Alaire's first fear, however, was that the servant would spot him for what he was: royalty. Upper ser- vants had a way of spotting these things. Alaire looked away and tried to appear submissive, bowing his head slightly, as he had seen his father's secretary act at home.
"Please, enter," the servant said nervously. "Wel- come to the House of Archenomen. I am Paavo, the head of the house here. The guards inform me that you are... ambassadors from Althea?"
"Naitachal," said the Dark Elf. "And this is my sec- retary, Alaire of ... house Turonen," he added, improvising. "I do hope we haven't come at an inop- portune time. It's been a long hard ride, but i King isn't receiving today we would be pleased to call tomorrow."
Alaire stifled a laugh. It would be rude for a king to refuse to see any ambassador with proper credentials.
His Master's statement bordered on the impolite, as it suggested that Archenomen might commit a blunder by refusing to see them. Perhaps I'm assuming too much here, Alaire thought. This is, after all, a foreign land, with its own rules of etiquette. For all I know we are the ones being rude, calling without prior notifica- tion.
His first impression seemed to be correct, Paavo quickly ushered them through a grand gallery, where three young servants were lighting hundreds of small candles on a chandelier. They stared at Naitachal as they passed, but paid no attention to Alaire.
The bardling wanted badly to gawk, and finally decided that the best way to handle this was to do just that. If he looked like a highborn idiot, the land of young man an envoy might be saddled with, he could well be taken for harmless.
So he gawked, the young servants smirked Paavo looked pained. Naitachal caught the ruse and sighed audibly, and he and Paavo exchanged knowing glances.
Just as we wanted it, Alaire thought, wondering just how far to take the silly-ass routine. He decided to wait until someone took a keen interest in him before proving there was nothing interesting about him.
Paavo led them to a smaller chamber, crowded with people in gaudy, expensive-looking clothing -- though nothing as gaudy as Naitachal's scarlet glory. On a dais at the end of the room, there was a gilded throne; in that throne was a man who could only be the King.
He wore a cape of purple velvet, lined with ermine, and a robe of the same material, embroidered with bits of gold and amber. A thin, delicately trimmed beard covered a thick set of jowls, and from his girth it was obvious he ate very well. His eyes peered from the white, doughy flesh like candied green cherries, regarding them with a combination of curiosity and caution. Around him lay rugs of fur, not dieren, but possibly bear.
High above the throne, set into the wall and ham- mered into brass or even a plate of thin gold, was a device of some kind, with the prominent letter A in the center.
Two young men, boys, really, stood at attention at either side of the King. Servants, Alaire supposed.
They wore hose and tight, formal jerkins, with a dou- ble skirt of more purple velvet slashed into panes. The effect was striking, Alaire had to admit, and began to wonder if the King's personal servants here were rela- tives, or perhaps favored by-blows. He stayed several steps behind Naitachal as he approached the King, and was grateful no one paid the slightest bit of atten- tion to him.
Everyone in the royal circle regarded Naitachal with cool detachment, though Alaire detected con- cealed surprise in the King. He wasn't ready for a black ambassador, he noted with amusement. Wait till the King sees the rest of him!
With an exaggerated motion, Naitachal bowed before the King as he removed his absurd feathered hat, revealing the two long, pointed elven ears.
Pandemonium erupted in the room. The King hissed as he drew back in surprise, a look of horror and dread coming over his royal features. He even held his arms up, as if protecting himself from anything origi- nating from Naitachal's general direction. The two young servants were guards as well, and from stands behind them they drew short swords and took a posi- tion halfway between the King and Naitachal.
A moment later large double doors burst open on either side of the throne. Five soldiers, like the ones they had met on the road, charged in, but froze in their tracks when they saw Naitachal. Behind the soldiers was a tiny trio of magicians, with purple robes and ridiculous, conical hats, who immediately formed a protective circle around the King.
I think we just made a big mistake. This isn't going very well, Alaire thought as he watched their first attempts at diplomatic relations crumble to dust. Resi- dency in the palace dungeon was beginning to look like a real possibility.
"Elf!" the King roared. "Dark Elf. Why have you polluted us with your presence?"
The soldiers stood their ground, shifting nervously.
The young servant-guards stood defiantly, inching closer to the Dark Elf, swordtips flashing with reflected candlelight.
Naitachal yawned, discretely, and smiled.
"Your highness," Paavo interjected politely, approaching the King on his throne. Although he low- ered his voice, the acoustics were such that Alaire could easily pick out what the servant was saying.
"It would seem wise," Paavo said, in hurried, hushed tones, "to remember that, despite his unfavor- able heritage, this is the Ambassador from Althea. I doubt seriously he is here to harm you, magically or otherwise. Perhaps we should hear him out?"
Alaire cringed at the insolence. Never would a ser- vant presume to offer advice to the King! he thought in indignation. Then something else occurred to him. So.
Perhaps this is no mere servant.
King Archenomen seemed to consider this before snapping his fingers three times, quickly. The soldiers withdrew, slowly, uncertainly, behind the doors. The magicians, looking more like religious leaders (which perhaps they were), remained, looking down their long, pointed noses at Naitachal. The two boys returned their short swords to their stands, and took their places beside the King.
"I beg pardon, your Highness," Naitachal said grandly. "Perhaps I should have sent prior warning about my... family," he said, pausing at the end, as if uncertain how to phrase the statement. "But I did pre- sent my credentials and my nature to two of your guards upon the road here. Perhaps they have not yet reported this to you?"
He raised an eyebrow, and the King scowled.
Someone is going to pay for that little omission....
"I bear a letter from King Reynard himself. Perhaps this will explain the situation in a little more detail."
He smiled, a smile so gentle and without guile Alaire could almost believe it himself. "I fear, your highness, that I have allowed complacency to cause an uncomfortable situation."
"Quite the contrary," King Archenomen said. His voice boomed, but the slight crack on the last syllable indicated some residual shock. "I'm afraid I've over- reacted. Those of Suinomen seldom run across citi- zens of other countries, especially members of less -- other races." He smiled broadly, and insincerely.
Lesser races, Alaire thought, completing the sen- tence another way, and sighed to himself. We have our work cut out for us.
"Please, have dinner with us tonight. You may stay in our royal visitor's suite. Will your... servant be stay- ing with you, or should we put him in the servant's quarters?"