A group of people waited at the far end of the hall, made to seem almost insignificant by the height of the room. Their talking faded away as we approached. My attention went of course to the throne, pulled close to the fire, where a stooped-shouldered, white-haired man watched me coming with surprisingly sharp eyes. The velvet of his ermine-decorated robes was even more brilliantly red than my pullover.

“His majesty, King Haimeric of Yurt!” announced the constable. “Sire, I wish to present the new Royal Wizard.”

I did the full bow in the proper stages, first the dipping of the head, then the wide-spreading of the arms, then the drop to both knees with my head still lowered. They had taught us etiquette in the first few weeks after we arrived at wizards’ school, while I was still attending all classes.

“Rise, Wizard, and advance to the throne.” The voice was thin and quavery, but the eyes regarded me shrewdly as I lifted my head. I came toward him, holding out my hands palm up. He placed his hands on top of mine; they were dry and so light I almost didn’t feel them. “Welcome to Yurt.”

This seemed to end the more ceremonial part of the introductions. The constable now came forward and began introducing the rest of the party. There were a number of knights and ladies and two boys. The queen, it turned out, was not there, having gone to visit her parents. “I wonder how old they can be!” I thought.

The most important person there, after the king, was Dominic, the king’s nephew and, I presumed, the royal heir. He didn’t look like someone you’d want for an enemy. His golden hair had gone sandy with the first streaks of grey, and his once doubtless heavily-muscled body was pushing out his tunic in places where muscle didn’t grow. But there was a hard look about the eyes and a twist to the lips that made me glad he didn’t seem to resent me.