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
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.”
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 facades 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.”
