Just then someone at the high table called out something in Dwomoritic, and the buzz of conversation died as everyone’s attention turned in that direction.
The king rose and made a short speech in Dwomoritic. Tobas resolved to learn the language as soon as he could — but he would hardly have time, if in four days he was to be out in the mountains hunting dragons.
The speech ended, and Tobas joined in the polite applause. Immediately, the guests arose, and the dinner party broke up. He was amazed at the speed at which the gathering dissipated and wondered where the princesses, in particular, had vanished to.
He also wondered where he was expected to go.
The Ethsharites, he noticed, were similarly confused, lingering in the dining halls.
Just as he was deciding simply to wander off and explore the castle, a robed official appeared, a tall, thin man in late middle age.
“Gentlemen... and lady,” he said, belatedly noticing Azraya, “I am the Lord Chamberlain and I will show you to your rooms, if you will be so kind as to accompany me.” He spoke slowly and stiffly, his phrasing and pronunciation a little old-fashioned, but his accent was very good.
Tobas and the others followed obediently. Four were dropped off as two pairs in tiny, bare stone rooms, and three more were given a slightly larger room. Azraya got a garret to herself and a cot instead of a straw pallet, and, finally, Tobas found himself escorted up a steep, winding staircase to a high-ceilinged, narrow, drafty room atop a tower.
Looking about in the light of the chamberlain’s lantern, Tobas spotted an old lamp in a niche on the wall; he lit it with a flick of athame and brimstone, revealing the little chamber to be furnished with a small featherbed, a blanket, and a pile of rusty debris.
“Thank you,” he said as the chamberlain turned to go. “But why do I have my own room, and why up here?”
The chamberlain turned back. “It was our understanding that this was customary for a wizard’s accommodations,” he said politely. “If there is any difficulty...”
“Oh, no,” Tobas assured him hastily. “It’s fine, thank you.”
The chamberlain bowed and departed, leaving Tobas shivering slightly. The month was still Summersend, but he was chilled nonetheless; the weather seemed to have turned unseasonably cool as the caravan climbed from the hills into the mountains, and the wind that muttered around this tower room felt downright cold.
He looked about, shrugged, and lay down, wrapping himself tightly in the heavy woolen blanket.
This was not how he had pictured himself spending the night; the warmth and luxury of the dinner had misled him, but undoubtedly the castle was jammed to the rafters, with no beds to spare. He knew he had no right to complain, since most of the adventurers had only straw whereas he had a featherbed, but he could not help wondering if the other rooms were as drafty as this one. As a great magician, he supposed he was expected not to mind the cold and to have spells to keep himself warm.
As a matter of fact, he did have a spell that would keep him warm, but he was afraid he might burn down the castle if he used it on the rubbish pile and then fell asleep.
He wondered what Alorria’s bed was like, then quickly wished he hadn’t.
He turned over the evening in his mind, remembering the rich food and the beautiful princesses, and, for that matter, some of the other women at dinner had been comely enough, too.
Women were not a good thing to think about; he forced himself to concentrate on the food and drink, the clever conversation, at least, that part of it which had been in Ethsharitic. Most of the conversation had been pure gibberish to him.
He hoped that whoever he was teamed with for the dragon hunt would speak Ethsharitic.
That turned him to thoughts of the dragon, wondering what it might be like and whether he would actually meet it, which led to reviewing his entire adventure so far, and the next thing he knew, he was awakening to sunlight in his eyes.
The tower had three windows, a fact he had not observed the night before, all of them shuttered and none of them glazed; no wonder it was drafty! He had slept against the western wall; light was seeping in around the edges of the eastern window, and a stray beam had struck his face, waking him.
He sat up and brushed himself off. Doing so, he was reminded how dirty his one tunic and one pair of breeches had become. No one had minded last night, since he had just arrived from a long journey, but he dreaded the thought of facing Alorria and the other inhabitants of the castle in the same garb for another day.
He had no choice, though. He had no other clothes and knew of no way he could wash those he had.
From the angle of the sun he judged it to be about two hours past dawn, breakfast time, if Dwomor Keep followed the same pattern as Telven. He found the door and headed down the stairs.
At the foot of the tower he found himself in a short corridor that debouched into a longer one, and he hesitated for a moment, trying to remember which way led down to the castle’s dining area. To the left he thought he saw stairs; he turned left and a moment later was descending an unfamiliar flight of worn stone steps.
At the foot of those stairs, however, he was stymied; he was in a large square hall he did not recognize that was equipped with several doors, all closed, and no other exits but the stairs.
A serving maid emerged from one door and then vanished through another without acknowledging his presence; after a moment’s hesitation, he followed her and found himself in the kitchens.
Here, at least, were people, many of them, all busily going about their everyday business, servants of every degree. He tried to ask the nearest person, a lad with a broom, for directions, but got only a blank stare. He shouted and was rewarded with a brief moment of silence, but no answer.
No one in the room spoke Ethsharitic.
Defeated, he returned to the hallway and tried the door the servant had emerged from.
That was better; he was in a small dining chamber, not the one he had eaten in the night before. Half a dozen young men, surely some of his fellow dragon hunters, were arrayed around a table.
“Hello,” he said. “Am I in the right place?”
No one answered. Again, none of them spoke Ethsharitic.
Baffled, he again retreated to the hallway, where, this time, he found the Lord Chamberlain.
“Ah, the wizard! A pleasure to see you!”
“Lord Chamberlain! Someone I can speak to!” His relief was evident in his tone.
“Have you a problem?” The Lord Chamberlain was all polite solicitousness.
Tobas explained his situation and a moment later found himself in yet another dining hall, taking his place at the table. Four of his companions from the journey from Ethshar were there as well; the others had already eaten and departed. When breakfast had been announced an hour before, no one had cared to disturb the wizard.
Tobas wished more than ever that he had not demonstrated his magical ability, what little he had.
He was relieved to see that the others, save for Peren, were also still dressed in their same travel-worn and dirty clothes.
He settled down and ate quickly, ignoring the fact that the porridge, never particularly tasty, had cooled and congealed, and that the bread had begun to go stale.
The other four had for the most part finished eating and were lingering only to nibble and talk, rounding out the corners, Dabran had called it when Tobas was a child. Elner, Peren, Arden, and Tillis were present, but Elner was doing most of the talking.
When Tobas had eaten enough to hold him for a time, he waited for a lull in the conversation, then asked Elner, “Tell me, do you speak Dwomoritic?”
“No; I never even heard of it until I signed up to kill this dragon of theirs. I can’t tell one of these barbarian tongues from another, anyway.”
“What about you?” Tobas asked Peren.
The albino shook his head.
“Don’t bother asking,” Arden said. “I have enough trouble with Ethsharitic.” “Tillis?”
“Well, no, not really.”
“What about you, Wizard?” Elner demanded belligerently. “I suppose you have the gift of tongues and speak it like a native?”
Tobas shook his head. “Not a word. All I know is fire-magic. If I knew something as useful as the gift of
