mud everywhere, and all that wind blew tiles-off half the roofs and took the banners right off the flagpoles. I went up to the tower and looked, and it looks awful! And I don’t suppose any of your magicians would dirty their hands with cleaning it up! No, don’t say anything, warlord, I won’t ask them to; I’ll have my people see to it. You can pay your magicians and send them home now; we won’t be needing them around here any more.”
He waved a dismissal, but Sterren found, to his own astonishment, that he was not willing to be dismissed yet. “Your Majesty,” he said, trying hard not to clench his teeth disrespectfully, “I did not start this stupid war. I ended it, as quickly as I could. I had... had hoped that you would... would show more...” His Semmat failed him completely.
“Gratitude?” Phenvel practically sneered. “Gratitude, for doing the job you were born to? Warlord, if you had fought the enemy properly, with sword and shield, I might be more respectful, but to bring in wizards and witches is hardly a courageous act. It’s the doing of a merchant, not a warlord, and what I expect from someone three-quarters Ethsharitic, not a true Semman at all!”
“Not for me!” Sterren said, outraged, “I don’t want anything for me! For them, the magicians! They left home to come here and fight for you!”
“I didn’t ask for them,” King Phenvel retorted. “And they’ve been paid. And who the hell are they all, anyway? A ragged-looking bunch, I must say!”
Sterren stared at the king’s slippered feet and forced himself to calm down. When he was once again in control of himself, he said, “If I might present them, your Majesty?”
“Go ahead,” the king said, with a nonchalant wave. Sterren gestured to his right. “Vond the Warlock, late of Ethshar of the Spices.” He switched to Ethsharitic and said, “Vond, this is his Majesty, Phenvel, Third of that Name, King of Semma.”
Vond bowed, mockingly.
Sterren ignored the mockery and turned.
“Annara of Crookwall, journeyman wizard,” he said.
Annara curtseyed deeply. The king nodded politely.
“Shenna of Chatna, witch.”
Shenna, too, curtseyed, moving more briskly than gracefully. Her skirt was so thoroughly soaked that this sent a spatter of mud onto courtiers at one side of the hall.
“Chatna,” said the king, “Where is that?”
“In the Small Kingdoms, my lord,” Shenna said, in slurred Semmat, “Just inland of Morria, near the Gulf of the East.”
Sterren was startled, both by this information and by Shenna’s use of Semmat. He had assumed Chatna to be an Ethsharitic village somewhere and he had not realized that Shenna had bothered to pick up any of the local language during her stay in Semma.
Not that she knew it well, since she had used entirely the wrong title.
He gathered his wits quickly and continued with the introductions, hoping that Phenvel would not criticize the error in protocol.
“Ederd of Eastwark, witch. Emner of Lamum, wizard. Hamder Hamder’s son, witch.”
Each bowed in turn.
“Lamum?” Phenvel asked.
“A kingdom on the Eastern Highway, your Majesty,” Sterren replied, before Emner could react, “just across the border from the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars.” He was pleased that he had remembered that bit of trivia.
“Sterren,” Vond said, during the momentary lull while the king absorbed the introductions, “what the hell is going on?”
Sterren ignored him long enough to ask, “Your Majesty, may I translate your words to the magicians? Most of them speak no Semmat.”
Phenvel waved a hand. “Go ahead,” he said.
Sterren turned to Vond and said quickly, “He’s been making an ass of himself, complaining that we took too long to get back here and too long to break the siege and that the storm damaged the castle and he’ll have to have his people clean up the mess it left. I don’t know why he’s in such a foul mood; he’s been gratuitously insulting to all of us, particularly you and me. I think it might be because he’s scared to death of you.”
He noticed that Annara and Emner were listening closely, and added, “He’s probably scared of all of you. Magic is scarce around here.”
“I suppose that means no more pay and no big celebration,” Emner said.
“I’m afraid not,” Sterren agreed.
“Ah,” Vond said, “I’m not really surprised. That’s rather what it sounded like. Has he said what he expects us to do now?”
“He expects you to take your pay and go home. I haven’t yet mentioned that you may not want to.”
The warlock shrugged. “You don’t need to tell him; he’ll see for himself soon enough. Do you think you could arrange us some rooms for the night, though? It’s getting late.”
“I was planning on it; dinner, too.”
“Good.” The wizards nodded agreement, and Sterren turned back to the throne.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “I ask a favor of you. These six magicians have fought for you. Please, give them food and shelter here for a few days, to rest after their efforts. We ask no more than that.”
Relief flashed quickly across the king’s face, then vanished. “Granted,” he said. “We have dined, but I’m sure the kitchens can provide for you, and my chamberlain will find accommodations. You may go.”
Sterren bowed and started to back out. “Wait a minute,” the king said, holding up a hand, “Lady Kalira, didn’t you take six soldiers with you?”
“Yes, your Majesty,” Lady Kalira replied.
“I see only three now and I had asked to see your full party; what happened to the others? Wounded? Killed?”
“Deserted, your Majesty, while we were in Ethshar.”
“Deserted?” King Phenvel said, aghast.
Lady Kalira nodded. Sterren, hearing the king’s tone, wished she had lied a little.
“Warlord, I am not pleased at all. Three desertions!” Actually, he sounded as if he were quite pleased. Sterren guessed that he was happy to have something with which to rebuke his warlord, should the occasion arise.
Sterren started to phrase a reply, then thought better of it. Pointing out that desertion spoke worse of Semma in general than of his performance as warlord would only make trouble. “Yes, your Majesty,” he said. He looked up and met Phenvel’s eyes. He was not ashamed of any part of what he had done. After all, he had won the war, or at least the battle, whatever Phenvel might say.
The king met his gaze for a moment, then turned angrily away. “All right, then, you may go!” Sterren bowed, and he and the magicians went, bound for the kitchens and dinner.
CHAPTER 25
The long climb to his chamber, after the long and bewildering day, was exhausting, and Sterren fell into his bed and lay staring at the canopy for only a moment before falling asleep.
During that moment he thought about the conversation in the kitchens, held as the magicians ate the best meal they had eaten in sixnights.
The kitchens, and for that matter the corridors and halls, were full of peasants who had taken shelter in the castle during the siege, but the magicians had no difficulty in establishing their right to privacy. A wave of Vond’s hand had sent the refugees scurrying, leaving the new arrivals alone.
They had discussed the division of their pay. Everyone conceded that Vond deserved the lion’s share, but the other magicians felt that they, too, had contributed something and that their demoralization of the enemy had made the warlock’s triumph easier.
