The throne room of Maga’s Palace was a wide corridor painted with gold and washed in mosaic gemstones. At the end of the hall, before the arched ceiling ruffled into a gleaming mahogany waterfall, rested the serene white throne of the King. Narrow canals of pristine water ran alongside the throne’s sides and tall golden reeds grew up from the murky soil beneath. The throne itself was draped with a lilac runner and hefty glass crystals were encased in its hands. Sunlight shone through round portals in the gem-crusted ceiling and lit up the room with a reflective haze.
Under Rel’s guidance, Aralim entered the room and paused. He took a moment to admire the beauty of the tapestry-like designs in the wood-panel walls and the blue motley tiles that ran toward the throne. In many ways, he felt completely out of place.
Aralim’s rough woolen cloak had not been changed for fanciful clothes—not yet. Its rich grey faded to a ruddy grey at its tattered edge. In his right hand he held the spar of wood that remained of his lantern staff. He was still too defiant to accept the charred fate of his twenty-odd-year companion, first given to him by the Lord of Tharathar across the Stormy Sea. He had shaved off the sharp foot-long point of it, but it still showed the scars of its damage. His other hand, though mostly healed, was still wrapped with ointment and white linen bandaging. His flesh, especially the palm, was badly scarred. As he faced the nearly-empty throne room, Aralim reflected that at least he had washed his grey-brown hair.
A few other men and women entered the room after Aralim: other applicants for the King’s attention. One young man looked like he was barely past his twentieth year, but he was dressed in a silk tunic that blended right in with the illustrious chamber. A grey-haired woman waited quietly to Aralim’s left, behind Grendar and the orange-robed Aura.
The lords and ladies of King Eilar’s court entered next. There were narrowly more than twenty, from Aralim’s quick assessment. Though they were all manner of ages, only two members of the group were not of Elder Coast descent. Both had olive skin, like the denizens of Radregar. One wore the red badge of a Crimson Highwayman, though his clothes were as fine as the young lordling in Aralim’s waiting area. He was accompanied by another Elder Coast man, similarly emblemed with a blood sigil.
After everyone had entered, they remained standing before their chairs in anticipation of the King. Aralim was not surprised to witness the arrival of the priesthood first. There were five men and five women in their midst, filing down the blue pathway towards the throne. All the priests and priestesses that Aralim had seen so far were dressed in smooth white linens.
At last, King Eilar’s arrival was announced. Despite this being his second stay in the Eye of Maga’s Palace, Aralim had never before seen the King. Eilar had the onyx complexion of his courtiers, but wore a floor-length sage-green robe. Metallic designs wound around his shoulders like armour plates made of gold-leaf vines. A tall wooden spear, not unlike Aralim’s staff, served as the King’s sceptre. It dragged dully along the mosaic floor until the King set it in a leather loop next to his throne and slowly sat down.
The rest of the court sat down as Rel, in tail with the monarch, assumed a position near the right-hand of the throne. Rel was quick to call out, “Our first addressee is Master Aralim-sho, Ambassador of Numa’nakres. Please step forward.”
Aralim strode into the center of the aisle. The twenty lords and ladies of the court all looked to him, waiting to hear what he would say. But before Aralim could speak, King Eilar leaned forward.
“Welcome Ambassador,” the ruler said. His voice was thick with the Elder Coast accent. He tugged absently on his pointed black beard and continued, “I apologize for having been unable to speak with you until this second arrival—and the dire conditions of it. I have been King for a year, but I fear I am still trying to ‘catch up’, so to speak. Now, I understand that the cause of your presence today is your injured companion in our infirmary?”
Having prepared an opening statement, Aralim found the wind taken from his sails. He blinked, took a breath, and reframed his prepared reasoning. “Please, call me Aralim,” he began. “Taking over after a former leader requires a lot of one’s time, I would imagine. It’s no trouble. It’s a pleasure to finally put a face to your name…. Yes. We were attacked on the road near Maga several times by a large group of bandits. One of our members has sustained injuries outside the capacities of healers in this city. As such, I would like to request the use of the waters of Maga. I know this is a large favour as the waters have not been used in some time, but I have been doing research since my arrival in this city and I think it is a good idea.”
The King nodded sternly. “A most unfortunate turn of events, to be certain. I believe the Crimson Highway has since dealt with these scoundrels, but that does not undo the harm they have done. However, this does not affect my policies on the healing water. I have refrained use of the Eye to similarly ensure the safety of myself and my people. Pralla Maga-sha, the Great Priestess, has told me that it is possible the waters of the lake may harm any who enter.”
“Yes, I have heard that treatment of the Eye in the past has angered Maga. I do not intend to refute that. In fact, I would like to help.” Aralim paused. He did not need to speak loudly; the curved ceiling reverberated his voice to a comfortable volume. He went on: “Actions were taken in the past. Although these actions may have been seen as warranted at the time,” Aralim locked eyes with the King, “they have gone against the gift of Maga. I believe the best way to return to her love is through pure-heartedness, by helping someone that was injured defending others and truly needs Maga’s gift. I think reserving Maga’s gift for times such as these circumstances is how you could demonstrate your respect and honour for that gift—demonstrating that you deserve it.
“Of course, there is still the concern for danger you mentioned,” Aralim pointed out. “That is why I am willing to take Lerela into the waters myself. Her condition cannot be worsened. And if I am harmed… I am just an appendage of the Eternal Emperor, but then you will know the dangers of the Eye to be true.”
A murmur went through the court as the lords and ladies discussed Aralim’s speech. The King leaned back in his throne, crossing his angular forearms in front of his chest. “You’ve given a most intriguing suggestion, Aralim,” Eilar declared. “I must discuss this with my spiritual advisors.”
Aralim bowed and took a pace back. Priests and priestesses surrounded the King in a white glow and a hushed murmuring. A few minutes passed in this way. Even Rel contributed to the conversation, until at last the King nodded to his advisors and waved them back. He smiled to Aralim and said, “We have decided this is a reasonable risk and a good attempt at atoning to our beloved Goddess. There were some concerns raised about the… er… logistics of your participation, but you will be able to discuss those with the priests and priestesses.”
Grendar, standing behind Aralim, quietly sighed in relief. Aralim felt a small amount of pride in his progress on the Path. A murmur went through the court and Aralim had to speak over it. “Thank you. I look forward to learning from your priestesses.”
The fancifully-dressed Crimson Highwayman took a step forward and King Eilar called to him, “Yes, Sergeant Kieb-sho?”
Kieb glanced at Aralim, smiled politely through his thin brown goatee, and then turned back to the King. “What of my injured men, also defending this city against the bandits? What of those who have died in service over the last several moons? I would have waded in with them, if that was what was required.”
Eilar sighed loudly. “A tragedy, indeed. We will know more after the Ambassador has attempted the waters. This is about the Goddess’s favour, not something owed for service.”
Aralim decided to say nothing. This was a court business that he doubted he could improve.
“I request that my men be next in line, should Aralim and his guard emerge healed,” Kieb said, with a scowl. The glorified brigand stepped back into line with the lords and ladies of the hall.
King Eilar looked back to Aralim. “Is there any other matter you require be addressed, Ambassador?”
“That was my only concern,” Aralim said, tipping his head thankfully. “Of course, as an ambassador, I would enjoy a chance to talk with you on matters of state, should this venture prove successful.”
Eilar nodded to Aralim and Rel gestured for the Ambassador to return to the waiting area. The grey-haired woman was called upon next, and Aralim waited quietly for the next two hours. Though he was not one to prioritize material wealth, Aralim simply enjoyed his time in the comfortable space and contemplated what his success today meant for his journey on the Path. Could he bring effectiveness out of the cursed healing waters to restore his friend to health? He was on course to do just that.