Kyrrel grasped the door handle and yanked the portal open with stiff officiality, seething with anger that was not wholly his own. He entered the foyer with an audible creaking of leather boots, glared once at the bewildered secretary, and took in his surroundings. The room was well-lit, and carried about it the sparse, anxious feeling of a waiting room. A row of singularly uncomfortable-looking chairs were lined up against one wall. The secretary's desk was of a plain and practical sort, its surface immaculately organized; a number of file cabinets could be seen behind her desk as well. The woman said nothing; she recognized the man, understood the meaning of his swift movements, the look in his eye, the source of his orders. The officer hardly broke stride, making his way to the riveted, steel door at the far end of the foyer, his hand falling upon the cold bronze handle. He turned his head, nodded curtly at the woman, and then pulled the heavy door open. With a hollow, metallic ring the door closed behind him. If it could be said that the new occupant of the office had changed the decoration of the office as maintained by the late General Uthden, it was only in the fact that he had removed them. Nothing frivolous or impractical could be seen in the room; the wall-hangings were tactical maps and the intricate globe stationed on the desk had a great deal more purpose than a simple stylistic embellishment. The man himself was sitting in a hard, ladder-backed chair, overlooking numerous papers spread over the surface of his oaken desk. The overhead lamp shed a warm light over the room, but Kyrrel could see only the shadowed pits of the man's eyes, created by the looming, foreboding brow. The clean-shaven head did not turn to regard him, and continued to look down at the sheaf of documents held in one hand. Kyrrel approached the desk and saluted curtly, despising the necessity of that act. "Brokengulf," he announced. He made no indication of the man's rank in his address, primarily because the man's current position was in flux; in any event, it was an excuse to avoid applying an honorific to him. "I have been ordered--" he continued in a loud, formal tone. Without averting his gaze from the paper, Lazarus made a warding motion with his hand. Kyrrel froze involuntarily, hot with anger and humility, yet somehow unable to ignore the instruction. Eventually, Lazarus' head turned slightly, and he fixed his gray eyes upon the visitor. He said nothing, his question quite obvious by the look on his face. Kyrrel frowned. "Yes. As I attempted to say earlier, I have been ordered to escort you to the throne room. Lord Akfek wishes to speak with you on the matter of your recent transgressions." The gray eyes narrowed slightly. Wordlessly, he rose from his seat, and walked over to a plain, brass coat rack, where a long, black garment hung. Shrugging into the heavy, leather coat, Lazarus turned to regard the officer once more. Kyrrel's eyes fell upon the crimson sigils engraved on the shoulders of the long, black coat, remnants of the previous empire. Lazarus opened the door and left, leaving the slightly startled officer rushing after him. * * * * * Kyrrel stared at the man's back sullenly, as he struggled to keep up with the swift pace. Sourly, he wondered how it was that he had ended up following, when his purpose was to escort, but they reached the long, narrow expanse of corridor before the throne room quickly. Stepping in front of Lazarus, Kyrrel nodded at a pair of guards, and they pulled open the large heavy door, revealing nothing but the usual inky darkness of Akfek's somber court. The two men disappeared within, the sound of their footsteps being the only indication that they had ever passed through. * * * * * As Lazarus treaded over the expanse of carpet which led to the throne, he eventually reached a point whereupon, in the darkness, there was an audible clinking of armor and the scrape of a spear butt upon the stone floor; a subtle motion signaling that he had reached as close a proximity to the emperor as would be allowed. The man in the throne shifted slightly in his seat. His eyelids slowly opened, the movement barely perceptible in the dusky environment of the chamber. The gaze did not fall upon Lazarus initially, focusing rather on the officer by his side. The emperor's hand made a weary, vague motion. "That will be all, Kyrrel." The officer bowed once and receded into the darkness, joining the other guards. Akfek's head swiveled slightly, his eyes studying Lazarus. "I regret the necessity of your presence here so soon after our last meeting, Lazarus," Akfek's voice intoned. There was no such regret in his voice, only the minute slowness of one fatigued. Lazarus inclined his head slightly at the emperor. "Mistress DelAubre has informed me of an... incident... involving you and one of our lieutenants," Akfek continued. "She is not pleased." There was no reply. Lazarus stood unmoving, as though the aforementioned fact mattered very little to him. "You must acknowledge the fact that I am not your only superior. These sort of actions cannot be tolerated." Akfek paused a moment, and silence pervaded. His unblinking eyes never strayed from the officer standing before him. "She says," he added quietly, "that you are unreliable and unstable. Insubordinate. Irresponsible. Irrational." His eyes bored into Lazarus awaiting some response by which he might gauge the man. There was a short pause, before his lips parted. "Do you believe that?" he asked softly. "Even for a moment?" His starkly emotionless voice was as unreadable as a wall of stone. Akfek leaned back in his black throne, his lips pursed for a moment. "No. I do not." His fingers drummed softly on the arm of his seat. "They are serious and... peculiar... allegations, though, don't you think?" "I think Lady DelAubre must be a remarkable woman to have drawn such an extensively detailed opinion of me after a mere thirty seconds of conversation." Akfek leaned forward slightly. "She claims that you threatened her." Lazarus' eyebrow arched slightly. "A moment ago you asserted that I was not the fool she would claim me to be. Have you retracted that opinion?" There was no harshness in his voice, just the intrinsic flat tone. The emperor frowned slightly. "An overreaction on her part, I would suppose, then." He paused again. "Consider your promotion to be upheld. Nonetheless, we must attend to the matter at hand. Lady DelAubre must be placated, therefore you shall have to make an apology to Lieutenant Oliver." His tone was slightly dismissive. "Alternatively, I would have to place a formal reprimand on your permanent record..." He made a vague motion with his hand. "I accept the reprimand," Lazarus intoned softly. Akfek's eyes widened slightly. "You will endure this discrediting rather than make the apology?" he asked, his voice somewhat incredulous. "Do you find that surprising?" Lazarus replied. Akfek stared at him for a moment. "I suppose that I do not." There was a long, somewhat uncomfortable silence. "Very well," Akfek concluded. "You may leave now, General." Lazarus nodded once, turned on his heel and exited the throne room with singular swiftness and silence. The heavy door creaked shut. "The man speaks volumes in but a few words," Akfek remarked softly to himself. Kyrrel turned his gaze from the door to his emperor. "My lord... surely you are not going to allow--" Akfek silenced him with a dark glance, and stillness returned to the throne room.