Chương 371: 9.3

Evren stood at attention, poised in the way that his keepers thought made him look fierce and 'impressive'. Wings slightly open, neck arched just so, face held like a statue, ears forward. All four legs planted just so, tail free to sweep slightly from side to side. He'd been drilled in how to stand and be 'impressive' almost more than how to fight! At least his fur was allowed to grow in properly for winter now that the hated 'regent' was gone.

No more of the awkward summer festival patterns getting shaved because some lord thought they looked better than plain fur. Something that should have been festive and special made a constantly etched pattern, at least he had that relief. Beside him on his left was High King Murad, standing with an attentive posture that Evren now wondered if it was supported by one of his shining rings. Was that finery also magicked to be untouchable? Was it even a property of the clothes at all?

He'd seen the High King wear many shining and metal woven pieces of 'finery' even in his stay so far. Surely not even Murad the Conqueror could afford to have dozens of cities worth of tithe sent to the Djinn Nation to afford all his wardrobe was self cleaning? On Evren's right his brother stood a step back, thankfully providing some obscurity for how he was having a greater difficulty holding the rigid yet assured postures of the other princes. Who arrayed themselves in the courtyard in line with their king.

Each with choice members of their own households. And then in front of them a wide open plaza, normally used to make addresses to the people of Magarska. Now closed off to any but the personal guards of each principality and the High King himself. Soldiers, armoured and shining in the bright profusion of colors. Some of them were Evren's so called 'house colors' which oh so coincidentally were the same of Vanand and the former 'regent'. The same colors draped over himself and picked and tailored for Hazim's fit.

At least his brother smelled proud of himself and his place at such a moment, more than the tension of the moment or men hung in the air. There was a tremble to the wind and deep in the solid stone beneath the tile murals of the palace grounds. A separate feeling from the mood of the stone itself and the wind. A presence that Evren had tried to focus on ever since Fizzbunches had told him he should be able to detect it. Something separating, interposed, sharp. He thought he could feel it, maybe?

But it was fuzzy, indistinct, hard to separate from the murmuring presence of the quite wakeful stones. However all of that was pushed away as the innermost palace gates parted. Music announced the arrival. But Evren felt almost deafened at the sensation that crawled forward from that gate. The world seemed to grow still, silent, absent in a way he had never realized it could. Like a swelling bank of a storm cloud the smothering rolled into the courtyard. Every stone falling quiet under its touch.

Not a visible presence, nor a truly muting aura. He could still hear footsteps of soldiers, familiar and foreign. The voice of a man calling out the name, the title, the great guest before them.

"Presenting the esteemed and mighty guest, Jewel of Rochford and Bathory, Empowered representative of Mathias of Stein High King of the Realm of Cantor Reborn. Shining Doom and Countess of Viznove." Evren could only stare, as she strode into the space with him, A body like a snake, scales shining like gold in the early afternoon sun. Wings strange curling things like fingers with sheets of skin furled between. Two sharp swept back horns like no creature he had ever seen.

Almost like a goat, but each long enough to be a sword! She moved with a lightness that seemed like she only just allowed the ground to touch her steps. Moving like a cloud, a dream, a horrible nightmare. There was clothing upon her, but where he had been bedecked in a heavy burden of metal and draped cloth? The Countess Wyrm was practically naked! Just some leather panniers which while finely made hardly seemed fitting for a creature so vast and terrible!

There were some dull black banners hanging over the four leather satchels strapped to her sides. But beyond there she wore no finery at all! Yet the shine of her scales the black oily quality of that bristling mane? She was hardly made less overwhelming by her state of undress. And those eyes, piercing black and shining eyes, like polished opals staring into him. Staring down on him! She was nearly twice as long as he was, and held her neck curled back so her eyes were easily over his.

Her length had a wingspan to match if he was any judge of Gryff the folded appendages could easily sweep out to be an equal to the rest of her. Like him the span seemed like it would reach as far from one tip to the next as from the nose to the tail. All of her so foreign, so similar! Stolen novel; please report. She approached with far too few steps for the strides. Barely a single foot touching at any given moment.

And then the upwelling of a silenced world was drawing close to him and she suddenly dropped heavily like a stone. Those black eyes widened ever so slightly in that strange face. Serpentine and yet not, more like a gryff than anything else. Where was her fur? Why was she a serpentine creature? Was she raised by some bird headed folk like his family bore that of dogs? If so, where were her feathers and why did her wings look so strange and ugly?! And more so what had she done to the world?!

He could feel it now, just ahead of him! If he had stretched out his neck he could have flicked it with his tongue or brushed it with his snout. He had not gone deaf, instead it was the world that was silent. Not even muffled but dead quiet, totally unheard. For the first time in his life he could stare at the stones before him and not hear their voices, even as they were resting beneath the so-called Shining Wyrm before him (did she flinch inside from the name like he did his?).

He could feel the abrupt place between them where the world stopped singing to him. Where the wind itself abandoned him. The sharp border felt like a theft! A comfort he'd consoled himself with for years betraying him! The silent, inscrutable thing before him that was supposedly his counterpart, his elder even stared back at him, blinking slowly. Then turned away from him, as if dismissing everything about him.

As if it did not even notice how it had taken something he never even realized he treasured away from him! The voice that came from the Shining Wyrm of Viznove's lips was eerie, sharp, cutting and thick in how it shaped the words. It buzzed sharply like the hum of bees in places where it should have whistled. A feminine but mature voice, a foreign woman whose utterances none the less seemed only just restrained.

A power beneath them that could shatter mountains and even so restrained made the stones nearly tremble." Greetings to you, High King Murad the First, Conqueror of Orestias, Rebuilder of Terminapolis, I thank you for accepting my request to meet you and young Prince Evren of Vanand." Evren could feel that terrible silence that surrounded her ripple and quake out as she spoke, he could feel the stone beneath his own toes shiver and fall quiet before beginning to whisper softly again to him.

The wind thrashed in his lungs, it clawed at his throat. He understood now what it was that was happening, he could only barely manage reply when the High King Murad prompted him to introduce himself. He tried to speak in the High Court Tongue with every ounce of authority he had learned. To enunciate with every syllable of power he could muster. Stepping forward was an effort harder than any he had ever attempted. The pressure of silence around her felt like it was squeezing into him as he brought himself closer.

But he pressed on, with all the grace he had been drilled in and the teachings of how to strike he moved. With all of his weight rather than just one leg. He lashed out with his words, to try and reclaim some of the world's voice from her. They were the same words he had been commanded to say. By his oath he said them, but his voice struck out to the world." I am Evren, Prince of the Vanand, Guardian of its people.

I greet and welcome you to my High King's home and hope that-" He struggled, even trying to push against her presence felt like chewing rock without his wind to sharpen and hold his teeth. The world barely turned its voice back to him even an inch into the space she had claimed without even a passing effort. But he saw her nostrils flare, the face otherwise was still but the neck subtly curled back, the wings unfurling ever so slightly. Coils starting to bend and legs shifting.

Not overt enough for any other figure to see Evren thought, at least not any that had not seen a Wyrm priming to strike." I-I hope that our words c-can maintain and strengthen the peace." Those blank, empty black eyes shining in the sun were utterly devoid of any hint of feeling. Nothing but cold calculation and his own reflection dwelt there, the scent coming off of the Shining Doom was that of a storm that had broken on parched soil.

No feeling, no scent, just a smothering silence and eyes so black he recalled all the terrible tales of the monster of the north with eyes to match her heart. They stood there before one another, He felt like a weasel, a small morsel under the eyes of a full cavalry Griff. Featureless eyes boring down into him with detached curiosity. He was stuck. Evren could approach no closer, he did not tremble, his muscles did not ache, but he could press no more. His voice could pull no harder on the world ahead of him.

All his effort and he had reclaimed a mere three inches of the mural of the courtyard back from the vast expanse that had been swallowed up by the Countess and her silence. Three inches and he could feel his wind struggling, shivering like a branch about to shatter. The thick northern voice of a woman who commanded men in their thousands to death replied." I too hope we can find peace." The words flowed over Evren and the world, his resolve broke, he had to retreat back three steps.

He tried to hide it with a gentle bow, some sign of obsequiousness. Some submission to the predatory creature who moved like a hunter. That made him feel like a particularly small weasel. He retreated from the stones that had turned against him with their voices. From the all but immutable border of where the world abandoned Evren, and served The Countess.