The throne room was misnamed, in that the king was in the process of shifting the royal seat of power to the Eternal Domicile, now that the leaks in its lofty roof had been corrected. A few trappings remained, including the ancient rug approaching the dais, and the stylized gateway arching over the place where the throne had once stood.
When Brys arrived, only his old commander, Preda Unnutal Hebaz, was present. As always, a dominating figure, no matter how exalted her surroundings. She stood taller than most women, nearly Brys’s own height. Fair- skinned, with a burnished cast to her blonde hair yet eyes of a dark hazel, she turned to face him at his approach. In her fortieth year, she was none the less possessed of extraordinary beauty that the weather lines only enhanced.
‘Finadd Beddict, you are late.’
‘Impromptu audiences with the First Eunuch and the Ceda-’
‘We have but a few moments,’ she interrupted. ‘Take your place along the wall, as would a guard. They might recognize you, or they might assume you are but one of my underlings, especially given the poor light now that the sconces have been taken down. Either way, you are to stand at attention and say nothing.’
Frowning, Brys strode to his old guard’s niche, turned about to face the chamber, then edged back into the shadows until hard stone pressed against his shoulders. He saw the Preda studying him for a moment, then she nodded and swung to face the doorway at the far corner of the wall behind the dais.
The door slammed open to the gauntleted hand of a Prince’s Guardsman, and the helmed, armoured figure of that man strode warily into the chamber. His sword was still in its scabbard, but Brys knew that Moroch Nevath could draw it in a single beat of a heart. He knew, also, that Moroch had been the prince’s own candidate for King’s Champion.
The Prince’s Guard studied the chamber, fixing here and there on shadowed recesses, including the one wherein Brys stood – but it was a momentary thing, seeming only to acknowledge the presence of one of the Preda’s guards – and Moroch finally settled his attention on Unnutal Hebaz.
A single nod of acknowledgement, then Moroch stepped to one side.
Prince Quillas Diskanar entered. Behind him came Chancellor Triban Gnol. Then, two figures that made Brys start. Queen Janall and her First Consort, Turudal Brizad.
Quillas bared his teeth at Unnutal Hebaz as would a dog at the end of his chain. ‘You have released Finadd Gerun Eberict to Nifadas’s entourage. I want him taken back, Preda. Choose someone else.’
Unnutal’s tone was calm. ‘Gerun Eberict’s competence is above reproach, Prince Quillas. I am informed that the First Eunuch is pleased with the selection.’
Chancellor Triban Gnol spoke in an equally reasonable voice, ‘Your prince believes otherwise, Preda. It behoves you to accord that opinion due respect.’
‘The prince’s beliefs are his own concern. I am charged by his father, the king, in this matter. Regarding what I do and do not respect, Chancellor, I strongly suggest you retract your challenge.’
Moroch Nevath growled and stepped forward.
The Preda’s hand snapped out – not to the Prince’s Guardsman, but towards the niche where Brys stood, halting him a half-stride from his position. The sword was already in his hand, and its freeing from the scabbard had been as silent as it had been fast.
Moroch’s gaze flashed to Brys, the startled expression giving way to recognition. The man’s own sword was but halfway out of its scabbard.
A dry chuckle from the queen. ‘Ah, the Preda’s decision for but one guard is… explained. Step forward, if you please, Champion.’
‘That will not be necessary,’ Unnutal said.
Brys nodded and slowly stepped back, sheathing his sword as he did so.
Queen Janall’s brows rose at the Preda’s brusque countermand. ‘Dear Unnutal Hebaz, you rise far above your station.’
‘The presumption is not mine, Queen. The Royal Guard answer to the king and no-one else.’
‘Well, forgive me if I delight in challenging that antiquated conceit.’ Janall fluttered one thin hand. ‘Strengths are ever at risk of becoming weaknesses.’ She stepped close to her son. ‘Heed your mother’s advice, Quillas. It was folly to cut at the Preda’s pedestal, for it has not yet turned to sand. Patience, beloved one.’
The Chancellor sighed. ‘The queen’s advice-’
‘Is
Bodyguard trailing, the prince strode from the chamber.
The queen’s smile was tender as she said, ‘Preda Unnutal Hebaz, we beg your forgiveness. This meeting was not of our choice, but my son insisted. From the moment our procession began, the Chancellor and I both sought to dissuade him.’
‘To no avail,’ the Chancellor said, sighing once more.
The Preda’s expression did not change. ‘Are we done?’
Queen Janall wagged a single finger in mute warning, then gestured to her First Consort, slipping her arm through his as they left.
Triban Gnol remained a moment longer. ‘My congratulations, Preda,’ he said. ‘Finadd Gerun Eberict was an exquisite choice.’
Unnutal Hebaz said nothing.
Five heartbeats later and she and Brys were alone in the chamber.
The Preda turned. ‘Your speed, Champion, never fails to take my breath away. I did not hear you, only… anticipated. Had I not, Moroch would now be dead.’
‘Possibly, Preda. If only because he had dismissed my presence.’
‘And Quillas would have only himself to blame.’
Brys said nothing.
‘I should not have halted you.’
He watched her leave.
Recalling that the Ceda wanted him, Brys swung about and strode from the chamber.
Leaving behind no blood.
And he knew that Kuru Qan would hear the relief in his every step.
The Ceda had been waiting outside his door, seemingly intent on practising a dance step, when Brys arrived.
‘A few fraught moments?’ Kuru Qan asked without looking up. ‘Unimportant. For now. Come.’
Fifty paces on, down stone steps, along dusty corridors, and Brys guessed at their destination. He felt his heart sinking. A place he had heard of, but one he had yet to visit. It seemed the King’s Champion was permitted to walk where a lowly Finadd was not. This time, however, the privilege was suspect.
They came to a pair of massive copper-sheathed doors. Green and rumpled with moss, they were bare of markings and showed no locking mechanism. The Ceda leaned on them and they parted with a grinding squeal.
Beyond rose narrow steps, leading to a walkway suspended knee-high above the floor by chains that reached down from the ceiling. The room was circular, and in the floor were set luminous tiles forming a spiral. The walkway ended at a platform in the chamber’s centre.
‘Trepidation, Finadd? Well deserved.’ Gesturing, Kuru Qan led Brys onto the walkway.
It swayed alarmingly.
‘The striving for balance is made manifest,’ the Ceda said, arms held out to the sides. ‘One’s steps must needs find the proper rhythm. Important, and difficult for all that there are two of us. No, do not look down upon the tiles – we are not yet ready. To the platform first. Here we are. Stand at my side, Finadd. Look with me upon the first tile of the spiral. What do you see?’
