* * * *
Standing tall and assured before the throne, Hymneth the Possessed straightened his helmet, which had in the course of the preceding clash been jolted slightly askew, and regarded the tableau of intruders below him.
“See to them, Peregriff.”
“Yes, Lord,” came the always prepared voice off to his left.
“As soon as they have recovered from their bathetic grieving, find out what they want to do. Offer the mercenary a position with the army—not my household staff. I’m not in the habit of recruiting the potentially vengeful. The cat is clearly intelligent beyond the level of his more modestly proportioned cousins. I suspect it will want to leave. Let it. As for the bloated rug-creature—I’m not sure what to do about it. Hopefully, it will depart in the company of the cat, and without soiling the floor on its way out.” Turning to his right, he extended an arm.
“Come, my dear. I think this has been enough entertainment for one night.”
Crouched alongside the motionless body of his tall friend, a disbelieving Simna cried unabashedly, the tears spilling copiously down his cheeks. “You crazy, singleminded fool! You gaunt, self-righteous bastard! Hoy, you weren’t supposed to die! What am I going to tell your family?”
“Excuse me,” murmured Hunkapa Aub as his huge frame inclined over the corpse, “would you please step back, Simna?”
“What difference will it make?” The swordsman sobbed angrily, consumed by passion and self-pity. “Why should I—” He broke off, sniffed long and hard, and gaped uncertainly at his oversized companion. “Wait a minute here. What did you say?”