Bright shades of all the primary hues were represented in stripes, bands, and zigzags. Cryptic signs and patterns abounded, among them stars, crosses, and, disconcertingly, swastikas (an ancient symbol in many worlds, it would seem). Bordered by the decorations, frescoes depicting animals and birds festooned the walls.
The roof was supported by four huge columns, decorated like those of the fagade, surrounding a circular fire pit. Cut into the ceiling directly above the pit was a skylight, a canopy with open sides, intended to ward off rain, let in light, and, presumably, let out smoke. But not at the moment. The fire pit was cold and the hall was dark.
After asking Trent to wait, one of the guards continued through the room and went out a doorway at the back.
A curiously stylized seat, looking rather uncomfortable, stood against the right wall. A throne? If so, this hall was the court of Anthaemion.
The other guard smiled but said nothing. Trent smiled back, then walked a few steps to look up through the skylight. The sky was coldly blue. This was a sunny clime, but the temperature was a bit chilly today. He wrapped his cloak more closely about him.
He wondered if Incarnadine's language-infusion spell would work as well as advertised. Inky had touted it, assuring Trent that he would have no trouble understanding the local tongue or making himself understood. The exchange with the guards had been minimal, so it was still hard to gauge how much of a problem communicating would be. The audience with Anthaemion would be the test. The conversation would necessitate some subtlety, always difficult to achieve in a foreign tongue, magic or none. Nuance was the stock in trade of diplomats. He would have liked to have some idea as to how much nuance he was capable of conveying. Or would it be better to go for a more direct approach? Maybe trickery was the key. Take advantage of the language barrier and obfuscate like hell.
The unsettling thing about infused-knowledge techniques was that you sometimes didn't know what you knew.
A man in a red and yellow tunic came through the back entrance. Dark-haired and tall, he walked slowly and with aplomb. As he approached he smiled warmly.
"Greetings, Trent, brother of Inkarnases. You honor this house by your visit."
"I am honored in turn by this great house."
"His Majesty presents his compliments, and asks that you be received in his chambers. He is taking his midday meal."
"Gladly will I be received."
"I am Telamon, chamberlain to His Majesty." Trent bowed.
Telamon seemed pleased with this gesture, though Trent was not sure it was appropriate.
"If you will walk with me…?"
They left the throne room and went through a wide corridor, at the end of which was a staircase. This they mounted to a second story.
"Your brother does not speak much of the land you hail from," Telamon said. "I have always been curious as to what it is like there."
"It is bleak and drear, I'm afraid."
"So? Like our land, somewhat. Nothing but rocks, mountains, thin soil-aside from the plains below, from which we eke a living. This is a poor land, really."
"Yet Mykos seems affluent."
"Yes, we are supposed to be rich in gold. And we have gold, but little more than any other city of importance. We make a great show of it to impress the farmers and shepherds. But our reputation for riches and high living is for the most part undeserved. We are a simple people."
"Nevertheless I am very impressed with your city." This also pleased Telamon. "We like it. The gods have favored us. We owe it all to them."
So far, so good, Trent thought.
Telamon asked, "Are you aware that Menoetius visits us?"
Trent thumbed through the file of names in the part of his mind that had been magically stuffed with data.
"Brother to His Majesty, and King of Lakonis. No, I was not aware. I look forward to our meeting."
"He does know Inkarnases, but not well. You are aware that it was Menoetius' request for aid that precipitated this crisis?"
"Uh, yes. It was his wife, Queen Alena, who was abducted."
"By Pelion, son of Proetus, King of Dardania. It is the scandal of all Arkadia." Telamon halted Trent with a gentle touch. He whispered, "And Menoetius' shame. The gossips have it that she went willingly after falling in love with Pelion the moment she set eyes on him. I needn't warn you to refrain from characterizing it as anything but a kidnapping in Menoetius' presence?"
"You needn't. Inkarnases has briefed me."
"I had assumed, but wanted to sound you out on the matter before your audience."
"I understand," Trent said. "Perhaps you should test me further on my knowledge of things in general. I understand that the abduction precipitated the crisis. Menoetius appealed to Anthaemion, and the latter used his influence to forge the coalition against Dardania. This must be elementary to you, but all the information I have is raw and undigested. I am a complete stranger to your land."
"I quite understand," Telamon said. "But your brother spoke so highly of your skills that I have every confidence that the finer points will become second nature to you before long. Besides, the situation at Piraeon-"
"Pardon, where?"
"Where the coalition fleet is anchored. As I say, the situation there is not good. Much disagreement."
"So I have heard."
"And so fortunately for you, and unfortunately for the strategic situation, we have more time than we want." They had come to a door flanked by two sets of three guards each, spears at their sides, except for the two nearest the door, who had theirs crossed. At the sight of the two men coming down the hall, they pulled back their weapons to permit entry.
Telamon led Trent into a narrow vestibule and thence into the apartment beyond. It was a smaller version of the megaron, the great hall downstairs, but here the fire pit was blazing, and off to one side were two men in fine robes lounging on low recliners, eating an elaborate meal. The food was being served on gold dishes by a trio of female servants with dark braided hair, dressed in long layered gowns. All three were pretty. From decorated amphorae they poured thick syrupy wine into gold cups.
The older of the two men was gray-bearded and corpulent, with deep-set dark eyes and a prominent nose. The younger man resembled him, but he was thinner, and his eyes were smaller and somehow less intelligent, though he had an intense look about him.
Telamon stopped some distance away. Trent waited behind him. The men talked and ate. Presently the graybearded man looked up and nodded to Telamon. Telamon approached.
"Majesty, may I present Trent, brother of Inkarnases." Trent stepped forward and bowed deeply.
The gray-bearded one-presumably Anthaemion, King of Mykos-frowned. "Trent," he said as he picked his teeth with a fingernail. "Trent. Odd name."
"May it please His Majesty."
"It pleases me not that your brother has chosen to absent himself from my court during this crisis."
Uh-oh, Trent thought. Had Inky underestimated or dissembled?
"Uh, pressing business, Your Majesty. He said-
"I know what he said. He is a most persuasive man. He said you would be the better military adviser. Is he right?"
"I will serve His Majesty to the utmost limit of my talents."
"If you're half as clever as your brother, you'll do fine. You've been informed of the details of our situation?"
"Yes, sire."
"Forces available, enemy tactics, that sort of thing?"
"As much as Inkarnases knows, I know."
"What he knows is considerable," the king said. "How he knows so much is a mystery to me, but I don't presume to understand the ways of sorcerers. We did not even possess an accurate map of the Dardanian coast until he divined one. I presume you are a magician also?"