Sanctuary

As the Speaker’s parade wound past the well, Hytanthas Ambrodel saw a hooded, rag-draped figure standing at its edge. The hood turned toward him, and the elf suddenly felt dizzy. Framed by moldering cloth was the face of the strange apparition he’d glimpsed in the Speaker’s tent the night before. The bizarre, solidly brown eyes locked onto Hytanthas’s own. His step faltered. Drums, pipes, and cymbals sounded far away. He felt a strange twisting sensation in his stomach, as though the ground had unexpectedly fallen away from his feet, and all at once he seemed to be standing outside his own body, watching himself walk shoulder to shoulder with the honor guard. The effect of seeing himself walking was utterly disorienting. Hytanthas began to fall.

A strong hand caught him by the back of the neck. “Steady, lad,” Planchet said, holding him upright. “Remember where you are!”

“He’s here!” Hytanthas gasped. “The ghostly spy I saw in the Speaker’s tent! He’s by the well, in the ragged brown robe!”

Planchet squinted against the glare. “But that’s no ghost. I can see him myself. Are you certain?”

“That’s him.”

As Hytanthas fixed his gaze on the ground, seeking to regain his balance, Planchet looked again at the scruffy figure in brown. He was still there, facing away from the valet. Then, seemingly from one heartbeat to the next, he vanished. Planchet blinked and stared, but the hunched fellow was gone. The valet shook his head. It took little imagination to think the fellow most likely a sorcerer or a mage. Perhaps even the mysterious Faeterus himself.

“Do you think so?” Hytanthas asked, looking more himself, and Planchet realized he’d voiced his speculation aloud.

“It’s possible,” the valet said, pushing Hytanthas back toward his place in the procession.

The parade of elves reached the square before the Khuri yl Nor and found Sahim-Khan’s household guard awaiting them, turned out in full regalia. While they lacked the grace and style of the elves, the Khan’s elite possessed a barbarous splendor of their own. Handpicked for height and physique, the guardsmen made an imposing show in their tall, spiked helmets, articulated breastplates, and panther-skin mantles. Arrayed outside the main gate of the citadel in two blocks, the guards struck the ground with their halberds, and shouted, “Sahim-Khan!”

The elves halted between the blocks of Khurish soldiers. The maidens and standard bearers stood aside, allowing the remainder of the procession to advance. Soon, Gilthas was being greeted at the palace gate by Sahim’s vizier, Zunda. A relic from the days of the dragon, Zunda had retained his place as vizier by being the oiliest, most obsequious courtier in Khuri-Khan. The tightly curled hair which fell past his shoulders was an obvious wig, and the flat black color of his elaborately curled beard was just as obviously due to dye.

“Greetings, O Light of the Elven Nations!” Zunda intoned loudly, bowing as low as his belly allowed. “The Great Khan of All the Khurs, Lion of the Desert, Vanquisher of Dragons, Sahim, son of Salah, welcomes you!”

Gilthas lowered his eyes briefly in acknowledgment. At his gesture, Lord Morillon stepped forward and answered the vizier.

“The noble Speaker of the Sun and Stars, Gilthas, of favored name, earnestly desires an audience with the Great Khan.” The Silvanesti would not be outdone by a mere Khur when it came to flowery speech.

“The glorious Sahim, Father of Khur and Fount of All Justice, has heard of your coming. He bids me, his most unworthy vizier, to convey you to his awesome presence.”

All eyes but the Speaker’s switched back to Morillon.

The Silvanesti pressed a hand to his chest and bowed his head, smiling with magnificent condescension. “Gracious Vizier, we are awed by the generosity of your Great Khan. I, Morillon Ambrodel, son of Kenthalantas Ambrodel and councilor to the Speaker of the Sun and Stars, beg you to lead on, and we shall enter with gratitude into the presence of your mighty lord.”

Everyone looked back to Zunda. This was obviously a battle to the death.

“My heart overflows, noble Morillon! Should I perish at this moment, I would die in blissful content to have known the celebrated personages of my Great Khan, Sahim son of Salah, the Speaker of the Sun and Stars, and your most noble self! You have but to follow, and this auspicious audience shall commence!”

Immediately, Zunda backed away, bowing three times as he went. Hamaramis gave the command and the honor guard started after him.

As he passed the red-faced Morillon, Gilthas murmured, think he won.”