The platform came down before a central building—the Palace of Ice. Even in this dim daylight of the Cold Country summer, the great building gleamed and glittered resplendent. A building of many levels, storied and winged, with spider bridges and aerial arcades connecting the wings. Frescoed everywhere! ornate with carved design chipped in ice blocks hard as marble. Rolling terraces of snow and ice surrounded it—lawns of smooth white, with winding paths of ice. A many balconied building; towers, spires and minarets crowning it. All blue-white. Glittering. Seemingly fragile; from a distance, a toy—a sample of the ultra-skill of some master confectioner, as though the whole thing were a toy of sugar for children to admire. But at close range—solid; in the cold of this terrible region, as solid as though constructed of blocks of stone.
With the flying platform landed, and its warming rays cut off, attendants rushed forward. Tarrano and Elza were wrapped in furs at once—heavy furs which covered them from head to foot.
"Well! Well, Graten!" Tarrano greeted his subordinate smilingly. "Things are in condition here? You got my message?"
"Yes, Master. All is in good fashion here. We welcome you."
In his furs, with face almost hidden, Elza could not see what manner of man this was.
They entered the palace. Frescoed; carved everywhere, within as without. The main doorway led into a palatial hall, carpeted with furs. It was warm. Tarrano discarded his fur, and helped Elza out of hers.
"You like my home, Lady Elza?"
"It's—beautiful," she answered.
His smile showed amusement at the wonder and awe which stamped her expression. He added very gently:
"I had in mind when I built it, the hope that you would be pleased."