"No food!" spluttered Ferros Windchisel. "First we get a dungeon cell to sleep in, and now we're not supposed to eat! This is not dwarven hospitality by Thorbardin standards!"
"You're not in Thorbardin," Whez Lavastone retorted, his tone taut with controlled fury-even hatred. "And when Thorbardin abandoned us to our fate, they lost the right to critique our customs!"
"What abandonment?" growled the Hylar. "Why do you think I've come all-"
"This is getting us nowhere," Ariakas interrupted sharply. Ferros Windchisel bit back his objection. "As for the food, I think we can dine safely-and I do mean dine," he reassured his companions. "I'll perform a little ceremony before dinner that should see to that."
"Also, beware the king's savant-Tik Deepspeaker. He is ever treacherous, and seeking ways to further himself in his master's eyes," cautioned Whez.
"Was that him in the gold-trimmed robe, standing next to the throne?" asked Ariakas.
Their visitor nodded, and Tale Splintersteel cursed. "I might have known that scoundrel would find his way into royal favor." He turned to Ariakas. "King Tenstone was blinded by a savant before the assassin's knife found his heart. It is widely believed that Deepspeaker was the one who aided in the killing."
"As to this king's reluctance to trade, I'm open to sug shy;gestions," Ariakas concluded.
"You could fry him with your sword," suggested Tale Splintersteel. "We could arrange it that the new regime is ready to take over immediately."
"I'm nobody's assassin," Ariakas replied. "If you want him dead, you'll have to do it yourself."
"Very well," said Whez Lavastone, rising to his feet with alacrity. "I didn't expect you to attend to that mat shy;ter-but at least you know who your enemies are."
"We thank you for the warning," Ariakas acknowl shy;edged, standing and nodding his head as the Zhakar headed back to the door. When the visitor had left the human reinserted his dagger in the frame, propping the door open by several inches.
Within an hour they were summoned to dinner, and the four of them were escorted by a rank of Zhakar guards through several long, wide hallways of the Royal Wing. The warrior wore his blue sword on his back, and when the captain of the escorts appeared ready to ques shy;tion him on that point, Ariakas scowled so darkly that the dwarf remained silent.
When they reached the dining hall, the humans were pleased-and surprised-to see that their host had arranged for torches to be placed throughout the large room. In the flickering light, the humans and Ferros would at least be able to see the plates in front of them.
Rackas Ironcog and the gold-robed Tik Deepspeaker were already seated and did not rise as the four guests were ushered to places at the long table. There would be no other diners, apparently.
"Will you join us in tea?" invited the Zhakar king as an attendant approached with a steaming pot. "It is our native beverage, favorite of all our people."
"Please forgive us," Ariakas replied. "But we have, er, experienced that tea in Sanction-it does not agree with the nondwarven constitution."
"Aye-nor even the constitution of the foreign dwarf," grunted Ferros Windchisel. The Hylar looked crestfallen, as if he had expected to find a cold mug of ale waiting for him.
Tale Splintersteel examined his cup, apparently ex shy;pecting something like a poisonous viper to lunge forth. When the scowling king and his masked adviser hoisted their mugs, the merchant followed suit-though Ariakas thought his lips barely touched the steaming liquid.
"Our dinner," murmured the king. He raised a scabrous hand, and a file of servants came forward car shy;rying platters of hot, aromatic food. Most of the breads and pies seemed to have a fungus base, though the Zhakar kitchens also produced a moderately sized haunch of roasted venison.
"Your hospitality is most appreciated," Ariakas said after the platters had been placed on the table. "Perhaps you will allow me the indulgence of a customary hon shy;orific?"
"You are my guest," acknowledged the king, though his moldy eyelids lowered suspiciously. He cast a look at Tik Deepspeaker. Within the gold-fringed robe, the savant's eyes glittered evilly at the human.
Ariakas rose. "My Mistress," he said reverently, "we ask your blessing of this meal in full acknowledgment of our host's generous spirit and gracious hospitality…." His voice droned on, reciting a meaningless collection of pleasantries while King Ironcog tapped his fingers impa shy;tiently on the table.
As he spoke, the warrior passed his hands over the assembled platters, completing the intricate gestures of a purification spell-an incantation that would remove any toxins from food or drink.
He finished his ritual, and Ariakas smiled pleasantly at the king while he took his seat. They immediately helped themselves to the food, though the warrior noted that the Zhakar monarch and his adviser took only from a few of the platters, ignoring the meat and the pies entirely. With a nod to his companions, Ariakas reached for a helping of everything.
As they ate, Ironcog asked them several idle questions about Sanction, and even managed to speak to Ferros about Thorbardin-though he could not conceal his resentment of that elder realm. At the same time, the monarch scrutinized his guests carefully. Ironcog's eyes glittered as he watched Ariakas raise a large bite of meat to his lips, and then he blinked expectantly while the warrior chewed.
"Delicious," murmured the human truthfully. Indeed, whatever subversive preparations had been done to the food, the Zhakar had cooked a tasty collection of delica shy;cies.
For a time, the king studied Lyrelee, who also ate with gusto, perhaps because-unlike Tale and Ferros-she understood exactly what Ariakas had done to protect them. The two dwarves, meanwhile, picked at their food after they saw the humans eating, but could not entirely mask their unease.
Rackas Ironcog, however, grew increasingly agitated as the meal continued. The king's eyes sought those of the savant, but Tik Deepspeaker kept his own gaze riv shy;eted onto his plate, saying nothing during the course of the meal. His mold-encrusted face darkened by a furi shy;ous scowl, Ironcog's gaze leapt restlessly from guest to guest, searching for some signs of discomfort or weak shy;ness. Near the end of the meal, however, with everyone to all appearances well-stuffed, he muttered a curse and, scowling fiercely, made an attempt at conversa shy;tion.
"You said that you came here to trade," Ironcog said smoothly. "What do you desire that you cannot obtain through our Minister of Trade in Sanction? After all, we have an extensive distribution network of arms and armor, as well as coins and other metal goods, already in operation." The king raised his eyebrows, mutely ques shy;tioning Tale Splintersteel.
"We seek that which you have never traded," Ariakas began. "It is a thing you have called a curse, but it has a unique application in our temples. It is the fungus of the plague mold, which we understand inhabits the lower catacombs of Zhakar."
"The mold?" Ironcog was clearly surprised and baf shy;fled. "In truth, if we could have eradicated the stuff we would have-and now to find you have an interest in it! This is a startling development, indeed."
The king thought for a moment, and then continued. "What would you offer in exchange, should we be will shy;ing to part with this unique substance?"
"The agents of the temple have access to many sources of fine gems," Ariakas began. "Diamonds, rubies, emer shy;alds … as well as numerous more mundane stones. For a start, we will offer you quarter-weight in gems for all the living mold you can ship to Sanction."
Rackas Ironcog's eyes widened slightly at the gener shy;ous offer, and for a moment Ariakas wondered if he would give it serious consideration. Then the Zhakar's eyes flicked, unconsciously, to the hilt of the warrior's sword, and the human knew that the dwarven king still desired only one thing out of these negotiations.