On the northern outskirts of Minas Tirith, the hastily erected viewing platform creaked softly in the morning breeze.
This had originally been a barren salt flat. A few days earlier, conscripted laborers had leveled it, laid down a red carpet, and set out velvet-upholstered chairs.
Attendants wove among the nobles with silver trays, wisps of steam rising from the red tea in exquisite bone china cups.
Count Morante crossed his legs elegantly, holding a butter cookie between his fingers. Though his corpulent body made the poor chair groan in agony, his expression remained reserved and arrogant.
He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a silk handkerchief and surveyed the empty Military Parade Ground ahead. With a mocking half-smile, he lowered his voice and spoke in a tone that feigned concern but dripped sarcasm.
"So this is the so-called 'power that will put us at ease'?"
"An empty field? Or has the Count of Klein prepared some invisibility potions for us?"
The center of the Military Parade Ground was indeed excessively empty.
Apart from a mock fortress built at a five-to-one scale and several thousand wooden dummies painted bright red standing around it, there was not a soul in sight.
The wooden dummies stood in neat formations, with wooden swords and shields even tied to their hands in a comical touch. They looked like toys for children playing make-believe.
"Perhaps the troops are still assembling."
Baron Kru, seated in the back row, muttered quietly. He clutched a handkerchief, his forehead covered in sweat.
He had come to White Tower Territory with considerable hopes for Veylin. If the young Count was merely bluffing, then the Federer family had backed the wrong horse.
"Assembling? The sun's already high, and they're still assembling?"
Count Morante raised his voice an octave, as though afraid