Roger Moore - Errand of Mercy

"Yes, Your Majesty," responded Garkim, a moment after the noise died down.

"Bring the visitors to us in one half-hour," finished the voice. The five visitors looked but saw no one else in the room with them, not even a floating mouth or other phantasm.

"As you wish, Your Majesty." Garkim waited for further instructions, but none were forthcoming. "Well," he said, looking around the table, "perhaps His Majesty can clear up these matters for you in person. We will miss the sea fowl, however, which is a shame. We may as well finish the fruit."

"We are prepared to see the mage-king now," said Miltiades in a hard voice.

"It would accomplish nothing," Garkim said, unruffled. "He would take no notice of you even if you held your hammers in front of his face. You must be familiar with wizards in your own lands. Are not some of them like that?"

"Your Majesty!" shouted Miltiades. He turned, eyes up, his warhammer lowered until his fingers held it at his side. "Your Majesty!" he shouted at the walls of the room.

There was nothing but silence.

"His attention is elsewhere," said Garkim with a sigh. He picked up a grape and ate it. "He is quite prompt about responding otherwise."

Kern lowered his warhammer as well. He knelt down and picked up his chair, setting it upright but not taking his seat yet. "A fine way to say hello," he muttered.

Garkim smiled slightly. "One gets accustomed to it."

Noph noticed that his hands were trembling. He swallowed and locked his fingers together on the tabletop to calm them. "Can-" he started to say, but stopped himself hastily.

Garkim caught his gaze. "You may go on," he said.

Noph glanced at the others, then licked his lips. "I was wondering

… does the mage-king have… can he hear what we are saying?"

"That is entirely possible," said Garkim easily, "though I don't believe he is doing so now. He uses his sorcery to investigate various places around our kingdom and particularly our city, but it is difficult to say whether he hears everything that is said by his subjects, or sees everything they do, even within his own palace. He has so many things on his mind lately, it is impossible to know what he is doing. In the meanwhile, I say again that we have a few minutes before we meet him. It would not hurt to eat."

Miltiades nodded and slowly took his seat again, eyes fixed on the tabletop. He picked up the yellow apple before him and regarded it solemnly. "Enough questions for now, then," he said. "Let us enjoy our repast, then speak with the mage-king. I am sure we will have much to talk about." He bit into the apple, devouring his reflection whole.

Shortly, Lord Garkim led the five visitors on another journey down two more halls, passing great windows overlooking gardens, portraits in faded oils, skylights and crystal chandeliers, and other palace finery. Thick rugs muffled their tread. The air smelled of sea spray, and the endless roar of waves whispered in the distance.

At the end of the final corridor was an ornate set of double doors, each of dark, polished wood and half again the height of a man. Two guards stood at ease there, one before each door, each holding a poleaxe upright in one hand.

"On guard," said the man on the left, spotting Garkim. The two came to attention.

"The Councilor of Internal Investigations, Lord Ikavi Garkim, and five visitors, here to see the Emperor, His Majesty, the Mage-King Aetheric III," responded Garkim, loudly and clearly.

The two guards stepped apart, putting their backs to the walls on either side of the double doors. Garkim nodded to the men, each a head taller than he and light-skinned, and he walked past them to the door. He caught hold of an elaborate brass handle on one door and turned to face the knights.

"Gentlemen," he said, and he opened the door for them. Beyond was a vast, darkened hall whose floor was made of flat, fitted stone.

Miltiades's face betrayed astonishment. "Is this all the guard your king has?" he asked. His right hand caught the shaft of his hammer and gripped it lightly. The other four men saw this and stopped, unsure of what was going on.

"It is all the guard the king needs," said Garkim with an edge to his voice. "If you suspect a trap, I am more than willing to enter first. That would be a grave breach of protocol, of course, but if it would ease your fears…"

The old knight glared at the smaller man. He then strode first into the dark chamber. The great room was flooded with light as he crossed the threshold. Kern followed on Miltiades's heels, Jacob and Trandon behind him.

Noph hesitated, looking back down the corridor the way they had come. No one else was present. The two guards bore no weapons other than their poleaxes, which were too elaborately decorated to be true battlefield weapons. Noph thought he smelled some sort of liquor, like rum, in the air. The red-faced guards stared at each other, ignoring the youth. They seemed to have the same skin rash that others in the palace had-nasty stuff. The flesh of one man's cheek seemed dry, flaky, almost… scaly. Noph glanced at Garkim, who indicated with a gesture that he should enter the room.

Noph turned and went into the chamber after the others, but he stayed close to the door, thinking Garkim might shut them all in. Nothing of the sort happened. Garkim casually followed him into the illuminated hall, pulling the great door shut as he did and giving the youth an empty smile.

"There is no mage-king here," called Miltiades, his voice echoing in the vastness of the room. He had undone the thong on his warhammer, and the weapon dangled from his right hand, ready for use. "You are a liar, Garkim."

Noph stopped and stared around the great room in astonishment. This was a throne room? It was huge, but there was no furniture, and the room had a dank odor to it. The walls, as high as three-story buildings, were covered with floor-length red curtains. The ceiling was a great length of high rafters from which a few globes cast a dim, watery magical light over all.

"I did not he," said Garkim mildly, walking past the stunned Noph. "The mage-king is here." He approached the other four men, who warily took up positions in a semicircle facing him.

"Noph, open the door!" ordered Kern, pointing with his free hand. Startled, the youth hacked up and reached for the door handle there.

"We are here," said a deep voice that filled the chamber.

The men in the room-all but Garkim- whirled, searching for the source.

"Then show yourself!" Miltiades called out angrily. "We have come too far and lost too much already to be amused by trickery!"

"There is no trickery here," said the voice. "This is where we meet our guests. We are the emperor of Doegan." There was no anger in the voice. There was no feeling in it at all.

Garkim waited patiently, standing with hands clasped before him, while the four men before him continued looking around the room. Their weapons were readied but at the moment useless as toothpicks.

"You are here to find Lady Eidola of Neverwinter, the intended bride of the Open Lord of Waterdeep, Piergeiron Paladinson," continued the voice. "The High Mage of Waterdeep, Khelben Arunsun, who is called the Blackstaff, determined that this city of Eldrinpar was where Lady Eidola's kidnappers had taken her. You are here to find Lady Eidola and to destroy the thing that prevents Khelben Arunsun from magically scrying our city, so that he may determine where Lady Eidola is being held and send such assistance as you may need to rescue her and bring her back to Waterdeep."

None of the men answered. Kern, Trandon, Jacob, and Noph stared at Miltiades, who turned to stare at Lord Garkim. Garkim returned the stare impassively.