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insist,” he replied. “Things are not always
     what they seem, are they?”.
    “They seldom are,” Tithian allowed.
    He reluctantly took the bag off his shoulder. Maurus's suspicions were well-founded, for
     it was a magical satchel that could hold an unlimited number of items and still appear
     empty. Before leaving Tyr, the king had placed inside an ample supply of food, water,
     coins, and many other items he expected to need on his journey. Of course, the supplies
     also included
    
    
     a
    
    
     broad selection of weapons, but that was not why Tithian wanted to keep the sack in his
     own hands. He had something else inside that would convince the Balkan ruler to give him
     what he wanted, and he had wanted to keep the bag so he could time the appearance of the
     items for maximum effect.
    Tithian handed the satchel to the chamberlain, silently cursing the man's caution and
     efficiency. “Now may I go inside?”
    Maurus slipped the satchel over his shoulder, then waved his guest through the doorway.
     Tithian passed into a small anteroom, where a half-giant sentry stood in front of a pair
     of massive doors. After raising his hand to salute the chamberlain, the guard pulled a
     door open and stepped aside.
    Tithian entered the next chamber. The air felt hot and moist against his skin, and it
     reeked of perfumed flesh. Save for the soft scrape of his own sandals on the floor, the
     place remained so quiet that the Tyrian wondered if he had entered an empty room.
    As his eyes adjusted to the stifling murkiness, Tithian saw that was not the case. A
     gallery of marble benches ran down both sides of the huge chamber, partially concealed by
     two lines of marble pillars that supported the ceiling. Several hundred men and women
     waited patiently in the tiers, all dressed in white togas hemmed with silver and gold.
     They were of many races: human, mul, dwarf, half-elf, and even tarek. They all remained
     absolutely silent, sitting so motionless that not even the rustle of their silken robes
     disturbed the eerie quiet.
    At the far end of the chamber stood an empty throne, constructed of translucent alabaster
     and stationed upon a pedestal of pink jade. Inlays of blue-tinted moonstone decorated the
     back of the magnificent seat, while the arms had been shaped from solid blocks of
     chalcedony and the legs from limpid crystals of citrine. All of the light passing through
     the room's narrow windows seemed to flow directly into the chair, which cast the radiance
     back into the chamber as a muted white glow.
    Tithian walked forward, stopping near a graying patrician of about his own age. She had
     the pointed ears and peaked eyebrows of a half-elf, but her shape was somewhat plump and
     matronly for a woman of her race. Next to her, six gold coins rested in a shallow basket
     woven from the fronds of a soap tree. The woman did not turn to face the Tyrian.
    “Is it not customary in Balic to greet strangers?” Tithian asked. His voice echoed through
     the still chamber as though he had struck a gong.
    “Lady Canace cannot hear you,” said Maurus, walking toward him. “Neither can she see you.”
    The Tyrian stepped around to face the woman. Ugly red burn marks scarred her sunken
     eyelids, leaving Tithian with the impression that she had no eyeballs.
    Maurus stopped at the Tyrian's side, then placed a finger on the woman's lower lip. She
     jumped as though startled, then allowed her mouth to be pulled open wide. In place of a
     tongue, she had only a mangled stump.
    “King Andropinis values the advice of his patricians,” the templar said flatly. “But he
     also wishes to be certain that anything occurring here is never discussed outside the
     White Palace.”
    “A wise precaution,” Tithian observed, stepping away from the woman. “It's unfortunate he
     is not so prudent with his chamberlain.”
    Maurus closed Lady Canace's mouth and whirled around to reply, but an acid