David Eddings - Domes of Fire

‘He’s beginning to feel more than a little offended, Sparhawk,’ Vanion said soberly as the two of them watched Khalad’s workmen ‘decorating’ the vast gates of the imperial compound. ‘He’s not stupid, and he knows that we’re not telling him everything.’

‘It can’t be helped, Vanion. He’s just too erratic to be let in on all the details.’

‘Mercurial might be a more diplomatic term.’

‘Whatever. We don’t really know him all that well, Vanion, and we’re operating in an alien society. For all we know, he keeps a diary and writes everything down. That could be a Tamul custom. It’s entirely possible that our whole plan could be available to the chambermaid who makes up his bed every morning.’

‘You’re speculating, Sparhawk.’

‘These ambushes out in the countryside weren’t speculation. ‘

‘Surely you don’t suspect the emperor.’

‘Somebody passed the word of our expeditions along to our enemy, Vanion. We can apologise to the emperor after this evening’s entertainment is concluded.’

‘Oh, that’s just too obvious, Sparhawk!’ Vanion burst out, pointing at the heavy steel lattice Khalad’s workmen were installing on the inside of the gates.

‘It won’t be visible when they open the gates all the way, Vanion, and Khalad’s going to hang bunting on the lattice to conceal it. Did Sephrenia have any luck when she tried to contact Zalasta?’

‘No. He must still be too far away.’

‘I’d be a lot more comfortable if he were here. If the Troll-Gods put in an appearance tonight, we could be in very serious trouble.’

‘Aphrael can deal with them.’

‘Not without revealing her true identity, she can’t, and if that comes out, my wife’s going to find out some things I’d rather she didn’t know. I’m not so fond of Sarabian that I’m willing to risk Ehlana’s sanity just to keep him on his throne.’

The sun crept slowly down the western sky, moving closer and closer to the horizon. Although he knew it to be an absurdity, it seemed to Sparhawk that the blazing orb was plummeting to earth like a shooting star. There were so many details—so many things that had yet to be done. Worse yet, many of those tasks could not even be commenced until after the sun went down and gathering darkness concealed them from the hundreds of eyes that were certainly out there watching.

It was early evening when Kalten finally came to the royal apartment to announce that they had gone as far as they could go until after dark. Sparhawk was relieved to know that at least that much had been completed on time.

‘Was the minister of the interior at all forthcoming?’ Ehlana asked from her chair near the window, where Alcan and Melidere were involved in the extended process known as doing her hair.

‘Oh, yes, your Majesty,’ Kalten replied with a broad grin. ‘He seems even more eager to talk than your cousin Lycheas was. Ulath can be very persuasive at times. Kolata seemed to be particularly upset by the leeches.’

‘Leeches?’

Kalten nodded. ‘It was right after Ulath offered to stuff him head-down into a barrelful of leeches that Kolata developed this burning desire to share things with us.’

‘Dear God!’ the queen shuddered.

It was the general opinion of all the guests present that evening that the Queen of Elenia’s party was absolutely the crowning event of the season. The lanterns illuminating the mother-of-pearl battlements were spectacular, the gay buntings—several thousand yards of very expensive silk—were festive, and the orchestra on the battlements, playing traditional Elene airs rather than the discordant cacophony that passed for music in Sarabian’s court, lent a pleasantly archaic quality to the entire occasion.

It was the barges moored in the moat, however, that drew the most astonished comment. The idea of dining out of doors had never occurred to the Tamuls, and the notion of floating dining-rooms ablaze with candle-light and draped with brightly-coloured silk bunting was quite beyond the imagination of the average member of the emperor’s court. The candles caused the knights no end of concern. The thought of open flame so close to the hidden cargo of the barges was sufficient to make strong men turn pale.

Since the party was taking place around the Elene castle, and the hostess was herself an Elene, the ladies of the Emperor’s court had quite nearly exhausted the creative talents of every dressmaker in Matherion in their efforts to ‘dress Elene.’ The results were not uniformly felicitous, however, since the dressmakers of Matherion were obliged to rely on books for inspiration, and many of the books in the library of the university were several hundred years old and the gowns depicted on their pages were terribly out of fashion.

Ehlana and Melidere were in fashion, however, and they were the absolute centre of attention. Ehlana’s gown was of regal blue, and she wore a diamond and ruby-studded tiara nestled in her pale-blonde hair. Melidere was gowned in lavender. It seemed to be her favourite colour.

Mirtai was defiantly not in fashion. She wore the blue sleeveless gown she had worn at her owner’s wedding, and this time, she was visibly armed. Rather surprisingly, Sephrenia also wore an Elene gown—of snowy white, naturally—and Vanion was obviously smitten by her all over again. The knights of the queen’s escort wore doublets and hose, much against Sparhawk’s better judgement. Their armour, however, was close at hand.

After the members of the imperial court had made their appearance and had begun to circulate on the barges, there was a pause, and then a brazen Elene fanfare.

‘I had to offer violence to the musicians to get them to greet the emperor properly,’ the elegantly garbed Stragen muttered to Sparhawk.

‘Oh?’

‘They were very insistent that the emperor should be greeted by that dreadful noise they call music around here. They became much more co-operative after I sliced the smock off one of the trumpeters with my rapier.’ Stragen’s eyes suddenly widened. ‘For God’s sake, man!’ he hissed at a servant placing a large platter of steaming beef on one of the tables, ‘be careful of those candles!’

‘He’s a Tamul, Stragen,’ Sparhawk pointed out when the servant gave the Thalesian a blank stare. ‘You’re trying to talk to him in Elenic.’

‘Make him be careful, Sparhawk! A single tongue of fire in the wrong place on any of these barges could broil us all alive!’

Then the emperor and his nine wives appeared on the drawbridge and came down the carpeted steps to the first barge. Everyone bowed to the emperor, but no one looked at him. All eyes were locked on the radiantly smiling Empress Elysoun of Valesia.

She had modified the customary Elene costume to accommodate her cultural tastes. Her scarlet gown was really quite lovely, but it had been altered so that those attributes Elene ladies customarily concealed and Valesian ladies flaunted were nestled on two frilly cushions of snowy lace and were thus entirely, even aggressively, in full view.

‘Now that is what you might call a fashion statement,’ Stragen murmured.

‘That it is, my friend,’ Sparhawk chuckled, adjusting the collar of his black velvet doublet, ‘and everybody’s listening to her. Poor Emban appears to be quite nearly on the verge of apoplexy.’

In a kind of formal little ceremony, Queen Ehlana escorted Sarabian and his empresses across the bridges that stepped from barge to barge. The Empress Elysoun was obviously looking for someone, and when she saw Berit standing off to one side on the second barge, she altered course and bore down upon him with all sails set—figuratively speaking, of course. Sir Berit looked at first apprehensive, then desperate, as Elysoun more or less pinned him to the tail of the barge without so much as laying a hand on him.