‘Heed me!’ he bellowed and at last the room fell silent. He looked from face to face of the rulers, many of whom were friends or political enemies, and he said, ‘This day I spoke with the Light of Heaven. By the arts of a Great One I was transported from his side to this very palace. My first duty is to relay his wishes that all here are well and prosperous.’ He paused for effect. ‘My second duty is to remind you of the unthinkable attack on his person in this very palace less than a week ago.’
Now the room fell dead silent, for to a man or woman, the ruling elite of the Empire could not imagine a more horrific event than an assault on the person of the Emperor. In their tradition, the Emperor was a beacon of hope for the Tsurani, placed on Kelewan by the gods, to show their pleasure with the nations. He was a benediction.
‘Hark to the words of the Light of Heaven!’ shouted Tetsu. ‘The armies have been called! The Red Seal of War on the door to the Temple of Jastur has been broken! The light of day now shines on the symbols of war! The Empire of Tsuranuanni now goes to war with a race known as the Dasati!’
Azulos of the Kechendawa shouted, ‘Where are these Dasagi? I have never heard of these people!’
‘Dasati,’ corrected the Warlord. ‘And as to where they abide… heed the words of the Great One, Alenca, speaking for the Assembly and for the Light of Heaven.’
The old magician had been standing close to the Warlord’s throne, waiting for his moment to speak. He slowly walked to the centre of the hall and looked around, seemingly identifying every face in the chamber.
‘Let me speak of the Dasati,’ began the old magician. For nearly an hour he repeated every detail so far discovered about the would-be invaders, building upon the earlier warning given to the Emperor and High Council by Miranda. Those rulers who had been in attendance the first time were subdued and looked gravely concerned, and those lords who had not been in attendance the first time appeared confused or incredulous. At first there were many whispered questions but by the end of Alenca’s narrative the leaders of the Empire were silent and convinced. For the first time in the history of the Empire a terrible danger was upon them, an enemy more powerful, more ruthless, as determined and with a far vaster army than the Tsurani.
The Warlord rose. ‘I thank the Great One Alenca for his calm reciting of the facts. Now, I speak for the Empire!’
That formal declaration caused every ruling lord and ruling lady in the High Council to focus their undivided attention on the Warlord, for those words signalled that what came next was in no way said for personal glory, house-honour or gain, but would be solely for the good of the nations.
‘We all are bound by our pledge to the Empire, and to the Light of Heaven, and I have been given the great burden of conducting this war. I will issue edicts today. Each of twenty-five houses, whose rulers will be contacted at the end of this meeting, will be given to the command of a regional—’
A shattering sound accompanied a blast of air which knocked Alenca across the hall as if a giant hand had swatted him. The old magician struck the floor hard and slid for a dozen yards, his body as limp as a rag.
A purple oval of energy hung above the floor of the great hall of the High Council, and through it erupted a stream of warriors in black, with gold trim at the points and edges of their armour, shouting incomprehensible words as they ran straight at the first Tsurani noble they spied.
Ceremonial swords and robes of silk were batted aside effortlessly as the nobility of Tsuranuanni was slaughtered with frightening efficiency. The Imperial Guards in the great hall died defending the rulers of the Empire, for despite being among the most dedicated warriors in the Empire, the Palace Guard were soon overmatched and overwhelmed. Within half a minute, fully a quarter of those in the hall were dead or dying.
As Dasati warriors flooded into the palace, a figure emerged from the shadows of a remote hallway, one rarely used by functionaries shuttling documents from the great hall to an administrative wing of the palace. He moved to where Alenca lay stunned to insensibility, perhaps dying from internal wounds. He looked down and with an expression of mock regret, lifted his foot and crushed the old man’s windpipe with the heel of his sandal, ensuring that the first of many Great Ones of the Empire was dead this day.