The Dragon's Doom - Ed Greenwood [161]
The bard lifted his eyebrows. "Me, Your Majesty? You really think any one man can do all that?"
There was a moment of startled silence, and then Raulin and Orele both burst out laughing. The guards turned their heads, surprised, as the king and the two Ragalan outlanders chorded and guffawed together like younglings at a revel. Then the armsmen hastily resumed their expressionless, statuelike poses as the three rose and parted, the old woman withdrawing to her inner chambers and the two young men striding toward them.
"Bed for me," Raulin was saying, as the guards flung the door wide for them.
Macros nodded. "A good idea. My bit of floor calls to me." The guards followed the two, exchanging looks that were not-quite-smiles. Since his arrival, the bard had been sleeping with the guards who stood watch and slumbered across the door to the king's chamber, to prevent any more attempted regicides.
Despite their brisk pace, both young men yawned more than once on their walk through the passages. Neither they nor their guards glanced into every dark alcove they passed.
Most of those spaces were empty, but in one of them the eldest Overduke of Aglirta stood with his hand solemnly clapped over the mouth of a buxom chambermaid-to still the gasps she'd made as his other hand wandered beneath the unlaced, hip-high sideslit of her gown.
When the guards were past, she bit one of his fingers gently, and purred, "Ah, but 'tis good to have you back to your old self, Griffon. Now play fair; let me do a little… exploring with my fingers, too."
"Gladly," Blackgult muttered. "The battlements, Indalue, or somewhere warmer?"
"Your bedchamber, I think," she whispered, before running her tongue along the edge of his hand. "You thrust me back against far too much cold, hard stone last time. Besides, I've thought of a new use for bedposts."
"O-ho? If 'tis truly new, 'twill be worth seeing," the man once considered the most handsome-and lusty-lord in all the kingdom murmured, as he glanced out of the alcove.
The passage was deserted, and he let Indalue lead him out into it toward his bedchamber. They went quickly, hand-in-hand, chuckling like younglings.
Craer came awake suddenly. Something was wrong. Tshamarra was writhing beside him, moaning in dismay and pain. Before he could raise a hand she rolled over atop him. She was slick with sweat, her smooth skin drenched.
"Tash! I'm here! What's wrong?"
The Lady Talasorn sobbed and clawed at him. "Craer! Help me!" "I'm here, Lady! What is it? What were you dreaming?" The sorceress shook her head wildly. "No dream… I never dream unless spells lie on my mind… and I've none left." She convulsed in his arms, so violently that he was almost thrust from the bed.
"I'm burning up," she gasped. "Flames, flames everywhere!" Craer held her, trying to comfort her by murmuring empty reassurances and stroking her shoulder, but she swore at him, trembling and panting, and turned in his arms to hiss furiously, "I'm not dream-addled, my lord! I'm… I'm…"
"Pleased to see me," Craer suggested, kissing her. She tried to protest, tried to pull her head away, but his hands were busy, and in a few moments she was pulling at him hungrily. Craer chuckled inwardly; the old distractions were the sure ones.
And then, as his lady arched atop him in their shared passion, his inward laughter chilled in an instant. Above him in the darkness, a tiny wisp of flame had darted out of her gasping mouth.
"So what," Blackgult asked, as Indalue bit his shoulder again, "is all this about bedposts? Hey?"
"Not… yet…" the woman beneath him growled-and then he felt a sudden burning across his back. It came again, and he heard the whirring that brought it this time. The Golden Griffon thrust out a hand in the darkness, caught the knotted rope-cord she wore as a belt around his palm, and jerked, pulling her into a tangled ball ere he broke her grip on it.
"So," he murmured triumphantly, "we flog our horse onward, do we?"
He sat up and gently flicked the tasseled end of her