“How can you wear these things,” Jarod said, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “It’s no wonder they take so many baths, everyone in the city is sweating through their clothes all day.”

  Filgrin chuckled as they walked through the palace courtyard on their way to their meeting with the king. Much to Jarod’s annoyance, the old man seemed to be handling the attire they’d been provided with far better than he was.

  The clothes the manager of the inn had given them were totally impractical, even for the simple affair of going to the palace. Fitting with the fashion of the city, they were large bulky things, padded with fabric all over to build up an absurd silhouette.

  On the men’s clothes giant spheres had been sewn into the shoulders, made out of some magically-created material that deformed along with his actual shoulders to give the appearance of oversized deltoids. Similarly, the magic material had been padded onto his hips and thighs, creating a bulk that forced him to waddle, and be conscious of stepping too close to other people. Outside of the padded areas, the fabric had been carefully draped and darkened to give the impression of tapering down to his waist and to his boots. The whole outfit made Jarod feel like a partially-dressed knight, wearing only spaulders, atop a pair of drumsticks.

  Basma’s outfit might have seemed at first appearance more traditional. It was a high-necked dress, tight up top, but wide and frilly at the bottom. However, the lower dress was packed with the same magical material, causing it to sway and swing abnormally with every step she took. Meanwhile, her top was designed in the same draped and darkened manner. When Jarod caught a glance of her out of the corner of his eye as they walked towards the palace, he had the distinct impression she was just a floating head moving above a pair of gargantuan legs.

  Similarly to Filgrin, Basma didn’t seem to mind the outfit as much as he did. He supposed that working at a tavern, she’d gotten used to some of the stares he expected to attract. The old man, though, he couldn’t explain. Maybe it was one of the perks of old age where you cared so little for your appearance that being dressed in such a ridiculous manner didn’t even phase you.

  “Ahh, cheer up boy,” said Filgrin, rubbing oversized shoulders with him. “It’s not every day you get to dress up like a noble and chat with the king.”

  Jarod frowned. “I just don’t understand how the king will be able to take us seriously if we’re dressed like this. Will he be wearing the same thing?”

  “I forgot you almost never come to the city.” Basma startled him when she came up beside him to chime in. “This isn’t even close to the most ridiculous fashion that I’ve seen the nobles wear around here. I was here a few years ago when the material was first invented, and everyone had their clothes padded to look like 6-foot babies! Giant heads and all.”

  “Don’t worry about it, lad,” said Filgrin. “The fashion for those rich folks changes so often, worst thing that could happen is we’re a week out of date. And then he’ll just think we’re making a fashion statement.”

  Despite the words, Jarod couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking into the palace just to make a fool of himself.

  They didn’t have far to walk from the inn. The palace was visible from the court district, situated above the rest of the city at the highest point on the rise in the land. As the trio walked through the well-kept streets, with private gardens dotting the sides of the path, they soon came to the entrance to the palace estates.

  A pair of guards was stationed outside the gates, dressed in military uniform, and with sabers resting at their hips.

  Filgrin stepped forward to address the two of them. “We’re here to speak on a private matter. Inside the palace.” He handed one of them the summons that the courier had dropped off for them.

  “Is that so,” the second guard lifted his head, carefully inspecting them. “Yous lot don’t have any weapons on you, would you?”

  “Nope,” said Figlrin. “Figured there’s no need where we’re goin’.”

  “Well, it doesn’t look like yous have anything on you, but we hafta be thorough, just in case.” The guard took out a wand, nearly as thick as Filgrin’s staff, with runes inscribed on it. “All these noble fashions make it so you can never be quite sure until you check.”

  The guard waved the wand around, and it emitted a soft white light as it passed by each of them. Jarod instinctively tensed when it passed by, but he felt nothing.

  “Welp, looks like yous is all clear. Where yous lot comin’ from anyway? Doesn’t look like you’re guests of another kingdom, but yous don’t look comfortable in those clothes either.”

  “Cleftshire, but bound back fer Blackpool Outlook soon,” said Filgrin.

  “Ahh, I gots a cousin out there. Name’s Byrne Knightly. If you run into him, tell him Maurice says hi, will ya? Tell him I’ll send him that letter soon.”

  Filgrin nodded in the affirmative as he accepted the letters of summons back from the other guard. The guards called up to a tower, and soon, the wrought-iron gates began to pull open.

  The estate was massive, with a sizable garden of flowers and shrubbery, and even a magical fountain along the stone walkway. As the sun started to sink towards the horizon, the shadows of the tall spires of the castle ahead of them began to lengthen into evening, leaving the group walking in the shade. The whole grounds were magnificent, bordering on ostentatious, but the thing that really drew Jarod’s eye were the stained glass windows looming large on either side of the open castle door.

  The stained glass windows each depicted different scenes, both of which he was only able to fully recognize thanks to bards who had passed through Cleftshire. The window on the left depicted three scenes of King Casimir. The first, him riding into battle with his men to vanquish barbarians; the second, his coronation; and the third, his reclined figure sitting on the throne. The window on the right depicted the founding myth of the Kingdom of Excelsia: King Greymond’s slaying of the giants. It was said that giants once roamed the plains around modern-day Chath, and destroyed any who would make their home here. King Greymond arrived on a winged horse atop the hill where the castle now stood, and rode through the lands, slaying every last giant until the land was safe. Jarod knew that tales, especially from bards, tended to get exaggerated over the years, but somehow, everyone told this story exactly the same.

  Between the windows and the gilded doors, the foyer beckoned invitingly with warm candle glow and dark wood furniture atop the stone floors. Sitting in a chair at a table against the far wall, writing on a sheaf of paper, was Nikolao. The surveyor looked like he’d gotten cleaned up as well, with freshly-combed hair, and a clean suit of the usual decorative armor and surcoat.

  Basma and Jarod both lingered by the entrance after hesitatingly stepping past the threshold. Jarod, at least, was awed and anxious at the massive display of wealth. As he stepped in, he felt like he was somehow going to wind up breaking something, and no doubt be indebted many lives over to pay it off. He wasn’t sure how he would mess up that badly, but with the oversized clothes he was wearing, he felt he had to be on guard still. Filgrin took an appreciative look around the chamber, but paused for no more than a moment before confidently striding in and calling out a greeting to Nikolao.

  The surveyor looked up slowly from his papers, and his eyes went wide when he saw the troupe, dressed in noble wear. “Well, I’m glad to see someone at the inn managed to find you something to wear.”

  “Sure looks like yer underdressed for the occasion,” said Filgrin.

  “Not underdressed, just in attire a bit more… comfortable than yours. You don’t have to look so stiff in it though. You’re not going to break anything.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Jarod tried to stand up straighter and more relaxed, but his padded thighs started rubbing against each other as he turned out his legs, so he had to adopt a wider stance and waddle across the room. Nikolao grinned, watching as Jarod and Basma awkwardly made their way across the room to stand next to him.

  “Excellent, now let me explain the situation,” said Nikolao. He gestured to another set of doors along the wall next to them, currently closed. They were somewhat smaller than the ones they had just entered through, but with even more elaborate gilding. “Just through these doors is the great hall where we’ll meet with the king. I’ve already presented my initial report to an advisor, who will make sure the king is informed of the basics. The advisor has also promised to track down a scholar from the university who might be able to offer some more information on the creatures.”

  “That’s where all of you will come in. Shortly, the king should be prepared for us, and will invite us in. He’ll ask me any further questions he has about the report, and then the scholar and advisor will likely have questions for you.”

  Nikolao gave each of the villagers a stern look as he made his next point. “The advisor may ask many questions that seem dismissive of you. Don’t take them personally, they’re just her manner of getting to the bottom of things. Above all else, do not lie. Don’t exaggerate the story, don’t twist the facts, none of it. The advisor will spot any inconsistency in your story in a heartbeat, and she’s likely to advise the king to withhold support if you do.”

  The surveyor relaxed a bit. “If you just stick to the facts of the case, we shouldn’t have anything to worry about. The king is a reasonable man, and the truth of the matter is Cleftshire, and indeed the whole western part of the kingdom, could be in serious trouble if we fail to act. I’m sure we’ll come away from this with a force sufficient to drive off those horrid monsters.”

  Before Jarod got a chance to respond, a pair of guards walked through a side passage, each wearing the same royal armor as the ones they’d passed by the gate. The ones they’d met before weren’t exactly casual, but the ones that marched through now were stiff and formal like Jarod had never seen. They were both tall, each over 6 feet, and their helmets had a tuft of boar hair dyed deep blue coming out the top that gave them an extra few inches on top of that.

  “His Majesty, King Casimir, glorious monarch of the Kingdom of Excelsia, is accepting of his guests in his court.” The first guard called out the declaration as he marched confidently towards the door opposite where he entered. When he arrived, he gave a stomp of his boot, rotated around, and grasped the door handle. “Enter now with the respect due your king, and carry out your business.”

  Without delay, the guards each pulled their door open. They were massive things, and took a solid heave from the guards to overcome their inertia, but the hinges swung them open smoothly. Before Nikolao and the representatives from Cleftshire, the grand hall came into view.

  It felt to Jarod like a dream as the doors swung open and their group stepped into the hall. Thick pillars of carved white marble stretched tall into a 30 foot ceiling, itself illuminated by crystal chandeliers suspended and lit magically. A beautiful fresco decorated the ceiling, depicting angels and humans keeping watch over all manner of creatures (sentient and animal alike). Statues and paintings lined the sides of the walls, spaced between carved stone and wood doors, each gilded similarly to the main ones they’d walked through.

  Capping it all off was a golden throne sitting on a dais at the back of the room. The king sat straight and tall in the high-backed throne, elbows resting on the armrests with his hands folded across his lap. A crown, expensive yet practically-sized, sat atop his head, adorned with glimmering rubies.

  Jarod’s breath caught in his throat at the weight of the room. He barely noticed the royal guard standing back a ways from the throne, and the pair of well-dressed figures standing on a lower level on the dais. All his attention felt focused on the king atop his throne, every aspect of the room seeming to direct his gaze along the opulent pillars and walls, and down towards the dais dominating the room.

  Intelligence (Excesia customs) check (?)

  [3]

  Jarod managed to catch himself before fully freezing at the entrance of the chamber, and he walked alongside the other three towards the front of the room. He stopped alongside Nikolao near the front of dais. The surveyor gave him a sideways glance, and then took another step forward to address the king.

  “Your majesty,” Nikolao began. “It’s an honor to deliver my report before you in person. I hope to demonstrate how fortuitous it is that we’ve been given the opportunity, for we have unfortunately dire news to deliver.”

  “Yes, I’ve been given some advance notice on your report.” The king’s voice was deep and relaxed. He spoke softly, though his words seemed to echo through the acoustics of the chamber, making it seem as though he spoke from every direction of the room. “From my understanding, the conclusion of the original goal of your expedition was that there was nothing to fear along our western border. I believe your report mentioned only mild discontent at Eraford, but no danger of military action. Is this still your assessment?”

  “Yes, your majesty.”

  “However, it seems that troops may, nevertheless, need to be diverted in that direction to deal with the matter of these trifleys you’ve discovered.”

  “That’s correct, your majesty.”

  “And where, pray tell, are the other members of your expedition? Serefina tells me that the sight servant and two other surveyors were the only other members of your group to make it back. As many, I notice, as guest citizens you’ve brought before me today.”

  Nikolao swallowed visibly before answering. “I’m afraid I can’t give you a satisfactory answer to that, as I don’t fully know myself. Many of my men were slain alongside the villagers of Cleftshire when the trifleys attacked, and I believe many more managed to escape. The two that arrived in the city with us today we rescued from a camp of brigands. I believe others managed to escape the slaughter, and hope that they’ll soon be finding their way back to Chath themselves.”

  Jarod scowled a little when he heard Nikolao say the surveyors had been slain alongside his people. There was no fighting alongside that had happened, they simply happened to be cut down in the same streets. He didn’t interrupt to correct the account, though.

  “Staging a rescue from a brigand camp seems like a diversion from the task at hand,” the king said. “But that’s no matter for now. First I’d like to hear an account of the monsters from a source outside your report. Perhaps one of you can tell me about your first impression of these trifleys.”

  When the king nodded towards the group, Jarod glanced around and realized that he’d stopped a couple paces further forward than his companions. He saw that the king’s eyes were on him, and cleared his throat. Filgrin probably would have been a more composed reporter of the events, but it seemed like it was his turn to speak.

  “Well, I was riding in a carriage when it happened. You see, there was a mix-up between me and the surveyors, but it all got cleared up. I don’t know if you have to sign something for that, or what. Tex’ana can tell you that we made a deal though.”

  A woman, standing on the lower level of the dais, stepped forward and started to speak, but the king held out a hand, and quietly said, “Ser.” She tightened her lips, but stepped back and held her tongue.

  “Yes, I’ve been told there was some altercation between you and some of the surveyors. Don’t mind that for now, just tell me about the trifleys.” The king softened his posture a little bit, leaning back in his chair to cross one of his legs, and his voice took on a less imperious tone.

  Jarod nodded, a little more relaxed by the king’s response. As much as he could be considering the circumstances. He took a deep breath and described the trifley’s attack. The king paid close attention to Jarod’s account, asking a few clarifying questions as he proceeded.

  When Jarod finished, the king beckoned one of the royal guards closer. “Go retrieve the sight servant that was along for this mission. He may have some useful perspective himself to share.”

  “Well said, Jarod of Cleftshire,” the king said, turning back to the group. “I may have more questions to ask of you, but for now, I’ll direct your attention to my advisor, Serefina. She’ll have some questions of her own to ask.”

  The woman who had almost interrupted Jarod before, stepped forward now. She wore clothes not quite as gaudy as the noble attire that they’d been provided with, and not quite giving the more utilitarian appearance of Nikolao’s armor. It was a practical formality, one that acknowledged the fashion of the week, while still maintaining the air of timelessness similar to that of the king.

  Serefina stepped off the dais now, coming down to the level of the others. Jarod saw the hint of a grin begin to play at the edges of her mouth, though he couldn’t read what emotion it came from. “Well now,” she said, voice haughty and confident. “I have a few questions on some… curious parts of your account. Perhaps you’d do so well as to clarify them for me.”

  She continued walking as she spoke, circling next to Jarod so he was forced to choose between turning to look at her, and continuing to keep his attention on the throne. As she began to ask her questions, her presence somehow made him even more nervous than that of the king. Jarod knew they had a long and trying conversation ahead of them.