From inside the room came the sound of feminine laughter and a man’s cajoling voice.

The secretary knocked discretely on the door. A powerful voice bellowed. “What is it, Ezra? Can’t you see I am busy?”

“You have important visitors, Your Excellency.”

“I don’t care how bloody important they think they are. Tell them to come back later!” Feminine giggles interrupted the Governor’s speech.

“They bear messages from the King-Emperor, Excellency. Warrants too.”

“Why didn’t you say so then! Send them in! No! Give me a moment then send them in!”

Zamara glanced at Kormak to see how he was taking this. It was obviously not the sort of reception he had been expecting. The secretary hunched, as if embarrassed. He turned to Zamara and made a gesture that said you heard His Excellency as well as I.

A moment later, the rich, fruity voice, said, “Send them in. I am ready now.”

Governor Aurin was a man of medium height, balding, and running to fat. Arrogance etched his face and oozed from his languid manner. He was still fastening his tunic. His companion was a beautiful dark-haired young woman who had been garbed as a mountain dryad. Either her costume was in some disarray or she was taking the role of scantily clad nymph with becoming seriousness.

“And who in the name of the Shadow, are you?” the Governor barked. He stared directly at Kormak. “And why do you claim the King-Emperor has sent you on his business?”

The wood nymph suppressed a giggle. The Governor poured himself a glass of wine. His hand was steady but when he raised it to his lips some of the wine trickled down his chin.

“He claims to come on the King’s business because he is on the King’s business,” said Zamara. He made a small courtly bow. “Count Zamara, Admiral of the Western Fleet, Captain-General of next year’s Treasure Fleet.”

The Governor’s manner became subtly more respectful although there was still haughty insolence in his tone. “The King’s cousin. He’s finally seen fit to promote you then. I knew all that talk of getting rid of nepotism was just that, talk.”

Zamara’s smile widened. His tone became colder. “I believe you have had too much to drink, sir.”

“And who are you to tell me I have had too much to drink? I have a good mind to slap your cheek with my glove. Teach you some manners, puppy!”

Zamara’s eyes narrowed. He was not used to being talked to in that tone. And he was not the sort of man who would back down from a duel.

“Governor, you are in quite enough trouble with the King-Emperor without starting brawls with his relatives,” Kormak said.

“What? Some barbarian hillman comes strolling into my office and starts lecturing me on protocol. What is the world coming to? I won’t do you the honour of cuffing your cheek, sir. I will have the servants beat you and throw you out.”

“That would be most unwise,” said Orson. His manner was amused and conciliatory.

“And why do you say that, Goodman Waters?”

“Because the Guardian here is high in royal favour, having saved the King-Emperor’s life.” He let that sink in then added, “Also he might slaughter your servants.”

“Is that so? Is that so?” The Governor’s bluster started to fade.