The opulence of the capitol building bespoke unbelievable wealth in Cemar’s past: marble inlaid with gold; velvet and fine-woven silk upholstery with intricate embroidery; and clear glass windows in large panes overlooking the courtyard with its famous Fountain of Freedom. The Cemarite staff inside were also adorned with velvet, silk and gold, as if visually reinforcing their many promises to restore and even surpass the robust treasures of Cemar’s former glory.

In fact, only three in the executive chamber that afternoon practiced no self decoration: Krag, the white-furred giant; Turgar, as short as Krag was huge, as bowlegged as Krag was erect; and Sir Javo, the hawk-nosed, bronze-skinned knight.

Javo’s only ostentatious indulgence came in the form of the plume of colorful feathers on his great helm — the helmet he used when fighting on horseback. But none of them wore battle harness now, in this place for diplomats, tax collectors and other city-born fops.

Ustane, the first King of Cemar, entered the chamber and the staff hushed, all turning to bow except the three mercenaries. Ustane took a seat at the center of the long, marble table — his throne was still being built by skilled craftsmen in another room. He was a thin, handsome man with a kingly bearing, as if he had been born to royalty. As if there had been royalty in Cemar before. He gazed sternly at Javo. “We might excuse your barbarian comrades for ignorance to our customs,” Ustane said. “But we understand you are native born to my kingdom. Do you purposefully intend to insult our office?”

“You mean because we didn’t bow?” Javo’s face remained blank, but there was a tremor in his voice. “I was born a Cemarite, but in the High Forest, and never lived in the city. In any case, there was no monarchy when I lived in this country, nor any customs concerning royalty for me to be ignorant of, King Ustane.”

Ustane silently contemplated these words, then motioned for his obediently kowtowing court to relax and take seats. They did, with the rustling of silk and the scraping of wooden chair legs on marble floor.

The three mercenaries remained standing.

“Our crown may be new,” Ustane said, “and our throne as yet unfinished…” He said this with a glance down at his ordinary chair and a puffing of the cheeks which caused laughter amongst his loyal sycophants. “But we hope you understand that we could have you severely dealt with for any act of disrespect.”

Javo nodded. “I understand, King.”

Ustane’s chiseled bronze face darkened for a moment, but then he smiled, showing perfect white teeth. “We suppose it will take some time, even for city natives, to adjust to the new era.”

The members of his court nodded and harrumphed their concurrence, pleased that nothing need become ugly at this euphoric stage of the Transition.

The Chief Speaker of the old Parliament was there, along with the Ministers of Commerce, War, and Information. The Bard and Minstrel’s Guild, instrumental in Ustane’s rise to power, was well-represented as well.

Lingering on the periphery, watching everything but drawing little attention to themselves, were figures in dark burgundy robes, hoods covering their heads and hiding their faces in shadow.

Ustane exchanged glances with his advisors left and right, but addressed the threesome. “We understand you’re willing to face the gryphon.”

“True, O King,” Krag replied, quick to add, “for the price agreed upon earlier.” The crimson-skinned Turgar placed a calloused hand over his breast and bent slightly forward at the waist — a gesture of perfunctory obeisance. “Most regal Majesty, we are unsure whether you desire that we slay this great beast, or merely cut its wings off.”

Now a servant poured some wine into the goblet on the table. Ustane swirled it with pinkie extended, and took a dainty sip. “It has been shackled before, so it is evidently possible to approach it closely and live. But it wouldn’t offend us whatsoever if you were to simply kill it.”

“Very well,” Javo said. “With your leave then, we shall set out immediately.”

Ustane fluttered his fingers. “You have our leave. Dismissed. Off with you.” He smiled at his advisers. “And upon your return, we’ll have to teach you about proper respect for the crown, hmm?”