straightened up in his saddle and saluted, grinning through his beard.
He wasn’t smiling when the Mageguild’s ponderous doors enfolded them, and three
junior functionaries escorted them to the “changing rooms” within the outer wall
where they were expected to strip and hand over their armaments to the
solicitously smirking mages-in-training before donning preferred “fete-clothes”
(gray silk chitons and summer sandals) the wizards had thoughtfully provided.
Askelon wasn’t taking any chances, Tempus thought but did not say, though Janni
wondered aloud what use there was in checking their paltry swords and daggers
when enchanters could not be made to check their spells.
Inside the Mageguild’s outer walls, it was summer. In its gardens-transformed
from their usual dank fetidness by artful conjure into a wonderland of orchids
and eucalyptus and willows weeping where before moss-hung swamp-giants had held
sway over quickmires-Tempus saw Kadakithis, resolutely imperious in a black robe
oversewn with gems into a map of Ranke-caught-in-the-web-of-the-world. The
prince/governor’s pregnant wife, a red gift-gown splendid over her child-belly,
leaned heavily on his arm. Kitty cat’s approving glance was laced with
commiseration: yes, he, too, found it hard to smile here, but both of them knew
it prudent to observe the forms, especially with wizards….
Tempus nodded and walked away.
Then he saw her, holding Lastel’s hand, to which the prosthetic thumb of his
disguise was firmly attached. A signal bade Janni await him; he did not have to