The king discusses with his adviser

The Lydian envoy slowly made its way along the busy street. Most of the Zatakians stopped what they were doing, got out of the way and stared in awe at the strange equipage. The few who didn't were roughly pushed aside.

”Make way, make way!” The city guards' orders chimed like monotone hymn over the murmuring crowd and trotting hooves.

Covering his nose with a silk handkerchief, King Mandour peered out the window, ”Savages!” he said with disgust, ”Are these beasts supposed to be our new overlords? And this city, this jumble of monstrous architecture, will this be our new capital?”

He turned back to his adviser, ”Times are grim, Khardal, old friend. Tell me again of our adversaries.”

”Of course, your highness,” Khardal said and cleared his throat, ”At the parley, the Zatakians will be represented by General Alrik. Their structure of power is still a little unclear to us, but this Alrik seems to be their present dictator, or 'High Jarl' as they call it.”

Nila looked at her father. His face looked so old and furrowed. He seemed to have aged ten years since the northerners started to amass at their border.

Khardal continued, ”We do not know much about him, other than that he's militaristic, ruthless and highly unpredictable. Some say even mad, but that might just be slander from his enemies. He has few weaknesses, though I have heard stories of depravity and an enormous sexual appetite... He's highly popular among his people, and his troops idolize him. Parts of the nobility despise him though.”

”Perhaps we can bribe these so called nobles into joining us and sow seeds of dissension among their ranks... we might even tamper them into assassinating him”, the king tried.

Khaldar brushed his grey mustache with an earnest expression, ”As I have said before, your highness, we don't have the contacts, and certainly not the time for such a delicate operation.”

The King slammed his fist in his palm and rumbled, ”Then we will stand tall! Let us give these barbarians a taste of the sharp ends of our lances!”

”Your highness, we have been over this before,” Khaldar sighed, ”We cannot fight a war of that scale. Even if we routed their army, the war would lay waste to our lands and cost the lives of thousands of Lydians. And what if they attack again?”

King Mandour pondered the words of his advisor, knowing all too well how right he was. Lydia was one of several smaller kingdoms bordering Osinth, the ancient holy empire in the south. When the war closed in on their lands, most of them joined a frail southern alliance and stood with Osinth against Zatakia, believing that the empire would protect them. Most of them paid a gruesome price for their allegiance.

But Mandour, known for his prudence, kept Lydia out of the war, sparing his kingdom the horrid fate of her neighbors. But for how long? How long before her fields, vineyards and holy Xira temples were trampled by these northern barbarians?

The troubled king spoke, ”Yes old friend, you are right, as always. We will have to bargain with this robber. But I have a feeling that the price will be costly.”

Nila listened with a thoughtful expression as the coach made its way through the city. Soon the street turned steeper, and they started to climb the last winding way up to the citadel.