Annika watched the Duke closely. He was a strange sort of man, with the broad burly frame and cragy features of a Hawkwood but with the aquiline nose and broading features of a Li Halan. That ancient and strange house was not well liked in the palaces of the Sultan, their holier than thou judgmentalism and austere self denial did little to endear them to the al Maliks they encountered. Since she had left Isktar Annika had seen little to confirm those biases, but those Li Halan she encountered did tend to be outsiders to their own family.

“Priests…” Duke William muttered, casting a baleful look at Mobian, “Priests!” The repeated word began in the same tone as the first but ended in a shriek. Annika risked a glance at Mobian who stared forward stoically a slight grimace in his stern expression.

“Priests! What do they know… I know more of the Pancreator than…” the Duke trailed off his eyes falling on Annika.

“Who are you?” he asked, his fury draining away as quickly as it had arisen. Mobian stepped forward.

“She is a sorcer... “

“SILENCE!” the Duke roared, rounding on the Avestite in an eyeblink.

“I am not speaking to you,” he snapped before spinning back to Annika. The mood in the chamber was growing tense, with the various advisors and hangers-on casting surreptious glances at one and other. 

“You were saying my dear?” the Duke continued.

“I am Annika Comennos al Malik your grace,” she responded with a graceful curtsey. Her ecclesiastical rank was clearly displayed on her clothing and the Celestial Sun amulet she wore but if he noticed William Rochfort did not comment. Instead he took her hand and kissed it in courtly fashion. Annika kept an iron grip on her gifts, she could feel the Dukes moods surging and fading like waves lashing a rock. Mobian might be a fool but the Avestii had theugry of their own, and if he caught her using psychic powers on a man of Rochfort’s station she would go to the stake for certain.

“Charmed my dear,” he told her, “tell me are you endowed with the gifts of Euterpe?”

“As best as one not beyond the gates of Silinas your grace,” she responded. William smiled at her and then the expression seemed to freeze on his face. The corners of his mouth pulled the smile into a ricktus and his eyes grew wild.

“I must pray!” he declared and spun on his heel, heading towards the rear of the chamber in little short of a run. Mobian cast a baleful glance at Annika and Orion.

“Your grace,” he called after William, “What is to be done with this false knight and his…” Mobian evidently realised the Duke was too far away to address the question and then hurried after him as quickly as he could with the indignity of breaking into a run. Both men disappeared through a large door at the rear of the chamber which slammed behind them.

“I shall take charge of Sir Pentecost,” announced one of the advisors who had been trying to keep out of sight at the edge of the chamber. The speaker was a lean man in matte black from head to toe, something that put him at odds with the other occupants of the chamber, most of whom were dressed in silks or furs. He was dark haired and handsome and his eyes slapped down the other councilors. 

“If you will come with me Sir and Sister,” he told them, leading them from the main chamber and through a hallway to a large library, with shelves of books and bundled scrolls that stretched from the plush carpeted floor to the high ceilings. He moved to a sideboard and took out a quaraf of what looked to be brandy and three glasses.

“I apologize for your reception in there, I am afraid Brother Mobian had the Duke’s ear this morning and spent most of it calling you all kinds of things,” he said, apologetically. 

“Oh where are my manners, I am Dieter Engel, the Dukes Chamberlain.”