"Barak says the king might be offended if he saw us in our real clothes," Garion told him.
"The king won't be looking at me," Durnik said, "and I don't like
this business of trying to look like something I'm not. I'll wait
outside with the horses if I can get my own clothes back."
"Be patient, Durnik," Barak advised. "We'll get this business with the king straightened out and then be on our way again."
If Durnik was angry, Mister Wolf was in what could best be described
as a towering fury. He came out into the corridor dressed in a snowy
white robe, deeply cowled at the back. "Someone's going to pay for
this," he raged.
"It does become you," Silk said admiringly.
"Your taste has always been questionable, Master Silk," Wolf said in a frosty tone. "Where's Pol?"
"The lady has not yet made her appearance," Silk said.
"I should have known," Wolf said, sitting down on a nearby bench. "We
may as well be comfortable. Pol's preparations usually take quite a
while."
And so they waited. Captain Brendig, who had changed his boots and
doublet, paced up and down as the minutes dragged by. Garion was totally
baffled by their reception. They did not seem to be under arrest, but
his imagination still saw dungeons, and that was enough to make him very
jumpy.
And then Aunt Pol appeared. She wore the blue velvet gown that had
been made for her in Camaar and a silver circlet about her head which
set off the single white lock at her brow. Her bearing was regal and her
face stern.
"So soon, Mistress Pol?" Wolf asked dryly. "I hope you weren't rushed."
She ignored that and examined each of them in turn.
"Adequate, I suppose," she said finally, absently adjusting the
collar of Garion's doublet. "Give me your arm, Old Wolf, and let's find
out what the King of the Sendars wants with us."
Mister Wolf rose from his bench, extended his arm, and the two of
them started down the corridor. Captain Brendig hastily assembled his
soldiers and followed them all in some kind of ragged order. "If you
please, my Lady," he called out to Aunt Pol, "permit me to show you the
way."
"We know the way, Lord Brendig," she replied without so much as turning her head.
Count Nilden, the Chief Butler, stood waiting for them in front of
two massive doors guarded by uniformed men-at-arms. He bowed slightly to
Aunt Pol and snapped his fingers. The men-at-arms swung the heavy doors
inward.
Fulrach, the King of Sendaria, was a dumpy-looking man with a short
brown beard. He sat, rather uncomfortably it appeared, on a highbacked
throne which stood on a dais at one end of the great hall into which
Count Nilden led them. The throne room was vast, with a high, vaulted
ceiling and walls covered with what seemed acres of heavy, red velvet
drapery. There were candles everywhere, and dozens of people strolled
about in fine clothes and chatted idly in the corners, all but ignoring
the presence of the king.
"May I announce you?" Count Nilden asked Mister Wolf.
"Fulrach knows who I am," Wolf replied shortly and strode down the
long scarlet carpet toward the throne with Aunt Pol still on his arm.
Garion and the others followed, with Brendig and his soldiers close
behind, through the suddenly quiet crowd of courtiers and their ladies.
At the foot of the throne they all stopped, and Wolf bowed rather
coldly. Aunt Pol, her eyes frosty, curtsied, and Barak and Silk bowed in
a courtly manner. Durnik and Garion followed suit, though not nearly as
gracefully.
"If it please your Majesty," Brendig's voice came from behind them, "these are the ones you sought."
"I knew you could be depended upon, Lord Brendig," the King replied
in a rather ordinary-sounding voice. "Your reputation is well deserved.
You have my thanks." Then he looked at Mister Wolf and the rest of them,
his expression undecipherable.
Garion began to tremble.
"My dear old friend," the king said to Mister Wolf. "It's been too many years since we met last."
"Have you lost your wits entirely, Fulrach?" Mister Wolf snapped in a
voice which carried no further than the king's ears. "Why do you choose
to interfere with me - now, of all times? And what possessed you to
outfit me in this absurd thing?" He plucked at the front of his white
robe in disgust. "Are you trying to announce my presence to every Murgo
from here to the hook of Arendia?"
The king's face looked pained. "I was afraid you might take it this
way," he said in a voice no louder than Mister Wolf's had been. "I'll
explain when we can speak more privately." He turned quickly to Aunt Pol
as if trying to preserve the appearance at least of dignity. "It's been
much too long since we have seen you, dear Lady. Layla and the children
have missed you, and I have been desolate in your absence."
"Your Majesty is too kind," Aunt Pol said, her tone as cold as
Wolf's. The king winced. "Pray, dear Lady," he apologized, "don't judge
me too hastily. My reasons were urgent. I hope that Lord Brendig's
summons did not too greatly inconvenience you."
"Lord Brendig was the soul of courtesy," Aunt Pol said, her tone
unchanged. She glanced once at Brendig, who had grown visibly pale.
"And you, my Lord Barak," the king hurned on as if trying to make the
best of a bad situation, "how fares your cousin, our dear brother king,
Anheg of Cherek?"
"He was well when last I saw him, your Majesty," Barak replied formally. "A bit drunk, but that's not unusual for Anheg."
The king chuckled a bit nervously and turned quickly to Silk. "Prince
Kheldar of the Royal House of Drasnia," he said. "We are amazed to find
such noble visitors in our realm, and more than a little injured that
they chose not to call upon us so that we might greet them. Is the King
of the Sendars of so little note that he's not even worth a brief stop?"
"We intended no disrespect, your Majesty," Silk replied, bowing, "but
our errand was of such urgency that there was no time for the usual
courtesies."
The king flickered a warning glance at that and surprisingly wove his
fingers in the scarce perceptible gestures of the Drasnian secret
language. Not here. Too many ears about. He then looked inquiringly at
Durnik and Garion.
Aunt Pol stepped forward.
"This is Goodman Durnik of the District of Erat, your Majesty," she said, "a brave and honest man."
"Welcome, Goodman Durnik," the king said. "I can only hope that men may also one day call me a brave and honest man."
Durnik bowed awkwardly, his face filled with bewilderment. "I'm just a
simple blacksmith, your Honor," he said, "but I hope all men know that I
am your Honor's most loyal and devoted subject."