And he was, he realized, curious to learn just what the true situation was, whether the dragon hunt was legitimate, and if it was, why anyone with a thousand pieces of gold would be hiring nobodies in Shiphaven Market instead of experts to dispose of a dragon as formidable as this one was said to be. Dragons had been around for hundreds of years, after all; somewhere, somebody must have developed methods of dealing with them, other than gathering up a bunch of desperate young men and letting them try their luck. Maybe, by pointing this out, he could earn himself a little something. Not a thousand pieces of gold, of course, but something.
Also, if he hoped to find any wizards around here who might teach him new spells, the castle was the likeliest place to find them, or, for that matter, anything else that might lead to a career of almost any sort.
Besides, he wanted to meet his Royal Majesty Derneth the Second, King of Dwomor. He was curious; he had never seen a king before. The Free Lands didn’t have any, and, although the three overlords of the Hegemony of Ethshar might count, he hadn’t had a chance to see any of them, and they didn’t call themselves kings, anyway. They were triumvirs, not monarchs.
With that much settled, he followed the others into the castle.
CHAPTER 10
The inside of the castle was far more respectable than the outside, as long as one ignored the smell of dry rot and didn’t look closely enough to see the cobwebs and dust that adorned the corners. The ceilings were low, and the corridors not particularly wide, so that it was far from spacious, but the walls were covered with tapestries and hangings, more than Tobas had ever seen before, and most of them only slightly faded, providing an air of moderate luxury.
The party from Ethshar was asked to wait for ten minutes or so in an antechamber that was somewhat crowded with a dozen people in it, the nine adventurers, their guiding official, and two guards, but the velvet- covered chairs that were provided looked comfortable enough, and the room was elegantly furnished throughout, if not particularly well kept.
Of course, the antechamber had not been intended for twelve people at once and was not furnished with a full dozen of the chairs, but only with eight.
Tobas managed to claim one of the eight and discovered for himself that they were indeed quite comfortable, albeit a trifle threadbare and prone to squeak when he shifted his weight. And the great black wrought-iron candelabra were magnificent beneath the heavy coating of old wax and cobwebs. He wondered idly why only a dozen lit candles were in use, leaving — he made a quick count — sixteen empty sockets. The room had no windows and was rather gloomy; more light would have been welcome. Were candles in short supply in Dwomor? Surely a court that could afford to pay a thousand pieces of gold as a reward could afford all the candles anyone might want!
This castle simply did not live up to the glorious images in childhood tales, though the tapestries and velvet seemed to indicate that it might once have come close. After their brief wait the entire party was shown into the audience chamber at once, rather to Tobas’ surprise; he had somehow assumed that they would be shown in and introduced individually. Such elaborate pomp seemed appropriate to castles, even so run-down a one as this.
They were allowed to enter together, however, crowding through the heavy double doors with Tobas in the middle of the group.
Once inside, Tobas looked around curiously.
This audience chamber actually came close to being impressive, he decided; the tapestries here were not visibly faded at all, and a few used thread-of-gold that gleamed brightly in the candlelight. Everything obvious was sparkling clean; the only cobwebs in this chamber were higher than a tall man could reach with a whisk broom, up among the carved ceiling beams. The room was as big as two or possibly even three of the typical little Ethsharitic wizards’ shops, such as he had seen so many of in that long, depressing day of begging for spells, all put together; it was almost as big as the old boathouse in Shan on the Sea. Tobas guessed it, finally, at forty feet long, though he knew that might be generous. Clerestory windows on one side let in the last of the afternoon sunlight, and a dozen candle racks along the walls augmented that nicely, with no empty sockets in any of them and the layers of wax much thinner. The dominant smells were hot wax and perfume.
Most of the room was crowded with people, with the heaviest concentration at the far end; the majority seemed to be dressed in faded sumptuousness, worn velvets, stained silks, tarnished bracelets, reinforcing the impression that Dwomor had seen better days. In the midst of the largest group, Tobas caught glimpses of a man on a throne.
Someone spoke a command in Dwomoritic; Tobas still could not understand a word of the language, but he was now able to distinguish it fairly reliably from other unfamiliar tongues by its lilt and the maddening sensation that he could almost make it out if he listened hard enough. The crowd parted, allowing the party of newcomers to approach the king.
Tobas felt a moment’s disappointment at his first good close look at indisputably genuine royalty, but he forced it down, telling himself that he knew better than to be disappointed. The king was just a man, like any other, sitting on a large wooden chair on a raised platform. He appeared to be about fifty years old, going slightly to fat, his beard graying at the edges and his temples gray-streaked. He wore scarlet velvet trimmed with an unfamiliar golden fur; given that attire and the temperature in the room, Tobas was not at all surprised to see beads of sweat oozing from beneath his simple silver crown.
Tobas had never before given any thought to the inconvenience of wearing royal robes in the summer. Royalty, it seemed, had its own little drawbacks. Surely, though, the king did not wear such garb all the time?
No, of course not; this was a formal occasion, Tobas reminded himself.
“You may approach,” the king said grandly, addressing the new arrivals. The other people in the room fell silent.
The Ethsharitic party shuffled forward and stood before the throne, the behavior and expressions of its members ranging from arrogant to curious to abject.
“If you would be so kind as to introduce yourselves...” Derneth said, letting his sentence trail off to nothing.
The adventurers looked at one another, none eager to be first. Finally Tillis stepped forward and said, “I am Tillis Tagath’s son, at your Majesty’s service.” He bowed deeply, but awkwardly.
“Ah,” the king replied. “And do you have any experience in dragon slaying?”
Tobas found that a very interesting question; had the king expected his recruiter to bring back expert dragon slayers? If so, he had been swindled, and the recruiter had done well to leave hurriedly.
“Alas, no, your Majesty,” Tillis replied. “There are no dragons to be found in Ethshar of the Spices, for it is a drab and peaceful place with few opportunities for valor and daring to befit a lad such as myself. Thus I have come to your delightful realm of Dwomor seeking adventure, in the hope that I might, by pluck and good fortune, make a place for myself. May the gods smile upon you for giving me a chance to conquer or perish in your service, and long may you reign!”
The king’s smile became somewhat frozen and glassy as he listened to the baby-faced Ethsharite’s bizarre little speech. “Ah,” he said after a moment’s hesitation, nodding; that settled, he turned to Peren, whose sword and white hair stood out in the crowd and asked, “And you?”
“Peren the White, of Ethshar of the Spices.” The Ethsharite bowed with a lithe grace that startled Tobas.
“And have you ever slain a dragon?”
“No.” Peren was neither apologetic nor forceful in his denial, but simply stated the fact.
“Very well,” said the king, moving on. “What about you?”
Arden introduced himself, then Azraya, and so on through the rest of the little band.
When Azraya presented herself, the king seemed somewhat taken aback and whispered something behind his hand to one of the men near the throne; Tobas assumed that this had something to do with Azraya’s sex. After all, a female could hardly marry a princess, but she could certainly use the gold. When Arnen’s turn came, he introduced himself as Arnen of Ethshar, which Tobas was quite certain was not the cognomen he had used before; and when asked if he had ever slain a dragon, he replied, “Not a dragon!”
