The morning mist had yet to clear, but the main thoroughfare of Minas Tirith was already at a standstill.
It was not because of an enemy attack or an insect plague, but because of carriages.
Too many carriages, too luxurious and too wide.
Baron Kru Federer irritably pushed open the carriage window. Damp air carrying a faint scent of sea salt rushed in, dispersing the stuffy fragrance of incense inside. He stuck his head out and saw a sea of flags: the wave crests of Silver Bay Province, the rose shields of Hundred Flowers Province, the wheat-ear banners of Fertile Plains Province, and even a few Holy Radiance banners from northern Sabertooth Province.
These powerful figures, normally so imperious in their own territories, were now like salted fish packed into a sardine tin, stuck motionless on the avenue leading to the guesthouse.
"You up ahead! Move! This is Baron Federer's carriage, from Dawn Territory!"
The driver waved his whip and shouted at a four-wheeled carriage ahead, decorated with ostentatious gold trim.
Its window immediately slid down, revealing a face so fat its neck was almost invisible. The man glanced disdainfully at Kru's rather shabby, old-fashioned carriage and snorted.
"Dawn Territory? That impoverished backwater that grows grapes? I am Count Morante of Silver Bay Province. Tell your lord to wait behind me, and don't scratch my paint. This is a fresh coat of White Tower No. 3 anticorrosion paint. You couldn't pay for the damage even if you sold that wreck."
The window closed again, shutting out Kru's almost fiery glare.
Kru pulled back inside and punched the seat cushion.
"Those nouveau riche bastards."
His second son, Alex, sat opposite him, rubbing his hands uneasily. The young man's gaze remained fixed on the gap in the window, greedily taking in the