“Ah Sir Wing Alak” he said in Thunsban. “I had not awaited the honor of your calling on me yourself.”

King Morlach huffed and laid a ring hand on his sword. “I knew not you twain were acquainted.”

Alak covered an empty feeling with his smoothest manner. “Yes, my lord, Varris and I have jousted erenow. Indeed my mission hither concerns him.”

“Came you to fetch him away?” It was a snarl, and the nobility of Wainabog reached for their dagger.

“I know not what he has told you, my lord—”

“He came hither because foemen had overwhelmed his own kingdom and sought his life. Noble gifts did he bring me, not least of them one of the flame-weapons you folk are so niggardly with, and he gave wise redes by which we hurled back the armies of Rachanstog and wrung tribute out of their ruler.” Morlach glared from lowered brows. “Know then, Sir Wing Alak, that though you are my guest and I may not harm you, Sir Varris has taken oath as my guardsman and served right loyally. For this I have given him gold and a broad fief. The honor of my house is sacred…if you demand he be returned to his foes, I must ask that you leave at once and when we meet it shall be the worse for you.”

Alak pursed his lips to whistle, but thought better of it. Handing out a blaster—! It was unimportant in itself, the firearm would be useless once its charge was spent, but as measure of Varris’ contempt for Galactic law—

“My lord,” he said hastily, “I cannot deny I had such a request. But it was never the intent of my king or myself to insult your majesty. The request will not be made of you.”

“Let there be peace,” said the high priest on Morlach’s left. His tone was not as unctuous as the words: here was a fighter, in his own way, more intelligent and more dangerous than the brawling warriors around him. “In the name of the Allshaper, we are met in fellowship. Let not black thoughts give to the Evil an entering wedge.”

Morlach swore.

“In truth, my lord, I bear this envoy no ill will,” smiled Varris. “I vouch that he is knightly, and wishes but to serve his king as well as I seek to serve yourself. If my holy lord abbot”—the title was nearly equivalent—“calls peace on this hall, then I for one will abide by it.”

“Yes…a sniveling shavechin to whine peace when treachery rises,” growled Morlach. “You have enough good lands which should be mine, Abbot Gulmanan—keep your greasy fingers off my soul, at least!”

“What my lord says to me is of no consequence,” answered the cleric thinly. “But if he speaks against the Temple, he blasphemes the Allshaper.”

“Hell freeze you, I’m a pious man!” roared Morlach. “I make the sacrifices—for the Allshaper, though not for his fat-gutted Temple that would push me off my own throne!”