Chapter Six

"Fair enough interestingly, I surmise," said Mey, "essentially the danger's been managed."

"So what do we do now, my master? Without a doubt we can't let this go inconspicuous."

"We will go the ruler and report what we saw," said Master Nixior, "and Ruler Meneldir needs to represent his vanishing when he was completely prohibited from doing as such."

"What..." Mey took a gander at him in dismay, as though his situation had been busted.

"No inquiries, my sovereign. Your dad provided a request. You disregarded your dad, our ruler's regulation you should represent it, and record for it you will."

Crossing the charmed lines, they observed

the trees lighter and taller than previously, the

way extending into the type of an interstate,

the timberland covering withdrawing to let daylight

wash the voyagers with blinding light. It was

a much needed development from the dull timberlands,

as anybody would be in the wake of expenditure seven days

going through an organization of caverns and

woods.

"At last, some civilisation," Vilyánur celebrated, "I

can hardly hold on to see civilisation indeed."

"Civilisation? No, you won't view that as here,

my Ruler Lindrúin," Mey chuckled. "We are

everything except acculturated."

They generally laughed at his remark, even the

wood-mythical beings. "You are fortunate the dark mythical people constructed

the Silver City ere surrendering to the plague,"

Mey proceeded. "Any other way we'd never have a

capital this wonderful."

"Disregard a capital, what you want the most is

streets," said Vil, "and I realize we cut seven days'

worth of time utilizing the organization of caverns, yet

most pariahs won't be utilized to them."

"They need not travel so far inland," said

Nixior, "you are companions of Meneldir, and

respected legends of legend, which is the reason we

are respecting you all things considered. Had you been

any other person, you'd have been lying dead in the

edges of Angdor at this point."

Vilyánur snickered, "regardless of whether I were a typical centurion, your wolf-riders couldn't ever have

thought for even a second to confront us." He scowled at the wolf-riders,

meeting unfortunate eyes from them. "Weighty

covering and kite safeguards are not something

small bolts or shoddy lances can

enter, and our spears can poke a hole

through your wicker safeguards."

The less heavily clad troopers in the vanguard

taken a gander at them with a sight of dread and

regard; they realized he was not feigning. Simply a

week prior they saw a knight's spear go

through a dim wolf's pelt, a pelt which their

lances neglected to scratch.

"In any case, we're there," said Mey, Vil gazed upward

to check out at the doors of Silverhearth.

Not at all like most high-mythical being urban areas Vil had seen,

Silverhearth was five urban communities joined by a

organization of streets and encircled by a layer

of grand walls, with farmlands between each

sub-city - an inventive plan, certainly.

Every one of the three entryways was a winding way

up onto the level whereupon Silverhearth

stood.

The castle remained upon an island on the stream

Angkreb, isolated from different pieces of

the city by a deluge of cold water, associated by

an extension that traversed over the stream.

"Intriguing plan," remarked Vil, "taking

the city forcibly will be troublesome."

"Troublesome? More like unthinkable," said Mey,

"Old plans don't bomb simple."

"As out of line with no guarantees, the people of yore just had a ton of

time to burn to work on their plans.

We work hypothetically, they did essentially," Vil

griped.

Following the interstate, the host entered

the illustrious area, getting off their ponies

at the pens to head into the royal residence corridors

by walking. The long, twisty way to the lord's

chambers went through the Lobby of Distinction: a

peaceful lobby holding accounts of a significant number of the

wood-elven legends.

The majority of them were genuinely everyday (if that

word can be appropriate to legends) pictures

tracked down in each honorable dwelling, save for one:

one of the representations showed the model of

a legend clad in silver fighting against what

appeared to be a shadowy beast - a

animal of fire and shadow, a daemon of

some sort.

However at first Vilyánur mixed up the

silver-reinforced knight to be a wood-elven

legend, he before long saw the sword in his grasp

which appeared to be a high-elven cutting edge. A bolt

of lightning moved about his sharp edge as he held

it overhead. He committed no error, it was him.

"What a lovely corridor," he remarked.

"You know," said Meneldir, "this lobby contains a

thousand pictures, and my generally #1 of

them-"

"Be quiet, prince..." Nixior woofed, "it is ill suited

for you to meander aimlessly about your inclinations, I question

Sovereign Lindrúin will be keen on your

words. You ought to figure out how to control yourself."

"No, it's OK," said Vil, "which one's your

number one?"

"Don't worry about it," said Mey, bringing down his head.

"I really want to control myself around him," he

thought.

"You can let me know anything you desire," said Vil

as far as he might be concerned, "I'm neither outraged nor disturbed,

what's more, you're a close buddy of mine."

"My ruler," Nixior called, "I know your understanding

is boundless and desire of experience ceaseless,

in any case, don't prompt our ruler, for he really wants to

figure out how to act."

"As though any of you don't," - Vil thought, cautious

not to stand up clearly.

"Also, for his activities Ruler Meneldir will be

censured, that I'll guarantee."

"No! You can't do that," Mey took a gander at him in

alarm, "I didn't do anything. I . . . I was

simply attempting to accomplish something useful to the domain: safeguarding

the domain from daemons isn't a wrongdoing, right?"

"Try not to figure you can trick me," said Nixior,

"my steerage has charms that dissipate your

powers."

"Ok, charms... so 'tis not a characteristic nature of yours," Vil pondered internally,

getting a handle on a bug he had mind-controlled, "thank

you for uncovering your own privileged insights, you'll be

the reason for your own destruction."

The bug jumped from Vil's hand and onto

Nixior's shoulder, ascending his hair and

into his rudder. "Ugh," Nixior eliminated his rudder

in disturbance, "these bugs appear to be getting

wherever nowadays."

"Indeed, valid," expressed Vil with the flood of a hand,

"very much like daemons... that should be pursued

down and killed. Also, obviously, Mey did

nothing out of sorts."

"Indeed, precisely," he said and wore his steerage

on.

Mey took a gander at Vil in wonder, "much obliged," he

expressed clairvoyantly with a grin. Vil grinned

back.

A lord's lobby was a cairn of silver enhanced with

gold and diamonds, a tall lofty position remained toward the end

of the hall washed by daylight. The corridors

were grandiose, large enough for a senior thunderbird

to fold his wings in and not hit the stopping points.

From one of the steps prompting the other

rooms slipped a man Vilyánur had

seen yet once previously: the old ruler had

greenish-golden eyes and reddish-brown hair, much

like his child. He was about the level of

Vilvánur garbed in silver robes which astonished Vilyánur, garbed in silver robes which amazed

as brilliant as the full moon.

On his head was a wooden prickly crown with

horns ascending high, his shroud was adorned

with long pieces of plumes, his gloves

decorated with tiger hooks.

Observe! Lord ARVEDUI!

A silver trumpet sounded a good ways off, and

the wood-mythical person bowed before him, yet Vil and his

entourage knew not to bow, for this training

was strange to them. Back in the Realm of

Alinor, rulers and commanders were tended to by

a step of the right foot and a strong salute,

be that as it may, this wasn't fitting for an unfamiliar ruler

presently, right? Vil just remained there, gracelessly

gazing.

"Ruler Lindrúin," said the lord finally, "a

joy of mine to meet you it is."

"The joy is mine, Lord Arvedui," said

Vilyánur with a bow, "you are apparently as I

keep in mind, despite the fact that that was 200

quite a while back."

"I recollect you as well, ex-prince..." the lord

proceeded, "I recollect your dad... can't

let's assume I'm attached to him, yet a respectable man

he was, me not recognizing that is destined to be

absurd."

Vil grinned, "I've caught wind of your endeavors as well,

you are a capable pioneer as well."