Selinda lifted her glass and all those present did the same, goblets clinking around the room. They all drank, and the great hall filled with cheers.
Sitting down again, the princess was amazed and delighted as a procession of servants flowed through the massive doors from the kitchen. She had been been to many banquets in Palanthas where the fare had consisted of dainty roasted fowls, or slices of ham graced with apples and plums, or bits of fish arranged fashionably on golden platters. That was not the Caergoth way: Here they brought out whole pigs roasted, and set upon massive platters carried by two burly men. Milk was poured from massive, ice-encrusted jugs, and those who wanted ale simply wandered over to one of several kegs set up in various parts of the great hall.
Selinda ate more than she ever had a single sitting before, and washed it down with the southern ale that, she decided, was smoother and less presumptuous than its Palanthian cousin.
The duke seemed to come alive as the evening progressed, chatting with Selinda about the glories of his realm, most of which seemed to center around the city’s position as a natural seaport.
“Of course, we have problems, too,” he admitted at one point. “The goblin crisis here isn’t what it is in Thelgaard and Solanthus, closer to the Garnet Mountains, but we do find the wretches skulking about now and then. I have a prime specimen locked up in my dungeon right now!”
“Really!” said Selinda. “We never see any goblins in Palanthas!”
“Well, one day I hope to say the same thing about Caergoth,” the duke professed. “My man here, Captain Reynaud, captured this one in the Garnet Mountains and brought him here for interrogation.”
“Really?”
The princess leaned forward, out of the corner of her eye regarding the knight with whom the duke had earlier been arguing. The knight was a man with slick black hair and a long mustache that curled into twin prongs, like the horns of a steer. Now the man cocked an ear, hearing them and assuming a humble expression.
He waved a hand dismissively. “It was nothing, really. We had to kill a few of his comrades. They were pickets, on the ridge around a huge clan of the beggars. We chained him up and brought him back here, quick as you like.” Reynaud spoke as though it were a simple business, but the princess noticed the hard edge in his eye and perceived a stern, even cruel set to his thin lips.
“I think it’s really quite a thrilling story,” the princess said. “Do you suppose I could see the creature? Perhaps take a tour of your dungeon?”
“Absolutely not! Out of the question!” She was surprised to have her question answered not by the duke but by a knight who had stood behind the lord during the entire meal. He was the same warrior, Sir Marckus Haum, who had met her at the docks.
“I beg your pardon,” she said archly. “I was speaking to the duke!”
“Yes, Sir Marckus-she was talking to me!” added that worthy noble.
“Begging your Excellency’s pardon, but the very idea of taking the lady into them stinking dungeons is loopy. No disrespect intended, my lady, but it’s dangerous activity. The blighters will as soon bite and scratch you as glance at you. They’d spit upon you if you so much as showed your face down there!”
“I’m not worried about a little spit,” Selinda retorted. Perhaps it was the ale, but she felt surprisingly indignant and more than willing to speak her mind. “I do so much want to see a goblin!”
“The risks are simply too great. Why, if your father was to hear-”
“My father is not here!” the princess responded. “Even more to the point, my father sent me here with the authority to speak his will. It is in his voice that I demand-” She paused, smiled sweetly at the duke, who was staring at her wide-eyed. “I respectfully request that your Excellency provide me with a tour of your dungeon, during which I may lay eyes upon a captured goblin or two. I shall count upon the diligence of your knights to protect safety of my person.” She turned her beguiling smile upon Sir Marckus and watched the flush creep slowly across his face.
Ankhar relished his first night as leader of the great horde. He stayed in the Big House as, in fact, it rained hard on the thousands of gathered hobs and gobs. Naturally, there was insufficient space for more than a fraction of them inside the building, but they didn’t seem to mind. Instead, they drank, danced, and cavorted around the great fire all through the dismal night.
It wasn’t until later the next day that Laka came to see her adopted son, finding him awake and hungry-and scattering the dozen or so young gob wenches who had clamored to provide the new chieftain with whatever nourishment he needed through the night.
So tired and sore was Ankhar that he didn’t even object to his mother’s harangue.
“What you do with all these gobs and hobs?” she asked him, shaking the skull-totem so the pebbles inside the bony talisman rattled and hissed. “You got army here. You gotta lead them.”
“Lead them where?” wondered the half-giant. He recalled Bonechisel’s numerous campaigns, all of them bloody but none of them particularly momentous. “To go kill more hobs and gobs?”
Laka shook her rattle meaningfully. The black eyes gaped empty, but chiding.
“No. Go kill dwarves?”
The half-giant realized that idea made no sense. The dwarves lived in fortified cities under the ground. There was no effective way to attack them. Nor was there any reason, save a lust for the treasures that were reputedly locked away in the vaults of Kaolyn.
“No, humans. With this many gobs, we kill lots of humans. Maybe even a whole city.”
With those words, the eyes of the skull-rattle glowed bright green, and the fleshless lips seemed to curve into an approving grin. Laka shook the rattle again, and the half-giant was more than a little impressed as words, delivered in a croaking rasp, emerged from between those bony jaws.
“Truth is in your soul, “Justice in your blade. “Blood is battle’s toll, “A savage empire made!” Ankhar nodded. A savage empire made…Now that was a Truth worth fighting for.
“You must do exactly as I say,” huffed Sir Marckus.
“Now, now, Marckus,” reassured the duke, “this is a recreational outing, not a military campaign.”
“I still say, bring the creature out here and let her see it. She doesn’t need to go in there.”
“Nonsense!” replied Selinda. “The risks of an escape are much greater if you bring it outside. No, I am quite prepared to go in there to see this creature. I am not afraid.”
“Then with all respect, Excellency and your highness, do consider: We are dealing with a treacherous and implacable foe. He will do anything to get hold of an example of human womanhood-begging the lady’s pardon.”
Sir Marckus was accompanied by a dozen sturdy knights, all more than six feet tall, broad shouldered and solidly built. Each wore a supple leather tunic that gave him good freedom of movement yet still provided protection to the torso and groin. Instead of their usual lances and great battle swords they wore short swords that looked more like overgrown knives than true swords.
Selinda was glad, thinking about it, that Captain Powell had gone back to the ships to tend to matters. He would have been every bit as stiff and protective as Sir Marckus, and she certainly didn’t need two such officers clucking over her like mother hens.
“First cells won’t be too bad,” the knight of the Rose explained as they crossed the castle courtyard into a dark, muddy passageway between two high walls. A lone door with a swordsman standing guard stood at the end of the way. The guard saluted and opened the door as Marckus approached. “These’ll be scum from the city, thieves and the like. Worthless wretches, but some of them have a chance to be paroled, so they’ll be on their best behavior as we pass through.”
They went through a small room with another guard, and this one unlocked the door carefully. Marckus and several of his men took torches from a rack on the wall. With the brand held high, the captain preceded the party through the second door. There was a row of cells to each side. They were tiny cages, with iron bars and a single, small door forming the front wall of each.