Khors, wearing the bright mask of Aten, sat in a large circle at an elite performance of the travellling musicians who played under the name Peter and the Puddings. In a large private tent in Nuria Natal in honour of the birthday of Abdul Bashir, Siwal’s trade ambassador in the Capital City, the Divine Son of Svarog appeared human to all but one in the crowd, and listened carefully to the music of the young bard La Fayette. A singing style no doubt enriched through practise and devotion, but even more wondrous, the dextrous mastery of the lute in his hands.
Khors’s eye caught that of a beautiful woman who sat opposite him, yet closer to the singer. From across the circle, she winked at him knowingly. Any other person in that tent would have been beguiled by the seduction of that wink and smile, but Khors was not fooled.
“Nakresh,” he realised, understanding immediately the divine Patronage lending its power and influence to the young singer in the centre of the circle, and yet it was not pride that Khors saw in that smile. It was something else. Something more sinister. Something malevolent. Something befitting the wiles of the Many Handed goddess. Something terrible was happening. He felt sure of it…..