Chapter 54: Tea, Trade, Envoys and Threats
It took Corvin two days to raise his soldiers and travel to Goldhaven.
By then, his army had swollen to a staggering twenty one thousand. Holy Verrenate, what little was left of it had been most generous in defeat. Corvin might have even muttered may their gods bless them if he were in a more theatrical mood. After all, it was their priests, purifiers, paladins, and soldiers now marching under his banner, silent and Covenant Bound. Entire battalions had been reduced to obedient revenants. Even their famed sunforged armor had not withstood the tide of death.
He had shifted into an air elemental just beyond the charred remains of Verranus. The capital, once sanctified with towers of alabaster and gold, now stood broken, scattered across the fields like discarded relics. Looted to the last coin, razen to the last house. The scent of ash still clung to the wind, mingling with the faint traces of sanctified incense and scorched cloth.
Chain teleportation carried him over the Iron March. From above, he noted the increased presence of Iron March soldiers peppered along the northern border. Clean rows of armor, long lines of fortified camps. New towers had been erected hastily, and supply caravans crawled along narrow roads. "Tempting." He muttered, imagining for a moment to add these gentleman as well to his club of undead.
Trying to tighten their defenses, Corvin guessed. Good luck to them. He let the wind carry him higher, cloacked remain unseen, close enough to read the worry in their formations. The scent of fear traveled well at altitude.
He didn’t stop. Goldhaven rose on the horizon after couple of hours, pristine, arrogant, gilded. A jewel untouched by war.
At the palace gates, he shed the elemental form and the cloaking spell. Magic shimmered away like mist in the morning.
The effect was immediate. Four guards, blades already half drawn, froze mid step before rushing forward in recognition. There was no questioning, no hesitation. They bowed, hastily straightened, and escorted him through the marble halls without a word. The silence of his passage spoke louder than any welcome.
The throne room doors opened with the groan of ancient gold hinges.
Bobles of the Gilded Dominion sat in both sides in velvet and ornament, posturing with still shoulders and furrowed brows. The sudden silence rolled like pressure through the air. Conversations died mid sentence. Eyes widened with a flicker of unease. At the far end, on a throne, Yvanna waited, crowned at last.
She was framed by sunlight spilling through high glasswork, her presence magnified by the diadem and her stillness. A queen in full regelia.