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Authors: Rob J. Hayes
Tags: Fantasy
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embarrassed to be called a horse if it stood next to the stallions that pulled that carriage.
A polite cough from beside Thanquil brought him out of his reverie and he found the Imperial messenger grinning at him. “Impressive isn't it?”
Thanquil thought he should have found something clever to say, or something fearful that reminded the messenger that he was talking to an Arbiter but his mind was still stuck in awe of the palace.
The man-boy started walking again and Thanquil fell in beside him, trying not to stare upwards at the impossibly tall building looming over him. He tried to focus on the ground, on the messenger, on the guards and staff, on anything and found himself looking around in desperation for something to steal. He needed to calm his nerves; the grandeur of the palace had spooked him for some reason. He felt as out of place here as a cat underwater.
They stopped at the main entrance just long enough for the messenger to have a word with the guards and then they were off again. The man-boy beside Thanquil with his close cropped blonde hair and pale fluff on his top lip just kept talking but Thanquil wasn't listening. He was observing the route, watching for small items, something that could fit in his pockets.
He passed expensive-looking paintings depicting some historic event or other, vases of obvious supreme craftsmanship, gaudy red carpets that looked like blood on the white marble floor, lanterns with cases of gold or silver fixed into the walls, and he passed guards. Thanquil had never seen so many guards and all of them watched him from underneath their visored helms. If he hadn't been suitably daunted before he was now.
After a while the messenger stopped in front a large unassuming door of heavy wood with two guards in full, white enamelled plate either side. The messenger asked Thanquil to wait and then opened the door, disappeared inside and shut the door after him. The guards watched Thanquil. It was a shame, he was sure he could have stolen something here if not for those eight eyes following his every movement.
“You must be hot,” he said to the guards as a unit, not picking any one in particular. There was no answer, not even a grunt. “I mean Sarth is a hot city and the palace, while obviously well ventilated, is still on the warm side and there you stand encased in metal. You must be sweating under there.”
Silence.
Thanquil paced. Four sets of eyes followed him. He realised he was still wearing his sword. If he was to see the Emperor of Sarth they would have insisted he turn his sword in.
The door opened again and two servants and two guards filed out followed by the imperial messenger with the fluffy top lip.
“You may enter now, Arbiter Darkheart,” the messenger said and stood aside.
With suspicious caution Thanquil walked into the room and looked about. The door shut behind him and it took all of his will power not to jump for the ceiling. Inside the room was beautiful. Austere rugs decorated the shining white floor; ornate bookshelves lined the walls each with its own collection of books and scrolls. A huge unlit hearth with a painting of the imperial palace hung above it seemed a bit indulgent but looked grand all the same. Giant glass windows at the far end of the room allowed light to stream in and there, sitting in front of them, was the God-Emperor.
On a throne with golden hair spilling down past his shoulders and a severe look that pulled his features into the very definition of imperial majesty the God-Emperor looked down upon Thanquil. He'd heard the Emperor was tall at over seven foot but even sat down the man looked like a giant. He wore a suit of white and gold that seemed to accentuate his muscular figure and he leaned just a little to the right, giving the impression of being relaxed. It was hard to believe that such a regal looking figure was a poor farm boy working a field outside of Sarth just four years ago. The throne seemed to suit him as if it
A polite cough from beside Thanquil brought him out of his reverie and he found the Imperial messenger grinning at him. “Impressive isn't it?”
Thanquil thought he should have found something clever to say, or something fearful that reminded the messenger that he was talking to an Arbiter but his mind was still stuck in awe of the palace.
The man-boy started walking again and Thanquil fell in beside him, trying not to stare upwards at the impossibly tall building looming over him. He tried to focus on the ground, on the messenger, on the guards and staff, on anything and found himself looking around in desperation for something to steal. He needed to calm his nerves; the grandeur of the palace had spooked him for some reason. He felt as out of place here as a cat underwater.
They stopped at the main entrance just long enough for the messenger to have a word with the guards and then they were off again. The man-boy beside Thanquil with his close cropped blonde hair and pale fluff on his top lip just kept talking but Thanquil wasn't listening. He was observing the route, watching for small items, something that could fit in his pockets.
He passed expensive-looking paintings depicting some historic event or other, vases of obvious supreme craftsmanship, gaudy red carpets that looked like blood on the white marble floor, lanterns with cases of gold or silver fixed into the walls, and he passed guards. Thanquil had never seen so many guards and all of them watched him from underneath their visored helms. If he hadn't been suitably daunted before he was now.
After a while the messenger stopped in front a large unassuming door of heavy wood with two guards in full, white enamelled plate either side. The messenger asked Thanquil to wait and then opened the door, disappeared inside and shut the door after him. The guards watched Thanquil. It was a shame, he was sure he could have stolen something here if not for those eight eyes following his every movement.
“You must be hot,” he said to the guards as a unit, not picking any one in particular. There was no answer, not even a grunt. “I mean Sarth is a hot city and the palace, while obviously well ventilated, is still on the warm side and there you stand encased in metal. You must be sweating under there.”
Silence.
Thanquil paced. Four sets of eyes followed him. He realised he was still wearing his sword. If he was to see the Emperor of Sarth they would have insisted he turn his sword in.
The door opened again and two servants and two guards filed out followed by the imperial messenger with the fluffy top lip.
“You may enter now, Arbiter Darkheart,” the messenger said and stood aside.
With suspicious caution Thanquil walked into the room and looked about. The door shut behind him and it took all of his will power not to jump for the ceiling. Inside the room was beautiful. Austere rugs decorated the shining white floor; ornate bookshelves lined the walls each with its own collection of books and scrolls. A huge unlit hearth with a painting of the imperial palace hung above it seemed a bit indulgent but looked grand all the same. Giant glass windows at the far end of the room allowed light to stream in and there, sitting in front of them, was the God-Emperor.
On a throne with golden hair spilling down past his shoulders and a severe look that pulled his features into the very definition of imperial majesty the God-Emperor looked down upon Thanquil. He'd heard the Emperor was tall at over seven foot but even sat down the man looked like a giant. He wore a suit of white and gold that seemed to accentuate his muscular figure and he leaned just a little to the right, giving the impression of being relaxed. It was hard to believe that such a regal looking figure was a poor farm boy working a field outside of Sarth just four years ago. The throne seemed to suit him as if it
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