Raven's Soul. Volume 1 - стр. 2
"Oh, that Derek! He's strong as a bear, sure, but I'm still not leaving him alone with that demon. Let him not even ask!" – Bergil thought grudgingly as he descended the wide stone stairs into the courtyard.
– Give your weapons to the sentries," Bergil said rudely to the demon as he approached the strong iron gates guarding the way to the palace.
The demon grinned crookedly.
The demon wore neither armor nor helmet. He was dressed in a beautiful red coat, a snow-white shirt with a large black brooch around his neck, and black breeches. On his feet were tall red boots made of fine leather and decorated with gold patterns.
– Can't you see that I have no intention of killing today? – he said in a sarcastic tone that made Bergil's face flare.
The head of the guards gave the visitor a contemptuous glance: this red-eyed, black-haired demon was clearly mocking the people around him. On the beautiful face of the visitor could easily read the disgust, which, however, he clearly did not hide.
"I know what you hope for in case of conflict, you damn brat: your magic. But it won't hurt either of us this time, and it won't save your thin neck from my sword!" – Bergil grinned grimly.
– 'Follow me. And don't open your mouth until His Majesty addresses you first," he said curtly to the demon and, without turning around, strode quickly into the palace.
Still with the same crooked grin on his lips, the demon followed his guide. Despite his apparent disgust for the city of men and the men themselves, the uninvited visitor looked at his surroundings with his eagle eye and could not help but notice, albeit grudgingly, that perhaps the despicable men were not so poor and ignorant after all, since they were able to build such a beautiful but powerful palace on the inaccessible top of a high mountain, which was in the heart of the capital of Kaldwind – Sturfjell.
"It's cold here. Soon it will all turn to ruins and ashes. These bugs have no idea what awaits them in a couple of days," he thought contentedly as his leather boots tread silently on the light-colored stone of the palace. The demon was anticipating the destruction, fear and death that would soon reign in this kingdom of miserable mortals.
Bergil and the demon entered the huge, bluish-lit hall with impossibly high ceilings and large, beautifully carved stone windows of the throne room, the pride of the palace. King Derek, seated on a large, elegantly carved white stone throne, awaited the arrival of a strange, unexpected visitor who was so foolish and arrogant that he demanded to meet him as if Derek were not the king of a great, rich state, but only the headman of a small village. Despite his title, the king did not wear his simple iron crown, for he did not consider the insolent demon worthy of the honor of seeing him in the full splendor of his royalty. The king was dressed in a black, tight-fitting surtoute, brown leather pants, and tall black boots. Derek was twenty-nine years old and had been in power for a long time, but this man had not fallen slave to gold brocade, jewels, and luxury. Derek had not a shred of fear in his heart for the representative of the demon race, but in order not to make his best friend worry for his safety, he had at hand his broad sword, which he had skillfully wielded since the days of his youth.