Chapter 18: The Royal Court of Chay

The towering gates of Chay loomed before them, a testament to the city’s grandeur and military might. The sheer scale of the capital was awe-inspiring—towering spires, wide avenues lined with marble statues, and bustling markets filled with the hum of daily life. Merchants hawked their wares, street performers entertained crowds, and noble-dressed scholars debated in shaded courtyards.

But beneath the city’s beauty lay its complexities—power struggles, courtly intrigue, and a battlefield where words were sharper than swords.

Sorin glanced at his companions. Hashan’s hand hovered near his hilt, ever watchful. Korovh scowled at the sheer opulence around them, muttering about wasted coin. Lirael and Thandor, their newest allies, took in their surroundings, equally impressed and wary.

“This isn’t like Embershore,” Sorin murmured.

“No, lad, it ain’t,” Korovh said gruffly. “Here, they fight with gold and schemes, not steel and sweat.”

As they rode through the grand streets, their presence did not go unnoticed. Whispers followed them, some murmuring their names, others scoffing at the sight of travel-worn warriors from a humble village seeking an audience with the king.

But they weren’t here for glory—they were here for survival.

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The Throne of Chay

The palace was a marvel of architecture, its gilded arches and intricate tapestries telling the story of the kingdom’s great conquests and betrayals. A stern-faced guard led them through the labyrinthine halls, past courtiers adorned in jewel-studded finery, their gazes assessing and calculating.

Finally, they stood before the grand doors of the throne room.

A deep clang echoed as the doors swung open.

Inside, gold and sapphire banners hung from vaulted ceilings, the floor a mosaic of the kingdom’s map, and on the raised dais, the king sat in regal command—a tall man with a sharp gaze, his expression unreadable.

Flanking him were advisors and nobles, their expressions ranging from mild curiosity to open disdain.

“Your Majesty,” the guard announced, bowing. “May I present Sorin and his companions of Embershore.”

The king’s gaze was piercing, unreadable. “We have heard of your deeds. Speak. Why do you seek our aid?”

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The Plea for Aid

Sorin took a step forward, bowing deeply. He spoke clearly and without hesitation, detailing:

• The goblin warband’s unusual coordination
• The dark magic influencing them
• The strange symbols and rituals found in the ruins
• Their belief that this was only the beginning of a larger threat

The room stirred at his words. Some nobles leaned forward with intrigue, while others scoffed, whispering among themselves.

One advisor, a man with raven-black hair and calculating eyes, spoke first. “Dark magic? Goblins? My king, do we really need to concern ourselves with village matters?”

Sorin clenched his fists, but before he could speak, a noblewoman, Lady Elara, countered. “And if these claims are true? If this darkness spreads unchecked? Ignoring it now may cost us dearly later.”

The debate escalated, voices rising—some dismissing the threat, others urging investigation.

Sorin glanced at the king, who remained silent, observing the room as though weighing unseen scales.

Then, with a simple gesture of his hand, the room fell silent.

“Enough,” the king said, his voice calm yet commanding. “We will send a contingent to investigate. If your claims hold truth, we will act accordingly. Until then, you may stay in Chay as our guests.”

Sorin bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty. We will do all we can to assist.”

As they were escorted from the throne room, Sorin felt a mixture of relief and frustration. They had secured an audience, but the battle for aid was far from won.

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Allies and Enemies

That night, in the royal guest chambers, Sorin gathered his companions.

“We need to move carefully,” he said. “The court is divided. We have support, but there are those who’d see us fail.”

“We should speak with those who seemed supportive,” Hashan suggested. “If we can win them over, they might sway the others.”

“Agreed,” said Lirael. “But we also need proof. The court deals in politics, not faith. They need evidence to act decisively.”

Korovh crossed his arms. “And while we’re talking, who’s watching our backs? These highborn types ain’t to be trusted.”

Sorin nodded. “We’ll divide our efforts—some work the court, others ensure we’re not being played.”

Thus began their political battle—gathering allies, navigating whispers, and ensuring their cause was not buried beneath bureaucracy.

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The Noble’s Warning

One evening, in the secluded palace gardens, Sorin met with Lady Elara.

She was elegant, poised, but her eyes gleamed with intellect and understanding.

“I believe you, Sorin,” she said. “But belief alone won’t sway the court. You need something tangible.”

Sorin nodded. “We’re working on it. Our scouts are gathering more information, and we’re tracking any signs of dark activity.”

She smiled knowingly. “Good. But remember—not all battles are fought with swords. Your greatest weapon here is alliances. Use them wisely.“

Her words stayed with Sorin long after she had gone.

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The Court’s Decision

A week later, the king summoned them once more.

This time, the air in the throne room was different—more weighty, more decisive.

Sorin stood tall as the king addressed him.

“You have done well, Sorin. Your determination and courage have not gone unnoticed. We will provide the aid you seek, but know this—this is only the beginning. The challenges ahead will test you in ways you have yet to imagine.”

Sorin bowed deeply. “Thank you, Your Majesty. We will not fail you.”

As they left the throne room, he felt the weight of their mission settle upon his shoulders.

They had taken a crucial step forward.

But the war against the encroaching darkness was only just beginning.