Heavy bronze-soled boots hammered against the grotto trail, shattering the afternoon calm with arrogant strides.
Envoy Varga did not bother creeping on his toes. He marched up the limestone steps flanked by twenty armored enforcers in emerald and gold cuirasses, their jade-hilted sabers rattling at their hips. Varga’s pointed beard was oiled to a sharp sheen, and a heavy golden mortar hung from a thick chain around his neck.
Halfway up the flight, Varga stopped before two figures encased in pale blue ice.
The two heralds from the Jade-Mortar House were still frozen to the rock. Their lips were blue, their eyes rolling in silent terror as frost crackled along their embroidered velvet trousers.
“Useless trash,” Varga sneered, kicking the ice around the lead herald’s boots with his bronze heel.
The ice did not chip. It rang with the hollow density of iron, sending a shudder up Varga’s shin.
“You let a pair of rogue brats freeze your boots?” Varga barked, scowling at the terrified men. “Patriarch Morvane pays you in silver, and you shiver like stray dogs before an errand boy’s gate.”
He spat on the steps and climbed past them, leading his twenty enforcers onto the grotto terrace.
