Storm Warning

'Oh, I speak your tongue well enough to know that you mean no harm, but you ought to learn to mind your manners, young lad,' Ulrich said in a casual tone. 'With so many foreigners coming to your Queen, you should learn never to assume they are ignorant of your language, and guard your tongue accordingly.'

The Guard whirled, turning as pale as the bleached stone of the wall, and started to stammer an apology.

But Rubrik interrupted him, turning in his saddle to look fully at Ulrich. 'Well, my Lord Priest? It was you who he insulted by his cavalier manner, so I leave it to you to decide how many weeks he is suspended.'

He spoke in his own tongue so that there could be no misunderstanding by the Guard. Ulrich pondered the question for a moment and answered in the same language. 'I believe you should report him—but do not repeat his exact words,' the Priest said, very carefully. 'Say only that he was not—ah—professional, and that he acted that way on the assumption that we did not know your language. He means no harm, I think, but such behavior could be construed as an insult. In fact, I believe that the best punishment to recommend would be that he must learn the rudiments of our tongue!'

Rubrik looked down at the trembling Guard, who Karal now saw was certainly no older than he was. 'You heard him, Adem. You'll be on report in the morning, and they'll probably put you on stable duty for a fortnight, but that's less than you deserve. You represent the Queen at this post, whether or not it's the dead of night and you never see anyone, and you had better remember that.'

The Guard saluted smartly, and pushed the gate open for them, standing aside and keeping his eyes straight ahead. 'Yes, sir!' he said, his voice still shaky, but relief obvious in his eyes. 'Absolutely, sir!'

Rubrik went through the gate first, followed by Ulrich. The Guard looked up as the Priest passed.

'Thank you, sir,' he said, very softly.

Ulrich nodded, and allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his lips as he nudged Honeybee through the gate.

Karal followed, and the Guard closed and locked the gate behind them with a creak of iron hinges and the clatter of a key in a massive lock. Ahead of them was a long, stone-surfaced path that led to the enormous building Karal had glimpsed above the wall. This structure was illuminated on the outside by carefully placed lanterns.

Very carefully placed lanterns—guards on patrol would be able to see every corner of the outside, there would be no place to hide. And they don't blend in with the exterior—I wonder if the Queen has had some unpleasant visitors in the recent past?

It was apparent now that the area enclosed by the wall was far larger than he had supposed. It was huge, in fact—it looked even bigger than the city itself. There even seemed to be a forest of some kind off to the left—

But it was to the right that his attention was drawn, to the multistoried, gray stone building there, and the group of people coming up the path to meet them.

At least four of these were servants, but there were two men dressed in rich clothing, and two more in the white uniforms that Karal now knew meant they were Heralds.

Rubrik turned to Ulrich as the group approached. 'Thank you for your understanding, sir. Young Adem is well- intentioned, and as you surmised he meant no harm, but he's also known me since he was a babe, and he's highborn and inclined to be very cavalier about rank. He volunteered for the Guards, but I'm afraid he still thinks things like sentry duty are something of a joke.'

Ulrich shrugged, but Karal could tell that he wasn't displeased. 'Well, really, one can afford to be cavalier about rank when one has it, true? If he's going to be mucking out stables for a fortnight, I think that's likely to teach him all he needs to learn from this little experience.'

Rubrik nodded, and the Companion tossed his head and uttered what sounded a lot like a laugh. 'I'll be leaving you here, sir. It has been a pleasure escorting you. I hope we will be able to meet socially in the future.'

'I have enjoyed your company, and I shall make a point of meeting you when leisure permits,' Ulrich said with emphasis, then turned toward the group approaching them.

Rubrik straightened in his saddle as best he could; the group stopped just beyond his Companion's nose. Karal noted that he didn't dismount, and neither did Ulrich—but it didn't appear that anyone expected them to. 'My Lord Priest Ulrich, Envoy of Her Holiness of Karse, Son of the Sun Solaris, the Prophet of Vkandis, may I present to you Lord Palinor, Seneschal of Valdemar and the Seneschal's Herald, Kyril—'

The two older men bowed; the Seneschal was marginally younger than his Herald, a trifle taller, and a bit less in shape. And every bit the diplomat. In body type he was neither thin nor fat, nor was he either exceptionally handsome or ugly. The grandeur of his robes made up for his otherwise unremarkable exterior. The Herald, on the other side, was as memorable a person as Karal had ever seen—from his erect carriage to his iron-gray hair, his chiseled features to his direct way of gazing straight into the eyes of the person he spoke to. Karal did not think too many people ever had the temerity to lie to this man.

'I am gratified that you meet me in person, my lords,' Ulrich said, his own demeanor as professional and