"Mordo, captain, and keeper of the king's prison house," Oleric muttered to Polaris. "He's a good fellow, but does love his wine cup exceeding well."
As the prison keeper came across the stones and the grass, he shouted, and an underling ran to him, swinging a lighted globe encaged in a metal net. Mordo took the lamp and cast its rays on the party. His face was flushed, and his eyes rolled until they saw Oleric. Then his mouth gaped in a delighted grin.
"Hoy! Hoy!" he exclaimed. "By the wall and the beasts and the shadows of the fathers of Ad, if it is not my old bottle-crony come sailing home again! I thought my ears had lied when I heard that voice in the dark." He set the lamp down and pitched forward, steadying himself with his hands on Oleric's shoulders. "And the same old dekkar, eh?" (A dekkar was a broad goldpiece of the coin of Maeronica.) "They said that you were gone across the black river, but I believed them not. 'Not Oleric,' I told them. 'Not so long as there is left unemptied a single one of those long-stemmed bottles in old Mordo's cellar.' And I was right, eh, old firetop? Ah! Many a glass shall clink to-night, and many a rack be made lighter when Brunar and the others come."
Mordo threw his head back and laughed, a roaring gale of mirth.
"Why, I was so lonely to-night that already I have cracked two flagons, just for the good wine's company."
"So it seems," put in Oleric, sniffing. "Are you sure there were only two of those flagons?"
"Mayhap it was three; I care not; there's still space for more, as you well know," Mordo replied, still shaking with laughter. He took up his lantern again.
"But whom do you bring with you to Mordo's house?" he asked, peering once more at the strangers. "Women, too! And pretty ones!"
"Have an end to your banter, Mordo," Oleric interposed. "These be six guests for whom Bel-Ar will ask accounting. Hold them well. And harken, old friend; treat them kindly and to the best you have, for they did befriend me when I was in evil straits and sore in need of friends. That tale you shall hear later. Now hasten and bestow them. They are weary. And bethink you, man, your wine grows stale with waiting to be drunk, and my throat aches for the smack of it."