Sanctuary

The Khuri yl Nor was still in poor shape, though repairs continued day and night. The inner yard had been swept clean of debris, but the restored façades of the Nor-Khan and the Khanate (Sahim’s private residence) still were marked by large sections of unglazed brick and raw timber. The banner of Khur, with its pair of rampant golden dragons, hung from the battlement of the Great Keep, flapping slowly in the hot breeze. It had been rent by Malys’s claws, giving it the look of a pennon.

Straining guards opened the heavy bronze doors. Within the keep, the air was pleasantly cool. On the seaward side of the palace, enormous canvas funnels channeled sea breezes inside. This cooled the palace and filled it with the scent of the ocean.

The Nor-Khan was a maze of broad, high-ceilinged halls and long, low-roofed corridors. In part this was intentional, to confuse intruders, but it also reflected the varied history of Khur. Khans with money built lavishly. Those who were poor did not. The result was a hodgepodge palace, which only experienced lackeys and courtiers like Zunda could navigate successfully.

During their journey through the hallways, Planchet realized they were passing beneath the same area of cracked ceiling plaster for a second time. He murmured, “Sire, they’re leading us in circles.”

Gilthas smiled. “Sahim-Khan needs time to prepare his welcome.”

When at last Zunda conducted the elf delegation into the audience hall, Sahim was seated on the Sapphire Throne, waiting. He wore a splendid gown of dark blue silk; along its hem were embroidered dragons in red and gold. The red crown of Khur sat upon his head, and his beard had been combed and arranged in neat curls. He smiled broadly when Zunda announced the Speaker of the Sun and Stars.

“My brother!” he proclaimed, rising to his feet. “To what do I owe this inestimable honor?”

Gilthas halted at the foot of the throne dais. He did not bow. As heir to two of the oldest monarchies in the known world, he took precedence over an upstart like Sahim. However, protocol was not as important as diplomacy, so he found a way to pay homage to his host. With an outward sweep of his arm, Gilthas managed to convey the spirit of a bow without actually performing one.

“Great Khan, I have come to confer with you about the troublesome situation growing in your city,” he said. As you know, my consort, Lady Kerianseray, was set upon in the Temple Walk. Two days after that, a mob of Khurs rioted in the markets, seeking out elves to beat and kill.”

“Ah, yes.” Sahim sat back down. “The perpetrators are known to me, and are being rounded up for punishment even now.”

Most of the elven delegation silently fumed at seeing their Speaker forced to stand before the Khan like an ordinary supplicant. For his part, Gilthas adopted the bland mask he’d worn for so long during Marshal Medan’s occupation of Qualinost.

“Who are these people? Criminals?”

“They are now!” Sahim said, and laughed unpleasantly. “They’re fanatics, religious fanatics.”

“How have my people offended them?”

“Only by your existence, Great Speaker. Worshipers of Torghan love their country, but the presence of”—he almost said laddad—“elves in Khur is seen by them as an affront to the nation and their god.”

The exchange between rulers, polite on its surface, went on, with the Speaker seeking assurances that no further attacks would be made on his people, while Sahim eluded any promises. Planchet used the time to study the inhabitants of the throne room, those he could see without turning his head. The most glaring absence was that of Sahim’s heir. Prince Shobbat had not been glimpsed in public for some time. It was rumored he was quite ill. The walls of the room were lined with a motley collection of Khurs, city folk and nomads. Nobles from Delphon and Kortal were identifiable by their distinctive fashions: flat-topped, conical hats on the Delphonians and the western-style attire worn by those from Kortal, a territory situated near the border with Neraka.

“Some of the miscreants have in fact confessed,” the Khan said, and Planchet’s attention snapped back to him. Given the sort of persuasion meted out in the Khan’s dungeon, his prisoners would confess to anything.

“To a man they insist the trouble began when elves paid for goods using debased coinage.”

The soft background chatter ceased throughout the hail. Sahim had just accused the elves of passing coins made of inferior mixtures of metal rather than pure steel, gold, silver, or copper. The Speaker’s slender brows drew together. Those who knew him well recognized the stirring of anger.

“I know nothing of this,” he said tersely.