He wondered what Alorria’s bed was like, then quickly wished he hadn’t.
He turned over the evening in his mind, remembering the rich food and the beautiful princesses, and, for that matter, some of the other women at dinner had been comely enough, too.
Women were not a good thing to think about; he forced himself to concentrate on the food and drink, the clever conversation, at least, that part of it which had been in Ethsharitic. Most of the conversation had been pure gibberish to him.
He hoped that whoever he was teamed with for the dragon hunt would speak Ethsharitic.
That turned him to thoughts of the dragon, wondering what it might be like and whether he would actually meet it, which led to reviewing his entire adventure so far, and the next thing he knew, he was awakening to sunlight in his eyes.
The tower had three windows, a fact he had not observed the night before, all of them shuttered and none of them glazed; no wonder it was drafty! He had slept against the western wall; light was seeping in around the edges of the eastern window, and a stray beam had struck his face, waking him.
He sat up and brushed himself off. Doing so, he was reminded how dirty his one tunic and one pair of breeches had become. No one had minded last night, since he had just arrived from a long journey, but he dreaded the thought of facing Alorria and the other inhabitants of the castle in the same garb for another day.
He had no choice, though. He had no other clothes and knew of no way he could wash those he had.
From the angle of the sun he judged it to be about two hours past dawn, breakfast time, if Dwomor Keep followed the same pattern as Telven. He found the door and headed down the stairs.
At the foot of the tower he found himself in a short corridor that debouched into a longer one, and he hesitated for a moment, trying to remember which way led down to the castle’s dining area. To the left he thought he saw stairs; he turned left and a moment later was descending an unfamiliar flight of worn stone steps.
At the foot of those stairs, however, he was stymied; he was in a large square hall he did not recognize that was equipped with several doors, all closed, and no other exits but the stairs.
A serving maid emerged from one door and then vanished through another without acknowledging his presence; after a moment’s hesitation, he followed her and found himself in the kitchens.
Here, at least, were people, many of them, all busily going about their everyday business, servants of every degree. He tried to ask the nearest person, a lad with a broom, for directions, but got only a blank stare. He shouted and was rewarded with a brief moment of silence, but no answer.
No one in the room spoke Ethsharitic.
Defeated, he returned to the hallway and tried the door the servant had emerged from.
That was better; he was in a small dining chamber, not the one he had eaten in the night before. Half a dozen young men, surely some of his fellow dragon hunters, were arrayed around a table.
“Hello,” he said. “Am I in the right place?”
No one answered. Again, none of them spoke Ethsharitic.
Baffled, he again retreated to the hallway, where, this time, he found the Lord Chamberlain.
“Ah, the wizard! A pleasure to see you!”
“Lord Chamberlain! Someone I can speak to!” His relief was evident in his tone.
“Have you a problem?” The Lord Chamberlain was all polite solicitousness.
Tobas explained his situation and a moment later found himself in yet another dining hall, taking his place at the table. Four of his companions from the journey from Ethshar were there as well; the others had already eaten and departed. When breakfast had been announced an hour before, no one had cared to disturb the wizard.
Tobas wished more than ever that he had not demonstrated his magical ability, what little he had.
He was relieved to see that the others, save for Peren, were also still dressed in their same travel-worn and dirty clothes.
He settled down and ate quickly, ignoring the fact that the porridge, never particularly tasty, had cooled and congealed, and that the bread had begun to go stale.
The other four had for the most part finished eating and were lingering only to nibble and talk, rounding out the corners, Dabran had called it when Tobas was a child. Elner, Peren, Arden, and Tillis were present, but Elner was doing most of the talking.
When Tobas had eaten enough to hold him for a time, he waited for a lull in the conversation, then asked Elner, “Tell me, do you speak Dwomoritic?”
“No; I never even heard of it until I signed up to kill this dragon of theirs. I can’t tell one of these barbarian tongues from another, anyway.”
“What about you?” Tobas asked Peren.
The albino shook his head.
“Don’t bother asking,” Arden said. “I have enough trouble with Ethsharitic.” “Tillis?”
“Well, no, not really.”
“What about you, Wizard?” Elner demanded belligerently. “I suppose you have the gift of tongues and speak it like a native?”
Tobas shook his head. “Not a word. All I know is fire-magic. If I knew something as useful as the gift of tongues, I wouldn’t be here, I’d be safe at home working as an interpreter.”
Somewhat mollified, Elner accepted that and asked, “Why didn’t you ever tell us you were a wizard, on the way here?”
Tobas shrugged. “I didn’t think it mattered. As I said, I’m not much of a wizard at all, really.” He saw no point in lying about it, but no point in admitting the sorry truth in detail, either.
“I’ve heard that mighty wizards will sometimes slay dragons in order to drink their blood,” Tillis said. “Dragon’s blood is said to have great magic in it.”
“You don’t just drink it!” Tobas said, startled.
“But it does have magic?” Elner said.
“Well, yes, I suppose so,” Tobas admitted, remembering Roggit’s precious jar of the stuff. The old wizard had begrudged every drop, but had used it in a wide variety of spells, none of which he had lived to teach Tobas.
“So that’s why you’re here!” Elner exclaimed.
“No, it isn’t,” Tobas insisted. “I’m here for the same reason as the rest of you, I couldn’t find anything more secure back in Ethshar.”
“But you’re a wizard?” Arden asked.
“A very poor one.”
“But you are a wizard?” Peren insisted.
“Yes, I’m a wizard!” He was almost shouting. “What difference does it make?”
“Before you came in, we were talking about how we would team up,” Arden said. “Since not everyone here speaks the same language, we can’t go with just anyone.”
“I shall accompany a prince!” Tillis announced. “Prince Thed of Mreghon has agreed to permit me to join his noble band in pursuit of the monster!”
“The prince speaks Ethsharitic?”
“Certainly, as well as you or I do!”
“What I want to know,” Elner said, “is where in the World Mreghon is. I never heard of it, and nobody here in the castle seems to know.”
Nobody had an answer to that.
“Have the rest of you made plans?” Tobas asked.
“We were thinking of staying together, the three of us,” Arden said, indicating Elner and Peren.
“You’ll need two more,” Tobas pointed out. This seemed as likely a group as any to join.
Elner shrugged. “Oh, we don’t need anyone else. I suppose we’ll take two more if the king insists.”
Tobas thought about making his request plainer, but his pride rebelled. He had been plain enough. If these fools did not want a wizard along, he would accept that.
He had another three days to find companions; there was no need to hurry.