The Dragon's Doom - Ed Greenwood [191]
"Fire! Everything was burning up!"
"Easy, lad," Hulgor growled, laying a hand on his kinsman-and then snatching it back with an oath. "Ye gods, the lad's hot! A fever, belike!"
Anxious faces crowded around, lit by a lantern held in a royal hand. King Castlecloaks stared down at the twisting, sweating bard and then around at guards and servants. The two Delcamper maids were blushing as they surveyed all the bared male flesh around them, for only the guards wore anything-full armor, complete with the swords they'd now drawn.
"Put those away," Hulgor said disgustedly, though the swordpoints moved not an inch until the king nodded to support the old noble's order. "The lad needs a healer, not a sword through his guts!" He peered at Raulin. "Ye do have a healer?"
The king swallowed and then smiled weakly. "Ah, yes. Somewhere. I'm not quite sure just where in the palace anyone has their chambers, right now, actuall-"
"Never mind," Hulgor growled. "Kings, kings-what good are they? Lad!" This last bark was directed not at Raulin but rather at Flaeros Delcamper, now fully awake and staring up at the circle of faces in awe, fear, and-as he recognized some faces as female-mounting embarrassment. The bard snatched at the sweat-soaked linens beneath him.
"Ah, ye're awake-just like all the rest of us, thanks!" Hulgor growled. "Lad, where does Orele sleep? Hey?"
"You were purposely not told that, my lord," a palace servant said severely, "upon her instructions, and-"
"Take us there now," King Raulin snapped. The servant paled, stammered assent, and hurried off, taking up and unhooding a night lantern.
Hulgor scooped up Flaeros and carried the naked bard to the door, slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The younger Delcamper stammered protests, face flaming, and then thought the better of it and went along for the ride, watching his own sweat stream steadily down onto the floor below.
"Gods, lad, but you're hot," Hulgor growled. " 'Tis like carrying a slab of boar that's still cooking!"
The king and the guards strode along with Hulgor, close behind the lantern-bearing servant, but it seemed that some of the other Delcamper maids had taken a swifter route-for when they reached the small, plain door of Orele's chambers, it stood open. Lamplight was spilling out into the passage, and the Lady herself, in an ankle-length black nightrobe, sat in a chair facing them, her cane in her hand.
"Hulgor, set Flaeros on the bed," she said crisply, by way of greeting. "You'll find a nightshirt laid ready for him. Get the king a chair, send everyone else out, and then lock and bar the door. Everyone. I'm not in the habit of regicide, and all of these guards whose hygiene seems so poor would be best deployed well away from my keyhole-but making sure no one else tarries by it."
"Let all be done as the Lady Orele commands," the king said firmly, before anyone could raise protest-and, in a remarkably short time, it was.
"Wrinkles," Hulgor said gruffly, "the lad came awake shouting-"
Orele held up a hand. "I know. You were right to bring him here. Go to yonder board and get everyone a drink. Anything His Majesty fancies we will of course sip first, to show him 'tis safe. Go, Old Ram!"
Hulgor opened his mouth to protest, flushed, grinned, and went.
"You had a dream," Orele told the bard, "that I know all about. Worry not about the heat and the sweat-that will pass. You're neither ill nor crazed."
Flaeros smiled in relief, sitting up. "L-lady Orele, forgive this abrupt asking, but… well, I've long suspected you of being one of the Wise…"
The old woman smiled. "Well, you're not completely stone-headed, I see. Your suspicions are correct."
The bard and the king both leaned forward, grinning at her with identical expressions of eager excitement, two young lads entranced by all the tales of Lady Natha Orele raised one bony hand and said severely, "Before you ask, I neither kiss nor mate with toads, rarely flog myself in the moonlight, and have never cast any magics