King Treliving stood in front of his throne, staring down at his troops, as they celebrated a victory over the former Kings of the Land. His assistant gently tapped him on the shoulder.
“Archduke Burke is here to speak with you.”
“Very well. Send him in.”
The doors creaked open, and Burke walked in the room.
“Well My Leige…we’ve done it.”
“Yes, however the battle has only begun.” Treliving pulled a scroll from his robe, and walked over to the strategy table. Pulling out a small dagger, he broke the silver seal on it.
“What is this my liege?”
“Behold.” He unrolled the parchment. Old drawing of a large silver cup was dead center in the middle of the page with a message scrawled around it: “He who holds this grail shall be named Masters of the Frozen Plains.”
“It is an ancient trophy, crafted with pure elven silver, by the artisan, Lord Stanley. Many have tried to obtain it. Many have succeeded, but many more have failed. With our military this year, I intend to venture out in search of it.
“You must be mad, my liege! Our military is so young!”
“I understand this, however I have been quite impressed with our Knights. Particularly, Gaudreau, Knight of Jersey, Monahan of Brampton, Hudler of the Republic, and the surprising rise through the ranks of Ferland from the River of Swans.”
“I must admit, their truculence has certainly been a welcome change. However with the loss of Count Giordano…”
“They have battled hard and persevered. I have complete faith in them.”
Archduke Burke walked over to the drink table and poured two goblets of ale. He returned to strategy table and handed Treliving a goblet, and raised his.
“For Victory and Glory!” Exclaimed Burke.
“To the Knights of Calgarie!”
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