He reached the end of the corridor, finding yet another set of doors and one lone stocky guard. In addition to the standard blue and scarlet costume, this one wore a gold scarf twisted in a complicated knot. A royal retainer, thought Bryck, being careful not to smile this time as he met the man's rather stony gaze.

"I've come from U'delph for an audience," he said.

The guardsman's eyes softened at that. Some not quite identifiable emotion crept onto his plump features. He dipped his thick chin and opened the doors, and Bryck entered the chancellery's main chamber.

Once more the dearth of stately trappings tickled his innate sense of the ironic. The room was a simple square, the walls bare but for Sook's blue and scarlet standard, which hung behind a large table. Around this table sat a collection of what Bryck assumed to be Sook's ministry. They were men and women with the harried look of bureaucrats, rather than the reserved air of nobility. Some eight of these figures were in agitated conference as he approached. Parchments were scattered across the long table, being passed hand to hand and flourished, as one minister or an-other tried to drive home some point in the free-for-all de-bate.

Bryck couldn't pick a leader out of the bunch. Not one of these people, each wearing a scarlet mantle and the chains of office, appeared above any other, either in demeanor or in the deference the others would offer a superior. Their squabble continued as he came to a halt, no one showing any awareness of his presence.

He tried to unravel the topic of deliberation, but it was hopeless. The matter had evidently digressed into niggling particulars of the central issue, and what was left was a jumble of mere argument. He studied the scene a moment. By the madness of the gods, Bryck thought, he could create a fine political farce from these characters, merely by emphasizing their petulance and making the subject of their debate something absurdly trivial. Yes, perhaps they would be wrangling over the ponderous question of the true color of the sun, since at dawn and dusk it was red, during the day yellow, and grey when the weather was inclement. Yes...

He shook this off just as a smooth-headed minister raised his face and asked, "Yes?"

This didn't slow the surrounding quarrel, as papers continued to fly and voices rose.

For the fourth time since his encounter with the city guards at Sook's limits, Bryck said, "I've come for an audience. I am from U'delph."

These words brought everything to a standstill. The seven remaining faces turned his way, expressions ranging from anticipation to something like curious pity.

Well, thought Bryck nonplussed, he had their attention at least. Making a bid for a greater impression, he added, "My name is Bryck," purposely leaving off his title. He calmly searched the attentive faces for reaction.

Oddly, the normal magic of his name's invocation didn't seem to be working. Odd, since his repute as a play-wright was widely known, far beyond the confines of U'delph. His theatricals were regularly exported and staged by traveling troupes in cities as distant as Q'ang and even Petgrad. It wasn't vanity to presume that at least one of these squabbling ministers should know who he was and be duly awed.

He waited through the lengthening silence and the strange stares. Something evidently was amiss. It might be, he realized, that they didn't believe his claim. These men and women wouldn't know his face, only his name; and here he stood in his coarse traveler's apparel, unshaven, smelling quite like the horse he'd been riding. He nearly chuckled.

Before he could, another of the ministers—an elderly woman with unhealthy, milky eyes—said, "If you wish asylum, we will grant it." Her tone was almost reverential, and she carried only a trace of the bucolic Sook accent.

Bryck's brows drew together slightly. "Why ... no." He didn't know with what name to address this body and so did not, avoiding any potential breach of etiquette. Who knew what behavior this ministry of yokels expected from a petitioner? Bryck, however, was a noble and knew the ways of stately protocol.

"What, then?" asked the minister with the hairless skull.

Bryck gathered a breath. "I bring a formal appeal from the city of U'delph. I—"

"From U'delph?" asked a third one among the mantled figures. He was a spindly male, the youngest at the table. He gazed at Bryck with patent incomprehension.

Bryck suppressed an impatient sigh. Had he not made it clear where he came from? "Yes. U'delph. Your neighboring city. We ask your support, humbly and respectfully. We are in a time of urgent need, as you may—"

"Udelph?" echoed die crone with the poor eyes. They were now all peering at him as though he babbled nonsense.

Bryck blinked at die group, thoroughly bewildered.

"How can you bring an appeal from U'delph?" asked the first minister.

"I assure you I have been authorized to do so by my city's ruling council," he countered, wondering if this was the source of this body's baffling response to his petition. It was true he carried no official documents substantiating his right to make the appeal. Evidently that had been an oversight—and one he might have to pay for in the form of this wasted journey. Three days and two nights on the jouncing back of that steed, all the hardships of his excursion, all his intrepid efforts ... for nothing.

A hot blossom of indignant anger opened in his chest. How dare these boors! Didn't they know who he was, what sacrifices he had made?

Checking his ire before it bloomed fully, he tried an-other tack. "The military situation is grave. The Felk are nearing the borders of my city. We do not have sufficient numbers to hope to oppose them. We ask, I promise, with die deepest esteem for this good state of Sook, for aid in countering this threat. The armies of the Felk, as you must know, are formidable. It is no great stretch to imagine that once they have finished with my people, they may turn toward yours."

There, Bryck thought with some satisfaction. Make it personal for them. Let them see that their own throats are exposed.

Again the response wasn't what he expected. The bald minister—perhaps the leader after all—said, "We're very aware of the menace of the Felk, make no mistake. Our scouts are desperately monitoring their movements." He waved a fistful of papers, scrawled with text and slapdash maps. "We are presently trying to see to our own defenses."

Ah, that was it, Bryck finally decided. They can spare no troops. Too concerned about their own safety. It was an attitude that, once more, he couldn't rightly fault.

Still, it was disappointing, if not outright irritating. His journey here had been worthless. Drawing himself stiffly erect, he dipped into an exaggeratedly courtly bow, ready to deliver a mocking apology on behalf of the unworthy people of Udelph who had sent him, a lowly rider, to unfairly disturb this august ministry in its momentous defensive preparations.

Before he could deliver this speech, however, the chief minister said, "Rest assured, we have nothing but sympathy for your tragedy. Our offer of asylum is sincere."

"My thanks," Bryck pronounced. "But I must decline your generous proposal. Your fair state of Sook is too over-whelming in its grandeur to quarter one so common as myself" Yes, he was laying it on a bit thick, but there was no insult so fine as one couched in immaculate tact. "And so I make my farewell."

"To go where?" asked the spindly, apparently dimwitted lad.

Bryck nearly ignored him, but instead fixed the youngster with a dark gaze and said, "Home."

"To Udelph?" he asked, eyes widening with undisguised astonishment.

Perhaps the boy was a mascot, rather than a true minister, Bryck judged. Ah, bugger them all anyway. He turned from the table.