Page 10 of The Last Knight

Chapter Five

The Torant generals of his army, Kel and Joc, stood before Gunther with reports of observations after patrolling the realm. The older, Kel, spoke, his deep voice muffled by long incisors that grew over his bottom lip. “The Atlandians have fortified their borders. Twice the number of sentinels keep guard.”

“The border to the north remains the same,” Joc stated, referring to the Yorian Realm, which was inhabited by beings called Yori, that resembled the Torants, except that they were not as large and had a blueish tint to their skin. They were ruled by a Yori called Indros.

There were loud bangs on the entry door and one of his guards opened it to a warrior who hurried to where Gunther sat and lowered to one knee. “Master, you have a visitor. The ruler of Yorian approaches. He will enter the courtyard any moment now.”

He hated to be called Master, but let it slide. After all, it seemed he had more pressing concerns.

“Did you know about this?” he asked the two leaders who stood before him. “How did he enter the realm without me being informed immediately?”

The Torants exchanged looks that he couldn’t decipher. Upon delving into their minds, he knew that they’d hoped to meet with the Yori before Gunther was told of their arrival.

“Our scouts had not returned by the time we came to speak to you,” Joc said, his expression blank.

Brushing past them, Gunther walked toward the castle entrance to greet the ruler. Whatever the Yori came to speak to him about would probably not be welcome. Although he’d never been privy to what happened when Meliot and Indros spoke, he did witness Meliot’s angry rages upon the other ruler leaving.

Gunther arrived at the entrance and stood at the top of the stairs flanked by three guards on each side, the two generals at his back. More warriors, three men deep, lined up across the courtyard. Centaur-like beings were poised, bows taut, arrows notched atop the courtyard walls, prepared for any suspicious movement.

The leader of the Yorian Realm rode through the gates, surrounded by guards, albeit at a disadvantage as they were an easy target for Gunther’s archers.

The Yori dismounted and, leaving his guard behind, strolled toward Gunther with the long, steady strides of a self-assured and powerful ruler, one without fear. Gunther held the Yori’s gaze, unwavering. Although unsure of the reason for the visit or the ruler’s intentions, he wasn’t intimidated by Indros. Wearing an ostentatious golden breastplate over his tunic and a crown of the same metal, embedded with jewels on his head as well as a long deep red velvety cape that cascaded from his shoulders, Indros was the embodiment of a king.

The Yorian was tall and slender, but with wide shoulders. His skin was dark, the color of coffee. With silken, straight black hair that fell past his shoulders and bright amber eyes, the male was striking.

“I hear you wish to be called Gunther,” Indros greeted. “If that is the case, you may call me Indros.” He hesitated before ascending the steps and looked around, scanning the courtyard, his gaze hesitating only slightly atop the walls. Then, at flicking a finger, he magically caused every centaur to lower their bows. “I do not wish to be speared by an errant arrow today.”

Indros turned to Gunther and chuckled. “They are very gullible creatures, as you may have already found.”

Gunther’s generals moved into formation beside him, their expressions grim, their annoyed grunts betraying their anger at an outsider controlling their soldiers. Indros’ taunts were, bait, they’d failed miserably. But Gunther remained still, unaffected. He refused to give the Yori the satisfaction of a reaction.

Instead, he flicked his gaze toward the ramparts. As if in silent response, every archer shifted back into their precise positions, the coordinated movement sharp as a blade drawn. Gunther’s magic threaded through their minds like steel wire, firm, focused, immune to outside influence. Even as he descended the stone steps, his power held steady, reinforcing their discipline with every stride.

At last, the two rulers stood face to face.

Indros straightened, spine rigid, clearly trying to appear taller. But even posturing at full height, he remained shorter than Gunther. Small victories.

“Welcome to my realm,” Gunther said, his voice dry. He gestured toward the open archway with a slow, deliberate hand. “Please. Enter. I trust you remember the way to the throne room.”

Indros’ gaze swept over him, slow and assessing, as if dissecting him inch by inch. When his eyes met Gunther’s, his lip curled.

“I wasn’t aware you were human,” he said, his voice low and laced with repugnance. “How…unexpected.”

Gunther didn’t flinch. Of course the Yori knew. News of his humanity had been whispered through every realm since Meliot’s fall. It was an open secret. A point of weakness? Or perhaps a reason to fear. It hadn’t been decided.

Instead of a reply, Gunther gave a slight nod, and he allowed the corners of his mouth to lift just a bit. “Indeed I am.”

They made their way back through the same corridor, this time flanked by not only Gunther’s guard team, but also Indros’.

Once inside the throne room, Indros swept his cloak around dramatically, then snapped his fingers, calling forth one of the guardsmen who removed the garment and carefully folded it over his left forearm. When Indros looked at the guard, the soldier bowed and backed away, joining the other Yori guards, who stood in a line, still as statues.

Gunther went to stand next to one of the chairs on opposite sides of a long table. The Yori ignored him and instead walked toward the window, peering out at the dark expanse.

“Interesting outcome to Meliot’s demise. The late ruler hated humans from your realm as you may be aware.”

“I am aware,” Gunther replied. “So do most of the inhabitants of these realms.”

The Yori shrugged and turned to face him. “I have never cared for what others think. I have a mind of my own. I give others the benefit of the doubt before judging.”