The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [154]
"I'm here, too," Hawkril rumbled, stepping into view around the corner of the Silent House. A moment later, he'd swept the Lady Silvertree off her feet in a surprisingly gentle bearhug, his greeting a deep and purring roar.
Embra was surprised to find her eyes wet with tears. "Put me down, you lumbering bear!" she cried, more amused than upset. There seemed to be backslapping and sly tradings of jests occurring near at hand, where the procurer and the healer stood. She delivered a few playful blows to the armaragor's head and shoulders, found warm lips seeking hers… and found their touch good.
It was in fact quite some time, and she'd delivered herself of several moans with her lips still locked on those of Hawkril Anharu, when a comical chorus of loud and oh-so-casual throat clearings brought her back to noticing Sarasper and Craer-and their raised eyebrows.
"Why, Craer," she observed, without a hint of embarrassment, "you're all over silks and furs! Whence this finery?"
The procurer pointed down toward the river. "Court. King. Ladies to impress. No longer do I look good in a dress."
"Shall we?" Hawkril rumbled, waving his own hand toward the water. "The herald gave me to understand that there's a boat waiting for us."
"Ah," Sarasper said a little grimly, "did he also promise that it would be waiting to bring us back again, at our pleasure?"
"No, O Suspicious Skulker," the procurer said, "he did not. By the Three, Sarasper, set aside your mistrust for one night at least! There's a king in Aglirta again, set there by our hands… do you think he means to murder us, by way of thanks?"
"You're expecting a lordship?" the healer asked dryly, looking the magnificently garbed procurer up and down. "For Hawkril, too?"
"Why, yes," Craer replied seriously. "A title, a keep each to call our own, and retirement there forthwith to indulge in a little hunting, a little drinking, a little- pray pardon, Embra-wenching…"
"Lord Delnbone," Sarasper said softly, "would you mind drawing back your right sleeve?"
The procurer gave him a brittle smile, and did so. Two knives gleamed in a double forearm sheath there, ready to be plucked and thrown in an instant.
The healer nodded, not quite smiling. "And the other sleeve?"
Craer displayed another pair of knives and then bent, unbidden, to touch the hilts of knives in both boots, as well as the one they could all see at his belt. None of his three companions doubted he had others, carried in places of rather better concealment.
"Trust in our new king strong and surging, eh?" Sarasper asked innocently. "Lordships for all, eh?"
"Sarasper," Craer told him in tones of gaiety, "I said I was expecting a lordship. I didn't say I'd lost my senses."
"Ah," the old man replied. "Well. I was intimating you had, and still am."
"Nothing changes much between us," Hawkril observed. "Shall we to the boat?"
They moved forward without hesitation, together.
"Leave us," the Risen King commanded, in a voice that rolled to the corners of the room, sharp with sudden command. Courtiers and trumpeters and guardsmen alike blinked, hesitating.
"But your Majesty," the officious steward who'd found most-but by no means all-of Craer's knives protested, "these folk come armed! With weapons and spells! Who knows wha-"
"It would grieve me to grow accustomed, so early in the resumption of my reign, to having to repeat my orders," King Snowsar said mildly, allowing his eyes to flash just once as he strode forward to loom over the suddenly pale courtier.
The room emptied in a rush that owed more to haste than dignity. The steward actually uttered a squeak as he turned and bolted.
The Band of Four kept their faces carefully impassive. The king directed silent looks at Craer and Hawkril, then nodded at the doors. The two turned to make sure the known ways out of the room were secured and relatively free of folk pressed against them to listen, and Embra glided forward to murmur, "Lord and King, there is a secret passage behind that tapestry, and spy holes above us here. Might I suggest we use the way behind