last shirt, the boots were polished to mirrors, the swords all held edges.
There was nothing else for it. I had to do my duty this day. This was all a part of being emperor, just as much as worrying over zorca horn rot and the supply of corn and the new gold mines, and payment of the troops and education for the youngsters. And — all the rest of
that...
I will not go into details of the lavishness of the Day. The twin suns shone, Zim and Genodras, blazing down out of a clear sky. The waters of the canals scintillated in light. The houses were festooned with flags and bunting and draped curtains and streamers. The people shouted. The processions wound in and out, and the priests went through their rituals, earnestly and with dedication, and sweating more than a little.
The bands played. Contingents of various regiments marched. The people pranced through the avenues and crowded the narrow boats so that the canals became solid walkways.
Chanting lines of folk weaved in and out, all repeating over and over those ancient litanies, chief of which resounded all day among the half-ruined houses.
“OO-lie O-paz ... OO-lie O-paz...” Over and over, rising and falling, Oolie Opaz, on and on and on.
Surrounded by dignitaries and nobles and functionaries, I went as prescribed from place to place within the city. How different this was, by Vox, from those earlier times! Now I was surrounded by comrades, men and women who had fought with me shoulder to shoulder against our common foes. Now I had no fear, not now, not on this Day, of the poisoned frown, the disgusted look, the turning away in contempt.
The Second Sword Watch were there, inconspicuous, but there, ready in case a more deadly threat manifested itself.
Messengers in relays kept me informed on the progress of Bjanching. He had not gained clear contact with Quienyin. The two Wizards of Loh continued to investigate the extent and force of this new power wielded by Phu-Si-Yantong.
Vallia is a civilized country of Kregen, with wild enough parts here and there, as I well knew. But all the same, these processions, the brilliance of jewels and feathers, the caparisoned animals, the uproar with the banging of drums and gongs and the fierce blowing of trumpets, the smells and the scents, the sheer vitality of it all, this was a splendid and barbaric spectacle.
But the luster of the Day was dimmed for me until almost halfway through, just as we were approaching the hour of mid.
“I am parched!” quoth Nath na Kochwold — who remembered his name with the utmost clarity — and he smiled. “I look forward to the meal they have prepared with almost as much pleasure as I look forward to the march past. By Vox! What we have left of the Phalanx is a poor remnant. But they will march with a swing.”
“They will, Nath, they will.”
We alighted from the narrow boat and burst into the light of the suns and the roaring welcome of the crowds. Above us lifted the bulk of the Temple of Opaz the Judge. Glistening, impressive, floating among the clouds, it seemed, that vision of spire and dome. I looked up. The manifestation of Opaz in the guise of Judge was traditionally linked with midday, the balancing point between night and night. Here the priests would have prepared a mouth-watering repast to tide us over the next part of the Day’s events. We were all sharp set.
The marble steps glistened with gold-veined whiteness. Crimson drapes stained the marble with the semblance of blood. Ranked lines of men held back the pressing crowds. The color, the excitement and the heady energy of the celebrations filled everyone with the passionate conviction that it was divine to be alive on such a day as this.
Pausing for a moment to speak to one of the swods guarding the marble stairs, I was aware of his hard, tanned face, the direct look of his brown Vallian eyes. He was a spearman of the Fifteenth Regiment, trim in leather and crimson, his shield with its proud devices angled just so,
There was nothing else for it. I had to do my duty this day. This was all a part of being emperor, just as much as worrying over zorca horn rot and the supply of corn and the new gold mines, and payment of the troops and education for the youngsters. And — all the rest of
that...
I will not go into details of the lavishness of the Day. The twin suns shone, Zim and Genodras, blazing down out of a clear sky. The waters of the canals scintillated in light. The houses were festooned with flags and bunting and draped curtains and streamers. The people shouted. The processions wound in and out, and the priests went through their rituals, earnestly and with dedication, and sweating more than a little.
The bands played. Contingents of various regiments marched. The people pranced through the avenues and crowded the narrow boats so that the canals became solid walkways.
Chanting lines of folk weaved in and out, all repeating over and over those ancient litanies, chief of which resounded all day among the half-ruined houses.
“OO-lie O-paz ... OO-lie O-paz...” Over and over, rising and falling, Oolie Opaz, on and on and on.
Surrounded by dignitaries and nobles and functionaries, I went as prescribed from place to place within the city. How different this was, by Vox, from those earlier times! Now I was surrounded by comrades, men and women who had fought with me shoulder to shoulder against our common foes. Now I had no fear, not now, not on this Day, of the poisoned frown, the disgusted look, the turning away in contempt.
The Second Sword Watch were there, inconspicuous, but there, ready in case a more deadly threat manifested itself.
Messengers in relays kept me informed on the progress of Bjanching. He had not gained clear contact with Quienyin. The two Wizards of Loh continued to investigate the extent and force of this new power wielded by Phu-Si-Yantong.
Vallia is a civilized country of Kregen, with wild enough parts here and there, as I well knew. But all the same, these processions, the brilliance of jewels and feathers, the caparisoned animals, the uproar with the banging of drums and gongs and the fierce blowing of trumpets, the smells and the scents, the sheer vitality of it all, this was a splendid and barbaric spectacle.
But the luster of the Day was dimmed for me until almost halfway through, just as we were approaching the hour of mid.
“I am parched!” quoth Nath na Kochwold — who remembered his name with the utmost clarity — and he smiled. “I look forward to the meal they have prepared with almost as much pleasure as I look forward to the march past. By Vox! What we have left of the Phalanx is a poor remnant. But they will march with a swing.”
“They will, Nath, they will.”
We alighted from the narrow boat and burst into the light of the suns and the roaring welcome of the crowds. Above us lifted the bulk of the Temple of Opaz the Judge. Glistening, impressive, floating among the clouds, it seemed, that vision of spire and dome. I looked up. The manifestation of Opaz in the guise of Judge was traditionally linked with midday, the balancing point between night and night. Here the priests would have prepared a mouth-watering repast to tide us over the next part of the Day’s events. We were all sharp set.
The marble steps glistened with gold-veined whiteness. Crimson drapes stained the marble with the semblance of blood. Ranked lines of men held back the pressing crowds. The color, the excitement and the heady energy of the celebrations filled everyone with the passionate conviction that it was divine to be alive on such a day as this.
Pausing for a moment to speak to one of the swods guarding the marble stairs, I was aware of his hard, tanned face, the direct look of his brown Vallian eyes. He was a spearman of the Fifteenth Regiment, trim in leather and crimson, his shield with its proud devices angled just so,
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