The morning after dawned bright and cold. The storm of the previous day had passed and all that hinted its mere existence were the wet grounds and the droplets sitting on needles in the coniferous greenery of the late autumn, which refracted the light of daybreak, serving into a truly splendid sight. Smoke rose from the many chimneys of the capital, whose houses were but dark silhouettes in the valley. Beyond the outer walls, the first shit was making port. The green flags spoke of lexiner origin.
In Fehérvár upon Mt. Nedeves, in the East Wing, a servant walked the length of the corridor, knocking on the doors housing keelish. To his surprise the room of the archon opened immediately. She appeared to have been up prior to the waking call, for after her guard stepped back from the doorframe, she exited the room fully dressed. Once the servant was sure of that everyone who out to be coming was out, he showed the party to a spiral staircase, carved into the very mountain itself. Scaling it, they came onto a landing, from which a corridor, with bare stone walls led off. The ceiling on the other hand was high, and the torches on the wall illuminated the scene well. At the end of the corridor, a fine door stood ajar. By the door stood two red clad guards with daggers in their hilts.
Bowing his head in respect, the servant stepped aside, and the guard to the right opened the door for them to enter. Inside was another room which appeared to have been carved out of the very mountain itself. On the opposite wall, one could see the city through an opening in the rock, giving the observer a panorama view. In the center of the room, or chamber more like, stood a long wooden table, on which clutters of parchments, maps, and quills lay. Around it sat four people.
One was immediately recognizable as the jarl, beside whom sat a man the keelish recognized as councilman Bogdán, who’d accompanied the maruban party to the tournament of Roklavia. The other two they had never met. On Bogdán’s right sat a man with an impressive white mustache. He was fingering a coin in his hand, and looked a bit nervous. On the left of the jarl sat a stern-looking woman with dark brown hair that was tied up in a firm knot upon her head. She wore her hair along with a pretty face, but one which at present looked grim. Now the keelish had adjusted to the light, they could also see a fifth person seated at the table. A young man with brown hair, a bow leaning against the table by his side. This, they knew, was Virion of Lásenor.
The party was greeted by the jarl and Virion, before they too took seat. The mustache ornamented man turned out to be János Vitéz, the head of the Department of Defense. Meanwhile, the woman was introduced as Elena Fernyák of the Department of Economics. “I hope you don’t mind us starting in the early hours,” Valdemar spoke. “We have a lot to get through, much to settle, and meetings of this kind are usually not the most enjoyable ways to spend one’s day. The cooks are preparing breakfast for us to be delivered and consumed right here, as we speak. For the sake of effectivity, you know!” He rubbed his hands together. “So it begins!”