The guard snarled something after him then turned back to Arwain. ‘Yes?’ he said, frowning a Whendrak welcome at this newcomer.
With an effort, Arwain forced himself to remember Aaken’s instructions.
‘I’m Arwain, son of Ibris, Duke of Serenstad,’ he said formally. ‘I have letters patent confirming this, and matters that I need to discuss with the leaders of your city. May I have your permission to enter with my escort?’
The guard’s mouth slowly sagged open during this speech and, when it was finished, he began to execute a small, agitated dance, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his pike from hand to hand, and turning his head from side to side as if searching for help or escape.
He accompanied this dance with rhythmic stutterings that eventually merged into fairly coherent speech
