The Dragon's Doom - Ed Greenwood [141]
Craer glanced up it, waved a hand at all the slaughter and ruin, and said to the onetime Regent of all Aglirta, " Would you store a king up yonder, amid all this?"
"Get going," Blackgult told him grimly, "and we'll see, won't we?"
"Who knocks?" a voice asked suspiciously, from the other side of the door. The small, slender man flattened against the wall as far away from the door as he could get and just reach the edge of the door with his fingertips called back, "Craer Delnbone, Overduke of Aglirta. I've another overduke-Blackgult by name-with me."
There was a period of silence, then the voice declared with flat and very unwelcoming finality, "Any man can claim to be an overduke."
"Ah," Craer replied almost delightedly, "but can they correctly mimic my arch overduchal knock? The maid-enchanting lilt of my voice? The stunning beauty of my hand you're staring at through yon spyhole you so fondly believe I don't notice? Come to think of it, who else would come knocking-instead of using a spell or an ax on your door, or stuffing snakes under it to hiss their welcome for them, hey?"
They heard faint laughter from behind the door, then an order, a voice raised in tones of objection, the snap of another order, and then the sounds of a doorbar being lifted and bolts being thrown.
In a rattle of chain, the door opened just wide enough for a guard in full armor, with the visor of his helm down, to peer out. "Who else stands with you?"
Craer preened like a maiden, and then ran his hands over his hips like a strumpet. "Aren't we enough?"
Blackgult rolled his eyes. "Let us in, Greatsarn, before he gets worse. And believe me, he gets worse."
The guard withdrew, the door was opened just wide enough for both overdukes to slip through-and slammed shut behind them by guards who hastily fumbled the bolts and bars back into place.
"Imprisoning yourself to save some foe the trouble?" Craer demanded of the young, smiling man sitting at a table at the back of the room. "Raulin, d'you mind telling me just who this most puissant enemy is?"
If Macros Delcamper or any of the handful of old, trusted warriors in the stout-walled upper room-the stub of a long-vanished turret, sporting but the one door, a roof-hatch, and two narrow archers' windows-were shocked at hearing the King of Aglirta addressed so abruptly by only his first name, none of them showed it.
"Anyone and everyone," Raulin Castlecloaks replied with a sigh, slapping the table in weary exasperation. "I hope you brought food. We're starving up here, and hardly dare mount more armed expeditions to the kitchens. It cost us Ilger and his three underguard trainees two days back."
"No, Raulin," Blackgult told him darkly, "as a matter of fact we didn't, but if you stay here, I'll fetch the rest of your wayward overdukes, and we'll scour the kitchens for you. Embra might even be able to purge any poisons in whatever provender we find there. I take it the Serpents don't quite openly rule the palace yet?"
"Well," the young king replied ruefully, "not this chamber of it, at least."
Blackgult rolled his eyes again. "Remind me to leave you alone in Flowfoam Palace less often, lad. At least you had enough sense to choose a room a handful of willing swords have some chance of defending-but that's about it."
"Lord Blackgult," the bard from Ragalar said quietly, "might I remind you that you address your King? More respectful words would be advisable."
"No, Lord Delcamper, you may not remind me of such matters," the Golden Griffon told him flatly. "I'm getting too old to have time left for such foolishness-but not yet so age-enfeebled as to become respectful of anyone. That way lies ruin for all Aglirta, just now, no matter whose backside warms the throne."
The king pretended to be shocked, but as Flaeros Delcamper started to sputter with indignation, Raulin burst into whoops