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looked magnificent in his armour of polished iron. Unadorned it gleamed like silver. Skanda laughed and gestured towards one of the wrestling bouts. Dagorian’s eyes did not follow where the king pointed. His gaze remained fixed on Skanda’s profile. The king was a handsome man, his golden hair, streaked now with silver, shone in the sunlight like a lion’s mane. This was the man who had conquered most of the world. Beside the powerful figure of Skanda the Ventrian prince Malikada seemed almost frail. Both men were laughing now.
Two rows behind the king sat the pregnant queen, Axiana. Serene and exquisitely beautiful she seemed to have no interest in the proceedings. The daughter of the Ventrian emperor deposed by Skanda she had been taken in marriage to cement Skanda’s claim to the throne. Dagorian wondered if the king loved her. A ridiculous thought, he chided himself. Who could not love Axiana? Dressed in white, her dark hair braided with silver thread, she was – despite the advanced state of her pregnancy – an arresting vision of beauty. Her gaze suddenly turned to Dagorian, and he looked away, guiltily.
The smell of roasting meats drifted out from the huge tent behind the pavilion. Soon the tourneys would be suspended for an hour for the nobles to eat and drink. Dagorian moved back to check the guards around the tent. Sixty spearmen were waiting there. They stood to attention as the young officer approached. ‘Take your places,’ he commanded. All but four of the men filed out around the tent. Dagorian led the last group to the entrance behind the pavilion.
‘Tie your chin strap,’ he ordered one of the men.
‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’ Passing his spear to a comrade the man hastily tied the thongs.
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‘Remain silent and at attention until the last of the guests return to the pavilion. You are the King’s Guards. Your discipline is legendary.’
‘Yes, sir!’ they chorused.
Dagorian stepped into the tent. Food tables had been set all around the huge enclosure, and a score of servants waited, bearing trays on which goblets of wine had been set. Dagorian gestured the servants forward, and they moved in two lines to flank the entrance. Trumpets sounded from the Park. Dagorian moved behind the first line of servants and waited. Within moments the king and queen entered, followed by Skanda’s generals and nobles.
Immediately the silent tension within the tent disappeared, as wine was served and the guests made their way to the food tables. Dagorian relaxed, and allowed himself to gaze on the wonder that was Axiana. Her eyes were dark blue, the colour of a sunset sky, just after the sun had fallen. They are sad eyes, he thought. In his young life Dagorian had never given much thought to the status of women, but now he wondered just how the queen had felt when ordered to marry the man who took her father’s empire. Had she and her father been close? Had she sat upon his knee as a child and tugged his long beard. Had he doted upon her? Pushing such thoughts from his mind Dagorian was about to leave when a young Ventrian officer approached him. The man gave a slight, almost contemptuous, bow. ‘The Prince Malikada would like a word with you, sir,’ said the man.
Dagorian eased his way to where Malikada waited. The Ventrian prince was dressed in a black tunic, embroidered with a silver hawk at the shoulder, and his beard was now braided with silver wire to match it. He gave a friendly smile as Dagorian approached and
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extended his hand. His grip was firm and dry. ‘You were Banelion’s aide, and I understand you accomplished your tasks with dedication and efficiency.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘I have my own aide, Dagorian, but I wanted you to know that I appreciate your talents, and that I will bear you in mind for promotion when a suitable position arises.’
Dagorian bowed, and was about to step away when the prince spoke again. ‘You were fond of Banelion?’
‘Fond, sir? He was my general,’ replied Dagorian, carefully. ‘I respected him for his great talents.’
‘Yes, of course. In his time he was a formidable foe. But now he is old and spent. Will you serve me with the same dedication?’