Verita - The Guardian of Darkness

4

"Please, sit back down, Your Majesty." Even though his words were polite, Ves glared at his cousin while he spoke. "They're still far. And I would prefer it if you kept out of harm's way until we've confirmed their intentions."

"It's really a shame that you're never getting what you want", said Aetrian calmly, while he pushed past his aid. There was no reason to stay back; even though he wasn't as skilled with the sword as his cousin, he was convinced that his magic would prevent him from being slaughtered like a baby deer.

The Forlorn Plains offered no place to hide, which meant that nothing obstructed Aetrian's view of the envoy as it approached the little camp constructed by his soldiers. One minute they were little more than dark spots on the horizon; in the next, he could make out a single person riding in front of the others. Bent over the neck of a dark horse, the figure drove it towards the Gratians' tents with a speed that caught Aetrian off-guard. There was no hesitation in their movement; no caution he could detect.

As if they were running from something, he thought. With growing concern he thought about the dangers an envoy from the Plains would be running from. Giant monsters from the deep; hordes of mutated beasts; a group of human outlaws, desperate for survival. Aetrian had only brought a small delegation of Gratian soldiers with him, which meant they weren't prepared to fight anything bigger than a common beast.

Wordlessly, Aetrian stretched out his hand towards Ves and got handed a pair of binoculars. As soon as he had raised them to his face and found the rider in front, he recognized his mistake.
The vague figure belonged to a dark haired women no older than twenty-five, who was driving her horse down the Plains in an absurd tempo. However, there was no fear in her expression; instead he was met with a face full of determination. She wasn't drawing out her arrival because she wasn't scared. That's all there was to it.

He lowered the binoculars and shot Ves a glance. "I think you will like her after all."

"What? Her?"

"Yes. If I'm not wrong, then House Verita has a queen."

Ves reacted as Aetrian expected. He frowned. "That house? Weren't they famous for raising their successors like mad warriors?"

"I don't suppose they've changed that", he reminded his aid. "The Plains aren't kind to weak creatures."

Aetrian watched as the foreign envoy came to a halt about two or three hundred meters in the distance. He couldn't make out any details about the group, apart from the glaring lack of banners and their odd proportions. Either their horses were extremely large – or they themselves really small. The Veritans kept close to each other and observed, wary of Gratia's goodwill.

Just like us, he thought with growing hope. Maybe his hunch hadn't been so wrong.

Aetrian refrained from using the binoculars again. Instead, he waited for the Veritan envoy to approach them on their own and allowed one of the servants to fuss about his clothing in the meantime. Early this morning, his servants had hidden away all the comfortable lounging sets and had presented one formal robe after the other until Aetrian had chosen a dark green ensemble, laden with golden embroidery.

As if my looks mattered, thought Aetrian. The Veritan envoy wasn't here to experience Gratian court fashion or to critique the king's appearance. If anything, they would feel embarrassed or even offended by this lavish display of wealth.

After all, the royal family of Verita had come to surrender after a 300-year-long war of stamina.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Ves examining the state of his own gold-embroidered jacket and caramel braid. Aetrian had to stifle a laugh despite his solemn contemplations.

"Peacock", he muttered under his breath.

"You don't know how to be worried for your appearance", Ves whispered back, mindful of the servants around them. "Other people have taken care of it since you laid in your crib."

The aid turned away and returned to inspecting his clothing; eager to prove his indifference to Aetrian's mockery. But his cousin wasn't watching anymore. During their exchange, the Veritans had secured their dark horses to their own make-shift camp which consisted of a few dark heaps.

Leather rugs?, guess Aetrian a little lost. There were no triangular shapes to be seen which could hint at tents. Instead, a dark half-circle rose up into the sky in front of a smoking campfire.

Some of the Veritans stayed back, while a few dark silhouettes were approaching by foot. Slowly, they became more defined, disclosing a lack of worn skirts or carried banners among them. Aetrian had begun to walk towards them before he had noticed it himself. Only Ves' frustrated cry from behind made him notice and he stopped himself unwillingly. After years of speculation, he was more than eager to meet the Veritans – but he also knew that he shouldn't put himself in harm's way out of curiosity.

The strange feeling, which told him that the envoy was here to negotiate, was just a hunch after all. He couldn't bet the Gratian crown on it.

Ves had caught up and his topaz eyes were blazing with annoyance. "You never listen."

"At least not when you talk."

Lost for words, the aid turned to face the enemy envoy. "I will tell you what I think of that when there are less ears around."

"I'm sure you will", assured him Aetrian, who had begun to move forward again. This time, Ves was allowed some time to beckon the guard over.

While walking, Aetrian glanced over his shoulder. Only a handful of soldiers followed them closely. He had kept the greeting party small for a reason; he didn't want to scare the Veritans and turn them more hostile than they had to be. To pave the road for negotiations, they had to establish a relaxed atmosphere between the parties.

However, Aetrian couldn't have foreseen how big the difference between their troops still was.

The few royal guards who accompanied Aetrian and Ves were iron-clad from head to toe and marched while waving banners bearing Gratia's coat of arms. In comparison, the Veritans' armor seemed to consist of little more than a few pieces of leather held together by thread and necessity. There were no banners to be seen – likely to avoid wasting hard-to-come-by materials.

Suddenly, Aetrian remembered the rider's reckless look as she had galloped towards them and the stiffness in his shoulders subsided. As long as they were to negotiate with her, everything would be alright.

Another hunch for Ves to be annoyed with, he thought with a faint smile.

They were getting close to the Veritan envoy, when Aetrian noticed that the foreign soldiers hadn't fallen into any sort of protective formation. They followed their leader without order – but with weapons drawn. Instantly, he felt like a coward. Hidden between Ves and the commander of his guards, he would have his people act like a shield in case of emergency.

After a first inspection, however, his earlier impression of the foreign envoy worsened; especially of their equipment. It wasn't only their armor which needed an update. Their weapons were in similarly bad shape; the blades were sharpened but brittle; their bows held together by rugged strings that resembled strands of horse hair. He couldn't help but wonder if the rumors about Veritans using monster parts as raw materials had been true. And why wouldn't they use the little which the Plains offered them?

A Veritan maid, clad in the most worn-out clothing of them all, stepped forward when the envoys weren't separated by more than five or six meters at most. She didn't bow to Aetrian and, initially, he wasn't sure if it was a sign of disrespect or difference in protocol. Only when she raised her head, his question was answered. The young woman looked at him with undisguised disgust in her dark eyes.

However, her voice didn't betray her emotions as she proceeded to speak.