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Avedell is Princess Royal and Carl is King’s Champion, Hero of Varay.”
    “And what’s wrong with their mouths? The words didn’t match the way their lips were moving.”
    That slowed Parthet for a second. “English isn’t the language of Varay, but part of the magic of the seven kingdoms lets everyone hear his own language, no matter what is spoken.”
    “You’re in sync, though.”
    “I speak English as much as anything, I suppose.”
    “Another question. Since you’ve got a magical doorway into the castle, why not to a more convenient location? Like the great hall, for instance.”
    Parthet started walking again, more leisurely. “It wouldn’t do to have such a doorway into a critical place inside all the defenses. There is a chance that an enemy might gain access to a doorway, and perhaps to the keys. And my cottage is open to anyone.” We walked on, and he shook his head. “Actually, there are ways into the keep, but not from my place. It doesn’t matter. I’m close enough for meals.” He bashed his staff against a small door twenty feet left of a huge set of double doors, and another guard opened it.
    “Good morning, Parthet,” this guard said, nodding respectfully.
    “Good morning, Lesh,” Parthet replied cheerfully. “Is the table ready?”
    “At the crack of dawn, as always, Lord Wizard.” There was no mockery in Lesh’s voice. I got the impression he liked Parthet.
    “You might announce my companion,” Parthet said. “Gil, son of Carl and Avedell.”
    Lesh’s face went funny like the others’, but only for an instant. He recovered quickly. “Of course.” He gave us each a half-bow and led the way through a small anteroom into the great hall of Castle Basil. At the inner door, Parthet held me back. Lesh went on in.
    “The Lord Wizard of Varay, and His Highness Prince Gil Tyner.” The words really boomed out.
    “Am I hearing thing?” I asked Parthet.
    “Unless your ears have quit working.” He chuckled, then grinned widely. “Come on, lad. Let’s make a proper entrance.”
    The great hall was eighty feet long, thirty wide, and twenty high at the edges, rising to an arched ceiling supported by massive timbers about forty feet above the floor along the center ridge. There were tapestries and sconces on the walls, several immense fireplaces, bunches of weapons, both long and short. People were sitting at two rough tables that met in a T. Other people loitered about. Even a few animals. The tables were the focus of the room, with the smaller table at the head of the T raised a couple of feet above the other, on a dais. The head table was sparsely populated, but the lower had some thirty people sitting at it, waiting for the food that was just then being hauled in.
    People turned to look at us. A young boy, maybe nine or ten years old, hurried toward us and bowed.
    “Good morning, my lords,” he said, his voice shaking as if we were the Lords High Executioner.
    “Good morning, lad,” Parthet said. I managed a greeting of my own—almost as shaky as the boy’s.
    “This way, my lords.” He led us toward the head table.
    “Uncle Parker?” I asked under my breath.
    “Not now,” he whispered. “Not now.”
    We were seated near the center of the high table, facing the lower. I was placed next to what had to be the king’s chair—not a proper throne perhaps, but the fanciest seat around, higher and wider and decorated with fancy carvings. I sat down and Parthet leaned close.
    “Tell everyone to sit,” he whispered. Everyone at the lower table was standing.
    “Sit down, please,” I said, feeling very self-conscious. “Don’t let me interrupt.” They sat, but there wasn’t the same murmur of conversation that I had heard from the doorway. The meal wasn’t in full swing yet either. Servants were still toting in food.
    Food. There was plenty: whole hams, huge bowls of steaming scrambled eggs, greasy fried potatoes, mountains of sausage and bacon, buckets of hot cereal,