The pale man was tall with a bald head and large ears. His eyebrows were white and bushy, the only sign of hair on his head. A ring of platinum hung from his long nose, which overshadowed a wide mouth. A long robe of silvery substance hid most of his lean body. Sunlight flashed across the rippling fabric. His long-fingered hands were crossed before his waist as he offered the Southern Kings a passive smile. He stood to the immediate left of Zharua’s throne, bare feet visible on the middle of three broad steps.
Zharua called for padded chairs to accommodate his visitors. Slaves rushed forward and soon Khama found himself seated between Undutu and D’zan. He declined the goblet of dark wine offered him by the slaves; the young Kings followed his example.
“This is a rare honor,” said Zharua. He looked at them with a mixture of worry and awe. “Not only does the legendary Feathered Serpent grace my court, but two mainland Kings.” His voice was soft yet powerful enough to dominate the hall, which was built to amplify his speeches. His Ongthaian accent was barely noticeable; he was the Trader King, and he spoke all the dialects of the mainland superbly. In his younger years, Zharua had traveled to each of the great cities. Khama remembered a much thinner version of the Jade King meeting with Undutu’s father some twenty-five years ago.
“We are grateful for your hospitality,” said Khama. The Southern Kings had agreed that he should speak for both of them to begin negotiations. “Surely the Jade King knows why we have come.”
Zharua nodded, his double chin bouncing. “I received your hawk messenger,” he said. “My trade captains have brought word of your great fleet. Is it true that the Five Cities have achieved unity after centuries of feuds and squabbles?”
Khama nodded. Undutu and D’zan bristled in their cushioned seats. “It is true. The threat that we now face threatens to destroy us all. Your realm lies in the path of that threat. The Hordes of Zyung approach from the other side of the world.”
Zharua’s eyes shot toward the silver-robed emissary, then back to Khama. “I am pleased to introduce the esteemed Damodar of the High Seraphim. Envoy of the God-King. Voice of the Living Empire.”
Damodar bowed his hairless head for the briefest of moments.
Khama did not meet the envoy’s gaze. Before he could respond, Undutu spoke.
“Has this bald mouthpiece offered you the chance to be the God-King’s slave? Has he swayed you with polite words to give up your isles and your people to Zyung? Or have you chosen to stand with the Five Cities?”
Khama frowned inwardly. The boy’s temper will be the death of him.
Zharua’s eyelids fluttered. He was not used to being addressed in so loose a manner. “Son of the Feathered Serpent,” he said. “King on the Cliffs… Master of Pearls… the fire of your youth exceeds your courtly decorum. Still, these are troubled times, and I attribute your rudeness to the sense of urgency you must feel.”
“I, too, am a young King,” said D’zan. His green eyes blazed. The hilt of the Sun God’s blade rose above his right shoulder. “Yet we both are schooled by those far wiser than ourselves. We speak plainly because there is little time. We extend to Ongthaia the goodwill and martial protection of the Five Cities. We also bring a tribute of gold and jewels. Our triple fleet stands ready to oppose these invaders. Will you stand with us?”
Beads of sweat glimmered on Zharua’s round face. His eyes flittered to the face of Damodar. Instead of the Jade King, it was Zyung’s envoy who answered.
“The Great Zharua has not yet answered the Almighty’s offering of peace,” said the envoy. “Though his time for reply grows short.”
Khama spoke before either of the young Kings could. “What offer has he made you, Zharua? The choice to die as a King or live as a slave? There is no true choice here… only a veiled threat.”
Zharua nodded. A slave fanned him with a great peacock feather at the end of a gilded pole. “Damodar tells me the God-King brings three thousand great warships.”
“Holy Dreadnoughts,” corrected Damodar. “Each carrying a thousand armored Manslayers.”
Zharua swallowed a lump in his throat and downed a cup of wine offered by a female slave. Khama sensed fear hanging about the Jade King like an invisible fog, a stink of desperation. Could these numbers be true? Iardu’s vision supported the claims. Best not to consider this conflict in terms of numbers. The Manslayers were only Men. It was the God-King’s sorcerers that were the true threat. This Damodar must be one of them.
“Three million soldiers,” said Zharua, his small eyes growing wide. “Can you imagine this, Feathered One? The forces of this Living Empire dwarf those of the Five Cities combined. And Damodar tells me there are yet more–legions of knights who ride the skies on the backs of scaly beasts…”