Ameth meticulously observed the man who had patiently awaited him within his tent, carefully selecting his words with utmost precision. He addressed the messenger, his tone measured and controlled.
"You arrive unannounced," Ameth's voice remained steady as he began, his gaze fixed upon the visitor.
Advancing toward a thoughtfully arranged bowl of water, he briefly cleansed his face by passing his hands through the cool liquid. As he dried his face and hands with an intricately adorned towel, he resumed speaking with unwavering resolve.
"Pray tell me," Ameth continued, his demeanor composed, "by whose decree were you granted passage into my camp, let alone my private quarters?"
The messenger, Cobalt, stood before Ameth, his attire adorned with the insignia of his rank.
"Royal envoys come and go at the discretion of their senders," he explained,
"Regardless of the circumstances, they possess unfettered access to their destinations. Even in the face of the most arduous conditions, their duties remain sacred, untouched by even the mightiest of kings."
He advanced toward a wooden cabinet positioned at the tent's periphery, extending his hand toward a bottle resting atop it. He poured wine into two delicate cups, a gesture implying the offering of one to Ameth.
"In the blue mountains," he began, "when a royal messenger arrives, it is customary to offer them a cup of wine, in case the message they carry bears ill news."
When Ameth courteously declined, the messenger approached him closely and swiftly consumed the entire cup in a single gulp, right before his eyes. Holding the now empty cup, he locked eyes with Ameth, his demeanor brimming with confidence.
Ameth's curiosity led him to remark, "I held the belief that royal envoys remained untouched by such matters."
In response, Cobalt maintained his steady gaze and answered,
"Indeed, yet only until we reach our destination. Once the message has been delivered, mortality once again befalls the messenger."
"In this informal setting," Ameth conveyed, "each passing moment of your presence becomes a risk to the discretion you intend to maintain. Very well. Deliver your message promptly and then take your leave without hesitation."
The messenger executed another respectful bow, his posture deferential, before returning to the cabinet to set down the now-empty cup.
"To the matter at hand, then," he stated.
After a moment of contemplation, he pivoted toward Ameth, his voice carrying a resolute tone.
"Azure views you as a trusted friend and ally, noble Amethyst of Crimson. King Kyanite himself has kept a watchful eye on your well-being, ensuring that your memory remains ever-present."
He paused briefly, assessing the impact of his words on Ameth's demeanor, but it seemed to have left no visible mark.
"The King," the messenger continued, his words laden with significance, "retains steadfast optimism for your endeavors to come, with aspirations as elevated as the horizon that stretches before us."
Upon hearing these words, Ameth's swift response was triggered. His speech flowed forth without a moment's doubt,
"I am bound, without question, to the realm of Roseland," he asserted, his voice unwavering. "Loyal, first and foremost, to his majesty King Almandite, my patron. This is an unchanging truth."
Overwhelmed by Ameth's resolute stance, Cobalt lapsed into a momentary silence. His attention was soon diverted to something across the tent. His steps carried him toward an elevated table adorned with a gleaming silver plate, bearing grapes in varying shades of red and green.
A contemplative pause lingered before he affirmed his understanding with a straightforward reply.
"Of course," the messenger's voice punctuated the stillness.
"The red King is known for generously rewarding loyalty among his people. Yet, I cannot help but ponder," he mused aloud, his words thoughtful,
"Why, from among all others, has he chosen an offspring of foreign royalty to lead his force down such a treacherous and unpredictable path."
Ameth's anger swelled within him, prompting a response laden with frustration.
"Your words betray ignorance, sir," he retorted, addressing the messenger with a veneer of politeness,
"You know naught of my mission and the sanctified purpose it carries, a significance beyond your comprehension."
Cobalt's deliberate hand carefully plucked a lone green grape from the cluster, his actions purposeful and unhurried. He brought the grape to his lips, savoring the act of consuming it with evident pleasure. He then turned his attention to Ameth, a fusion of genuine curiosity and earnestness evident in his tone as he voiced the thoughts that had occupied his mind.
"The rescue of Princess Terra?" he revealed, his gaze unwavering.
Observing Ameth's unmistakable surprise, Cobalt recognized the moment as an opportunity to press forward with his genuine intent.
"Indeed, I am well informed of your task. But rest assured, our interests align," he declared with purpose, maintaining his candid demeanor. "Both you and my King share a common aspiration for the success of this mission."
From the depths of his cloak, Cobalt produced a carefully rolled scroll, offering it to Ameth.
Ameth's features tightened in a mixture of surprise and wariness as he regarded the scroll. Suspicion colored his words as he inquired cautiously,
"What does this parchment hold?"
His alarmed question hung between them, prompting a gentle smile from the messenger.
"Think of it as a gift," Cobalt proposed, his tone imbued with appreciation.
"A token of gratitude for your dedicated efforts."
As the messenger prepared to depart, his keen eyes caught sight of something intriguing on his way out. There, resting on a sturdy stand, was Ameth's armor, adorned with the vibrant emblem of House Crimson, gleaming brightly in shades of purple. With a thoughtful expression, the messenger approached the armor, his curiosity piqued by its unique design.
"What an interesting choice of color," he remarked, his gaze fixed on the emblem.
His fingers traced the patterns with a gentle touch as he continued, "I recall a comparable shade seen in the land of Indigo, where artisans draw forth dye from a predatory sea snail that inhabits those waters." His eyes lifted to meet Ameth's as he added with a hint of playfulness, "But, of course, I assume such matters would be unfamiliar to you."
With those parting words, he offered a final bow before making his exit, the tent's fabric settling in his wake.
Left to himself, Ameth's curiosity and intrigue intertwined. As he carefully unrolled the scroll, he delved into its contents, revealing a world of answers yet to be explored.
----------------------------------------
Ameth stood outside the Command pavilion, his newly appointed Master Aide by his side. Darkness had fallen across the land, and torches dotted the camp, casting their warm glow to illuminate the paths. Shadows danced across the canvas of the large red tent, hinting at the flurry of activity within. Figures moved, their gestures animated, weaving a tapestry of awkward motions.
Breaking the silence that hung in the night air, Master Poppy's voice cut through.
"The men await your address, Captain. I'm confident it will proceed smoothly," he assured, his tone imbued with assurance and readiness. His words were accompanied by a faint smile, reflecting his trust in Ameth's leadership.
Master Poppy continued after a brief pause, his expression thoughtful.
"As a point not to be overlooked, I've arranged refreshments. An early dinner, complete with additional drinks, will accompany your briefing. It's a strategy aimed at ensuring both sustenance and focus, if that aligns with your approach, Commander."
Ameth's expression softened with gratitude as he regarded Master Poppy. "Thank you, Master Poppy. Your foresight is truly appreciated. This provision will undoubtedly prove to serve us well."
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Before Ameth turned to enter the tent, he faced his Master Aide once more, his instruction swift.
"Hold off on the refreshments until after the briefing, if that's possible."
Master Poppy nodded in silent affirmation, and as he drew aside the curtain, Ameth stepped through the entrance.
Upon crossing the threshold, the very atmosphere seemed to wrap around him, charged with an air of tension that hung noticeably in the tent. The space was alive with the intermingling hum of voices and the warm radiance of light. With each measured step he took, his boots pressed softly into the plush rug that blanketed the ground, the fabric muffling the sound beneath his feet.
Master Poppy walked beside him, a figure of calm amidst the storm that awaited them.
Noble lords, draped in their finest regalia, had taken their positions along the expanse of a grand table, their faces etched with frustration and a sense of urgency. Two youthful aides circled the perimeter, diligently serving cups to those assembled. Amidst the flurry of heated discussions, Ameth's entrance became a beacon of attention. Heads turned, and voices gradually dwindled as the noble lords' gazes fixed upon the disruption that had just entered.
Lord Madder leaned forward at the sight of Ameth. His eyes, sharp like the edge of a blade, bore into Ameth's form before his lips curved into a knowing smile. "There is the man now," he pronounced, his voice steady and resonant.
Ameth moved with a quiet and measured grace across the room, his steps deliberate as he directed himself towards the vacant chair positioned at the head of the table.
The eyes of those present tracked his progress, acknowledging his arrival with respectful nods, the subtle gestures of recognition exchanged in the moments that marked his passage.
Rhodon lounged at ease near the table's edge, his arms casually crossed. As Ameth approached, a wry smile played on his lips.
"Captain," he teased, his nod serving as both a friendly greeting and a mark of respect.
Ameth eased into his seat while Master Poppy swiftly assisted, ensuring his comfort. He surveyed the room deliberately, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. Among the attendees, the majority were of similar age to him, all eagerly awaiting his message.
Dispelling the taut silence that hung in the air, a voice emerged from the distant end of the table. The question that everyone was keen to ask broke through, directed at Ameth.
"Amethyst," Lord Scarlet's deep and resonant voice called out, carrying across the table. His commanding presence, characterized by his towering physique, rivaled only by Rhodon's.
"What tidings do you bring? Is there any news regarding the impending expedition bound for Verdania?"
Recognizing the importance of his words, Ameth proceeded with caution.
"I have just spoken with the King," he stated as he methodically removed his gloves. "We are the expedition."
A moment of stillness enveloped the room, the implications of Ameth's statement reverberating.
Seated close to Ameth at the table was Lord Garnet, the eldest among them. Impatience etched lines on his weathered face as he leaned forward and addressed Ameth with a direct tone.
"Well? Did he offer anything else? Spill it, lad!"
Lord Garnet's curiosity was evident, his request for information delivered in an almost demanding manner.
Ameth's fingers found solace around the cup of water, a gesture of refreshment offered by his Master Aide, Poppy. As the cool liquid touched his lips, he felt a momentary respite, a brief interlude before the weight of his words took hold. With a fortifying breath, he set the cup down and prepared to address the assembly.
"It has come to my knowledge," Ameth began, his voice steady as he addressed those gathered, "that a coup has unfolded in the green lands. A faction of conspirators orchestrated the tragic demise of King Vanadate, followed by the abduction of the sole heir to the throne - his daughter, the princess. She's been imprisoned within a remote fortress."
A hushed tension gripped the room as Ameth's words settled. The gravity of the situation was evident, the attendees leaning forward in anticipation of his next words.
"Our mission," Ameth continued, his gaze firm, "is to secure her safety and escort her to Redmont."
Master Poppy, standing by his side, nodded with unwavering support. The room held a collective breath, the weight of the mission ahead resonating in every corner.
"We set forth at the break of dawn," Ameth announced, his tone resolute as he conveyed the directive that had been issued.
His ultimate statement denoted a feeling of closure.
"Such was the order that was given."
Amidst the weighty silence that had settled over the gathering, it was Lord Madder who finally shattered the stillness.
"These are grave news," he murmured, a shadow of sorrow coloring his voice as he absorbed Ameth's words.
Almost immediately, Lord Scarlet interjected with a pointed question.
"And how are we expected to achieve this task? Does his majesty anticipate a full assault on the castle?"
Meanwhile, Lord Garnet, the eldest of the assembly, signaled to one of the low-ranked aides with a snap of his fingers, prompting a refill of his cup.
Ameth leaned forward, resolute in his intent to address the questions that had arisen. In the stillness, he began to speak, each word carrying a sense of purpose.
"We are to wage war from a distance." he declared, his initial utterance a silent cue to Master Poppy, signaling the imminent unveiling of their strategic plan.
The Master Aide acted promptly, opening a scroll to unveil a substantial map, which was carefully spread across the expanse of the table.
Ameth's focus remained unswerving as he elaborated on their approach.
"Our strategy involves patience. We await the arrival of reinforcement troops from the second regiment. Once they join our ranks, they will serve as the vanguard, spearheading the assault on the keep."
While Lord Garnet was engrossed in sipping from his cup, Ameth's latest speech caught his attention. His reaction was sudden and vigorous; he swiftly withdrew the cup from his lips as though it had turned scalding hot. The urge to respond surged within him.
"Are you suggesting we lay siege?" he questioned, the intensity of his inquiry evident. "With merely two hundred men?"
Somehow, the second question seemed to unravel the first, exposing his deep skepticism.
Seated at the midpoint of one side of the table was Lord Amaranth, slightly younger than Ameth. He maintained a quiet demeanor until the moment he chose to address the assembly.
"Ameth," he began, his voice steady and measured,
"General Amaranth has assumed command of the expedition. I have known him for years, not just as a loyal subject, but as a dear friend of my family. He served alongside my father for many battles, and I can hardly believe he approves of this strategic complication by choice."
Ameth's response was instinctual, a calculated maneuver to convey the implied authority of the King's wishes. His words sliced through the air with a chilling swiftness, leaving no room for doubt.
"We are committed," he stated firmly, "So said the King himself."
In reaction, Lord Garnet's grip on his cup tightened, causing a small spill of red wine to stain the table. His voice quivered with a mixture of frustration and disbelief.
"This is preposterous... Incomprehensible! What could possibly justify such a decision?"
Like a gentle, cold breeze, a soft voice wafted across the room from the distant end of the table.
"Must I state the glaringly obvious?"
Lord Rose's words dripped with delicate precision as he crossed his arms and closed his eyes in an air of contemplation.
Madder confronted his query with a touch of frustration.
"You're venturing too close to the precipice, Rose. We're already on edge. Delving into extreme speculation serves no purpose!"
In response, Lord Scarlet's voice rumbled low and resonant, his expression emphasizing his point.
"Extreme speculation?! The King wants him dead!" He pointedly gestured toward Ameth.
"Indeed," Lord Rose confirmed, his voice carrying a sense of agreement.
He took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing.
"King Almandite appears ready to make a profound sacrifice, the very apex of Roseland's nobility, in order to achieve this objective. It suggests that he is planning a larger, strategic maneuver, one that requires meticulous orchestration."
Amaranth's voice cut through the tension, his tone assertive as he intervened,
"Nonsense. The King could never lay a hand on Ameth. His hands are tied, and he's well aware of it. That's precisely why he has kept Ameth alive all these years. If anything unnatural were to happen to him, the Blue will see it as a grave offense against their royal lineage. They'll set the border ablaze the moment such a thing occurs."
Ameth, feeling the urgency of the moment, quickly interjected in an attempt to soothe the atmosphere, addressing Lord Rose,
"I have been to the capital many years ago with my father. His majesty gave me his word. He will not harm me."
Lord Rose's gaze shifted sharply toward Ameth, his expression tinged with displeasure as he spoke,
"Not directly. This is where your understanding falters. He possesses a level of cunning beyond mere simplicity. If the act were orchestrated by the Greens, then Azure would lack grounds to bear resentment against Roseland. You would meet a valiant end, leading your forces to aid a damsel in distress. The King anticipates this outcome, even awaits its unfolding."
A moment of realization crossed Lord Garnet's features, his expression shifting as if struck by a bolt of lightning. He turned to Ameth with a mixture of concern and urgency, his gaze almost pleading.
"Amethyst," he implored, his voice tinged with anxiety, "I've seen the reign of three kings, and they all follow a similar pattern. They do not forget. And now, my boy, there comes a time when opportunity presents itself. I beseech you, consider this at least. In what conceivable way could it ever be more convenient for him to rid himself of you?"
Ameth's brows furrowed as he absorbed the weight of Lord Garnet's words, a realization dawning upon him. In a desperate move to seek support, his gaze darted around the tent, only to find that Master Poppy had vanished without a trace.
The cloud of pessimism seemed to envelop Lord Madder as he added his thoughts to the conversation.
"We've all been hearing those ambiguous reports from Wailingreen in recent weeks," he remarked, his tone laced with concern.
"And Rhodon's account from the tavern only adds to the weight of it. It's as if a bad twist of fate is guiding us right in that direction on your map."
Amid the solemn atmosphere, Lord Amaranth turned his gaze toward Rhodon, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and expectation.
"Rhodon, you have been unusually quiet, keeping your thoughts to yourself. What say you?"
The attention of the room converged on Rhodon in swift anticipation, with Ameth's gaze atop them all.
Rhodon's countenance was marked by gravity, deep in contemplation. His fingers danced over the medallion of precious Rhodonite that hung around his neck, turning it as it glinted with hues of red.
Finally, he spoke, his tone measured and composed.
"In the coming weeks, I stand on the cusp of celebrating my twenty-second winter. My heart yearns to be amid my family, wrapped in the warmth of their love and admiration. This expedition, though I am unfamiliar with the princess and uncertain of our King's true intent, presents a challenge I cannot avoid. Even when faced with the abyss of uncertainty and the shadow of daunting prospects, I am resolute in my choice to confront this trial and return to my home as a man of honor. I refuse to back away from this test, no matter how formidable."
Pushing his chair back, Rhodon stood up, his palm striking the table with a resonant thud that drew attention.
"So, let them come, I say!" His voice carried the weight of conviction as he looked around the table, meeting the eyes of his companions.
"I can extend my celebration for a while longer!"
The room fell silent for a moment, the declaration hanging in the air like a challenge issued to fate itself.
Abruptly, the discussion was interrupted by the entrance of servants into the tent, bearing trays laden with hearty fare; meat, potatoes, vegetables, and jugs of wine, accompanied by an array of cups. In a choreographed dance, they encircled the table, setting down the offerings with practiced efficiency. Among them, Master Poppy reappeared, as if returning from a distant journey, his presence commanding attention.
"Forgive my intrusion," he announced, his voice carrying across the tent.
"I deemed the timing opportune, as whispers of celebration reached my ears. Partake in this feast, a gesture from the King himself," his gaze encompassing each individual in the room.
"His majesty wishes that you dine heartily, to your well-being and your success."