"Strength and determination .. . those are admirable traits." The king nodded, scowling.
"Lord Warrior, will you and your companions accept our hospitality? I shall provide you with chambers in the royal apartments, where you shall have every comfort we can provide. When you have rested, I invite you to attend my table. Tonight, we shall make the arrange shy;ments for trade."
"Your hospitality is welcome," Ariakas agreed. "It is a fitting gesture for a meeting that will doubtless result in a long and profitable friendship."
As courtiers led them toward the royal quarters, Aria shy;kas risked a quick look behind. He saw the king's eyes staring at him-but not at the warrior himself, he sud shy;denly realized. Instead, Rackas Ironcog's eyes, glittering with greed, remained fastened to the azure blade in the human warrior's hand.
Chapter 21
To hold a Throne
The quarters that were given to the companions by Rackas Iron-cog had been hailed by the Zhakar king as the finest ambassadorial apartments in the realm, but to Ariakas they were more reminiscent of a stinking dungeon. Low ceilings forced the warrior into a permanent stoop, while his sleeping chamber gave him barely enough space to turn around. A central anteroom linked their small indi shy;vidual compartments, but the bare stone walls and dank, stale air suggested a place more suited for imprisonment than hospitality. A heavy door barred them from the rest of the royal chambers, and as a precaution, the warrior jabbed a dagger into the frame, ensuring that the portal could not be shut tightly from the outside.
The only concessions to luxury in the sleeping rooms were mattresses of fur-lined stuffing and plush blankets of animal pelts. The companions took advantage of the hours until dinner by resting, though after a little time Ariakas rose and paced in stooped agitation. To the vet shy;eran warrior, the situation reeked with disadvantages. He checked the door, making certain it had not been tampered with.
The only illumination in the rooms came from the magical light spells that Ariakas and Lyrelee alternated casting. Of necessity, a few hours had passed in darkness while the two communed with the Dark Queen, replen shy;ishing their clerical magics. After he rose from his brief rest, Ariakas perched his helmet with its glowing gem-stone in a corner of the main room, where the illumina shy;tion could spread through the apartments.
Soon Ferros Windchisel emerged from his sleeping room. The Hylar grunted in annoyance as he scratched a patch of red, irritated flesh along his forearm.
"Damned if they don't have firebugs here, too," groused the dwarf. "Too small to see-but I got bites all over my arm." Irritated, the dwarf scratched at a place on the back of his skull.
"I hope we don't have anything worse than bugs to worry about," Ariakas replied wryly. Then he looked at Ferros in sudden concern, seeing as if for the first time the raw skin, the patches of scabs that had began to mar his body. A sickening premonition rose within him.
Ferros scowled thoughtfully. "They have us pretty well boxed in, don't they?"
"I don't like it," Ariakas agreed.
Soon the other two travelers emerged from their chambers, and the four of them gathered in the anteroom to discuss their situation.
They were startled by a knock on the door. Ariakas rose and, after removing his dagger from the jamb, opened the portal to reveal an unusually tall Zhakar male. The dwarf's face was disfigured by the mold plague, but there existed a pride and self-confidence in his posture that struck the warrior as unique.
"I am Whez Lavastone," their visitor informed them, bowing deeply. "Perhaps you will grant me the honor of a private interview?"
Silently Ariakas gestured the fellow into the room, try shy;ing not to look at his patchy, disfigured face. The Zhakar squinted away from the glowing gem in the corner and took a seat that left him in silhouetted view to the others.
"Greetings, Merchant Splintersteel," the visitor said, with a formal nod to Tale.
"The same, Lord Lavastone," he replied. Splintersteel turned to his companions, keeping his tone carefully neutral. "Whez Lavastone was a high adviser to Pule Tenstone, our previous king. There were many, when last I was in Zhakar, who imagined him to be our future ruler."
"There are still many," Whez Lavastone asserted. "Though our current monarch is not among them."
"Why do you come here?" interrupted Ariakas.
"Tale Splintersteel served my former lord well, and I wish to reward this service by giving you a warning."
"Go on," said the warrior suspiciously.
"Rackas Ironcog has no intention of opening any trad shy;ing discussions with you. He desires to kill you and steal your sword-with which he plans to hold onto his throne indefinitely."
"I suspected treachery-though I'm surprised at the bluntness of his approach."
"Ironcog is nothing if not blunt," Tale noted. The Zhakar thought for a moment before speaking to Whez Lavastone. "How stands the support of the new king?"
Their visitor shrugged. "As well, or as poorly, as any king of Zhakar. He holds his throne until someone takes it away from him-and, as always, there are many who desire it."
"One of those, presumably, being you?" inquired Aria-kas directly.
"Naturally." Whez accepted the question as perfectly reasonable. "But there are other considerations as well."
"We're listening," Ariakas noted.
"King Ironcog feels that we're already engaged in too much trade with humankind. In fact, since we first observed your approach, he's been using you as an example of the dangers that Zhakar exposes herself to- even through distant Sanction."
"Too much trade?" Tale Splintersteel, the merchant lord, was appalled. "I have to fend off demands for swords and shields, for minted coins and arrowheads! I could sell three for every one I get-and at no reduction in price! What madness is this to try and kill the greatest source of income in the realm?"
"It came about during Pule Tenstone's reign," Whez said with a shrug. "And we all know that you were Pulc's agent. Perhaps if Ironcog had his own minister of trade, he'd feel differently-as it is now, he fears giving too much power to his rivals."
"May we assume, then, that those rivals are more amenable to increased trade?" Ariakas probed.
Whez Lavastone smiled, a grotesque distortion of his plague-pocked face. Even against the glare of the gem Ariakas could see the Zhakar's teeth gleaming between slick, bloody gums. "Witness my presence here," the dwarf noted. "And this warning: take no food at Rackas Ironcog's table, if you would live to see the morning."
"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.