Roanapur Connection

Peace Sells, But Who's Buying Act 3

All eyes in the room shifted toward the western wall. A sakuradite glow emanated from the elevator. Britannian nobles preparing to take to their seats stumbled to their knees so eagerly their kneecaps cracked against the hard floor with the percussive sound of a twisting sheet of bubble wrap.

"Uncle," Charles hissed.

Hui Ying chanced another look at Charles' face and found a twisted expression of disbelief so profound as to make him appear almost unrecognizable.

Charles was the last Britannian in the room to fall upon his knees before his Emperor, a man whose presence stripped Charles of his special designation as Malcolm's proxy at the talks and reduced him to just another subject among many.

With all his subjects grovelling at his feet, Hui Ying had full view of the godlike man who controlled so much of the western world.

Even from afar Hui Ying's eyes were assaulted by the extravagance of the towering Malcolm's full regalia: his velvety violet cloak lined in gold silk and embroidered with a lush garden of red roses, the deep plum of his coat, the snowy whiteness of his pant legs, and coal black boots that appeared much too tight for the man's feet. A scraggly white wig that ought to have been replaced a decade ago sat slightly askew atop the man's liver-spotted head. With each step Malcolm hobbled the solid gold crown shifted atop his head. The crown glittered and sparkled, each of its seven delicate spire points holding hostage a colorful jewel taken as spoils from the world's many continents over the course of Britannia's expeditions and conquests.

"It's really him, the Emperor of Britannia!" Wei's teeth chattered like her buckling knees. Luckily the gasps of surprise and elation from the Britannians at unexpectedly finding themselves in the presence of their Emperor blocked her voice from carrying further than Hui Ying's ear.

Accompanying the Emperor was a man who perfectly paired the gorilla-like presence of the magenta-caped Knight of the Rounds with the grand size of Knight of Five Bismarck Waldstein. A thick mop of curly gold hair shrouded his head and covered much of his face in the form of a neatly kept beard. His white suit matched that of the other Knights of the Rounds currently present. Eyes the color of the vast ocean stared dutifully forward, while his flashy gold cape plumed behind him like a sheet of liquid metal.

'And he must be Malcolm's favorite, Knight of One Sir Arthur Hightower.'

Unlike the other Knights whose swords were forged and granted to them upon their knighting, Sir Arthur Hightower's was his very own family heirloom. Even Hui Ying knew the popular legend of King Arthur and his fabled sword Excalibur. And this Arthur Hightower, a Knight of the highest order, was said to be the direct descendant of the legend himself. If any desired proof, they needed only observe the sword at Sir Arthur's side, its golden scabbard delicately engraved with crossing lines of royal blue and carved with ancient and intricate runes.

In his youth, Sir Arthur Hightower was said to have rent the very sky with the blade of his family's treasured sword, his foes becoming little more than bloodied tatters with a single swing of Excalibur.

Of course, that was merely Excalibur's fantastic legend extending itself and attempting to apply to a real person in the present day. This Sir Arthur was legendary only for his unshakable loyalty to his deranged Emperor Malcolm, his skill with the sword in addition to the legend of the one he carried resulting in his being dubbed Knight of One.

The tak-tak-tak of Malcolm's cane grew steadily louder. He strode past his subjects without so much as a glance, his cane once striking the head of a nobleman who leaned just a bit too far forward in his eager reverence.