Representatives from neighboring countries began to arrive shortly after, carriages gleaming in the sun as each attempted to outshine the others. Many of the citizens of Camela viewed the outsiders through slanted suspicious eyes. The neighboring countries had a rather unhealthy reputation within Aestria.
Despite being allies, their overall lack of real assistance in the ongoing war against the Demons was the bone of contention, merely because they didn't share borders with the lands under Demonic control. Whilst numerous nobles and religious figures in those countries made endless flowery speeches in public, indicating their support and belief in ending the war against Demons, in private the sad truth was those were the most likely to hold back on direct support preferring to maintain the status quo.
Many of the more intelligent nobles even dipped their fingers into the weapons trade, dragging the war out whilst attempting to drive profits as much as possible. There were rumors of attempted deals with the Demon horde so as to play both sides of the field. Whilst unsubstantiated, rumors like that tend to at least contain a nugget of truth at their core.
Allaan and Aegan stood tall at the palace entrance, waiting to welcome their guests. Several days of rest had allowed Aegan to recuperate as much as was possible. Yet despite the continued sessions of Healing, his missing eye and damaged arm were beyond repair. Even his life force was severely depleted and what had been lost would never be regained.
No matter. I need only survive a little longer.
They both wore their finest crimson robes, red for the blood that their people shed every day to keep the Demons at bay. Aegan's had a silver trim and was hooded to cover his worn down face from view. Allaan's had a golden trim and his head bore the Aestrian crown, golden thorns adorned with rubies that refracted the sunlight in a cascade of reddish hues.
Behind them stood an entourage of Royals, followed by the heads of the 4 main noble families and then a fleet of servants in crimson livery. Aegans' eye danced over the nobles faces, many of whom he'd known for decades, for better or worse. As a country almost always at war, the nobility of Aestria were for the most part consolidated beneath the Kings rule.
But even now one could see cracks, spreading like shattering glass. Each of them could be seen smiling outwardly, yet inside gears turned incessantly, looking to turn every possible misstep by the King to their advantage. The only exception being Lord Boriq Wilkin, a mountain of a man and the Kings left hand.
While the Champions went out to quell the Demon horde and protect their people from without, this was the man who kept those within in check.
Some said his strength was not far below that of a Champion and despite all the gods given gifts those who fit that role received, standing in his presence, there would be few who could look up into his near 7 foot frame (2.13 meters) and call those words a lie.
With a chiseled jaw and a short buzz cut, he appeared resplendent in his deep crimson uniform. A deep scar ran the length from just above his left eye, past his mouth to his chin. The wound that had only been an inch from his jugular and claiming his life was never hidden, in fact he showed it off gladly to friend and foe alike. His well-practiced smile pulled it tight against his features gave it a gruesome quality and made one thing quite plain. He was not a man to be trifled with.
He glanced with clear disapproval at his colleagues, as if reading the surface thoughts their greedy eyes could not completely hide. Lords Hewet and Gerrat met his gaze and then looked away, chastened. The only not to drop their gaze was Lady Vindere.
As was her wont, she refused to be treated with anything less than the respect she believed she deserved. While her reputation amongst those who serve her was lackluster, that with her supporters claimed her to have a tough yet fair countenance. Always prepared to weigh in and settle disputes when asked. And indeed when she was not asked.
Her hair while dyed red showed hints of iron grey at her temples. Her dress both modest and kempt was designed to stand out from the others. While crimson at it's base, the frills and sash stood out as a stark white, complementing her pale complexion.
The processions were many, with envoys from each corner of the world. Jorfrugr, the icy plains to the north. Zuthaya, the prosperous lands to the west. Even the desert clans of Vuspesh sent representatives, covered in cloths that hid all but their eyes. A few smaller nations had also sent representatives for the occasion, bearing gifts and looking to witness this most rare and grand of events.
As the first to arrive, the ambassadors of Jorfrugr, Viking barbarians from the great tundra to the north stepped forth. Their leader bent a knee and inclined his head so quickly as to almost seem an accident. While his escort still wore large heavy furs customary to their people, he himself had doffed them in favor of a trimmed white and silver leather armor, shining in the noonday sun.
"King Allaan" He said gruffly, followed by a slightly more impressive nod for Aegan, Great Sage of Aestria. He then extended his arm in the King's direction.
"Lord Hallgrim" Allaan replied, grasping the offered arm firmly. "A man of few words as always"
"Words are for cowards, fools and liars" Hallgrim said disinterestedly. "Action is the only thing of worth to us"
He gave Aegan a piercing stare from head to toe, noting his injuries and the way he held himself. His missing eye was now covered by a black eyepatch and his arm was bandaged and tightly knotted in a sling against his body.
"Yet on that score you have beaten us. More Demon Lords killed in the last battle than in the 12 centuries before it? A achievement for the ages" a pregnant pause filled the air before he finished "Shame it cost you the lives of all your Champions but a decent trade regardless"
Allaan reined his sudden spike of anger back firmly yet a hint of it must have crossed his face. Aegan too felt his face darken. His friends and fellow Champions did not give their lives so that a snot nosed punk from the north could make pathetic jibes at their expense. Seeing these emotions flit across their visages, Hallgrim laughed.
"Fear not, King of Aestria. Your well fought victory has moved our Jarls and they have sent a gift for you in this troubled time, first a cask or our finest mead, sure to put a few hairs on your southern chests" at his signal a man almost as wide as he was tall with a scraggly beard carried over a cask that bore an emblem of a goat on its side.
He briefly uncorked it and poured a generous portion into several silver decorated cups he appeared to have hidden around his person. Once enough had been prepared, he passed them round to Hallgrim, the King and his entourage.
"May your warriors be seen worthy of a place in Valhalla!" Hallgrim roared out suddenly, his voice booming out loudly enough to scare nearby birds into flight.
"As for the other…"
It was then the King and Aegan noticed the second carriage rolling to a stop nearby. It's window curtains drawn tightly shut as it ambled slowly towards them, it's wooden wheels creaking as if bearing more weight than they could comfortably handle. As it approached a sense of foreboding stole over the scene as the eyes of all were glued to it's passage.
When it finally rolled to a stop before the assorted Vikings and noblemen, Aegan could make out a thick iron lock slotted into an even thicker chain looped around the door handles barring anyone from entry. Or more likely from exit.
Hallgrim grinned and gestured one of his men to undo the chain, and as it clattered to the ground and the door gently loosened, a shadow dashed through the opening and out into the light.