"Did Justarius give you any clue as to where to go?"
Guerrand shook his head. "He gave me a riddle. He told me that getting to Palanthas and locating his home was a crucial, first step in my training. How about Belize?"
Lyim frowned his frustration. "Not really. Just before he left the tower he said something like, 'If you make it to Palanthas-' "
"He said 'if'?"
"Maybe he said when, I don't know. Let me think." Lyim closed his eyes to concentrate. "What he said was, 'My house is in Palanthas. If you get that far, knock on the door and wait.'"
"That's it?"
Lyim snorted good-naturedly. "Hey, at least it's not a riddle. Let's hear your great clue."
Guerrand, with an exaggerated, imperious lift of his eyebrows and a mischievous gleam in his eyes, stepped back and recited, " 'At morning's midlife, mark the hour, the eye is the sun, the keyhole's the tower.' "
"Oh, really useful, that," guffawed Lyim. "I bet I can bribe someone into leading me to Belize's place before you figure out that one."
With joyous shouts, the two mages donned their robes and broke into a run toward the city of mages and their futures. The rugged mountain road gave way to a beautiful tree-lined avenue. Straight as an arrow, it sloped sharply downward, headed directly through a gate topped by minarets. It appeared to end at a palatial estate in the center of the city Guerrand and Lyim stood at the gate of the outer wall, with a stunning view of the city laid out before them.
"Home was never like this, eh?" Lyim declared.
"It still isn't." Both apprentices looked at each other, wondering who had spoken.
A tall, slim young woman stepped forward from behind a tree. She wore a sleeveless, shimmering gown of rose, gathered just beneath her breasts in the classic style. Curly tendrils of shiny golden-red hair ringed her face, its bulk caught up in a coil high on the back of her head. A thick silver arm bracelet in the shape of a snake encircled the flawlessly tanned flesh of her right bicep. Guerrand found himself thinking she was as perfectly beautiful as Lyim.
"I am Esme. Justarius sent me to introduce one apprentice mage named Guerrand to Palanthas."
"How did you know we were here?" asked Lyim.
The young woman looked amused. "Magic." She glanced from one gaping man to the next, an exquisitely shaped brow arched in question. "Which of you would be Guerrand?"
Both apprentices seemed to find their voices at the same time. "Me!" Looking at each other, they laughed.
Esme, however, did not seem to find them amusing now. Maintaining a solemn expression, she asked, "Shall I be forced to guess? Justarius would be most displeased if I chose incorrectly. He despises tomfoolery."
The smile dropped instantly from Guerrand's face. Pushing back his hood, his head hanging slightly, he stepped forward. "I am Guerrand. Please excuse us if we seem a bit giddy. We've traveled long and hard to get here."
She seemed to consider that for a moment. "Who is he?" Esme's auburn head jerked toward the other mage.
Lyim stepped up boldly, gave his name and a slight bow of his head. "I have come to apprentice with the Master of the Red Robes, Belize himself," he said proudly. To his surprise, Esme looked less than impressed. Guerrand detected a flash of pity, but the expression was gone in the blink of a long-lashed eye.
"I see." Esme turned on a soft-booted heel and without another word set off down the smoothly paved avenue. Guerrand and Lyim glanced at each other again, then trotted after the rosy robe that seemed to float like a windswept cloud above the paving stones.
Lyim jogged up to her left side. "I am most anxious to get acquainted with my new home and would appreciate the opportunity to tour it with a guide even more lovely than this most beautiful of cities."
Esme looked at him out of the corner of one eye. "As you will." She waved an arm to the left. "We pass through the area known as Nobles' Hill." Striking, expensive white marble mansions were nestled into the hillside on the eastern edge of the city just beyond the city wall. Esme led them under the twin minarets. "This is still Nobles' Hill, but only the wealthier, higher-placed nobles live within the Old City."
Knowing that, Guerrand could detect slight differences here; the architecture was even more elaborate, the landscaped lawns longer, columns more intricately carved.
"Is this where Justarius lives, then?" he asked.
Esme smiled. "Now, what use would a mage have for living among snobbish nobles?"
Guerrand reddened. Lyim seized the opportunity. "I couldn't agree with you more. However, Guerrand here is a nobleman in his own lands and has a hard time understanding the plight of the toiling classes. I myself have tried to help him in that regard during our travels."
Guerrand sucked in a breath.
Esme, however, looked bemused. "Don't be ridiculous. It's an occupational consideration, not a class one. I, too, am considered to be of noble birth in my homeland."
"Amazing!" said Lyim, trying desperately to recover. "And yet you're willing to serve as a guide for two hopeful apprentice mages here in Palanthas."
Her eyes narrowed angrily. "I am no more a servant than you, sir, and likely your superior at that. I am senior apprentice to Justarius and am preparing to take the Test at the Tower of High Sorcery within the year, which is more than you can say, I'm sure."
Guerrand was stunned into silence. Though he'd said nothing, he, too, had assumed Esme was a servant in Justarius's household.
Lyim found his voice first. "A female mage?" he cried. "What a wonderful notion."
Esme's honey-colored eyes narrowed to mere slits. "Are you too bigoted to believe that LaDonna, the woman you both surely met at Wayreth, is the mistress of the Order of Black Robes?" Then, in a gesture both apprentices were beginning to expect, Esme lifted her chin and stormed away from them.
Guerrand could see from his expression that Lyim was considering going after her, likely to explain his position in some way that would only get him further into trouble. Guerrand laid a firm hand on his friend's arm. "I'd let it drop if I were you, Lyim. We both seem to have trouble saying the right thing to her. Perhaps we'd be wiser to listen more and talk less."
Frowning, Lyim shrugged. "I've tried everything else," he agreed. The gaze he locked on Esme's swaying back was half irritation, half admiration. "I tell you truthfully, Guerrand, I am not accustomed to such opinionated, standoffish maids." He gave a devilish grin. "She's a spicy challenge, that one. What was her name again?"
"Esme," Guerrand supplied quietly. Considering Lyim's good looks, he was quite certain his friend was indeed more used to fending off women than pursuing them. For some reason he couldn't explain, Guerrand felt his mood sink as once more he was forced to follow Lyim in pursuit of Esme.
The rest of the tour went a little better. After allowing the starving apprentices to stop and purchase hot pasties from a street vendor, Esme led them to the Central Plaza before the palace of the lord of Palanthas. The square, though meticulously landscaped with hedges and perennial flowers, was not unlike others of its kind. It was more remarkable for the buildings that flanked it. To the north on a small rise nearer the bay stood the palace Guerrand and Lyim had first noticed from the mountains above the city.
Guerrand could hardly compare the palace to Castle DiThon. It was like contrasting a rose with a dandelion. Though of a comparable size-at least one hundred rods wide-the masonry was a work of art. Whereas DiThon's walls were rough-cut stones, all approximately the same size, linked by crumbling mortar, the marble stones in the walls of the palace were obviously cut with careful precision. Each fit perfectly next to its neighbor, without gaps or fill.