The Rise and Fall of a Dragonking - By Lynn Abbey Page 0,62

a human generation, Hamanu found a man who’d tell the truth, no matter the risk.

“I need you here, Just-Plain Pavek.”

“O Mighty King, I’m yours to command.”

“Good.” Hamanu smiled, baring pointed golden teeth, but the illusion went for naught because Pavek continued to stare at his toes. He reached around for the wrapped bundle he’d left on the throne seat. It was heavier now and definitely inert. “You will take this to my workroom—Look at me, Pavek! Look at me when I’m giving you an order!”

This time the fangs weren’t an illusion. No one could predict the precipitous shifts in the Lion-King’s mood, not even Hamanu himself. His heart beat wrong, and with no greater warning, indulgence became a dangerous level of indignation. Sometimes Hamanu killed with no more than a heartbeat, but not today. Pavek was stalwart; he bore his fears with dignity and lifted his head. Hamanu’s indignation faded as suddenly and inexplicably as it had arrived.

“I meant no disrespect, O Mighty King.”

Hamanu seldom explained himself or apologized for anything. He hid his cursed fangs within blunt-edged human illusions and considered that sufficient. He shoved the bundle into Pavek’s reluctant arms. “You will take this to my workroom; I judge it harmless enough now, but it warrants further examination. You’ll find a table covered with vellum. Put it on the table and wait for me to return. While you’re waiting, you’ll see an iron-bound chest against the far wall. Keep a careful eye on it, Pavek, but otherwise, leave it alone.”

“I will not touch anything, O Mighty King. I wouldn’t consider it.”

“Keep an eye on the chest. Don’t fret over the rest. It’s loot, mostly, from Yaramuke and other forgotten places. With all the flooding, the palace is as damp as the rest of Urik. There’s water below and history piled everywhere that’s still dry.”

Another man hearing of Yaramuke’s fabled treasure might be tempted with greedy thoughts. Not Pavek. His thoughts were utterly guileless when he said, “I will wait, O Mighty King, and watch the iron-bound chest, as you ordered.”

“You might read the vellum,” Hamanu suggested, tamping the seeds of curiosity firmly into Pavek’s consciousness.

“If you so command, O Mighty King.”

Hamanu silently bemoaned the frustrations of tempting an honest man. “You might be waiting a while, Pavek. You might grow bored. You might read the vellum, if you do grow bored.”

“I will remember that, O Mighty King.”

Like as not, Pavek would never succumb, and Hamanu would have to order the man to read what he’d written, as he had before. “Go,” he said wearily. “Wait, grow bored, and remember whatever you wish.”

“Your will, O Mighty King.” Pavek bowed awkwardly—he’d never have the grace of a properly obsequious courtier—and retreated toward the door.

Hamanu had slit the air before him in preparation to entering the Gray when the mortal man stopped suddenly and turned around. Misty tendrils of the netherworld wafted between them. Pavek affected not to notice, but the man was a druid—however rudimentary his training, he had the raw talent to see the mist and know what it was.

“Yes, Pavek?”

The scarred templar blinked and shuddered. He’d almost forgotten why he’d stopped. Then the thought reformed in his mind. “O Mighty King, the iron-bound chest that I’m supposed to watch. What am I watching for? What should I do if… if something happens to it?”

“Nothing, Pavek, nothing at all. If anything happens, you’ll simply die.”

Hamanu didn’t wait for Pavek’s reaction. He thrust one arm, then one leg, into the netherworld and strode from the throne chamber to the map room where his war staff had assembled. The Lion-King didn’t stand on ceremony with these men and women.

“We fight for Urik’s very life,” he told them as he sealed the netherworld rift. “Armies from Nibenay and Gulg pin our flanks while Dregoth sends undead hordes our way from Giustenal. Raam sends messengers, Balic, too, and it’s safe to wager they’ll be marching before long. It’s only a matter of time before we hear from what’s left of Draj.”

There was a collective intake of breath, a muttered curse or two, and a question: “What of Tyr?”

That Hamanu couldn’t answer. The free folk of Tyr, having slain their king, a dragon, and returned the War-Bringer to his prison, had become a realm unto themselves, obsessed with laws and councils and taking little interest in the heartland beyond their borders.

Most of those assembled in the map room had known about the Nibenese and Gulgan forces lying low, just out of Urik’s reach, and