone as black eyes with verdant ruby pupils raked over them all… and utterly dismissed them as potential dangers.

Her hand gripped a black Staff that looked to be made from the spine of some fell beast, glittering silver on barbs and knobs on it making appear that she was holding onto a fistful of thorned spikes, even jutting out between her fingers. A demonic skull leered at the top of it, the bone blacker than ink, yet its eye sockets held glittering white flames… and it moved atop the Staff, swiveling about and looking back and forth between them all, as if excited and seeking something to unleash its power on.

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Captain Tronsweyr swallowed. As entrances went, this one was pretty good...

The elfin’s starkly crimson lips parted, and the words poured off her like icy water in the veins, each syllable like an enunciated dagger ready to strike, stiffening everyone in their places throughout the palace, and indeed, throughout the entire city.

The elfin wizardess flicked a finger, and a formal scroll launched itself out of her sleeve on black wings, unerringly depositing itself into the sweating Gate Captain’s hands.

It was the original invitation to visit Aetla, signed by Brucall’s own hand.

Grandmaster Sama Rantha was here. Captain Tronsweyr thought.

And she was standing BEHIND this King Antius he had never heard of, along with this elfin wizardess who felt more dangerous than any Overmage he’d ever met, and he’d met dozens while serving under General Bronswer.

Grandmaster’s Sama’s brow arched ever so slightly as that withering blue eye considered him, obviously recognizing him, jolting him out of his reverie like she’d poked him with those nails that could rend steel and stone.

“Your Royal Majesty! Grandmaster! Archmage!” he shouted loudly, utterly preempting any royal page or the Chancellor or anyone else who might be rushing to receive them. “All troops, ATTENTION!” he shouted, and like the elite and highly trained men and women they were, the Royal Guard snapped to attention with a crump of boots hitting stone. “DRAW SWORDS! PRESENT ARMS! SALUTE TO HIS ROYAL MAJESTY OF EISMOOR AND HIS ATTENDANTS!” he ordered without the slightest hesitation.

Swords snapped out, slapped against breastplates, the flats gleaming and polished. The Royal Guard were elites, in both pragmatic combat and ceremonial duties, expected to excel at both. If they couldn’t, there were simple line and cavalry regiments they could be remanded back to!

In time with his voice, the scores of Royal Guards bowed with the Gate Captain to their honored guests.

“Squads Two, Four, Six! Form up a full honor guard!” He watched the sepulchral skeletons turn on a dime, salute the Royal Guards in formal hand-off, their halberds slamming down as one on the stones. Then, in perfect spinning-off parade formation, they marched in pairs off and down those dark stairs inside the towering, flaming black rosebush.

The vines slithered together over the stairs, it vanished from view, and then the whole rosebush fell away, vanishing silently into the stones of the plaza behind them… save for one small pot of black roses, coiling up silently there behind them, grown right out and through the stones of the plaza.

Nobody was going to dare to touch that pot, he knew.

Squad Two formed up behind him and in front of their guests, Squad Four in single file next to them, and Squad Six behind them, a full triple escort reserved for the highest tier of visitors, exceeded only by that required by a member of the Imperial Family. For an unknown king, it was a singular honor, but to be honest, Captain Tronsweyr was far more focused on not disappointing Grandmaster Sama, and she was a horribly demanding taskmaster.

A member of the Court would have walked next to them and started pattering on about the Palace and the ten years it took to build and the skill of the architecture of the white and pale blue stones and the defensive designs and magical Wards and lighting and heating and just prattled on and on and on about stuff that wasn’t going to impress Grandmaster Sama in the slightest, and likely annoy her.

An annoyed Grandmaster Sama was not something anyone wanted to see.

He had already noticed that the boots of King Antius were the only ones touching the ground, the tiniest of sparks about them as he did so. Grandmaster Sama was skating along above the stones, taking one stride for about every six of his men, and the elfin wasn’t walking at all, just gliding above the ground, her feet hidden by her skirts, looking ghostly and regal and unnatural all at the same time.

These were all very dangerous people, and only King Antius seemed to be relaxed, at ease, and looking around with interest. The way his eyes glittered made it very plain he was looking at more than just the architecture, and he also wasn’t overly impressed by anything, although he did seem appreciative of it.

Sergeant Dusicron appeared ahead of him, her uniform immaculate as always, a subtle nod of her head indicating that King Brucall was ready to receive them in the Throne Room.

The Royal Herald stepped forward to take over from him, and the Captain glared at him so hard he faltered and stepped back. The guards to either side didn’t blink as they opened the doors, and the escort squads wheeled smoothly and precisely aside for their guests.

“Announcing! His Royal Majesty, King Antius of Eismoor! The Grandmaster and Sage of Swords, Sama Rantha! Archmaga and Counselor, the Lady Edge!” he shouted out with a baritone used to bellowing across parade grounds, and it echoed proudly in the Throne Room beyond.

Totally beyond his role and station, he marched forward, startling everyone by doing so. A warrior just didn’t do such things in Delpha, especially a member of the King’s Guard.

As requested, the Throne Room was only lightly attended. He saw Tarna Elmbright, the druidess sent as an advisor from the local Circles, and also his king’s magister, Markol Far-Seer. General Gostorn was resplendent in full Delphan plate armor, splendid and showcasing the advanced martial craftsmanship of their people as he considered what Captain Tronsweyr was doing, while Castellan Humbron looked on in elegant silks and brocades, frowning at the Gate Captain upsetting things outside his role. The bronze-hued Counselor Olgmaithan, hailing from the Isle of Kheper and his skin standing out among those in the room, waited discreetly to the side, his dark eyes studying and analyzing.

The Gate Captain marched up to the proper distance to his King, risen to receive his guests, his brow slightly furrowed at the antics of the Captain.

He bowed deeply to his King, turning and stepping aside… and then turned to Sama Rantha, saluting her with his sword. “The student greets the Grandmaster!” he said formally, powering through the elegant and complex flourish with grace and speed, trying to make it look as effortless and powerful as possible.