gleaming walls were now accented with a riot of color. The
forty-foot-long blue velvet draperies at the narrow windows had
been accented with white satin, the walls were decorated with
crossed pennons and imitation battle-flags, and the columns and
buttresses were bandaged with scarlet silk. The place looked to
Sparhawk’s somewhat jaundiced eye like a country fair operated
by a profoundly color-blind entrepreneur.
‘Garish,’ Ulath observed, buffing the black ogre-horns on his
helmet with a piece of cloth.
‘Garish comes close,’ Sparhawk agreed. Sparhawk wore his
formal black armor and silver surcoat. The Tamul blacksmith
who had hammered out the dents and re-enameled the armor
had also anointed the inside of each intricately wrought section
and all the leather straps with crushed rose-petals in a kind of
subtle, unspoken criticism of the armor’s normal fragrance. The
resulting mixture of odors was peculiar.
‘How are we going to explain all the guards standing around
Ehlana and Sarabian?’ Ulath asked.
‘We don’t have to explain things, Ulath.’ Sparhawk shrugged.
‘We’re Elenes, and the rest of the world believes that we’re
barbarians with strange, ritualistic customs that nobody else
understands. I am not going to let my wife sit there unprotected
while she and Sarabian calmly advise the Tamul government
that it’s been dismantled.’
‘Good thinking.’ Ulath looked gravely at his friend.
‘Sephrenia’s being difficult, you know.’
‘We more or less expected that.’
‘She might have an easier time if she could sit next to Zalasta.
Sparhawk shook his head. ‘Zalasta’s an advisor to the government.
He’ll have to be on the main floor with the ministers.
Let’s keep Sephrenia off to one side. I’ll have Danae sit with
her.’
‘That might help. Your daughter’s presence seems to calm
Sephrenia. I wouldn’t seat Xanetia with them, though.’
“I hadn’t planned to.’
“Just making sure. Did Engessa get any kind of acknowledgement
of his signal? Are we absolutely sure his order got to
everybody?’
‘He is. I guess the Atans have used signal fires to pass orders
along for centuries.’
‘i’m just a bit doubtful about bonfires on hilltops as a way to
send messages, Sparhawk.’
‘That’s Engessa’s department. It won’t matter all that much if
word hadn’t reached a few backwaters by sunrise this morning.’
‘You’re probably right. I guess we’ve done all we can, then.
I just hope nothing goes wrong.’
‘What could go wrong?”
‘That’s the kind of thinking that fills graveyards, Sparhawk.
I’ll go tell them to lower the drawbridge. We might as well get
started.’
Stragen had carefully coached the dozen Tamul trumpeters
and the rest of his musicians, concluding the lesson with some
horrendous threats and an instructional visit to the carefully
re-created torture chamber in the basement. The musicians had
all piously sworn to play the proper notes and to forgo improvisation.
The fanfares which were to greet the arrival of each minister
of the imperial government had been Ehlana’s idea. Fanfares
are flattering; they elevate the ego, they lull the unwary into
traps. Ehlana was good at that sort of thing. The depths of her
political instincts sometimes amazed Sparhawk.
In keeping with the formality of the occasion, armored Church
Knights were stationed at evenly spaced intervals along the
walls. To the casual observer, the knights were no more than a
part of the decor of the throne-room. The casual observer, however,
would have been wrong. The motionless men in steel were
there to make absolutely certain that once the members of the
imperial government had entered the room, they would not
leave without permission, and the drawbridge, which was to be
raised as soon as all the guests had arrived, doubly ensured that
nobody would grow bored and wander off. Sarabian had
advised them that the ‘imperial Council of Tamuli’ had grown
over the centuries. At first, the council had consisted only of
the ministers. Then the ministers had included their secretaries;
then their undersecretaries. By now it had reached the point
where sub-sub-assistant temporary interim undersecretaries
were also included. The title ‘Member of the Imperial Council’
had become largely meaningless. The inclusion of such a mob,
however, ensured that every traitor inside the imperial compound
would be gathered under Ehlana’s battlements. The
Queen of Elenia was shrewd enough to use even her enemies’
egotism as a weapon against them.
‘Well?’ Ehlana asked nervously when her husband entered
the royal apartment. The Queen of Elenia wore a cream-colored
gown, trimmed with gold lace, and a dark blue, ermine-trimmed
velvet cloak. Her crown looked quite delicate, a kind
of lace cap made of hammered gold inset with bright-colored
gems. Despite its airy appearance, however, Sparhawk knew because
he had picked it up several times – that it was almost
as heavy as her state crown, which was locked in the royal vault
back in Cimmura.
‘They’re starting to drift across the drawbridge,’ he reported.
“Itagne’s greeting them. he knows everybody of any consequence
in the government, so he’ll know when our guests have
all arrived. As soon as everyone’s inside, the knights will raise
the drawbridge.’ He looked at Emperor Sarabian, who stood
near a window nervously chewing on one fingernail. “It’s not
going to be all that much longer, your Majesty,’ he said.
‘Shouldn’t you change clothes?’
‘The Tamul mantle was designed to cover a multitude of
defects, Prince Sparhawk, so it should cover my western clothes
and my rapier. I am not going in there unarmed.’
‘We’ll take care of you, Sarabian,’ Ehlana assured him.
‘i’d rather do it myself, mother.’ The Emperor suddenly
laughed nervously. ‘A bad joke, perhaps, but there’s a lot of
truth to it. You’ve raised me from political babyhood, Ehlana.
In that respect, you are my mother.’
‘if you ever call me “mommy”, I’ll never speak to you again,
your Majesty.’
‘i’d sooner bite out my tongue, your Majesty.’
‘What’s the customary procedure, your Majesty?’ Sparhawk
asked Sarabian as they stood peering round the edge of the
draped doorway into the rapidly filling throne-room.
‘As soon as everybody gets here, Subat will call the meeting
to order,’ Sarabian replied. ‘That’s when I enter – usually to the
sound of what passes for music here in Matherion.’
‘Stragen’s seen to it that your grand entrance will be truly
grand,’ Ehlana assured him. ‘He composed the fanfare himself.’
‘Are all Elene thieves artists?’ Sarabian asked. ‘Talen paints,
Stragen composes music, and Caalador’s a gifted actor.’
‘We do seem to attract talent, don’t we,’ Ehlana smiled.
‘Should I explain why there are so many of us on the dais?’
Sarabian asked, glancing at Mirtai and Engessa.
She shook her head. ‘Never explain. It’s a sign of weakness.
I’ll enter on your arm, and they’ll all grovel.’
“It’s called genuflectory prostration, Ehlana.’
‘Whatever.’ She shrugged. ‘When they get up again, we’ll be
sitting there with our guards around us. That’s when you take
over the meeting. Don’t even let Subat
get started. We’ve got
our own agenda today, and we don’t have time to listen to him
babble about the prospects for the wheat harvest on the plains
of Edam. How are you feeling?’
‘Nervous. I’ve never overthrown a government before.’
‘Neither have I, actually – unless you count what I did in the
Basilica when I appointed Dolmant to the Archprelacy.’
‘She didn’t actually do that, did she, Sparhawk?’
‘Oh yes, your Majesty – all by herself. She was superb.’
“Just keep talking, Sarabian,’ Ehlana told him. ‘if anyone tries
to interrupt, shout him down. Don’t even pretend to be polite.
This is our party. Don’t be conciliatory or reasonable. Be coldly
furious instead. Are you any good at oratory?’
‘Probably not. They don’t let me speak in public very often
except at the graduation ceremonies at the university.’
‘Speak slowly. You tend to talk too fast. Half of any good
oration lies in its cadence. Use pauses. Vary your volume from
a shout down to a whisper. Be dramatic. Give them a good
show.’
He laughed. ‘You’re a charlatan, Ehlana.
‘Naturally. That’s what politics is all about – fraud, deceit,
charlatanism. ‘
‘That’s dreadful!’
‘Of course. That’s why it’s so much fun.
The brazen fanfares echoed back from the vaulted ceiling as
each minister entered the throne-room, and they had the desired
effect. The ministers in their silken mantles all seemed slightly
awed by their own sublime importance, something many of
them had overlooked or forgotten. They moved to their places
with slow, stately pace, their expressions grave, even exalted.
Pondia Subat, the Prime Minister, seemed particularly
impressed with himself. He sat splendidly alone in a crimsonupholstered
chair to one side of the dais upon which the thrones
stood, looking imperially out at the other officials assembling in
the chairs lining both sides of the broad central aisle.
Chancellor of the Exchequer Gashon sat with Teovin, the
Director of the Secret Police, and several other ministers. There
seemed to be a great deal of whispering going on in the little
group.
‘That would probably be the opposition,’ Ehlana observed.
‘Teovin’s certainly involved, and the others are also most likely