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will have much to talk about.” He bit into the apple, devouring his reflection whole.

Chapter Six
An Empty Throne Room
    Shortly, Lord Garkim led the five visitors on another journey down two more halls, passing great windows overlooking gardens, portraits in faded oils, skylights and crystal chandeliers, and other palace finery. Thick rugs muffled their tread. The air smelled of sea spray, and the endless roar of waves whispered in the distance.
    At the end of the final corridor was an ornate set of double doors, each of dark, polished wood and half again the height of a man. Two guards stood at ease there, one before each door, each holding a poleaxe upright in one hand.
    “On guard,” said the man on the left, spotting Garkim. The two came to attention.
    “The Councilor of Internal Investigations, Lord Ikavi Garkim, and five visitors, here to see the Emperor, His Majesty, the Mage-King Aetheric III,” responded Garkim, loudly and clearly.
    The two guards stepped apart, putting their backs to the walls on either side of the double doors. Garkim nodded to the men, each a head taller than he and light-skinned, and he walked past them to the door. He caught hold of an elaborate brass handle on one door and turned to face the knights.
    “Gentlemen,” he said, and he opened the door for them. Beyond was a vast, darkened hall whose floor was made of flat, fitted stone.
    Miltiades’s face betrayed astonishment. “Is this all the guard your king has?” he asked. His right hand caught the shaft of his hammer and gripped it lightly. The other four men saw this and stopped, unsure of what was going on.
    “It is all the guard the king needs,” said Garkim with an edge to his voice. “If you suspect a trap, I am more than willing to enter first. That would be a grave breach of protocol, of course, but if it would ease your fears …”
    The old knight glared at the smaller man. He then strode first into the dark chamber. The great room was flooded with light as he crossed the threshold. Kern followed on Miltiades’s heels, Jacob and Trandon behind him.
    Noph hesitated, looking back down the corridor the way they had come. No one else was present. The two guards bore no weapons other than their poleaxes, which were too elaborately decorated to be true battlefield weapons. Noph thought he smelled some sort of liquor, like rum, in the air. The red-faced guards stared at each other, ignoring the youth. They seemed to have the same skin rash that others in the palace had—nasty stuff. The flesh of one man’s cheek seemed dry, flaky, almost … scaly. Noph glanced at Garkim, who indicated with a gesture that he should enter the room.
    Noph turned and went into the chamber after the others, but he stayed close to the door, thinking Garkim might shut them all in. Nothing of the sort happened. Garkim casually followed him into the illuminated hall, pulling the great door shut as he did and giving the youth an empty smile.
    “There is no mage-king here,” called Miltiades, his voice echoing in the vastness of the room. He had undone the thong on his warhammer, and the weapon dangled from his right hand, ready for use. “You are a liar, Garkim.”
    Noph stopped and stared around the great room in astonishment. This was a throne room? It was huge, but there was no furniture, and the room had a dank odor to it. The walls, as high as three-story buildings, were covered with floor-length red curtains. The ceiling was a great length of high rafters from which a few globes cast a dim, watery magical light over all.
    “I did not he,” said Garkim mildly, walking past the stunned Noph. “The mage-king is here.” He approached the other four men, who warily took up positions in a semicircle facing him.
    “Noph, open the door!” ordered Kern, pointing with his free hand. Startled, the youth hacked up and reached for the door handle there.
    “We are here,” said a deep voice that filled the chamber.
    The men in the room—all but