In his chrysalis chair sat the mighty Mage-Imperator himself. High above him, intersecting jets of mist formed a hazy cloud upon which a hologram of the leader’s round face was projected. Hanging like a full moon beneath the opening of the skysphere, the ruler’s image moved its lips as he spoke to sycophants standing below him on the polished floor. A shaft of light rose upward from the rim of the sturdy bedlike throne in a glowing pillar that intersected the benevolent projection overhead.

Seeing them approach with his eldest son, the Mage-Imperator abruptly dismissed two nobles, who bowed and backed away. The handsome Prime Designate strode forward, his fine golden braids standing out around his head like a mane. He beckoned to the women. “Come.” Beaming with pleasure, he led Nira and Otema into his father’s presence beneath the open skysphere. “Father, my Mage-Imperator, I am pleased to formally present these two visitors from Theroc.”

Nira gazed at the pasty, sluggish leader in his womblike throne. She could see no resemblance between him and the virile animal magnetism of Prime Designate Jora’h.

The Mage-Imperator stirred from his reclining position. “All are welcome to make a pilgrimage to Mijistra, even humans. Our two cultures have much to learn from each other.”

Jora’h had obviously heard those words before. He reached out to touch Nira’s shoulder, and she felt his comforting presence, close and warm. “Father, these are green priests, servants of the Theron worldforest, revered practitioners of telink. They can communicate instantaneously across great distances.”

Now the Mage-Imperator sat up, attentive. His eyes glinted in the dazzling light, like drawn weapons. “Yes, I know of such humans. I find their ability intriguing.”

Jora’h gestured toward the old woman. “This is Otema, formerly the ambassador of Theroc to the Terran Hanseatic League. Now she has come to Mijistra at my invitation. And this”—he smiled at the young woman—“is her lovely assistant, Nira.”

She flushed; Jora’h was being too blatant in his flirtation, but she supposed the Prime Designate needed to have no compunctions at all.

“Months ago, Reynald, the son of their leader, visited us here. He and I worked out an agreement whereby he could send these two representatives. Green priests are curious about Ildiran history and legends. I have granted them permission to study our Saga of Seven Suns.”

Still awestruck, Nira held her tongue while Otema stepped closer to the Mage-Imperator’s chrysalis chair. Respectfully averting her eyes, the old woman extended her ornately potted treeling so the great leader could see the beautiful, featherlike fronds and the scaly golden bark. “We are pleased to present you with an offshoot of the worldforest, Mage-Imperator. Through these trees we are able to communicate over vast distances. Our thoughts join together with all such trees growing across the Spiral Arm.”