Appointment with the Kraji

The bleats from the goats still echoed outside the chamber walls, where Peter would finally get to state his case in front of the Kralji himself. The Priest had gotten them through the worst of the bureaucracy, though it appeared even his presence had its limits. He had taken the three of them straight to the tower, where the guards in their armor laced with bits of gold and silver across their chest plates and pauldrons, all depicting the sigil of a Lynx that firmly served as the centerpiece. Upon seeing the Priest white and gold robes glimmering in the sun, they marched out of their way, simply allowing them to pass through the courtyard and towards the main chambers where the Kraji resided.

As they passed through the lavish entrance. Finely cut shrubs and hedges were meticulously pruned and cared for, while several noblemen and women lulled about the entrances, joking and mulling about with their colorful silken gowns and doublets all the more announced while under the direct sunlight. Yet all of their stances tightened and straightened ever so slightly as the priest walked past them, before relaxing once out of his immediate earshot. As they entered into the interior, more intricately cut marble pillars and archways framed and towered over the people inside. Peter figured the grounds to be at least five times what he saw in Zemliharos. Once inside, an array of people stood outside the chamber doors, leading into the Kraji’s personal reception, each from a radically different walk of life, from the groomed and spectacle wearing tradesmen and vendors, to the calloused shipwrights, covered in dust and splinters. Yet, all were equally trapped in line by the elderly, dull faced bailiff who served as gatekeeper between the riff raff and royalty.

Peter continued to squirm in place, the anxiety in his chest building the longer he was forced to wait in this purgatory, trying to recite his plea for help over and over again in his head. He knew he’d only have one chance to win over the court of Ragusiic, and without an actual copper to his on person, he knew he’d find it exceedingly difficult to survive for long in this urban landscape, nor would he fare much better attempting to lead the three of them back through the woods to face off against the Striga. With only the three of them, the act would be nothing short of suicide.

“Can’t you just get us in already, people are dying while we wait?” Peter’s question drew more than a few glances of annoyance from the other patrons in line. Despite them being there for close to over a few hours, and were next in line to finally meet with the Kraji, Peter could still feel every fiber within him, like he was still stuck at the DMV in his old world, unable to do anything to speed things alone.

The High Priest kept the same blank expression. “No, rebellions were held last time when exceptions were made to see the Kraji first. Now, rich or poor, dire or strategic, all must wait their turn.”

Jakov paced and muttered to himself most of the time while he was waiting, and his groan became all the more palpable for everyone else around him. Only Lyana remained at ease as she leaned against the wall, half asleep, “You two wouldn’t last one week in the bogs.”

“And you wouldn’t have made it past the gates without our help.” Lyana rose from her leaning spot, ready to strike down Jakov where he stood. The squire didn’t back down, ready to match her blow for blow.

The chamber doors then opened, the shepherd cursing to himself while leading his herd of goats out of the royal chambers. The bailiff raised his slumping face, his voice no less invigorated. “Next in line may state their grievance to the Kraji, may the Anointed light your path.”

Peter stepped forward, ready to dash into the royal chambers. Several of the guards padded down and inspected the four before entering the great hall. Pillars burned with firewood circled around them, safeguarded by iron railings. Several banners depicting the same lynx dominated the room at every turn, leaving no doubt as to which house held dominion over the throne. At the end of the hall sat a plump man, far more regal than Peter could ever hope to be, with an excessive beard and salt and peppered, curly black head of hair to match. Aside from him was a wiry man, who held his head in such a way that let anyone who came across him know that he expected to be held in high regard, whether the onlooker was willing or not. His long, thin face and elongated mustache and sideburns only exaggerate the ostentation.

The thin man stepped forward. “You are now in the presence of Kraji Ratamir the Golden, appointed by the Re d'Melino himself to rule the Duchy of Ragusiic, to whom is addressing this court?”

Before he could mutter a word to the Kraji, Peter felt something slimy under the bottom of his boots, only to find goat dung gracing the bottom of it.

The Kraji released a bellowed laugh, the rest of his court joining in, “About time some levity entered this accursed court, though something tells me he didn't come here to wade in goat shit.” The thin man kept silent, but a burning expression radiated around him.

Peter bowed, “Your Grace, “I am Lord Petar Zrinski, Vojvoda of Zemliharos & Purveyor of Silver, I come to you today-”

The Kraji belched, “-If you’re with Father Dabro, means you aren’t here for anything fun. Get to the point.”

Peter felt himself freeze up, his stutter eeking back into his voice, "A-apologies Your Grace, I-I didn’t.”

Kraji Ratamir leaned onto his throne, rolling his eyes. “Aye, I know who you are now. Those from Zemliharos only come when they need a favor from the House of Ratamir. Get it over with.”

“My p-people, they have been s-seiged by a force. A force no mortal man is capable of fully comprehending.”

“Enough with the riddles, get to the point before I have you escorted from these halls and to the pillory. I have no time for bumbling madmen”

The priest matched the Kraji’s stare. “Your Grace, I assure you he’s far from mad. The beasts, lest we not name, took their city. Ragusiic will be next if we do not swiftly and mercilessly strike against these unholy foes. You, a Kraji who stood for the beggar, the farmer, the tradesman, when taking the throne, should know the damage this would cause if not dealt with.”

The Kraji pounded his fist onto his chair, “He put you up to this? I’m not going to let some fairy tales divert our forces on some witch hunt while the Muradians stand at our borders, ready to lay siege the moment we show weakness.

Jakov couldn’t contain himself any longer, “Your Grace. I’ve seen them myself. Those striga have torn my neighbors limb from limb and continue to serve my brothers and sisters as stew each second we discuss this. Our Lord may be a Krsnik, but he alone cannot face down an entire infestation by himself. Please, you must save our people.”

The priest stared over at Jakov in horror, but there was nothing he could do as the words left his mouth.

Lyana sighed, “He’s correct, I’ve seen what they’re capable of. They shall not rest until the duchy is under their control.”

The thin man glared at her, “And we’re going to take the word of a wench and boy on these matters?”

The Kraji sat in his chair, pondering for a few moments. “And what would you ask for us in return for this assistance?”

The thin man turned to face the Kraji, “Your Grace, as your advisor, I would think it unwise-”

“-If they’re so convinced this poppycock is real, I want to see what they intend to parlay with for our efforts.”

Peter looked at the Kraji, who glimmered with the first bit of interest since he started this conversation. He supposed it was now or never to give him what he wanted.

“Your Grace, we’d request a half dozen ships and five hundred men to retake our city in the name of the duchy.”

The Kraji bellowed another laugh, “And I wish to take a thousand virgins to my bedside each evening, but even The Kraji doesn’t always get what he wants. And what would you pay us in return?”

“A twenty five percent tax rate to the duchy on all silver extracted from our mines, along with our support for this conflict you speak of with the Muradians. My advisors warned of them, before those-those things turned them into livestock.”

Kragi Ratamir paused, before speaking, “I’ll consider the offer. It’ll take at least two weeks for our forces to be gathered. Til then, go waste away in a tavern or brothel for all I care. Ragusiic has no shortage of them.”

Peter felt an icy pit sinking in his belly. “Your Grace, that’s too long, our peo-”

“-If you don’t like it, go somewhere else then. I’m sure you’ll find our mercenaries no less sympathetic.”

Peter looked to the Priest. He didn’t say a word. He bowed his head. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Now go, before I change my mind.”

Peter gave one final bow and the four of them left the room. While Peter knew it was the best he could negotiate within his position, it didn’t make the reality any less painful to endure. He wanted that mead more than ever.