These led in a long sweep to the Second Circinate, which proved to be a smaller and more luxuriously appointed version of the First. Here, according to Rire Grist, lived all the people who comprised the gaddhi's Chatelaine-his attendants, courtiers, advisers, and guests. There were no Guards in evidence; and the forecourt into which the stairways opened was bedecked and tapestried like a ballroom. Light came from many windows as well as from flaming cruses as big as cauldrons. The inner walls held balconies for spectators and musicians; sculpted stone tables stood ready to bear refreshments. But at the moment the hall was empty; and in spite of its lights and accoutrements, it felt strangely cheerless.
Again, two wide stairways arced upward from the far end. Strolling in that direction, the Caitiffin explained that the company would be given chambers here, granted time for rest and sustenance in privacy, once they had been presented to Rant Absolain.
Honninscrave continued to ply their guide with easy inquiries and comments. But the First wore a glower as if she shared Linden's apprehension that the Sandhold would be difficult to leave. She carried her shield on her back like an assertion that she would not cheaply be made captive. But the swing of her arms, the flexing of her fingers, were as imprecise as a cripple's, betraying her bereavement of her broadsword.
No other voice intruded on the hollow air. Covenant shambled forward in Brinn's grasp like a negative image of Seadreamer's muteness. The Haruchai bore themselves in poised silence. And Linden was at once too daunted by, and too busy studying, the Sandhold to speak. With all the frayed attention she could muster, she searched the gaddhi's donjon for signs of evil.
Then the company ascended from the Second Circinate and found themselves in the Tier of Riches.
That place was aptly named. Unlike the lower levels, it was structured in a warren of rooms the size of galleries. And each room was resplendent with treasure.
Here, Rire Grist explained, the gaddhi kept the finest works of the artists and artisans of Bhrathairealm, the most valuable weavings, artifacts, and jewels gained by the Bhrathair in trade, the most precious gifts given to the Sandhold's sovereign by the rulers of other lands. Hall after hall was dedicated to displays of weaponry: rank upon rank of sabres, falchions, longswords; rows of jerrids, spears, crossbows, and innumerable other tools for hurling death; intricate engines of war, such as siege-towers, catapults, battering rams, housed like objects of worship in magnificent chambers. Other rooms contained gemwork of every conceivable description. Dozens of walls were covered with arrases like acts of homage, recognition, or flattery. Several chambers showed finely wrought goblets, plate, and other table service. And each was brightly lit by a chandelier of lambent crystal.
As Rire Grist guided the company through the nearest rooms, Linden was amazed by the extent of the gaddhi's wealth. If these were the fruits of Kasreyn's stewardship, then she was not surprised that no gaddhi had ever deposed the Kemper. How could any monarch resent the servant who made the Tier of Riches possible? Kasreyn's hold upon his position did not arise only from great age and thaumaturgy. It also arose from cunning.
The First's eyes gleamed at the display of swords, some of which were large and puissant enough to replace her lost blade; and even Honninscrave was struck silent by all he saw. Seadreamer appeared to be dazzled by splendour. Apart from Vain and Findail, only the Haruchai remained untouched. If anything, Brinn and his people became more watchful and ready than ever, tightening their protection around Linden and Covenant as if they felt they were nearing the source of a threat.
In the Tier, the company met for the first time men and women who were not soldiers or Guards. These were members of the gaddhi's Chatelaine. As a group, they appeared uniquely handsome and desirable. Linden saw not one plain face or figure among them. And they were resplendently dressed in velvet gowns encrusted with gems, doublets and robes that shone like peacock-feathers, gauzy cymars which draped their limbs like the attire of seduction. They saluted Rire Grist in the tongue of the Bhrathair, gazed at the company with diversely startled or brazen curiosity. Yet their faces wore brightness and charm as vizards; and Linden noted that although they moved around the Tier like appreciative admirers, they did not give their attention to the displayed wealth. From each of them she felt a vibration of tension, as if they were waiting with concealed trepidation for an event which might prove hazardous-and against which they had no defence except their grace and attire.
However, they were adept at concealment. Like the Caitiffin, they betrayed no disquiet which would have been apparent to any senses but hers. But her percipience told her plainly that the Sandhold was a place ruled by fear.
One of the men gave her a smile as superficially frank as a leer. Servants moved noiselessly through the rooms, offering goblets of wine and other courtesies. The First could hardly draw herself away from a particular glaive which hung at an angle in its mounts as if it were leaning toward her. With an inward shiver, Linden realised that the Tier of Riches had been designed for more than the gaddhi's gratification. It also acted as bait. Its very luxuriance was dangerous to people who had reason to be wary.
Then a tremor passed through the air, pulling her to a halt. A moment passed before she understood that no one else had felt it. It was not a sound, but rather a presence that altered the ambience of the Tier in a way only she was able to perceive. And it was moving toward the company. As it drew closer, the susurrus of voices rustling from chamber to chamber fell still.
Before she could warn her companions, a man entered the gallery. She knew who he was before Rire Grist's bow and salutation had announced him as the gaddhi's Kemper. The power which poured from him was as tangible as a pronouncement. He could not have been anyone other than a thaumaturge.
The aura he radiated was one of hunger.
He was a tall man, stood head and shoulders above her; but his frame was so lean that he appeared emaciated. His skin had the translucence of great age, exposing the blue mapwork of his veins. Yet his features were not ancient, and he moved as if his limbs were confident of their vitality. In spite of his reputed longevity, he might have been no more than seventy years of age. A slight rheum clouded his eyes, obscuring their colour but not the impact of their gaze.
In a flash of intuition, Linden perceived that the hunger shining from him was a hunger for time — that his desire for life, and more life, surpassed the satiation of centuries.
He was dressed in a gold-coloured robe which swept the floor as he approached. Suspended by a yellow ribbon, a golden circle like an ocular hung from his neck; but it held no lens.
A leather strap enclosed each shoulder as if he were carrying a rucksack. Linden did not see until he turned to answer the Caitiffin's greeting that the burden he bore was an infant swaddled in yellow samite.
After a brief word with Rire Grist, the Kemper stepped toward the company.
“I am pleased to greet you.” His voice revealed a faint quaver of age; but his tone was confident and familiar. "Permit me to say that such guests are rare in Bhrathairealm- thus doubly welcome. Therefore have I desired to make your acquaintance ere you are summoned before the Auspice to receive the gaddhi's benison. But we need no introduction. This worthy Caitiffin has already spoken my name. And in my turn I know you.