Here Be Dragons by David P. Macpherson

Author:David P. Macpherson [Macpherson, David P.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2018-04-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Eight

In some of the kingdoms of Drift, power rests behind the throne. It was hard to tell if this was the case in Harradin since the size of the man on the throne made seeing behind it quite a challenge. If the rest of him was anything to go by, King Tyran probably had muscles on his teeth. Other than the long black hair that fell across both of his massive shoulders, his only coverings were a loincloth, a pair of boots and a thin coat of what might have been wood-varnish.

As the party approached the throne, the King clapped together hands that coal-shovels could only aspire to. ‘Back so soon, Cribond? I didn’t nick you did I?’

‘No, sire. Not this time,’ replied Cribond.

‘You must be getting faster.’

‘One hopes.’

‘Perhaps I will try it with my eyes open next time.’ King Tyran lifted his huge head, bucket chin first, and smiled with the good side of his face. ‘What have you got here, Cribond? Breakfast I hope. You, fat one. What have you made for your King?’

‘Actually, Your Majesty…’ Orus decided to ignore the fat comment in view of the large collection of weapons leaning against the Tyran’s throne. Not that he was sure he would have challenged the huge man if they weren’t there. Something told Orus he was probably the type who enjoyed working with his hands just as much. ‘… we are here to ask–’

‘To challenge me?’ the king roared, hauling himself to his feet. ‘I accept. Both together is it? Very well. To the arena.’

He slapped his fist into his other hand.

‘Cribond! Call up old Jones from his workshop. He’ll want to measure these two up for a box.’

‘Actually, sire, they’re not here–’

‘Not! Not what?’

A knife struck the ground where the servant had been standing. When he spoke again, Cribond was on the other side of the throne.

‘They’re not here to challenge you. I believe our visitors were looking to talk to you.’

‘Talk? How boring.’ Something about King Tyran’s voice poked at Orus’s brain. He was sure he had heard it before. He tried to ignore it, preferring to keep his mind concentrated on the monarch’s throwing arm. ‘What do you want then?’

‘We,’ said Orus, ‘that is, my friend and I, have come to your kingdom–’

‘Great kingdom,’ nudged Cribond.

‘Your great kingdom, to ask permission from Your Majesty–’

Tyran’s hand moved towards a nearby sword pommel.

‘Most wise and powerful,’ suggested Cribond.

‘From Your Most Wise and Powerful Majesty, to be allowed to pass through the gate to the Fang Mountains. If that is not too much trouble.’

The King looked down on Orus. Being close to seven feet tall it was a look he had a lot of practice at. Suddenly, he clapped his hands together like two battle lines at full charge and let out a booming laugh.

‘Ha, ha, ha. You? You and him are going into the wilds. Ha, ha, ha. Cribond are these the new jesters I asked for? A good start, little clowns.’

Blood began to rush along the cracked lines in Orus face.

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