As the days went by at the Glen camp, Silbermine grew inpatient. Despite his initial rhetorical approach, he wasn’t stupid. The Castigator and that rabble had got there first and had made it very clear they didn’t want to share. The hilly terrain favoured the agile Tekeri form over hulking Glen knights. When you factored in unknowns like that burning tree and who the Humans would support (if anyone), a fight between the two sides could go either way. Silbermine didn’t have enough loyal Glen to just throw them away in a pricey skirmish. 

No - His father had taught Gesith the virtue of patience. Even if the Castigator had sent a life mage back as a flying bird to raise an army, the mountains of the Ascendency made it difficult to mobilise large forces quickly. Keraknúr by contrast was just a couple of days away for a determined Glen. Silbermine hoped that enough supporters would turn up to force Nellara to give them access to these new arrivals. He was desperate to learn about them, and whether they would be his champions in the Running.

As they hadn’t packed enough food for a prolonged stay, most of Silbermine’s retinue foraged the forested hillside during the day. The rest watched the Jotunheim, its inhabitants and the Tekeri camp from a distance. Most were unlearned, but dutifully recounted everything they saw to Silbermine as best they could.

It was on the morning of the seventh day that one of the Glen-at-arms dashed back into camp while Silbermine was performing his ablutions.

“My lord! The Humans and the Tekeri are talking.”

Silbermine looked up, then put the wash rag back into the bowl of cold water and exited the tent bare chested. The warrior servant bowed down in reverence before continuing.

“I heard them. I thought they were speaking in tongues like before. But the things they carry speak!”

Glen had excellent hearing. In the right conditions, they could pick up the specifics of conversations from hundreds of yards away.

Silbermine locked eyes with Sir Sweven as they lifted the flap on their much smaller tent. You could have chiselled their faces from granite.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes milord. I watched them all and the Humans were speaking S’toric. It seemed to come from a brooch they wore.”

“Very well. Fetch my caparison, quickly!”

[hr]

Lord Silbermine led Sir Sweven and four Glen-at-arms into the clearing that now surrounded the Jotunheim and approached the Humans and other K-A natives while they conversed. He wasn’t dressed in his ornate armour from last time, but rather a dark blue caparison emblazoned with his standard in white, a grizzled mountain tree with a bird of prey perched atop it. To not wear any armour in this situation was a clear signal that Silbermine wanted to talk, rather than fight. His followers had some armour, but not a full suit. One of the Glen carried a chest on their back.

“Good morrow! We wish to break bread and talk!” Silbermine called.