They stared at each other in silence for a long, long breath, and then in unison, without another word spoken, turned to look south across the river.
On the ever-rushing waters below, a larger, grander barge than most-one of the most splendid for hire in Sirlptar-was drawing up to the Flow-foam docks.
"Of course it's not wise," the King of Aglirta told his guards angrily, "but I'm going to do it anyway. The Three damn me if I'm going to cower in a corner of my palace forever, neglecting my realm around me. These idiots made me King, and I'm not going to sit there in front of them shirking every last royal duty!"
The idiots so forcefully indicated were the overdukes who walked so closely and watchfully around him, only a faint shimmering of the air indicating that two of them were using the Dwaer-Stones held ready under their court cloaks to shield the young king.
Blackgult-who'd brought word up from the docks to the bard Flaeros Delcamper, and so also to all in the room with him-strode before King Castlecloaks, and Embra Silvertree walked behind him, with the sorceress Tshamarra Talasorn flanking the monarch on one side, and Flaeros walking beside him on the other. The royal guards in their full armor, Suldun Greatsarn watchfully at the rear, stalked along in a tight ring around this royal party-making the steps down to the docks quite crowded.
"I see the Delcampers stint not," Tshamarra remarked, surveying the boat that awaited below.
"The best is always cheaper in the long run," Flaeros replied, as they came out onto the broad sweep of the docks, and the guards there lifted their weapons in salute and stepped back.
The voyagers, all in Delcamper livery, were drawn up to greet the king: a dozen servants, with the swordcaptain of their travel escort of six house warriors at their head. He saluted Flaeros, bowed to King Castlecloaks, and then smoothly stood aside before anyone could speak, revealing who'd been standing behind him: an old, small woman leaning on a silver-handled cane.
"Your Majesty," Flaeros said with a broad smile, "may I present again to you the Lady of Chambers who has served so many of my family so well, for far more years than I've been alive-and is more truly noble than any dozen Delcampers: the Lady Natha Orele."
The king grinned and extended his hand in time to stop the aged Lady of Chambers from trying to kneel to him. "No, please-no one should kneel to me unless I'm passing sentence on them," he said firmly. "Flaeros, be informal, hey?"
The bard grinned and joyfully swept the old woman into an embrace. "Am I mortifying you enough, Orele?" he asked, when he'd finished kissing her.
"Tolerably, Lord," was the dry reply-which so delighted Raulin Castiecloaks that he took a turn at embracing a Lady of Chambers.
"Now that was foolish," she chided him. "I could be a murderous priestess of the Serpent!"
Raulin grinned. "Well, are you?"
"Not this morning, dear," she said gently. "But let us all start this formidable climb, the sooner to have something to drink, hey? I'll be putting us to work right briskly, by the look of you two. Has the palace run short of servants, or is there some crazed current fashion for sleeping in your armor?"
As the king chuckled and stepped back to offer her his arm, the shimmering of air that surrounded him fell upon her for a second time, and she turned and looked straight at the Overduke Blackgult, who stood watchfully to one side, one hand on his sword-hilt and the other on his Dwaer-Stone.
"Well, who's this?" she asked quietly, peering.
"Overduke Ezendor Blackgult," Flaeros said helpfully. "He used to be Regent of Aglirta-and is still famous throughout Asmarand as the Golden Griffon. You've met before, remember?"
"Ah, yes," Lady Orele murmured, her gaze locked with Blackgult's. They measured each other in wary silence for a long moment, unmoving, and then the overduke bowed his head gravely and turned away.
"There is one who took ship with us in Sirlptar," the swordcaptain murmured, "who's not of Ragalar. A warrior of Aglirta sworn to the King's service, I believe, one Tesmer by name."
Raulin whirled around to peer at the dock. "Tesmer? Where is he?"
"Still on the barge," Blackgult said, pointing. "Wounded, by the looks of him."
The king frowned. "Flaeros, please take the Lady Orele to the rooms prepared for her, with the rest of your household, who are all most royally welcome. We must meet Tesmer without delay."
If Blackgult had not thrust out a firm hand to bar his way, Raulin would have been on the barge in the next instant. Greatsarn gave the king a reproachful look as the Golden Griffon and two of the guards went onto the barge instead, raised the trusted king's warrior from the chair he'd been seated in, and brought him onto the dock.
Tesmer was pale, and bore enough of his clothing torn up and tied in strips around one of his legs to make it thrice the thickness of the other, but he struggled to kneel until Blackgult firmly sat him down on a dock bench and held him there. Raulin sat beside him and said, "None of that nonsense. How fare you? What befell?"
"A sword slash only, Your Majesty," was the grim reply. "Light blood-spill, given where I've been and what I've seen." He glanced up at the ring of faces behind the king, guards and two sorceresses, and hesitated.
"I have no secrets from any here," Raulin said quickly. "Speak freely."
Tesmer sighed, sat back, and said, "Majesty, I'll be blunt. The Blood Plague has spread, an unknown sword has slain the Tersept of Bladelock in his bed, and the Baron of Adeln killed by the Serpents. Small armies commanded by the Baron of Glarond and the Tersept of Ironstone clashed with great loss of life and no clear victor. I've spoken with many of our eyes downvale, and it seems Serpent-priests are everywhere, bullying and making trouble-but none as yet seems eager to whelm a force of swords to directly attack Flowfoam."
"I was wondering when you'd get to the good news," Raulin said in dry tones. "My thanks, Tesmer. We'll take you to the healers and then the kitchens, and we can talk more of this much later: I'll send for you. Don't worry about falling asleep-if my messenger finds you snoring, we'll talk on the morrow."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," the warrior replied quietly, letting his shoulders slump for the first time. "A good bed will be a rare treat."
"As many a goodwife says, when her husband is beyond hearing," the Lady Talasorn murmured, causing Tesmer to look up in astonished amusement, and several guards to chuckle.
The king shook his head, arching his eyebrows. "You make wedded life sound so jolly, Lady Overduke."
"Good," the sorceress replied with a smile. "Even young kings should be fairly warned."
Embra chanced to look at her father. He gave her a savage grin, and she rolled her eyes in eloquent reply.
"Ah, yes," Tesmer muttered, so quietly that only the Lady of Jewels could hear. "I'm home all right. Back among the halfwit jesters, hey, hey."
She found that very funny, but managed not to sputter too loudly in her mirth. Overdukes are, after all, heroes of the realm.
"You'll be able to find your room again?" the steward asked anxiously.
Tesmer smiled his thanks. "I've done guard duty over these chambers before, as it happens," he said quietly, "and the kitchens, too. I'll be all right."
The steward bowed and hurried away, glad not to have given offense and in some haste to pay court to the far prettier Ragalan chambermaids who'd arrived this day. The trusted king's warrior watched him go, and when he was out of sight, turned to the stairs that led to the kitchens.
For someone who'd once guarded both the kitchens and the apartments he'd just come from, Tesmer's next actions were curious indeed. Passing a landing whose door opened into the bustle of the pantries, he continued down the stairs into darker depths. When he reached the deep darkness of the cellars, he did not pause to light a torch from the rack kept ready by the brazier, but strode away into the endless night, soft-footed and almost silent.