It was a long quiet walk and Toric had some time to think.

My life is changing in profound ways, and yet I seem to be able to handle it. I should be completely bewildered and unable to cope with all of this pageantry as Marrick called it. It is clear that Artur was able to implant memories and triggered events in my mind, and I was unconscious for four whole days. Who knows what all he might have stuffed into my head. Not to even mention that I seem to have dreamt of battle, horrible wars and terrible magic. Things just seem to pop into my mind when I need them. Information about how to act, how to respond to soldiers, how to deal with petty intrigue, what pull I have, how to put on my armor, and even as we walk my mind is watching for ambushes and my body is ready to respond. Why would Artur do that? How do I even know it was Artur? Perhaps this has more to do with my heritage. Maybe it is because I am a dracuman. Okay, mental note number one: talk to Drax or maybe Vorxin about all of this. There has to be an answer, and I am worried I will not like it. The only reason I can think about for someone putting this knowledge in my head is because I will need it, but not have the time to learn it the old fashion way, and gods that is a scary thought. Hmmm, it looks like we are almost there, time to get my game face on, can’t let the silly politicians realize how inexperienced I am. Wait, how did I know that!? Arghh! Alright, think about it later.

Toric smoothed the expression on his face and straightened his back. Standing tall, and he was very tall, he nodded to the questioning look directed his way by the Praetorian. He was ready.

The Praetorian opened the door and the group entered a large antechamber. A wizened old man trailed by four other praetorians stepped up to the group.

“My name is Archibald; I serve as Seneschal to His Imperial Majesty Justin Cruzian Dalkath the Third. Who are you and how should you be introduced?”

The Praetorian caught the Seneschal’s attention and answered. First pointing at Toric he explained.

“This is Toric Fatesblood, Heir Primus to the Daath Legion”, he next indicated Marrick, “Marrick Secondus, Legate Third of the Daath Legion”, then he pointed out Drax, “Drax Tellis, First Son of the House of Loquain”, and last he gestured to the Legionnaires, “and the Prince’s escort, the Fists of Daath”.

The Seneschal’s eyes grew wider and wider as the Praetorian spoke, and at the end he had to lean on his staff heavily. Turning to face Toric he bowed his head low and spoke in a much less stern tone.

“Your pardon my lord for my earlier tone. I did not recognize you and spoke in ignorance. Please accept my profound apology.”

Toric was already growing annoyed with all this scraping and bowing, but he knew how to act, somehow. Nodding his head slightly he smiled.

“Think nothing of it good sir. I have only just been notified of much of this, and I expect that most of the court is just as ignorant of my identity as you were.”

The graciousness of the young man’s reply caught the Seneschal completely off guard, as he was used to dealing with the petty and oftentimes irrationally angry courtiers. He smiled genuinely and bowed his head again, this time much more naturally.

“Thank you my lord. I will announce your group forthwith.”

Turning to the squad of four praetorians he nodded and they spread out to cover the four corners of the group. The Seneschal hobbled carefully up to a magnificent door and nodded to the two men standing there. They pushed the heavy, immense door open and the group moved into the throne room slowly, following the slowly walking Seneschal.

Toric got the sense that the Seneschal did not often announce people personally anymore, and then his senses were overflowed. He remembered Artur and Vorxin mentioning that he would be able to sense deceit and spirits and had even had an example when the soldier was dying in the hospital, but nothing could have prepared him for what he felt on entering the imperial throne room. He gritted his teeth and focused his mind. He was just going to have to adjust to the pervasive feeling of lies and the lingering spirits that swirled throughout the massive room.

The Seneschal’s voice rang out, and it was sonorous as it announced the men behind him.

“My Emperor, Lords, and Ladies, Dignitaries and Ambassadors, it is my distinct pleasure to announce an arrival. Heir-Primus to the Daath Legion, Toric Fatesblood! Legate Third of the Daath Legion, Marrick Secondus! First Son of the House Loquain, Drax Tellis! Escorting the Heir, the Fists of Daath!”

With that the Seneschal turned and limped back toward the antechamber with a quick bow of his head toward Toric.

The throne room was for that moment entirely quiet. It was so quiet that when a single voice rang out in a command several people jumped in surprise.

“Approach the Throne.”

Many of the courtiers looked shocked, and even Praetorian Arnolds was a bit surprised as he led the group along the open area that led from the doors to the throne. Toric’s eyes flitted to the left and then to the right, noting the entirely too well dressed and well fed men and women. Privately he thought they all looked like a bunch of bloody peacocks. Although there were a few that were dressed sensibly. Almost every man or woman present was looking in disdain at the armored men striding along the approach. Toric flicked his eyes forward, fastening them onto the dais where he could see that the Emperor sat on his throne and as Drax had thought the Princess sat at her father’s left hand.

The Emperor was in his forties, dressed in what had to be a very uncomfortable purple robe. It was adorned with what looked like actual jewels sewn into it along the cuffs and neckline. A heavy cloak rested over his shoulders and seemed out of place as it was made of ragged and patched leather. In his right hand he held what at first Toric thought was a scepter, but which he identified a short time later as a short spear. It was wrought of a deep ebony wood with inlaid gold and electrum on the haft, and a silver and steel head. The Emperor had dark red hair, nearly auburn in color, with some grey just starting to show at his temples. Deep set eyes at first gave him a stern appearance, but that changed the moment Toric saw the sparkle in his green eyes.

Shifting his attention to the Princess, Toric studied her as well. A classically structured face and a full head of golden blond hair, with deeply green eyes that were nearly the color of the deep sea, gave her an immense aura of beauty. She looked to be about the same age as him, perhaps a year younger. She was attired in a form fitting gown of deep blue satin that set of her hair beautifully, and the lace on her bodice was colored to match her eyes. If Toric was the same man he had been a week ago he would be salivating and would have searched out her dressmaker to thank them for making her gown so tight to her skin. Fortunately, Toric had changed and after he gave her a quick glance his eyes moved to the next person.

This must be the First Mage Drax was speaking about. He stood straight and tall and had the distinctively pointed ears that revealed an elvish ancestry. The rounded edge of his lobes however indicated that he was not a full blooded elf. The title of First Mage is only given to the most powerful, knowledgeable, and wisest of the magi; as the First Mage was responsible for all that pertains to magic within the Empire. The other numbered Magi were responsible for Magic as it pertains to certain areas of the empire and reported to the First Mage. He was not overly tall, standing at about half a foot over five feet. A hawk like nose and small dark eyes gave him an ominous appearance. Unlike the Emperor there was no mitigating factor, the First Mage had a piercing presence, and standing next to him was a spirit that made Toric uncomfortable. The black and silver amorphous being was facing away from the group at first, but then turned around and stared at Toric for all of three seconds before it fled, quickly. The First Mage looked startled for a moment before regaining his composure and re-asserting a stern visage.

By the time Toric had finished his silent perusal of those on the dais the group had reached the first balk line. This line was made of emeralds and there were no more courtiers past this line. Now the sides of the approach were lined by any nobles of the empire that happened to be in attendance. There were many empty seats, but a few were filled. The closer a noble was to the dais, the higher their status. At the emerald line the group continued without losing a step. Ten feet later came the second balk line, made up of sapphires, and still the group continued. Fifteen feet later was the third line, made up of jet, and at this line the Fists all spread out and stopped, kneeling but not saluting. Toric, Marrick, and Drax continued alone. The fourth line was twenty feet further and built of rubies. When the trio continued past this line there was a roar of disapproval and four praetorians stepped up from the sides of the approach, loosening weapons but keeping them sheathed. At the final balk line, thirty feet from the last, the three men stopped. Drax and Marrick both knelt and Drax saluted with fist to heart, but Toric remained standing. Toric bowed his head in the exacting way which Drax had shown him Toric saluted briefly, touching his fist to his heart and then dropping his hands back to his sides and raising his head. To all those watching who knew nothing of his history it seemed an insult and there were all the boos and catcalls and insults which Drax had told him to expect. There were also several reactions which surprised Toric. The First Mage smiled and bowed his head briefly toward Toric, which was strange as Toric got the impression that the mage didn’t like him at all. The next thing that happened however was almost a disaster.

The four praetorians that had stepped forward earlier reacted in a most strange manner. Toric did not know a whole lot about the protocol, but what he did know was that attacking foreign royalty was a bad thing. Apparently the Praetorians did not know this and drew their weapons as one. They attacked without warning and too fast for anyone to intercede, and at that moment Toric became aware that his dreams of a martial nature were far more than just dreams. He reacted before anyone else could even speak. There were two swords in the process of being drawn and two spears already headed for his unprotected head, and he slid to his right, dodging Drax and dropping to his knee to duck under the closest spear. He stood quickly and drove his shoulder into the praetorian’s chin, and felt the man’s jaw shatter. Grabbing the now falling spear he spun and hurled it straight through the second spear wielders head. It entered through the man’s mouth and exited through the back of his head, the haft got stuck on the bone and the man fell over dead with his own spear a bare foot from piercing Marrick. Marrick scooped up the falling spear and turned on the rogue praetorians when a voice rang out with such authority every person in the room froze in place.

“ENOUGH!”

The Emperor was standing and staring at the Praetorians that had acted.

“Restrain the two with swords, and clean up the mess of the other two.”

Other Praetorians leapt to obey and the Emperor turned to look at Toric.

“We apologize for the actions of Our men. We do not know why they acted as they did, but We assure you We will find out. Please return to your place, We will finish the ceremony and then you will accompany Us and Our daughter to a more private area for a less formal discussion.”

Toric straightened up and bowed his head again in the same manner to the Emperor. He could see the honest rage on the ruler’s face and could feel no deceit from the man. He had spoken the honest truth and was appalled at what had occurred. A few short steps returned Toric to his place and Drax and Marrick gave him a quick glance to make certain he was unharmed. The glances were filled with curiosity about how the hell he managed to do what he just did, but they restrained the impulse to question him. There was a time and a place for such a thing, and this was not it.

The Emperor remained standing and gestured to his daughter. She looked at him in consternation for a moment and then an expression of annoyance flashed into her eyes. Standing she walked to the side of the dais and hefted a long and heavy case. Turning back toward her father she walked as quickly as her tightly fitted dress would allow and set the case down on a small table between the throne and her seat. The table creaked with the weight and Toric wondered just how the princess had been able to carry the case so easily. Dismissing the thought he returned his attention to the Emperor.

“Come here Toric.”

The Emperor’s words sent a ripple of surprise through the crowded room. Even the Praetorians looked shocked, but not a single one of them moved to interfere.

Toric leaned his head to the right for a moment and then stepped forward; three steps later he was climbing the steps. Each time his foot fell the clang of steel and leather on the alabaster stone sent echoes through the silent hall. It took only moments to climb the sixteen steps to the top of the dais, but seemed to last an eternity. His other senses were running in overdrive and to his right he could see an apologetic spirit; that of the man he had just killed. He knew without speaking to the spirit that it had acted under a spell, and it was furious about being manipulated thusly. Finally he stood at the top and his armored form towered over the Emperor and everyone else there.

The Emperor gestured at the case.

“Your mother left this for you before she went away. It has not been opened; indeed it cannot be opened, except by you. Place your bare hand against the lock and it should release.”

Toric reached for his right hand, his motions tight and controlled. Quickly he unsnapped the buckles and tugged the gauntlet and glove from his hand, tucking them into his belt. He knelt in front of the case and reached out, laying his bare hand against the lock. There was a snap and hiss of the lock disengaging, and then the chest rose open on its own. The lid lifted to a forty-five degree angle and then froze in that position. Nestled inside the case upon a material that seemed to be crushed black velvet were five items. Three he had expected the sword and hammer and helmet, but the other two were a surprise. He would get to them though; first he would complete his armor. Leaving the sword sheathed he picked it up from the case, and ignored the nervous Praetorians. Hefting the weapon he was surprised at the balance and artistry it exhibited. This was a masterwork. It took only a single smooth movement to slide the sheath into the waiting harness on his back. Next he removed the war-hammer, and this made the guards really nervous as it did not have a sheath, but he continued to ignore them and slid it into the loop on his left hip. Then it was time for the helmet. It was just as he had dreamed it, an onyx orb between the jaws of a steel dragon’s head. Setting the helm at his side he pulled a necklace from the case. Holding it up, so he could see the detail of the medallion hanging from the thick chain of wrought iron links, incidentally brought it into view of those standing closest to him. The Emperor, Princess, and First-Mage all gasped in recognition. Toric knew exactly what he held; though again, how he knew, was a mystery. The medallion showed two snakes twisted around in a circle, each swallowing the tail of the other and tiny rubies for their eyes. In the center of the medallion was a large ebony gem and he could feel the incredible amount of power stuffed into the crystal lattice of the gem. This was a Vas Aureus, a medallion that was created by the ancients to store magical power. It was tuned to a specific element and could only be used by those with an aptitude for that element. Just holding it let Toric feel that this was an Ignis Vas Aureus, meaning that it was tuned to fire, and that he could use it. Lifting the chain he settled the medallion over his head and tucked it down so it rode under his armor but above the gambeson. The last thing in the chest was a medium sized pouch and when he hefted it he discovered that it was quite heavy. Opening the pouch he looked inside and inhaled sharply in surprise. Reaching within he pulled out a jewel, it looked like a diamond in the way it was cut, but from inside sparkled several different colors – reds and yellows and oranges. The Princess was the only one to gasp this time and he looked up at her in curiosity as he had no idea what it was. She smiled shyly and whispered to him.

“Fire Diamond”

He still didn’t know what it was, but at least he now knew what it was called. Stuffing the stone back into the pouch he tied the pouch to his belt and closed the case. Standing again he held his helmet at his side and bowed deeply to the Emperor.

“Thank you my lord, for keeping these safe for me.”

Toric’s voice was soft enough that no one below the dais heard him. It was a personal thank you to the man for the favor he had done for a friend. More loudly he said.

“As my parents son I extend our gratitude to the Emperor and his family for keeping this case both secure and safe. As myself I sincerely thank the Emperor for the honor he did my parents and the Legion in this action.”

There was no clapping, but at least there was no booing either. The Emperor at least smiled in appreciation and then stepped up close to Toric, standing at his side and looking out over his court.

“This session is suspended. All business that was not handled today will be addressed when next we meet. Praetorians, clear the hall.”

With that he turned to a Praetorian wearing a much fancier uniform than all the others.

“Sickles, gather the Fist Legionnaires and bring them to the guard room off of the Red Hall. They can wait there while I speak with Toric.”

He turned to Toric and gestured toward Drax and Marrick as well.

“Follow me.”