Роберт Асприн - Forever After

To distract herself from these dark memories, Rissa strolled to the window and counted through the rest of the wedding party. Spotty — Stiller — Gulick was to be best man. She made a mental note to see that his outfit did not clash with red, as he was certain to be flushed and his face might blotch.

Gar Quithnick was to be the second groomsman. She shuddered a bit at the idea of an assassin at her back, chiding herself for her lack of faith. However, he could not be denied his place.

Ibble, Spotty’s dwarven friend, was to be ring bearer, a role given by tradition to one of the shorter races.

That filled out the main party. Various dignitaries, religious authorities, and loyal companions would make up the guest list. The galleries of the Cathedral of Dym would be left open for the public.

Rango had insisted that tickets be sold at a token price so that there would not be mobbing. She understood his reasoning, but thought it somewhat déclassé. There was no arguing with his point that the war against Kalaran had drained the Treasury.

She sighed. He hardly seemed the same man as the dashing warrior to whom she had lost her heart. Still, he seemed a stable, responsible ruler. No doubt the people would love him. She wondered, would she?

Lemml Touday saw the silhouette of the Princess against the window curtain as he arrived at the palace for his meeting with Prince Rango. He hoped she had not put the Prince into a bad mood today. What he had to tell the Prince would not sit well even if His Highness was in the best of moods.

Prince Rango was again in his privy council chamber. Today he was moving pins around on a wall map, consulting a handful of note cards as he did so. In his simple trousers and close-fitting tunic, he looked more like a military commander than he had on other of Lemml’s visits and the priest found that this made him uneasy.

“Greetings, Lemml,” the Prince said. “Have a seat. I will be with you as soon as I have finished marking these position reports on the map. I’ve heard from my questing heroes and things seem to be going quite well.”

“You seem to be marking more than four units there, Your Highness,” the priest commented.

“That’s right,” Prince Rango said, “I’ve been repositioning various units around the Faltane. There are still pockets of fighting — bandit activity and such. It wouldn’t do to win the Faltane from Kalaran only to lose it to Civil unrest.”

“Not at all, sire,” Lemml said.

Prince Rango finished with his map and bore a silver salver over the table. With a slight flourish, he uncovered a pair of fluted blue-green bottles marked with white script lettering in an unfamiliar language. They were filled with a brown liquid that Lemml suspected was identical to the beverage he had imbibed on his previous visit. The Prince removed metal caps from the bottles with a curious device and poured the foaming beverage into two iced goblets.

“Over half of the royal wine cellar has gone over to this stuff,” the Prince said cheerfully. “Fortunately, I like it. Now, what is the news from the Temple?”

Lemml sipped his drink. He found that the sweet, syrupy stuff made his teeth squeak slightly. Still, it was refreshing.

“The Demon of Darkness continues to hold forth within the skull of Kalaran. The Messenger of light has retreated so far into the right socket that it is difficult to see. Given that the more rampant manifestations of the space-time rift are beginning to disperse — Your Highness’s advisors seem to have been correct on that point — I am having more difficulty reassuring the religious authorities that nothing is wrong.”

Prince Rango’s smile was cold. “I have paid you well to assuage their fears. Do so.”

“I will,” Lemml promised hastily.

He leaned forward in his chair, dropping his voice so that the Prince had to lean to hear what he said next.

“But, my lord, what if the skull is right? What if something of Darkness is threatening the good of the Faltane? Shouldn’t we do something?“

The Prince guffawed. “I place no faith in magical trinkets. How could the skull of an evil wizard provide us with any reliable knowledge? I swear, Lemml, you’ve become as superstitious as your masters! I had thought you a solid businessman.”

Lemml flushed, “I am, Prince Rango. However, magic is a potent force. One who toys with it toys with dangerous matters.”

The Prince slapped his sheathed sword. “Leave such concerns to me, Lemml. This sword has beaten great enemies. Keep peace within the Temple and within a handful of days all will be settled. I will be coronated and nothing will stir me or those who have served me well.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Lemml smiled weakly. “I shall return to report within a few day’s time.”

“Very good.” The Prince’s chuckle was robust, but his eyes were cold. “And make certain that I like that report, Lemml.”

“I will, sire. I will.”

Lemml hurried from the Prince’s council chamber. His belly was roiling from a combination of the sweet brew and worry. He was safely in his rooms when he recalled that the sword with which the Prince had beaten his great enemies was no longer in the capital. Mothganger, along with the other artifacts, was on its way into hiding.

“Baaaaa!”

Even if dragons did not have exceptional hearing, the sound would nave been sufficient to rouse Schmirnov from his slumber.

Without opening his eyes or raising his head, the massive reptile reached out with his senses to confirm the noise.

“Baaa-aaa.”

No. There could be no doubt about it. There was a sheep… no, several sheep in his cavern.

Sheep!

What in the blazes were those idiot villagers up to now?

“Baaaa.” Clink .

The second noise, almost obliterated by the sheep’s bleating, caught Schtnirnov’s total attention. His eyes opened and his head came up, searching for the source of the sound.

Sheep don’t wear armor. Whether four legs with fleece, or two legged with huts, sheep don’t wear armor.

“Show yourself!” the dragon demanded.

“Baaaa.”

He could now see the sheep, at least half a dozen of them, milling around the entrance to his cavern. As suspected, however, none of them were wearing armor.

“ Show yourself !” Schmirnov called again. “State your intent, or I shall assume the worst and act accordingly!”

A short, chunky figure emerged from behind a boulder and stood silhouetted in the light from the entrance.

A dwarf! First sheep, and now a dwarf! Well, now. And he had thought this was going to be just another boring day.

“I am Ibble!” the figure said. “I come in peace!”

“In peace?” the dragon growled. ‘That would be a pleasant change.“

Still, the dwarf had no visible weapons… unless he had some secreted behind his boulder. Then too…

“And what about the others?” Schmirnov sneered.

Ibble started visibly, and shot a glance back over his shoulder.

“Others?” he said.

“Don’t play games with me, little man! There are at least a dozen more of you waiting outside. Warriors, from the sound of them.”

Now that he was more awake, Schmirnov could clearly hear the creak of leather scabbards and other small noises that bespoke a group of armed men. What’s more, the very sparseness of the sounds indicated not only warriors, but seasoned veterans.

This was a bit more like what the dragon had learned to expect from humans.

The old sneak attack, eh? If he were a bit less sporting, he would pretend that he didn’t know they were there and let them try it.

“There are others, yes,” the dwarf said hastily. “But we all mean you no harm. We seek only to talk to you. That and, perhaps, to request a favor.”