The Complete Krondor’s Sons 2-Book Collection. Raymond E. Feist

them a wanton people, but to them this is normal. To them, we must appear … I don’t know how we must appear.’

      Motioning Erland to come with him, the Earl led the young man into a large hallway, where Locklear and Gamina were speaking. As they entered the hall, Gamina’s mind spoke to Erland: Erland, James has already marked two listening posts in our chambers. Be wary of what you say aloud.

      I would be willing that at least one of my ‘servants’ is a Keshian intelligence officer, he thought back at her.

      There was a silence as a Keshian court officer, in the same dress they had seen everywhere, the white kilt and sandals, came for them. But he also wore an ornate torque of gold and turquoise and carried a staff of office. ‘This way, Your Highness, m’lords, m’lady.’

      He led them down a long hall, where the entrances to vast chambers and apartments were alternated with open breeze-ways. Through the breezeways, fountains and small gardens would be illuminated by standards with torches placed atop them. As they passed many such gardens, James said, ‘You might as well get used to those naps, Highness. It’s the custom here. Court business in the morning, the Empress and her privy officers, an afternoon meal, nap from after lunch to evening, court business from sundown to about the ninth hour, then supper.’

      Erland glanced at several serving women passing by, again wearing nothing but the small kilt. ‘I’ll manage,’ he said.

      A thought came from Gamina, not a vocalized word, but an attitude, and it was wholly disapproving.

      Trying to imagine a playful tone, Erland thought back, Lady, please, I’m merely trying to accommodate customs foreign to ours. We must appear very self-conscious and anxious to them.

      Gamina’s expression needed no accompanying thought. Erland tried hard not to laugh and he kept it down to a muted chuckle.

      At the end of the hallway, they intersected and entered an even larger hallway. Columns of stone were all faced with marble and rose to a height of three storeys overhead. The walls on both sides of the hallway were painted with stylized renderings of great events and mythical battles between gods and demons. Down the centre of the hall they walked, their feet treading on a carpet of fabulous design and weave, impossibly long, yet without apparent flaw.

      Every twenty feet or so, a Keshian guard stood at the ready. Erland noticed how little these men looked like the famous Dog Soldiers who manned the frontier with the Kingdom. These soldiers seemed to have been chosen for their appearance more than their experience, Erland thought. Each wore only the short kilt, though of different design, cut away in front so that the legs might move more freely. Each man wore a breechcloth of the same white linen as the kilt, and an ornate belt fashioned of many colours, closed in front by a silver clasp. Each soldier wore the plain cross-gartered sandals, as well. Upon their heads were helms of fascinating design to Erland, barbaric, primitive-looking. One wore a leopard skull atop his head, with the skin of the animal allowed to fall around his shoulders. A few others wore elk heads and bear heads in a similar fashion. Many wore hawk or eagle feathers attached to ivory rings set upon their heads, or helms fashioned from brightly coloured parrot plumes, and a few high conical helms made of reeds dyed bright colours, that looked far from functional for battle.

      James spoke aloud, ‘A grand display, isn’t it?’

      Erland nodded. Nothing he had seen so far in the upper city of Kesh spoke of anything less than excess. In contrast with what they had seen in the lower city, it was even more overwhelming. In even the most minor detail, richness and opulence was the order of the day. Where something base could suffice, it was replaced by something noble: gold in place of common iron, gems in place of glass, silk where cotton would be expected. And after passing through more chambers and halls, he knew the same held true for the servants. If a man was needed, he not only must be fit and able, he had to be handsome. If a woman were to be seen walking through the halls, even by chance, then she must be lovely and young – already Erland was convinced he had seen as many truly beautiful women in this one day as he had his entire life before. A few more days of this, thought Erland, and I’ll welcome the sight of a plain face.

      Reaching a massive pair of doors, gold leafed over all, the officer who led them brought the metal butt of the staff down on the floor, announcing, ‘The Prince Erland, the Earl James, the Countess Gamina, and the Baron Locklear!’

      The doors swung open wide, and through them Erland could see a vast hall, at least a hundred yards from where they stood to the opposite wall, and against that distant wall, a high dais rose, upon which sat a golden throne.

      Out of the side of his mouth, Erland said, ‘You didn’t tell me it was a formal reception.’

      James said, ‘It isn’t. This is a casual, intimate dinner.’

      ‘I can hardly wait for formal court.’ Taking a deep breath, Erland said, ‘Well, then, let us take a bite with Her Majesty.’ Stepping forward. Prince Erland led his advisors into the hall of the Empress of Great Kesh.

      Erland marched purposefully and directly down the centre of the hall. The sound of boot heels cracking against the stone floor seemed alien, a loud and brash intrusion in this hall where the soft leather of sandals and slippers were the norm. Silence drank the noise, as no one in the hall spoke and all eyes were upon the retinue from the Kingdom of the Isles. He focused his mind on the task at hand. As James had instructed, he had mourned Borric’s loss on the road, and while the hurt was still there, it was now a constant dull ache in the background of his daily existence rather than the searing hot pain it had been at first. He was Heir to the throne of the Isles and he must not for an instant forget his duty.

      Upon the dais, before a golden throne, a pile of cushions had been placed. Laying upon this was an old woman. Erland tried to look directly at her, yet not stare, and found the task impossible. Here, reclining upon cushions before the mightiest throne in the known world, was the single most powerful ruler in the known world. And she was a tiny, withered woman of unremarkable appearance. Her costume was similar to the customary short white kilt, though hers was long, reaching past the knees. Also her belt was studded with magnificent gems which caught the torchlight and sent sparkles dancing upon the walls and ceiling. She wore a loose vest of white fabric, clasped in front by a golden brooch set with a stunning pigeon’s-blood ruby. Upon her head a diadem of gold rested, set with sapphires and rubies equal to any the Prince had ever seen before. The ransom of a nation rested upon the body of this old woman.

      Her dusky skin couldn’t hide the pallor of age. And her movements were those of a woman ten years more than her seventy-five, but it was her eyes that made Erland sense greatness, for they still had fire.

      Dark eyes, with lights as brilliant as those in the sapphires and rubies upon her brow dancing in them, regarded the Prince as he walked along the aisle between the diners who shared the evening with the Empress. Around the base of the dais a dozen low tables had been placed in a semicircle, and around each round table, reclining upon cushions, were those whom the Empress deemed worthy of such honour.

      Erland came to stand before the Empress and bowed his head, no more than he would do to his own uncle, the King. James, Gamina, and Locklear bent their knee, as they had been instructed by the protocol officer, waiting the signal to rise.

      ‘How fares our young Prince of the Isles?’

      The woman’s voice was lightning cutting through a languid summer’s afternoon, and Erland almost jumped at the tone of it. That simple question contained nuances and meanings beyond the young man’s ability to articulate. Overcoming an unexpected attack of panic, Erland forced himself to answer as calmly as possible, ‘I am well, Your Majesty; my uncle, the King of the Isles, sends his wishes for your continued good health and well-being.’

      With a chuckle, she answered, ‘As well he should, my prince. I am his best friend in this court, have no doubt.’ She sighed, then said, ‘When this business of Jubilee is over with, return Kesh’s fondest wishes for the Isles’ continued well-being. We have much in common. Now, who is this with you?’

      Erland made introductions, and when that was done, the Empress surprised them