please.”
General Tykkleht kept his private hall on the fourth floor of the citadel, overlooking the courtyard. It was a warmly lit place with portraits of great generals long dead on the walls, and with silken banners in red and purple hung everywhere. Tykkleht greeted them warmly and invited Daeblau to stay. “I’d be delighted to dine with you, General,” said Daeblau with a deep bow.
Raettonus sat at Tykkleht’s right hand, beside the head of the table, with Brecan beside him. Daeblau took his place across from him, beside Dohrleht, who was beside Maeleht. Daeblau took off his helm, and for the first time Raettonus got a good look at him. He had a strong, handsome face, with sharp brown eyes, and a sharp nose. His long, sandy blond hair was tied back, but his bangs fell across his face as soon as he removed his helmet.
Raettonus hated having dinner with centaurs. He hated it more than anything. He was the only one at the table sitting, on a chair Tykkleht had kindly provided. Everyone around him was standing, which made him feel like a child who had somehow snuck his way to the adults’ table unnoticed.
They were brought ale by vacant-eyed Ebha, the human woman Raettonus had met before. She set mugs down in front of Raettonus, Tykkleht, Daeblau, and Dohrleht, and a bowl of ale before Brecan, before placing a cup of goat’s milk before Maeleht. Then she went off, still vacant-eyed, to go do something else. Maeleht toyed with his cup. “I want ale,” he said quietly.
“You can have some of mine,” Brecan offered.
“No, no,” said Tykkleht. “No ale for Maeleht. It aggravates his condition.”
“General,” said Raettonus, leaning back in his chair so as not to let on how small he felt among the centaurs. “I was wandering about your fortress today. It’s a very nice place.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Tykkleht said genially. “I’m afraid we’re not as well staffed as we might be, so we don’t use a lot of the space. I’ve tried not to let it get into a sad state, however. It’s hard; times are tough for the Royal Zylekkhan army. This isn’t an academy citadel like Ruahn or Daerkii, so we don’t have a surplus of men. They always promise me more than they send.”
“As I was wandering about,” Raettonus continued, “I met your hostage.”
Tykkleht furrowed his brow momentarily, but then a look of understanding came over him. “Ah, yes. The goblin prince,” he said with a nod. “Dekho, or Dema, something like that…”
“Deggho dek’Kariss,” supplied Daeblau. “The Kariss chief’s son.”
“That’s the one,” said Tykkleht. He wagged one finger at the air and smiled a little. “Yes, I knew it started with a ‘de’ sound. I mean, Dekho—that’s a goblin name, right?”
“I think that’s actually a werewolf name, General,” Daeblau said.
“No matter.” Tykkleht chuckled. “Goblins, werewolves—doesn’t matter. All those barbarian races are pretty much the same.”
“Oh, yes, very much the same,” agreed Raettonus dryly. “Yes, I don’t know how to keep them straight. I mean, men who turn into wolves are almost exactly the same as seven-foot tall blue-skinned mountain monsters.”
Ebha came back to bring them soup and bread. “So,” Tykkleht asked, pointedly ignoring Raettonus’ tone. “Did Deggho say anything of interest to you? I haven’t seen him in a while. I meant to check up on him more than I have, but you know how it goes. He’s set up fairly, I think, and he doesn’t cause much trouble, so I forget about him.”
“He didn’t say much, no,” Raettonus said. “He showed me some of his paintings, though.”
“Oh, those? They’re pretty good for a barbarian,” Tykkleht said. “He’s taken up the centaurian style of art, which is a plus. I’m not overly fond of his work—I find it unnecessarily violent, and he uses too many bright colors—but quite a few of my men are. They hang those paintings of his all over.”
“I’ve
General Tykkleht kept his private hall on the fourth floor of the citadel, overlooking the courtyard. It was a warmly lit place with portraits of great generals long dead on the walls, and with silken banners in red and purple hung everywhere. Tykkleht greeted them warmly and invited Daeblau to stay. “I’d be delighted to dine with you, General,” said Daeblau with a deep bow.
Raettonus sat at Tykkleht’s right hand, beside the head of the table, with Brecan beside him. Daeblau took his place across from him, beside Dohrleht, who was beside Maeleht. Daeblau took off his helm, and for the first time Raettonus got a good look at him. He had a strong, handsome face, with sharp brown eyes, and a sharp nose. His long, sandy blond hair was tied back, but his bangs fell across his face as soon as he removed his helmet.
Raettonus hated having dinner with centaurs. He hated it more than anything. He was the only one at the table sitting, on a chair Tykkleht had kindly provided. Everyone around him was standing, which made him feel like a child who had somehow snuck his way to the adults’ table unnoticed.
They were brought ale by vacant-eyed Ebha, the human woman Raettonus had met before. She set mugs down in front of Raettonus, Tykkleht, Daeblau, and Dohrleht, and a bowl of ale before Brecan, before placing a cup of goat’s milk before Maeleht. Then she went off, still vacant-eyed, to go do something else. Maeleht toyed with his cup. “I want ale,” he said quietly.
“You can have some of mine,” Brecan offered.
“No, no,” said Tykkleht. “No ale for Maeleht. It aggravates his condition.”
“General,” said Raettonus, leaning back in his chair so as not to let on how small he felt among the centaurs. “I was wandering about your fortress today. It’s a very nice place.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Tykkleht said genially. “I’m afraid we’re not as well staffed as we might be, so we don’t use a lot of the space. I’ve tried not to let it get into a sad state, however. It’s hard; times are tough for the Royal Zylekkhan army. This isn’t an academy citadel like Ruahn or Daerkii, so we don’t have a surplus of men. They always promise me more than they send.”
“As I was wandering about,” Raettonus continued, “I met your hostage.”
Tykkleht furrowed his brow momentarily, but then a look of understanding came over him. “Ah, yes. The goblin prince,” he said with a nod. “Dekho, or Dema, something like that…”
“Deggho dek’Kariss,” supplied Daeblau. “The Kariss chief’s son.”
“That’s the one,” said Tykkleht. He wagged one finger at the air and smiled a little. “Yes, I knew it started with a ‘de’ sound. I mean, Dekho—that’s a goblin name, right?”
“I think that’s actually a werewolf name, General,” Daeblau said.
“No matter.” Tykkleht chuckled. “Goblins, werewolves—doesn’t matter. All those barbarian races are pretty much the same.”
“Oh, yes, very much the same,” agreed Raettonus dryly. “Yes, I don’t know how to keep them straight. I mean, men who turn into wolves are almost exactly the same as seven-foot tall blue-skinned mountain monsters.”
Ebha came back to bring them soup and bread. “So,” Tykkleht asked, pointedly ignoring Raettonus’ tone. “Did Deggho say anything of interest to you? I haven’t seen him in a while. I meant to check up on him more than I have, but you know how it goes. He’s set up fairly, I think, and he doesn’t cause much trouble, so I forget about him.”
“He didn’t say much, no,” Raettonus said. “He showed me some of his paintings, though.”
“Oh, those? They’re pretty good for a barbarian,” Tykkleht said. “He’s taken up the centaurian style of art, which is a plus. I’m not overly fond of his work—I find it unnecessarily violent, and he uses too many bright colors—but quite a few of my men are. They hang those paintings of his all over.”
“I’ve
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