As the procession moved into it's third hour Sal just starting to get bored.
That morning Sal had been dressed with great ceremony, layer after layer of heavy silks in rich red colours the spectrum of a sunset. Carefully applied makeup deepening and smoothing his hazelnut skin, highlighting his eyes Set off with hundreds of small sapphires inset in gold, he was wearing easily the most expensive outfit he'd even seen. He felt a little swamped, honestly.
He'd been so filled with nervous energy he hasn't been able to sit still, making faint clinking noises as the gems brushed against each other with each fidget.
Despite all that he still thought he had managed to look truely regal, standing proud besides his father the Emir as he launched into a speech.
"Thank you for joining me here today on this most blessed of days!" He boomed. "On the day of my beloved sons first day of adulthood, as he finishes his 17th year, we have sealed a treaty decades in the making! Finally, the Kingdom of Camelot will no longer encroach on our god given land, will no longer raid through the borderlands, will no longer undermine our streets.
The King of the Isles, his Majesty Robert Pendragon, has sworn to me personally that his knights shall lay down their lances!
As a gesture of good faith and to demonstrate our commitment to this lasting union my own child will be training as the Kings personal squire."
It went on for another half an hour - short as speeches go - as the Emir talked about the fantastic negotiations he'd conducted.
Then, escorted by a full company, carried in a palanquin borne by a four strong Sylphs on a cushion of perfumed air, he set off. From the wide streets and gilded streets of the City of Brass lined with cheering crowds they wound out, bright sun flashing off polished armour.
Sal had felt a little lost in all the pageantry to be honest, but he supposed this was all necessary. A prince of the shifting sands is but a mouthpiece, part of a neverending chain...
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A sharp rap at the door started him out of his reverie, and he hurriedly reached out and opened it. An older man crisply saluted back, aquiline features set in a tanned and weatherbeaten face. Malik, a captain of the Janissaries with all the attendant poise and lethality that implied.
"We're approaching their central keep your Eminence. It's likely they'll send out a conroi soon."
"Pardon me? I'm not sure I'm familiar with a conroi?"
"A collection of knights, your Eminence. Normally they start out as 10 new bloods, and stay together their entire lives. The basic organisational unit of the Camelot elite military."
Malik's face didn't flicker, not a hint of reproach creeping into his voice. Still Sal felt awkward, a prickle creeping up his back. He really should have known that. At least his Anglisc was passable.
"Indeed they live together, eat together, train together, and fight together. Most of them have at least a few married pairs too.
They claim the bonds of the conroi are deeper than blood, stronger than death." Then, with a small smirk on his lips, Malik continued "I know from experience that if you kill one of them you'll have to wipe out the whole litter."
Now the embarrassment and nerves were clawing in his chest. He didn't know how he'd managed to miss that in his diplomatic lessons. Even if they were mostly internal, he still should know how to navigate the five royal courts of their quadrant of the city.
Dismissing the captain with a graceful nod, Sal pulled the door closed and sat back in his chair. A quick review of the Camelot court wouldn't hurt right now he supposed.
Before he could get into it another knock, somewhat more insistent, came at the door. Awkwardly pulling it back open onto the frozen face of Malik, who cleared his throat.
"Perhaps I wasn't clear your Eminence." He said, perfectly professionally. "I expect Ser Cador and his personal conroi to be with us momentarily".
Sal looked at the cramped tenements that defined the urban border between the City of Brass and Camelot, eyebrow quirked. People lived here, but the wide roads that spanned the the districts were empty in all directions. He could see for nearly a quarter mile into Camelot and the only moving thing were some pennants swaying in breeze.
"Momentarily?"
"Momentarily."
As he opened his mouth to ask what on earth Malik was talking about the air was suddenly choked with dust. Doing his best to suppress his spluttering he whipped his head around to see five figures in gleaming plate astride chargers had suddenly appeared, haloed in a golden cloud.
They looked like they had ridden directly out of a story. The central knight, the only one not wearing a full helmet looked to Sal unhealthily pale, his chestnut hair cropped close to his skull. Pale blue eyes were fixed on him, looking like all the humanity had been leached out of them.
Sal gulped. He was saved by Malik.
"Presenting Salman ibn Khalad Al-Menelik! third prince of the eternal Menelik dynasty, earthly remnant of Solomon, inheritor of the djinns fire..." His titles continued for another minute, giving him time to collect himself. He knew that a full Camelot knight at a charge was reputed to be the fastest thing in the city, but he hadn't quite understood the scale of it. To appear that quickly they'd have to have been going literally 1000 miles an hour! And to stop not six feet away from him means they must have been slowing down.
His respect and fear for the knights, and the janissaries that fought them grew from theoretical to instinctual in that moment. It was one thing to hear about the power casually thrown about on the border, but another to experience it.
Malik finished the titles, and Ser Cador nodded at him.
"Welcome to Camelot."
