L. Modesitt - Mage-Guard of Hamor

Finally, he looked out the coach window, taking in the neatly fenced and bordered fields to the west, and the orchards to the east, stretching down toward the river, almost a kay away from the road. Before all that long, as the twilight began to darken into evening, the fields and olive and fruit trees gave way to small dwellings with garden plots around them. Unlike the buildings in the center of Cigoerne, the houses and cots were of brick, but the roofs were of red tile, if more faded than that Rahl had seen in other places. He didn't think that was because of the dimming light, either.

Despite the growing darkness, Rahl could see the Imperial Palace ahead, dominating the city from its position on the low hill in the center of Cigoerne. The gentle slopes-holding gardens and lawn-that rose from the white walls encircling the grounds were too regular on all sides for it to have been anything other than created for just that effect.

The gateway on the east side of the Imperial Palace, as well as the Palace itself, was lit with lamps seemingly hung everywhere, and behind each was a polished reflector. Several coaches-one of them a gleaming silver-preceded the one holding Taryl and Rahl through the outer gate and up the slight incline of the drive paved in white stone toward the Palace proper. The white stone of the Emperor's gate-and the receiving rotunda-shimmered in the light.

In time, their coach came to a halt, and a crimson-clad footman opened the coach door. "Welcome to the Palace."

"Thank you." Taryl nodded, and so did Rahl.

They walked along a pillared and covered walkway to a wide archway whose gilded double doors were drawn open. Inside was a vaulted entry hall that soared upward into one of the three domes of the Palace. The polished-marble floor was of pale rose, as were the fluted columns. The entire inside of the dome was comprised of pale rose triangles, the vertices alternating up and down, against a white background. Rahl looked again. Some of the triangles were windows of milky rose glass.

The sound of Rahl's boots was lost in the vastness of the circular entry hall-a good fifty cubits across, and more than that to the top of the dome.

Taryl turned to the left in the middle of the hall toward a series of columns framing a hallway with a wide crimson carpet runner. Stationed at intervals along the hallway were guards in crimson-and-gold uniforms. Ahead was another circular hall foyer, but one less than twenty cubits across, where several couples waited to enter through a set of doors to the right.

Taryl and Rahl stopped at the end of the short line.

"This is the Grand Parlor," Taryl murmured.

Ahead were a man wearing a dress uniform of black and khaki, with a crimson stripe down the outside of each trouser leg. The woman wore a black-and-silver gown, with the sheerest black-shimersilk sleeves and a silver scarf. As the couple stepped through the archway into the chamber beyond, a sonorous voice announced, "Land Marshal Valatyr and his consort Chelyna."

Taryl stepped forward, and so did Rahl. After a moment, Taryl nodded to Rahl.

"Mage-Guard Overcommander of Merowey Taryl. Mage-Guard and attache to the Overcommander Rahl," announced the crimson-clad functionary.

Inside the Grand Parlor, Rahl could see close to twoscore individuals, and it felt as though about half had turned to look at him. He kept smiling, and managed to keep his personal shields strong, as he accompanied Taryl.

Music filled the room, a lush melody of mixed instruments, without a sense of discord. Rahl's eyes traveled to the far end of the Grand Parlor, where he could see a half score of players, including violins, a large floor viol, and two sets of hammered harps, as well as several horns and a flute. The melody was soft, and not intrusive, yet held a harmony.

"The Emperor doesn't like receiving lines," said Taryl quietly. "He tends to wait until everyone is here before he appears. I see Klassyn and Serita over to the right. Since they're the only ones you officially know, except for Marshal Byrna, you should begin by paying your respects. Then, in time, someone will offer you something to drink. Try not to have to sneeze."

Rahl couldn't help smiling. "I'll just set it down somewhere and forget it, if it comes to that."

"Servers will appear with various dainties. Eat what appeals to you because that will be dinner, but eat judiciously."

Rahl nodded. Although Taryl had said all that earlier, Rahl didn't mind the reminder.

Taryl moved toward Marshal Byrna, while Rahl made his way toward Serita and Klassyn, both of whom wore mage-guard dress uniforms-with one addition. They wore gold-braided epaulet cords on their left shoulders. Each held a crystal goblet.

"Good evening," offered Rahl, inclining his head to Serita, then to Klassyn.

"Good evening to you, Rahl," she replied.

"It is a very good evening," added Klassyn, "and good to see you here. You actually look as though you belong."

"One can look as though he belongs when he's properly invited," replied Rahl. "I've found that it's usually discomfort that makes one look out of place." He smiled politely, glad that he'd thought ahead somewhat. He continued to project friendliness. "Still, I imagine it took some time for you to get used to working and living in the Palace. It's quite a change from even the largest of mage-guard stations."

"Oh, not so much a change for Klassyn," said Serita. "His family owns rather a great deal of land in the northwest. Somewhat isolated, I understand, but quite grand."

"And for you?" inquired Rahl. "You seem equally at home."

"We were comfortable."

"More than that," added Klassyn cheerfully.

Rahl could sense a certain coolness beneath the facade.

"Compared to your family, Klassyn, comfortable is appropriate."

"I won't dispute you, not tonight. What about you, Rahl?"

"All Recluce is modest, compared to Hamor, and my background more so than most."

"One would never guess it. You speak and comport yourself like a well-educated Atlan or Nubyatan."

"I suspect that's in my favor," Rahl replied.

Serita laughed softly. "You must have something to drink." She raised a hand, and a server seemed to appear from nowhere.

"Ser, might I get you some refreshment?"

"A pale lager, please."

The server slipped away.

"No leshak or brandy?" asked Klassyn. "The Emperor's leshak is not to be believed."

"And probably what it does to those who are unprepared to drink it is also not to be believed," Rahl said genially.

The server turned and offered Rahl a crystal beaker from a small tray.

Rahl let his order-senses check the lager, but it felt untainted, and he took the smallest sip. "The Emperor's lager is also quite good."

"As it should be," said Klassyn.

Another crimson-clad server slipped up next to the three, proffering a tray on which rested small pastry octagons. Rahl waited for Serita to take one before helping himself.

Klassyn ignored the server, instead continuing, "I understand you're going off to be a hero. As one of the old poets-Remyl, it was, said,

How brave are they who sleep in earth who blessed in death their land of birth.

"Although," he added, "Hamor is not actually your land of birth."

Rahl smiled politely. "I'm afraid I'm not that kind of hero. I think such words reflect another time. Today,

The song is strained, the notes are cold, the strings will break with words so old…"

Serita laughed.

"Some think times change, but they don't," Klassyn replied. "As the ancient Cyadoran wrote, and the new becomes the old, with the way the story's told."

"That's a good point," Rahl conceded.

"Precisely. We all think that we and our times are different, but all situations result from people, and people don't change from generation to generation." Klassyn offered a superior smile.