Vyarin could only look on, in shock, as the intruder blasted open the doors, immobilizing the house guards of his host with but a flick of his wrist. Vyarin's hand went to his belt, pulling the shashka from his belt with a whisper-sound of steel. Within the second, Brudzkon was at his side, blade also in hand.

"Prince of Princes, your command," said Brudzkon, quietly. Vyarin considered it, but alas, all he could imagine was despair. He was in no condition to fight. Perhaps he never will be. Unless he squints very hard, he can't tell exactly if the interloper king was within lunging distance or not. The courtiers surrounding the two of them backed away, creating a small clearing for the two men of Prozdy. An unlucky few looked frozen as statues, caught between Vyarin and the shaman king. 

"If any fighting should begin . . ." Vyarin began. 

"Of course," Brudzkon said, nodding and stepping forward to put his admittedly smaller body in the way of any potential spells.