Sanctuary

After the pipers, Hamaramis and fifty warriors of the Speaker’s guard marched into view. They were arrayed in their best armor, with plumed helmets and brilliant green mantles. Boors might have noted the scuffs and dents in the armor, and how some plumes were broken, but such imperfections did not detract from the spectacle. Each warrior’s short sword was sheathed and slung over his back, a traditional method of indicating peaceful intent. Each soldier held a brass and iron buckler to his chest with his left hand, and in his right gripped a ceremonial mace made of ivory. The heads were shaped like a sun or a star.

In the last rank of these warriors marched a watchful Hytanthas. He’d been attached to the Speaker’s guard so he could point out the phantom he’d seen in the Speaker’s tent, should the creature make an appearance.

In the soldiers’ wake came a delegation of Silvanesti, led by Lord Morillon Ambrodel. They were dressed as Silvanesti lords had been for centuries, in deeply pleated robes of sky blue, sun yellow, or star white. Disdaining to mar their ensembles with practical headgear, the Silvanesti went bareheaded. They would pay for their pride later with bouts of sunburn and prickly heat.

Last of all came the Speaker himself, on foot. He could have ridden, but with every horse precious to his army, he chose not to. The way wasn’t long from Khurinost to the palace. Not nearly as long as from Qualinost to Khur.

He did not wear his best robes—the cloth-of-gold and fire-knap in which he’d been crowned—but a simple white gown, with elbow-length sleeves, which brushed his ankles. A rope of woven gold strands was tied around his waist, a collar of lapis bars encircled his throat, and gold bracelets decorated each wrist. He also had chosen not to wear a crown, neither the sun diadem of Qualinesti, nor the star circlet of Silvanesti. He was a Speaker in exile. Wearing crowns while homeless seemed to Gilthas the height of hubris.

Four favored senators walked around him, carrying poles supporting a light linen canopy. This spare shade was his only protection from the sun. Planchet walked at his left elbow. Where his consort should have walked, Gilthas deliberately left an open spot, honoring Kerianseray.

The end of the parade was composed of dignitaries of all kinds. Each elf carried some sign of his or her office: a senator’s baton, a courtier’s medallion, a scholar’s scroll, a healer’s vial, and so forth.

Not all the Khurs watching the procession were charmed or dazzled. Some glowered, and a few shook fists at the elves, who marched solemnly ahead. Only once, as they were passing through the Grand Souks, was anything thrown. A few overripe fruits pelted the ceremonial guard. They never broke step, and the Khan’s soldiers charged into the crowd. They found the young offenders and dragged them away, beating them with olivewood staves.

The most direct route from the elves’ camp to the Khuri yl Nor was all narrow, winding alleys and shade-darkened lanes. Gilthas’s grand parade deliberately took a different way, following the widest streets in the city to give scope to his faded grandeur. In the great days of Sithel or Kith-Kanan, a Speaker’s royal procession would have numbered many thousands. Today it contained fewer than three hundred.

Only one other notable incident occurred during the elves’ passage, near the great Nak-Safal artesian well. The Street of Salah-Khan crossed the Temple Walk by the well. In a very real sense, this was the true center of Khuri-Khan, more sacred than any temple, more vital than palace or granary. Never in the harsh history of Khur had the well gone dry. When Malystryx scourged the city, it was to the Nak-Safal that the poor and destitute ran, knowing that whatever else befell them, they would not lack for life-giving water. Vexed by this display of faith, the red dragon tore a boulder from the city wall and flung it into the well. The great rock had been swallowed up by the white sand at the bottom of the well, and only a single corner showed above the water’s surface. The Nak-Safal overflowed for five days, gently washing the cobblestones of the square. Still imbedded in the sand, the boulder was known among city folk as Malsh-mekkek, Malys’s Tooth.