Domes of Fire

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 Alean 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 g*y 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 rail of the barge without so much as laying a hand on him.

‘Poor Berit,’ Sparhawk said sympathetically. ‘Stay close to him, Stragen. I don’t know for sure if he can swim. Be ready to rescue him if he jumps into the moat.’

After the emperor had been given the grand tour, the banquet began. Sparhawk had judiciously spaced out the knights among the diners. The knights were not really very interesting dinner companions, since they all concentrated almost exclusively on the candles and the lanterns. ‘God help us if a wind comes up,’ Kalten muttered to Sparhawk.

‘Truly,’ Sparhawk agreed fervently. ‘Ah – Kalten, old friend.’

‘Yes?’

‘You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on the candles, not the front of the Empress Elysoun’s gown.’

‘What front?’

‘Don’t be vulgar, and remember what you’re supposed to be doing here.’

‘How are we going to herd this flock of over-dressed sheep inside when that bell rings?’ Kalten shifted uncomfortably. His green satin doublet was buttoned very tightly across his stomach.

‘If we’ve timed it right, the feasters will be finishing up the main course at just about the same time as our friends out in the city start distributing the weapons. When that bell rings, Ehlana’s going to invite all the revellers into the castle dining-room where the dessert course is set upon more tables.’