The knight yanked Derryl into the vast room with tall walls that looked stories high. A red rug with golden thread in the middle of the room rolled out to a throne, and tall windows on either side of the room let light of dusk shine brightly through. The man sitting on the throne had a golden, gem-encrusted crown sitting atop untamed red curly hair just like in the painting in the lounge. Placid, with freckles all over his face. Guards lined every corner of that room, all in mail, sword, and green and yellow surcoats. The ones closest to the throne fashioned shiny steel breastplates instead. An old man in long flowing robes, blue and grey and black layers, stood beside the throne. He stroked his long grey beard with an intense gaze upon Derryl.
The king motioned them over.
"Spies at ye' mercy, my king," the knight said, shoving Derryl afront the king. "This one has wounds that need tending."
"Splendid, Iron-Clad Knight," the king said. He looked Derryl over with glowing blue eyes reflecting the evening light. He motioned the old man to Derryl. "I do hope your travels were not too unsafe."
The old man approached, voluminous robes flowing in his wake. He took hold of Derryl's arm, his bony hands sprawled with dark purple veins. He turned Derryl's arm over and stroked the cut with a finger. Derryl grimaced begrudgingly. "It doesn't need cauterizing, at least. 'Tis but a scrape." He pulled a clean linen cloth from his robes and wiped his arm clean. "Seems you got into quite the scuffle, young one," he said. A calm, soothing voice that didn't incite danger, yet he felt unnerved by his presence.
"No thanks to that idiot," Derryl grumbled, glaring at the knight. "He takes his role far too seriously."
King Rian guffawed. "I like this one. What's your name, lad?"
"Derryl."
"And a fine name that is."
"Very. . .foreign. That garb, foreign more so," the old man said. He eyed Derryl suspiciously as he slipped a round tin from his robes and applied the salve to his cut. "You have interesting eyes."
"Therin the ever-prying," king Rian said, grinning at the old man.
"My mom says it's from dad's side of the family. My brother has them too," Derryl said. His face scrunched as the salve burned deep into his flesh.
"Where is this lookalike of yours, by the by?"
"I don't know. He hid behind a statue and disappeared."
"There be tricksters among us," Therin muttered, wrapping Derryl's arm in thin linen bandages. He had pulled those from his robes, as well. His robes may as well be a bag of holding with infinite storage. Where did it all come from?
Derryl furrowed his brow. "I'm not tricking anyone! We were just home, and found Grandma Mongomery's junky old sphere, and---and we ended up here."
The room stilled, and curious eyes stared him down. The king and Therin exchanged glances.
"Surely, he jests," the knight said, chuckling. "House Montgomery?"
"Surely," Therin said flatly. He carefully scanned Derryl's face, his expression softening as if he solved some sort of puzzle. "If he is of the Montgomery family, he is no spy, but ambassador or emissary. Perhaps even a messenger boy."
"That is yet to be determined," the king said.
"That's right. I am a Mongomery, whatever that means to you lot. Maybe you should treat me with more respect."
Therin patted Derryl's bandages, signaling he finished. He clasped his hands together in front of him. His face full of wrinkled crevices still as a stone statue. "I advise you watch your tone, young one. The king is humored by you but that may not last," he warned.
"I do believe I would like to see this boy hanging from the gallows with such utterances." The king instantly motioned a couple of the guards with the breastplates, and they seized Derryl by the arms.
"This is ridiculous," Derryl grumbled.
"Let's not make haste, my king. If he is of Mongomery blood, there will be two wars of which we cannot afford," Therin advised. "Let's send a bird and inquire of Mongomery ambassadors this term, yes? There were to be two knighted noblemen arriving, after all. Perhaps our friend The Iron-Clad Knight misjudged them."
"What say you, Iron-Clad Knight?" King Rian inquired.
"They skulked 'round the dungeons like a couple of rats who found their way in through the postern gate," The Iron-Clad Knight said, clanking toward the king. He knelt and bowed his head. "You have my honest judgement, as you always do."
"Are you ambassador, Sir? State your claim now or hold your silence and be transported to the gallows to hang as a spy presently," the king demanded of Derryl.
"Sir?" Derryl said, bewildered. He cleared his throat. "I mean--yes?" It sounded better than being immediately hung.
The king waved his hand in the air. "Therin, show our guest to his chambers until we figure out who he is truly. With guard, of course."
Hesitantly, Therin bowed. He beckoned Derryl to follow him out of the Great Hall. Two guards with the yellow and green surcoats followed. Derryl didn't want to go with the old man, but he did. He played along for now until he can find Clarence. Then, they can go home away from this strange place. He followed the old man to stairs that led up, into a whole new hallway with a bunch of doors on one side and windows on the other. Out one of the windows, the grass was almost too far down to see. He continued to follow the old man down the hallway. He beckoned the guards fall back, and they followed his command.
"You will tell me now," Therin demanded quietly.
"Tell you what?" Derryl asked, his face curling in confusion.
"About being a Montgomery, and the sphere. Your tool of trickery."
"We found it buried in the backyard. It's grandma's, we're sure of it," Derryl said. He grasped his hemp-knot bracelet, and Clarence came to mind again. His stomach got queasy thinking of where he may be.
"Do you have it with you now?"
Derryl shook his head, his curls bouncing from side to side. "We lost it when we ended up in the cellar."
"Tricksters, just like her," Therin whispered. A subtle smile could be seen forming at the corners of his mouth. "Without even realizing it."
"Like who?"
"A Quester, as I used to be. She had a sphere like that one you describe. She often left. She always came back. . . This last time, many many moons ago, she did not return."
"What are you saying?"
The hallway stilled to silence, and they stopped at an old wooden door.
"You're not of this world, are you?"
The door creaked open, and they stepped inside. The room was dark and smelled as dank as the cellar. Therin strode seamlessly to the windows and flung the curtains open. The daylight flushed in, revealing a fancy set of furniture all glossy encrusted wood and expensive looking fabrics. On the far end of the room, a cluttered study.
"You're not just some old bat, are you?" Derryl retorted.
"I am court wizard to our king Rian."
Derryl chuckled in amusement. "Wizard. Right, and I'm an ambassador."
Therin held out his bony hand toward a candelabra across the room with three candles awaiting to be lit. A fire manifested on his hand, and he flicked tiny fireballs at the candles, lighting them instantly. The fire on his hand dissipated with no ash nor burns left behind. He clasped his hands together again, as he does. He lifted a brow at Derryl.
Derryl's mouth opened, yet no words emerged. So, he let the room remain still, silently observing the candles. They flickered with small flames. He hovered his hand over one of them, and it nipped at him. It was real. "Show me something else," Derryl demanded.
"There is no time. You must remain here and await my return," Therin said. He returned to the door and narrowed his gaze on Derryl. "Your play won't last. It never does. When they figure out you're not who you claim, you will be executed."