Korvane saw all this as he stood on the windswept landing pad, awaiting the approach of a ceremonial guard. He felt a mild, but pleasant surprise that such had been ordered, for he had given no advance warning of his visit and was not known to the Imperial Commander. It was a good sign, he judged, going by his experience of dealing in matters of courtly etiquette.

He stood in polite silence, flanked by the captain and first mate of the cutter. The shock of the exit from the warp was clearing, and he was struck by the unusual scent upon the air, a vaguely noxious combination of chemical sharpness and decay. He realised that it must be some by-product of the exotic eco-system at play within the clouds, and guessed that the natives were entirely unaware of it. He stifled a cough, and determined not to mention it.

The ceremonial procession approached, Korvane able to make out the details of the guards' uniforms and weapons. They offered a jarring contrast to Luneberg's household guard, who had worn uniforms of stark white with tall feathers at their brows. These wore rough spun, un-dyed cloth, and carried simple, sturdy lasguns in place of the overly ornate and entirely impractical long rifles that Luneberg's men had carried.

The procession reached the edge of the landing pad, and an officer, barely distinguishable to Korvane from the other guards, stepped forwards and bowed.

'I welcome you, Lord Gerrit of the Arcadius, to the world of Arris Epsilon. My master, the Imperial Commander Lord Droon bids you attend him'

Korvane was struck by the clarity of the man's Low Gothic, just as he had been by that of the cutter's captain.

It was most unusual, in his experience, to find a dialect this far out on the Eastern Rim that was so understandable. So clear was it, in fact that Korvane guessed it was a derivation of High Gothic rather than one of the hybrid dialects used on most worlds. All this passed through his mind in the span of time it took the officer to speak, Korvane's expert instincts gleaning potentially valuable information from every aspect of his situation.

'I gladly do so. he replied, bowing ever so slightly at the waist and reading the other man's reaction all the while. Seeing the other bow yet lower told him that his conventions were correct when it came to acknowledging comparative social ranking.

The officer turned, his squad doing likewise in perfect unison. Korvane stepped forwards, and the guards marched off as he passed them. He found himself walking along a tall, thin access-way crossing a vast gulf to a rocky spire several hundred metres away. He glanced over the rail-less edge, glad that the ground was not visible, the mist bubbling away far below.

Looking ahead, Korvane saw the bulk of what he took to be Imperial Commander Zachary Droon's palace, perched upon the highest peak of mountain towards which the walkway led. It consisted of a multitude of peaked turrets, verandas and galleries, each connected, he guessed, by a honeycomb of tunnels cut into the rock of the mountain.

The walkway terminated in a tall, thin portal in the rock, flanked on either side by long, fluttering pennants. The doors opened on well-oiled hinges, swinging inwards to reveal a brightly lit passage leading into the mountain.

The procession passed through the portal, following the passage cut through the raw stone for a hundred metres or so, to a second set of tall, thin doors. The guards now changed formation, forming a perfect line behind Korvane. At some unheard signal, the doors swung open and a bright light burst forth, briefly dazzling Korvane.

He was so determined to avoid causing offence that he stepped forwards, regardless that his vision had yet to clear. As his sight adjusted to the brightness, Korvane saw that he stood in the centre of a wide, tall space cut into the side of the mountain. The world's sun entirely filled the view beyond the cave's mouth, its centre the brightest white, its halo a serene jade. Silhouetted against the sun, Korvane could just make out a tall form, which stepped towards him.

The silhouette resolved in Korvane's vision, forming into a tall, thin-faced man, his hair receding, wearing a long robe of plain linen. This was Zachary Droon, judged Korvane, an ascetic, by his appearance, although Korvane recalled the numerous times his father had warned him against acting on first impressions.

'Welcome to my court, Lord Gerrit. Droon made an expansive motion with his long, thin arms. Korvane followed the gesture, noting the courtiers arrayed upon either side, dressed in the same, simple garb as their master. "We so seldom receive guests, and when we do, we are never found wanting as hosts. 'You arrived unannounced, Lord Gerrit?

Korvane caught the inference immediately — Droon was sizing him up, while simultaneously hedging his bets lest Korvane prove to be a potential ally, or a potential threat. The Imperial Commander appeared to have accepted that Korvane was, as he had identified himself, a rogue trader, for which Korvane was grateful. He guessed that Droon was prepared to believe him, for now, but would require a more solid indication at some point in the not too distant future.

'Yes my Lord Droon, for which I beg your forgiveness. A little contrition was hardly inappropriate at this juncture, Korvane thought. Evidently, Droon thought the same thing, for he nodded sagely at Korvane's reply. A mishap whilst traversing the empyrean brought us to your domains in this manner, although we were bound for Arris Epsilon in any case.

Droon's eyebrows rose. 'Really? We expected no such visit. Please, do go on'

Korvane felt hot prickles rise at his neck, for Droon appeared more inclined to press his guest for an explanation than would ordinarily be politic. He went on, 'No, my lord, and again, I must ask your forbearance. My vessel and two others were fleeing an attack at a nearby system. In our haste to escape, we determined that this was the safest destination'

Upon hearing this, the Imperial Commander turned his head to one side, considering, Korvane guessed, the likelihood of Korvane's story.

'Your attackers were… raiders? Pirates?

'No, my lord, unfortunately not, we were engaged in a trade negotiation upon Mundus Chasmata-

'Luneberg? Droon interjected, his previously blank expression suddenly one of anger.

'Indeed, my lord'

'What cause did he have to attack your vessels? What was the nature of your negotiations? Droon's manner had shifted, from one of detached civility to something bordering on hostility.

Korvane thought quickly, judging that Droon's reaction was caused by some underlying enmity towards the Imperial Commander of Mundus Chasmata. The talks were to ascertain the profitability of opening up a permanent trade route between Chasmata and a number of coreward mercantile concerns' a minor lie, but Korvane was ill disposed towards revealing the true nature of the deal. 'The confrontation was caused when Luneberg attempted to forcibly impose unfavourable terms'

'Luneberg attacked you because you refused to accede to his authority?

Korvane hesitated before answering, aware that his reply might shape events to come in ways that he could not yet predict. 'Yes, my lord' he said, 'I believe the Lord Luneberg is not entirely-

'Sane? Interjected Droon. 'You're saying that Culpepper Luneberg is dangerously unstable and unfit to rule his world?

Korvane had said no such thing, although he certainly held that opinion. Before he could answer, however, Droon cut in.

'Well, you'd be absolutely correct. Luneberg is a sinful waste of skin, and you can consider yourself fortunate to have escaped his clutches. He's been attempting to make deals with the likes of you for many years. I've had my suspicions for some time, but I believe you have confirmed them. The man has cracked. He's on the verge of taking his world, and this entire sector, to the brink of rebellion.