and weapons, and the bloodied sword of his conqueror raised against a sunset
sky.
“And here we have the last King of Ilsig, pursued by Ataraxis the Great. . . .”
Crimson damask rustled stiffly as Coricidius the Vizier motioned towards the
mural that glowed on the ancient wall. He bowed to the Prince and his
companions. The other guests at the reception stood in a respectful half-circle
on the chequered marble of the floor.
Lalo the Limner, trailing self-consciously a few steps behind, squinted at the
painting and wondered if he had made the sky too lurid after all. What would
they think, these great lords of Ranke who had been sent by the Emperor to
evaluate Sanctuary’s preparations for the war?
Prince Kadakithis flushed with pleasure and peered more closely at the figure of
his ancestor. Coricidius fixed Lalo with an eye like a moulting eagle’s,
summoning him. His aged skin was pallid above the vehemence of his gown.
He should not wear that color, thought Lalo, suppressing an impulse to duck
behind one of the gilded pillars. Coricidius always affected him that way, and
he had almost refused the task of refurbishing the Presence Hall for this visit
because of it. But however discredited the Vizier might be in Ranke, in
Sanctuary his power was second only to that of the Prince-Governor (indeed, some
said that his influence counted for more).
“Remarkable-such freshness of line, such originality!” One of the Imperial
Commissioners bent to examine the brushwork, chins quivering with enthusiasm.
“My Lord Raximander, thank you. May I present the artist! Master Lalo is a