The day of the conference dawned at last. Not within the stone walls of Sharjaan would it take place, but in the open fields before the city, where a vast pavilion had been raised.
Its silken canopy rippled in the morning breeze, and above it the proud banner of the House of Sharjaan flew, its presence confirming to any skeptic that indeed this was the ground upon which princes would measure their words against the might of the sword.
Alpheo rode to the fore, his cloak trailing behind him, and reined in just long enough to twist in the saddle, his grin flashing like a duelist about to salute."All right, boys," he called, his voice carrying over the tramp of marching boots. "Puff out your chests. Let us see if our sorry lot can masquerade yourself with some majesty! From Arlania to Yarzat—"
"From Yarzat to Arlania!" came the roar of reply, each legate echoing their funny and private rallying cry as they turned to their subordinates who then wheeled their maniples into order.