ringed the colors with sprays of rainbows. Golden banners hung from the vaulted white marble ceiling; most were plain and unadorned, but three bore battle flags sewn onto them, representing Semma, Ophkar, and Ksinallion.
Three broad steps, alternating black and white marble, led up to the black marble dais, and above its center Vond floated comfortably in mid-air; he had not yet bothered with a throne.
That much was familiar. What was new to Sterren was the group of young women who stood at the foot of the dais.
He counted twelve of them, all young and all uncommonly attractive. Their garb varied from simple peasant homespun to the rich velvets and silks of the conquered nobility; their expressions varied from uncertainty to bold defiance. None of them were so much as whispering; the only sound was the rustle of their clothing.
“What’s going on?” Sterren asked, breaking the silence.
“I’m choosing a harem,” Vond replied.
Startled, Sterren took another look at the women. “I’ve had my eye out for the last sixnight or so,” the warlock explained, “and I’d noticed these young ladies as promising prospects, so when I had a moment, I brought them here to look over.” He smiled wolfishly.
“Do they know what’s going on?” Sterren asked, seeing confusion and fear on several faces.
Vond shrugged. “I told them, but I don’t know if they understood.”
“May I speak with them?” Sterren asked.
“Be my guest,” Vond said with a wave.
“Ladies,” Sterren said, in Semmat, “I am Sterren, Ninth Warlord of Semma.” He did not know a Semmat equivalent for “chancellor,” if one existed at all, and he was not yet comfortable with the title in any case. “Do you know why you are here?”
His reply was a babble of voices; he raised his hands for silence.
It took a moment, but the women quieted. Sterren pointed to one. “You; who are you?”
The chosen one looked back at him blankly. “Ksinal-Uoni,” she said, with an odd accent.
Sterren picked another. “Do you speak Semmat?”
This one nodded.
“Who are you?” Sterren asked.
“Kyrina the Fair,” she replied, “Daughter to Kardig Trak’s son and Rulura of the Green Eyes.”
Sterren could easily understand how she got her epithet. She wore a simple green tunic and a brown peasant’s skirt, but even so, she was easily more beautiful than the most elaborately attired noblewoman Sterren had ever seen in Semma.
“You live near here?” he asked. “In the village,” she said, gesturing vaguely in the general direction of Semma Castle.
“Do you know why you are here?”
She shook her head, which sent a ripple through her long, gleaming black hair and wafted perfume in Sterren’s direction. “No, my lord.”
“How did you come here?”
She glanced at Vond and at the other women, clearly not eager to act as spokeswoman. Nobody volunteered to take her place, and after an instant’s further hesitation she explained, “Perhaps an hour ago, something like a great wind, yet not a wind, snatched me up and brought me here. I found myself in a great hall, where I could move freely, but where all the doors but one were closed and barred, and the one open door was guarded by men who would not let me leave. Another woman was there, as well, and then these others were swept in, as I was, one by one; and when we were all there, the guards led us here, using their spears to keep us together.”
Sterren nodded his understanding.
“This is the Great Vond,” he said, gesturing toward the warlock. “You all probably guessed that.”
Several women nodded.
“You all know he now rules this land?”
Seven women, by Sterren’s count, nodded. He guessed the other five spoke no Semmat.
“You know he is a warlock, a magician?”
More nods.
“He is also a man. He has brought you twelve here to choose women to...” Sterren paused, wishing he knew more Semmat; he could think of a hundred delicate ways to phrase this in Ethsharitic. “To warm his bed,” he said at last.
That elicited not nods, but startlement, anger, fear, and at least one crimson blush.
Vond was watching all this, and, Sterren saw worriedly, looking bored.
“Sterren,” he said, “I take it you’ve just explained why I brought them here.”
Sterren nodded.
“Tell them,” Vond said, “that any who wish to leave are free to go, but that those who stay, and who please me, will be richly rewarded.”
Hesitantly, Sterren translated this speech into Semmat as best he could.
The seven who understood looked at one another, clearly considering the offer. Kyrina looked at the warlock carefully for a long moment, then turned and strode for the exit.
Vond waved a hand, and the great double doors swung wide to let her pass.
Another woman, a noblewoman this time, hesitantly followed her.
One of the five who did not understand Semmat seemed to catch on, and literally ran out the door.
Others followed, each after her own fashion, until five remained, three of whom spoke Semmat. The five eyed each other warily.
Sterren watched them, puzzled. Why had these five stayed? None of them was starving; in fact, two of the five were dressed very well indeed. They should not be so desperate as to choose slavery; and surely concubinage, in this case, was a form of slavery.
Perhaps, he thought, they didn’t trust Vond to keep his word and feared he would take revenge upon them if they left. Certainly, all five looked somewhat nervous.
Or perhaps they didn’t see it the way he did. They might see sharing Vond’s bed as a route to power and wealth. If that was it, Sterren was sure they were wrong.
Or perhaps it was just curiosity or a sexual interest in the warlock. Sterren hadn’t really given the matter much thought, but he supposed Vond was attractive enough, and there were always stories about magicians. For himself, Sterren could see no reason a knowledge of arcane skills should imply a knowledge of erotic skills, but there were always stories.
Most likely, he thought, it was a combination of all of these that kept the five of them in the audience chamber. He found that unappealing and decided he did not care to watch any further. He started to turn away.
“Sterren,” Vond said, “I need you to translate!”
He had forgotten that. He turned back, reluctantly. “Couldn’t one of your servants do that?”
“You’re here; they aren’t. Besides, you speak Ethsharitic better than any of them.”
Sterren had to admit that this was true.
“Let’s start with their names,” the warlock said, waving a hand at the women.
Sterren did the best he could, given that only three of the women spoke Semmat; a fourth spoke Ophkaritic, the fifth Ksinallionese. One of the Semman women knew a few words of Ksinallionese, and the Ksinallionese spoke Ophkaritic, so that nobody was totally cut off.
And of course, gestures and facial expressions conveyed plenty of information as well.
After half an hour or so, Vond chose the Ksinallionese to take a stroll with him and become better acquainted, and Sterren escaped with a sigh of relief, while one of the palace servants, summoned by Vond’s magic, escorted the other four to the apartments they were henceforth to share.
Sterren made his way out the citadel’s main gate and looked down Vond’s artificial hill at the surrounding countryside. The land had turned green with spring, and the peasants were out in the fields, tending their crops. The sky was a radiant crystal blue, with a handful of soft white clouds sailing like white-robed wizards across it.
A party of a dozen or so men was marching up the road toward the gate. Four of them were Vond’s red-
