Black wizards - Douglas Niles [102]
Tristan forced down an urge to smile, embarrassed that they had stumbled upon the wench's amorous little secret. "Very well," he said sternly. "And then?"
She turned to climb the stairs, her footsteps silenced by the deep pile of the red carpeting. At the top of the stairs, the lass turned down a long hallway.
The walls here were gleaming marble, and tall mirrors dotted them at frequent intervals. High windows at each end, screened with cut crystal panes, broke the morning light into a series of colorful patterns.
"And here I took the food," said the maid as she pointed to a door – the only one along the wall of the hallway.
"You have done well," said the prince. "Now, return to your duties!" The wench scurried back to the stairs and raced out of their sight.
Tristan reached for the latch, about to push it open, when he had second thoughts. Instead, he lifted his hand and knocked firmly against the smooth panel. The door was pulled immediately open, and he stood face to face with a very startled young soldier of the Scarlet Guard.
"You can't -" the guard began.
"Yes, we can," snarled Daryth, who had flicked the point of his sword against the man's throat in the blink of an eye.
"We have an audience with the king," announced Tristan, smoothly stepping through the door. Daryth prodded a bit with the sword, and the young guard's eyes bulged.
"Yes sir," he said, his voice squeaking.
The guard stood in a small room. Beyond him another gilded door led to the royal chambers. The guard stumbled across the chamber and pulled it open, while Tristan and Daryth strode calmly through.
The Prince of Corwell stopped in shock. Even his wildest imagination had not prepared him for the sight of the preposterous figure sitting before him. Could this man, concealed by a curled and powdered wig, his face heavily made up, actually be the High King of all the Ffolk?
* * * * *
The largest city among the Moonshae Islands was not Callidyrr, as the humans thought. Rather, it was a community known only to a few of the airbreathing peoples, a vast metropolis, more ancient than any town of the Ffolk. The city sprawled across miles. Its densest reaches filled the bottom of a deep, narrow canyon, but its most elegant structures clung precariously to the sides of the canyon. Vast gardens spread to either side of the gorge, on top of the fissure, and the hunters and warriors of the city ranged a hundred miles or more in search of plunder and prey. But no living man had ever been here.
For this was a city on the bottom of the sea.
It was a city of coral with lofty green towers and low, rounded buildings. Its colors were green and blue and red, and a myriad of other variations. The onion-shaped domes of its towers often rose a thousand feet or more from the bottom of the sea, reaching from the bottom into the higher stretches of the canyon, still many thousands of feet under the surface.
Huge balconies hung from the sheer sides of the canyon. Tendrils of kelp draped from these, giving the place a jungle-like appearance. Sharks swam slowly among the kelp, for these fish were the watchers of the city; they protected its inhabitants and attacked its enemies.
The city's gardens were sea flowers and anemone. Its monuments were the broken hulls of sunken ships – and the dead who crewed them. The skeletal monuments surrounded the high domes, and decorated the vast balconies. The gold and silver plundered from these vessels ornamented the most elegant dwellings, or adorned the most prominent citizens. Throughout the city, the bones of dead sailors supported doorways and arches. Light curved stools were crafted from skeletons.
Kressilacc was its name, and it was