peered into the darkness, her heart racing with excitement. Lifting the candles high, she ducked her head to enter.
T ULKHAN OPENED THE door. Stepping aside, he let Lord Fairban and his daughters enter. Several of his commanders vied none too subtly for the attention of the young women.
‘And this room has just been restored. Unfortunately my half-brother’s men could not resist looting it.’ Looking around he could just imagine his countrymen’s reaction. Late afternoon sunlight poured through a single circular window in the centre of a dome. The room needed no more illumination, because every surface other than the black marble floor was golden. The dome was lined with beaten gold, impressed with intricate designs. The walls alternated gold-embossed panels with amber-lined niches housing statuettes of pure gold.
No wonder the Ghebites had been consumed with gold lust. Fair Isle was renowned for its wealth, but this was almost beyond belief.
‘Imoshen insisted the room be restored precisely as it had been,’ Tulkhan said.
Lord Fairban nodded. ‘Very proper. After all, it is part of Fair Isle’s heritage, even if it is in bad taste.’
Wharrd caught Tulkhan’s eye.
‘Bad taste?’ Tulkhan asked.
Cariah nodded seriously. ‘This whole wing dates from the Age of Consolidation.’ She picked up a golden statuette of a couple amorously entwined and held it up for them to see. ‘Too much decoration and ostentatious display, particularly during the middle period. In this, the Age of Discernment, we can look back on these rooms and their contents and appreciate them for their heritage value, if not their artistic value.’
Tulkhan’s men looked stunned. He hid a smile.
When Cariah returned the statuette to its niche, Harholfe stroked its sensuous curves. The T’En claimed to be highly civilised, yet they thought nothing of portraying the naked body in varying stages of arousal. Tulkhan’s people found the sculptures and frescoes disconcerting to say the least. If he was not careful Harholfe would make some crude joke and offend Lord Fairban.
‘Let me show you the old portrait gallery,’ Tulkhan said quickly. ‘The portraits are away being repaired while the gallery itself is being restored.’
A LITTLE CROW of delight escaped Imoshen. The steps had led into a passage, down more stairs and finally through an archway into a long corridor. Someone had wedged the panel open with a broken tile. Imoshen left it wedged in place, not trusting that the old mechanism would still work.
Raising the brace of candles high, she turned full circle, marvelling. With its exquisitely rendered stonework and buttresses, this corridor clearly dated from the Age of Tribulation. She was standing in history. This had to be part of the palace rebuilt after Sardonyx’s revolt.
She closed her eyes, inhaling the air of another age, and opened her T’En senses to the past. If only she could have lived in a time when the T’En were revered and accepted.
She opened her eyes and gasped with surprise as a boy wandered past her, his hands extended as if he were blind. He was pure T’En, and stood nearly as tall as her, although his chin was smooth.
‘Who are you?’
He didn’t hear her. Perhaps he was deaf and mute as well as blind.
Imoshen hesitated. There were no pure T’En left save herself and Reothe. Perhaps he had been hidden down here. Her heart went out to him.
Hands extended, eyes blindly staring, the boy felt his way along the corridor. Gently, because she did not wish to frighten him, she lifted one hand to touch his arm, but her fingers passed right through him.
Imoshen gasped, sagging against the wall. The apparition continued on. Was she watching some long-lost ancestor or someone from the future? His clothing consisted of simple breeches and shirt which could have been worn at any time in the last six hundred years.
Imoshen took a deep breath to slow her heart rate, then followed. Though he
T ULKHAN OPENED THE door. Stepping aside, he let Lord Fairban and his daughters enter. Several of his commanders vied none too subtly for the attention of the young women.
‘And this room has just been restored. Unfortunately my half-brother’s men could not resist looting it.’ Looking around he could just imagine his countrymen’s reaction. Late afternoon sunlight poured through a single circular window in the centre of a dome. The room needed no more illumination, because every surface other than the black marble floor was golden. The dome was lined with beaten gold, impressed with intricate designs. The walls alternated gold-embossed panels with amber-lined niches housing statuettes of pure gold.
No wonder the Ghebites had been consumed with gold lust. Fair Isle was renowned for its wealth, but this was almost beyond belief.
‘Imoshen insisted the room be restored precisely as it had been,’ Tulkhan said.
Lord Fairban nodded. ‘Very proper. After all, it is part of Fair Isle’s heritage, even if it is in bad taste.’
Wharrd caught Tulkhan’s eye.
‘Bad taste?’ Tulkhan asked.
Cariah nodded seriously. ‘This whole wing dates from the Age of Consolidation.’ She picked up a golden statuette of a couple amorously entwined and held it up for them to see. ‘Too much decoration and ostentatious display, particularly during the middle period. In this, the Age of Discernment, we can look back on these rooms and their contents and appreciate them for their heritage value, if not their artistic value.’
Tulkhan’s men looked stunned. He hid a smile.
When Cariah returned the statuette to its niche, Harholfe stroked its sensuous curves. The T’En claimed to be highly civilised, yet they thought nothing of portraying the naked body in varying stages of arousal. Tulkhan’s people found the sculptures and frescoes disconcerting to say the least. If he was not careful Harholfe would make some crude joke and offend Lord Fairban.
‘Let me show you the old portrait gallery,’ Tulkhan said quickly. ‘The portraits are away being repaired while the gallery itself is being restored.’
A LITTLE CROW of delight escaped Imoshen. The steps had led into a passage, down more stairs and finally through an archway into a long corridor. Someone had wedged the panel open with a broken tile. Imoshen left it wedged in place, not trusting that the old mechanism would still work.
Raising the brace of candles high, she turned full circle, marvelling. With its exquisitely rendered stonework and buttresses, this corridor clearly dated from the Age of Tribulation. She was standing in history. This had to be part of the palace rebuilt after Sardonyx’s revolt.
She closed her eyes, inhaling the air of another age, and opened her T’En senses to the past. If only she could have lived in a time when the T’En were revered and accepted.
She opened her eyes and gasped with surprise as a boy wandered past her, his hands extended as if he were blind. He was pure T’En, and stood nearly as tall as her, although his chin was smooth.
‘Who are you?’
He didn’t hear her. Perhaps he was deaf and mute as well as blind.
Imoshen hesitated. There were no pure T’En left save herself and Reothe. Perhaps he had been hidden down here. Her heart went out to him.
Hands extended, eyes blindly staring, the boy felt his way along the corridor. Gently, because she did not wish to frighten him, she lifted one hand to touch his arm, but her fingers passed right through him.
Imoshen gasped, sagging against the wall. The apparition continued on. Was she watching some long-lost ancestor or someone from the future? His clothing consisted of simple breeches and shirt which could have been worn at any time in the last six hundred years.
Imoshen took a deep breath to slow her heart rate, then followed. Though he
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