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distance obscured by a staggered series of huge banners hanging from the warehouses' flagpoles. The first one, a long, rose-bordered stretch of blue material, was adorned with the tree-and-bell arms of Besh-Darok itself stitched in gold and silver silk. Others, in shades of green, blue and yellow, bore the devices of Khatrisian noble houses, major and minor, as well as the sigils of guilds and merchant families, with the style of decoration varying from the simple and austere to the riotously intricate. As she walked past the banners Alael brightly-coloured kites swaying and bobbing in the air near the quayside, their lines held by people in small boats out on the river. And over the hubbub of the streaming crowd she could just hear the continuous sound of drums coming from the direction of the Five Kings Dock, like far-off thunder.
    While following the crowd’s winding course along the quayside, Alael caught sight of a small procession coming the other way. Attendants in pale robes and carrying unwieldy standards walked at a steady pace ahead of a strange, horse-drawn carriage on top of which several people stood, holding on to a wooden rail. Other attendants hurried before the bearers to clear the way or push aside the great hanging banners to allow the carriage through unobstructed, and as they drew nearer Alael suddenly recognise the symbol on the standards and one of those riding on the carriage, a man whose right arm was of gleaming metal.
    Surprising her escort, Alael moved quickly away from the quay edge, seeking concealment among the crowd and behind the great banners. Her last encounter with Tauric had been hurtful for both of them when she ended their nascent relationship and turned down his desperate offer of marriage, all the time keeping her reasons to herself. For the Earthmother had come to her in a brief, dark dream full of leaves and coiling vines and warned of ‘sullying your bloom with barren seed’. Of more importance, however, had been her realisation of Tauric’s lack of maturity: he really was little more than a boy forced to shoulder a monarch’s burden, with neither natural aptitude nor useful experience to draw on. Ikarno Mazaret, the one man who might have been a good mentor to him, was off pursuing brigands in the wastes of Khatris, and while Mazaret and Yasgur had appointed advisors with the aim of fending off the worst flatterers and schemers, that meant that only the weak and the very cunning could enter the courtly circle, a risky combination.
    And now it seemed that her evasive ploy had come to nothing when one of the robed attendants emerged from behind the next banner, approached and bowed.
    “Sincerest greetings to the Lady Alael and her retinue. His Imperial Highness is soon to embark upon the next stage of the Low Coronation, and asks if you would care to grace the moment with your presence?”
    Her first, quickly suppressed urge was to run. For all that nearly three weeks had passed since their last encounter, the last thing she wanted was an embarrassing attempt to impress her before his court followers. Yet refusal might stir up unwanted antagonism between the Hunters Children and Tauric’s supporters, something that the city could well do without.
    “I am honoured by his Imperial Highness' invitation,” she said evenly. “Kindly take us to him.”
    The attendant bowed again. As he did so his robe fell open at the neck and a small pendant swung into view. He deftly tucked it away as he straightened but Alael had already seen that it was a bronze amulet in the shape of a horse. Then he turned to lead her and her guards through the crowd.
    The carriage had turned off the quay and along a short stone pier where an oar-driven barge was docked. At the end of the pier was a small bell-and-beacon tower, by which the carriage came to a halt. Several people stepped down, except for Tauric who turned to watch Alael as she came to within a few feet of the carriage where she stopped and