40 All the Kings Men (1/2)
My first impression of the great hall I followed Darah and Thors into was of a rich interior space hollowed out of several massive trees. It smelled of trees too. To me, it was the rich scent of fresh pines on a winter morning that floated inside the hall.
The wooden walls were curved and gave off the impression of expanding space. Arched windows appeared in intervals along the walls like entryways. The floors were half a dozen interconnected circular platforms of varying heights with the one at the end being the highest. It was maybe three or four feet off the ground. On this dais was an unadorned highback chair carved out of a tree stump. Behind this chair was a large round window that looked out into a city of wooden halls and trees surrounded by waterfalls on one side and a cliff wall on the other.
On the second circular platform from the dais was a round table. Around this table sat four individuals. Standing at attention behind them stood fairies of varying races who I assumed were their aids.
Darah strode into the hall and claimed the empty wooden seat at the three o'clock position of the table. Thors and I stood behind her—and while he looked the part of a bodyguard, I was a scrawny kid who felt like I didn't belong among the clan's top brass.
”You're late again,” said the black-haired dwarf seated on the north side of the table.
”Not all of us live safely within the borders of clan territory, Grimthorn,” Darah countered. ”Some of us actually have to fight for a living.”
Grimthorn, or I should say, Great General Bron Grimthorn, scowled at Darah. She responded to him with a mocking smile of her own.
The fairy sitting on the seat opposite Grimthorn laughed.
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”You're both still so petty,” she said in a sing-song voice typical of female pixies.
Great General Lavinia Folkor tapped long, thin fingers on the wooden surface of the round table. Her eyes glanced over to the empty seat on the dais.
”That damn cripple is making us wait again,” she laughed.
”I see you're as callous as ever, Lavinia,” Darah said in a harsh tone.
Folkor's eyes—one red, the other violet—darted toward Darah and narrowed quickly as they looked upon her face. ”It's always a pleasure to see you, Darah...”
The icy stare she sent Darah made her warm greeting rather hollow. For her part, Darah just sent the mocking smile she'd given Grimthorn to Folkor.
”Why is it that when we bring you four together you're always at each other's throats?” asked the gnome sitting between Darah and Grimthorn.
I knew who he was because I'd met him the first time Aura brought me to see her brother. He was Orryn Timbers, Chancellor of the Sun, and one of the two clan elders who visited Luca the night he was born.
”Four,” Darah raised an eyebrow at him. ”I only see three of us here.”
All gazes traveled to the empty seat opposite Darah's, the one that belonged to the Marshal of the West.
”Great General Garm cannot make tonight's council meeting as he is busy in his campaign against the Sunspire Clan in the Westmarch,” said the tall, green-skinned male sitting between the empty seat and Folkor. ”He sends his greetings to his fellow Great Generals and his apologies to the current Patriarch.”
My hands clenched into fists as I looked upon him.
Even seated, he was tall and bowed like a wizened grandfatherly figure. Yet the leanness of his form—despite being hidden behind the midnight blue robe of a Chancellor—betrayed any impression of fragility. The cruel looking face, with its emerald eyes darting from one general to the next, was a calculating one—as if he viewed the people around him like enemy chess pieces to be gobbled up.