Finally a door opened on the side of the room and Markus shot to his feet. He stood stiffly at attention as he watched three figures shuffle into the room. First was an attendant, stressed and hurried, weighed down with papers and books. He pulled the door wide and bowed his head.
Chancellor Tanil was not a simple man by any means. Seeing himself as the representative of the entire Imperial culture, he always seemed to be dressed like he was going to be in a painting. A lavish and intricately woven robe, adorned with scarves and symbols of office went from just under his neck all the way to the floor. Sashes across his chest continued into high peaks over his shoulders, and seemed to flow into the tall, blue and silver cap he wore like a crown. He glanced down his nose at the room around him. Markus felt like he had been expecting a larger crowd.
The Chancellor strode into the room and a second attendant, equally hurried but more tattered by age, closed the door behind him. The tall chair at the head of the meeting table was pulled out and the Chancellor, and he gathered up his robes and descended on the seat like a collapsing curtain.
Markus thumped his chest with his right fist then leveled his hand palm-up at his navel. "Chancellor Tanil, sir!" His salute echoed through the large chamber. The attendants stared.
"Hmm. Very good." Tamil said at last. "Have a seat, Sir Markus."
Markus sat with military precision, buckling his knees and silently meeting the chair in one fluid motion. He rested his palms on his thighs and waited for further instructions. He'd never been called "sir" before, though most who weren't actually in the military referred to anyone who was any sort of knight or officer, Markus had always been the one calling others "sir," while others referred to him simply as "soldier," "runt," or occasionally "lance-biter." There was a most unfortunate story behind that last one.
The Chancellor cleared his throat. "A bit closer, please."
Markus looked at the eight chairs between him and the Chancellor. He felt a blush warm his cheeks as he slinked from his seat and made his way up the table. He took the seat on the Chancellors' left, resting his hands on his legs once more.
A jingling filled the room as Chancellor Tanil cascaded his heavily ringed fingers together and placed them on the tabletop. "Thank you for joining me, Sir Markus. I do hope I didn't interrupt your training."
Markus knew that tone. He got it from commanders all the time when they honestly couldn't care if he was making love to the Empress or relieving himself in the woods. "No, sir. It's an honor to meet with you. Sir."
Chancellor Tanil was not a simple man by any means. Seeing himself as the representative of the entire Imperial culture, he always seemed to be dressed like he was going to be in a painting. A lavish and intricately woven robe, adorned with scarves and symbols of office went from just under his neck all the way to the floor. Sashes across his chest continued into high peaks over his shoulders, and seemed to flow into the tall, blue and silver cap he wore like a crown. He glanced down his nose at the room around him. Markus felt like he had been expecting a larger crowd.
The Chancellor strode into the room and a second attendant, equally hurried but more tattered by age, closed the door behind him. The tall chair at the head of the meeting table was pulled out and the Chancellor, and he gathered up his robes and descended on the seat like a collapsing curtain.
Markus thumped his chest with his right fist then leveled his hand palm-up at his navel. "Chancellor Tanil, sir!" His salute echoed through the large chamber. The attendants stared.
"Hmm. Very good." Tamil said at last. "Have a seat, Sir Markus."
Markus sat with military precision, buckling his knees and silently meeting the chair in one fluid motion. He rested his palms on his thighs and waited for further instructions. He'd never been called "sir" before, though most who weren't actually in the military referred to anyone who was any sort of knight or officer, Markus had always been the one calling others "sir," while others referred to him simply as "soldier," "runt," or occasionally "lance-biter." There was a most unfortunate story behind that last one.
The Chancellor cleared his throat. "A bit closer, please."
Markus looked at the eight chairs between him and the Chancellor. He felt a blush warm his cheeks as he slinked from his seat and made his way up the table. He took the seat on the Chancellors' left, resting his hands on his legs once more.
A jingling filled the room as Chancellor Tanil cascaded his heavily ringed fingers together and placed them on the tabletop. "Thank you for joining me, Sir Markus. I do hope I didn't interrupt your training."
Markus knew that tone. He got it from commanders all the time when they honestly couldn't care if he was making love to the Empress or relieving himself in the woods. "No, sir. It's an honor to meet with you. Sir."
