The capital city of the Yanyu Dominion bore the scars of war.
Smoke rose from several districts and the constant sound of hammering indicated frantic repairs to damaged fortifications.
Guards at every checkpoint examined travelers with the paranoid intensity of men who expected attack at any moment.
Grim's approach to the city gates drew immediate attention. His travel-stained clothes and the bundle of cloth that seeped silver stained from the blood of elves.
"Halt and state your business," commanded the gate captain, a grizzled veteran whose scarred face spoke of decades of military service.
"Grim van Ambrose," he replied, dismounting from his horse. "I sent word ahead through your border patrol. Emperor Yanyu should be expecting me."
The captain's expression shifted from suspicion to recognition. "Yes, we received the message."
"Is the emperor available for an audience?"
