Free Seven Princes by John R. Fultz Page B

narrowed. He bowed to D’zan, who returned the courtesy. “I am honored to welcome you to Uurz. Please sit. There is food and drink.”
    Servants appeared from behind the tapestries and laid out a feast. D’zan found himself entirely without appetite. He had many questions, but he did not know what to say. So his eyes turned to Olthacus.
    “We thank you for your hospitality, Majesty,” said the Stone. “Too long it has been since I’ve tasted the fare of your house.”
    Tyro waved the servants away. He seemed uninterested in food or drink.
    “Traders brought news of Trimesqua’s fall only days ago,” said Tyro, addressing D’zan now. “The Emperor mourns your loss.”
    “I… thank you, Prince,” said D’zan.
    “You have traveled far and your journey must have been taxing. You will find safety and comfort within these walls. These are the Emperor’s own words.”
    D’zan thanked him again, somewhat awkwardly.
    “Please… eat, drink,” said Tyro. “There will be plenty of time to talk when you have bathed and rested. My father will see you on the morrow. Tonight he is otherwise engaged.”
    Olthacus attacked the delicious fare, and D’zan found his ownappetite. Tyro ate little, and was polite enough not to stare as the two hungry riders sated their appetites. A second princely figure glided into the room. His broad face resembled Tyro’s, but he was skinny, his nose a tad longer, and a coronet supported a trio of emeralds above his eyes. He carried in his arms a great book bound in worn leather.
    “Ah, my brother Lyrilan joins us,” said Tyro, “having found his way out of the musty depths of the library. A rare occurrence, Prince D’zan. You are met with interest.”
    The thin Prince smiled at D’zan and stood at the end of the table.
    “He is a
scholar
, you see,” explained Tyro with the faintest trace of scorn.
    D’zan caught the hidden meaning of those few words:
But he ought to be a soldier
.
    “Greetings to you, Prince Lyrilan,” said Olthacus, wiping his mouth with a silken napkin. “May I present Prince D’zan of Yaskatha…”
    Lyrilan smiled at D’zan, offering the briefest of bows. “Forgive my curiosity,” he said. “Tyro usually handles matters of state. News of your arrival only just reached me, and I wanted to pay my respects. I’ve been reading, you see…”
    Prince Tyro laughed. “When are you
not
reading?”
    Prince Lyrilan ignored the question. He laid the great book on the end of the table, well away from the nearest dish. “Your father, King Trimesqua, was a great man,” he said. His fingers absently traced the engraved patterns on the book’s cover. “A great warrior. A hero in thought and deed. It is an honor to have you here. I have many questions about Trimesqua’s life.”
    “Brother!” interrupted Tyro. “Our guests have only just arrived.”
    “No, it’s all right,” said D’zan. The potent wine made him feelat ease, and there was something about this skinny Prince he liked immediately. Perhaps it was simply nice to hear someone speak so highly of his father. “What is that book you’re carrying?”
    Lyrilan lifted the volume to display the embossed cover, its title written in the northern dialect. “
Odysseys of the Southern Kings
,” he said. “It lists the entirety of your family history going back three hundred years. Did you know your father slew a sea monster that devoured a thousand ships? The Beast of Barragur, they called it. He freed the shipping lanes for a generation of trade.”
    D’zan smiled. Of course he knew that story. “My father told me that one several times.”
    Lyrilan’s eyes lit up like twin candles. “Fascinating! This is why I had to meet you. There is only so much you can learn from a book. I’ll bet you have hundreds of stories to tell.”
    “If you want to know the best stories, ask the Stone.” D’zan indicated Olthacus, who was chewing on a leg of fowl. “He and my father travelled the world