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!”
The others confined themselves to their names and a simple no. Tobas was seventh of the nine and did nothing to draw attention to himself.
“Ah,” the king said when the last introduction had been made. “No experienced dragon slayers, I see, but I suppose I could expect nothing else from Ethshar. You will have questions, I’m sure; but first, let me introduce you to my daughters, my court, and to some of your fellow adventurers from other lands.” He stood and motioned to someone; a handsome, dark-haired young woman stepped out of the little crowd to the right of th
e throne, wearing an ornate white gown trimmed with pearls. “My second daughter, Falissa,” he said. “One of you, if successful, may marry her.” He gestured again, and another young woman appeared to be introduced, also dark-haired and elegant.
It had not occurred to Tobas until this moment that there might be more than one princess available as part of the reward.
In all, five princesses were brought forth, all attractive; in addition to Falissa were, apparently in descending order of age, Sellatha, Tinira, Alorria, and Zerrea. Zerrea appeared to be perhaps fourteen, barely of marriageable age, but her father still commented, as he had with each of her sisters, that she might wed one of the dragon hunters. Tobas had never heard of anyone named Zerrea before; he rather liked the name and wondered if the king had made it up after running out of ordinary ones. Not that Sellatha was common around Telven, either, he realized when he thought about it; it was likely, he decided, that both names were in common usage in Dwomor, whether they were found in the more westerly lands or not.
Tobas resolved to stop wondering about trivia and pay attention to more important concerns. The king was making a speech about how these five of his six daughters had willingly promised themselves as wives to anyone who could save the kingdom from the monster that now ravaged the countryside, whether that hero should be noble or commoner, no matter that this might mean giving up their royal birthright, and so on and so forth.
Elner, at Tobas’ left, leaned over and whispered, “Some great sacrifice! They were probably desperate for husbands, or at least their royal father was. Surplus princesses are a major export in the Small Kingdoms.”
This sounded far more informative and interesting than the king’s rather tedious speech, so Tobas leaned back and whispered, “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about surplus princesses! Look, the first duty of any royal family is to ensure the succession, right? They need heirs. Or one heir, anyway. That means sons, in most kingdoms; only a few let girls inherit. Daughters are just surplus, to be married off to make alliances with the neighbors. To keep up the dignity of the throne, you can’t let them marry commoners, it goes against all the traditions! Royalty marries royalty. And each kingdom only has one throne to pass on, to one prince and the one princess he marries; that means that younger sons and unmarried daughters are all just extras. The sons go off adventuring or soldiering, and a lot of them get killed, and some make love matches with commoners or run off to Ethshar and marry for money, but the daughters just hang around cluttering up the castle. Poor old Derneth here has six of them; I guess he married one off to a neighbor, but that leaves five more he needs to get rid of. He can’t just let them marry whom they please, since that’s against the rules, and he hasn’t got anyone in the kingdom suitable for any ordinary arranged marriages; but by promising them to dragon slayers, he can kill two birds with one stone and get rid of dragons and daughters all at once! Marrying princesses to heroes is traditional and about the only respectable way to use up the extras. Gets new blood into the royal family, as well.”
Tobas looked at Elner with new respect; his explanation made a great deal of sense. Perhaps the fellow was not completely a fool, after all.
“I think I’ll take that one, Alorria,” Elner said, pointing behind his hand. “When I’ve killed the dragon, I mean.”
That immediately dragged Tobas’ opinion of him back to its previous level. He bit back a snide retort.
He had to agree, though, that Elner had picked the beauty of the bunch; Alorria was of medium height, with thick black hair, pale skin, and dark eyes, as were all five, but she stood out, her features a trifle finer, her figure a little lusher than the others. Tobas guessed her to be very close to his own age. If, by some miracle, Tobas did somehow manage to kill the dragon, and he knew that it would take a miracle, despite what Elner might choose to believe, he supposed Alorria would be his choice, too, if he were to marry any of the princesses.
Looking the five of them over, he found the thought of marriage was not particularly unpleasant; he knew that many things were more important than beauty in the long run, but beauty certainly didn’t hurt. He wondered if there were any way he could marry a princess without killing the dragon. Might a Dwomorite princess bring enough of a dowry for two people to live on? He had never really seriously considered marrying for money as a way to survive, but it was a possibility he might want to think about. Plenty of handsome young people of both sexes did it. It was not really a career to be proud of, but it could keep him from starvation or slavery.
All the while that Elner had been explaining and Tobas had been admiring the princesses, the king had gone on talking, describing the beauties and accomplishments of each of his daughters, all were said to be skilled at needlework, which left Tobas wondering why the castle tapestries all appeared old, and each played some sort of musical instrument and sang, danced, and otherwise had achieved all the traditional accomplishments of princesses.
“...And now,” the king said when he had completed the five-woman roster, “allow me to introduce your companions in adventure. Perinan of Gellia, step forth and greet your comrades!”
A young man clad in blue finery emerged from the crowd and nodded politely.
“Perinan is a prince of Gellia, second son of good King Kelder.”
Elner whispered, “What did I tell you about younger sons?”
Tobas made no reply.
The introductions continued through a dozen princes, a few lesser nobles, three witches, a sorcerer, a theurgist priest, and several dozen miscellaneous commoners, all of them male; some did not respond until their names were repeated in their assorted native tongues, and Tobas had the distinct impression very few understood enough Ethsharitic to know what was going on. Except for the king, his daughters, four guards, and a handful of councillors, every member of the crowd that almost filled the huge room had come to slay the dragon. Tobas recalled with a smile what that sailor had said about an army being sent; he had been completely correct.
He was somewhat surprised by the assortment of magicians, though, and that there were so many without a single wizard included. In all of his experience, wizards were by far the most common variety of magician, and witches relatively scarce, not so scarce as sorcerers, but less often encountered than warlocks, priests, demonologists, and the like. He wondered if this was a peculiarity of Dwomor or perhaps of the Small Kingdoms in general, that witches should be more common.
Or perhaps witches didn’t like dragons. He dismissed the question as not worth worrying about. Given the presence of magicians, the lack of wizards seemed rather more important; he had hoped, when the first magicians were introduced, that he might somehow pick up a few spells here, but it seemed he would be frustrated.
If he had a few good spells, the right spells, he would not mind tackling the dragon himself, he thought.
But then, if he had a few good spells, he could find easier ways to earn his bread; would a princess and a hundredweight of gold tempt a competent magician? Perhaps not.
The king had completed introducing the would-be heroes by the time Tobas came to the conclusion that the typical magician would not care to take up dragon slaying; he had gone on to point out his advisors, giving their names and ranks and years of service. Tobas had thought about the situation and had reached a decision. This might be his chance to learn more wizardry.
“...And now that you all know one another,” Derneth was saying when Tobas stepped forward. He stopped. “Yes? Ah... Tolnor, was it?”
“Tobas, your Majesty: I hope I am not disturbing anything, but I felt the time had come to mention something about myself.”
“Yes?” the king said.
“Since you did not ask before, I did not care to bring it up, but I think you should know that I am a magician, a wizard.” He made a meaningless gesture in the air, hoping it looked suitably arcane.
The king looked at him for a moment. “Are you indeed?” he said at last.
&nbs
p; “Yes, your Majesty.”
“Well, that’s very good, isn’t it? That should be very useful against the dragon.”
“I hope so, your Majesty. Ah... I have a request, however.”
“Ah. I thought you might.”
“You have introduced me here to several magicians, but no wizards. I had hoped to discuss the dragon with the local members of my Guild, to be better prepared to face it. Could this be arranged?”
“Members of your Guild? You mean wizards?”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“There are no wizards in Dwomor, so far as I know — except, of course, yourself.”
“Oh.” That put an end to that idea. He had revealed his wizardhood to no purpose, then. He had hoped to appeal to the patriotism of any local wizards, asking them to teach him new spells that he could use against the dragon. Even if they did not care to devote their own time to monster-killing, he had thought they might be willing to help him take on the dragon, perhaps for a share of the reward.
Now that he knew there were no such wizards, patriotic or otherwise, he realized that he should have waited and asked around quietly, instead of making a spectacle of himself; he sighed inwardly. He would have to think things through more carefully in the future, he told himself.
“I’m sorry, Wizard,” the king said. He cleared his throat and addressed the entire room again, delivering a speech in Dwomoritic.
Tobas and the Ethsharites waited, fidgeting, through this. Finally, when Tobas was beginning to wonder if a mistake of some sort had been made and the king had not been informed that some of the people present did not understand the language, he finished and switched to Ethsharitic, repeating what was apparently the same speech.
“Now that you have all arrived,” he said, “and you have all arrived, for the Ethsharites are the last, and now that you all know who you are, let us explain that our intention is that you should be organized into parties of five, we do not believe that one man alone would stand much chance against the dragon, be he commoner, prince, or magician. These groups will be sent out to hunt for the dragon, by whatever methods they choose; the reward will be given to whichever party finds and kills the dragon and brings back proof of the deed. We have witnesses to the monster’s depredations who will be able to identify the remains and assure that you have killed the right dragon, as there may well be others in the area who do no harm. Each surviving member of the successful party will be given, as promised, the hand of a princess in marriage, we are fortunate in having five unmarried daughters, and with her, a position of honor here in Dwomor Keep. The thousand pieces of gold, all the royal treasury can afford, will be divided amongst these happy bridegrooms as they agree amongst themselves, or, if they cannot reach a peaceful agreement, divided evenly, two hundred to a man, or for those slain by the beast in the killing, to his heirs, if known. No recompense will be made to members of any party save that which actually slays the dragon. The hunt is to begin on the first of Harvest, four days from now, though if any party of five cares to set out before that, we have no objection. These four days will give you a chance to choose your comrades and make your preparations. Some of you appear to have no weapons; the royal armorer may be able to help you. If you have any questions, speak to the royal councillors in the morning; for tonight, we have spoken enough. The sun is down, and the hour for dinner upon us; you are all guests of the castle until the hunt begins!”
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