A voice from within bade him enter. Neither irate nor expectant, it offered no clue to its owner’s state of mind. Making certain his uniform was straight and correct in every detail, Peregriff lifted the heavy iron latch and pushed the door inward.
No suit of armor could really be called “playful,” but the ruler’s attire of the day was designed more to impress than intimidate. Dark blue leather banded with chased steel, it consisted of vest and lower skirt beneath which Hymneth wore mail of very fine links. His helmet was likewise fashioned from the finest, smoothest steel, engraved with scenes that were less than usually horrific. The eye slits were long and narrow, while the front of the helmet descended in a straight line from forehead to chin, hiding nose and mouth alike. It gave to the skull the look of a ship preparing to cleave the open waters.
Helmet and point turned away from the window out which they had been staring to face him. “What is it, Peregriff?”
The reverberant, commanding voice was tinged with indifference: a good sign, as far as the general was concerned. Yet still he hesitated to step into the room. Leaning imperceptibly forward, he managed a look to his right. The rack and bench were empty and showed no sign of having been subject to recent employment. As he bowed, he cut his eyes in the other direction. Likewise, the bed was undisturbed.
A pair of small, seemingly innocent dark clouds lolled above the richly embroidered spread. They grew active when he entered, only to become still as they recognized him. They knew that within the castle certain life lights were not for eating, and his was among them. When he straightened, it was with less concern and more confidence. Not that he ever really relaxed. Only fools and the deathly ignorant relaxed in the presence of Hymneth the Possessed, and Peregriff was neither.