"Daley, Brian - Coramonde 01 - The Doomfarers of Coramande UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Daley Brian)

A moment only, and the Prince realized that the Lady Duskwind had been in this room when the guardsmen entered but had made no outcry and thus must be implicated inЧperhaps had committedЧthe gentle old man's murder. Springbuck's lips drew back in a soundless snarl.
He prized loose the panel and retrieved his wallet; then he took out his sword and, gripping it so tightly that his hand shook, returned to the bedroom. Through hot tears forming, he saw a bundle lying behind the door and opened it with a vicious kick to survey its contents, Duskwind's traveling clothes and accouterments. He moved to the bedside, glaring down at the bound girl, his face fell to look upon, until she consigned her soul to the gods of her house.
But they had been lovers; she had meant a great deal
Of Deaths, Of Departure 19
to him in that time, and he could not bring himself to kill her. Shame at events in the throne room and his growing impulse to be away, coupled with grief for Faurbuhl, numbed him and drained his thirst for revenge; he'd shown no merit himself in the night's tragedies. He searched her imploring eyes.
"What reward did they offer you?" he wondered aloud. "What wages to slay my friend and then flee? Was it to be blamed on me? Is that why Captain Brodur left me here so handily? Be still! I'll not kill you, though I ought to; I give you your life and leave you to your own devices. But I vow, the next moment that I see you will be your last."
And because he wouldn't have her see a Prince of Coramonde weep he sheathed his sword with a clash and took up the brightly lacquered war mask he'd obtained, with its colorful crest of plumes. He set it on his head, covering ail of his face save mouth and brimming eyes. Tying the wallet to his sword belt, he fetched his long cloak and swirled it around him. Concealed from throat to heels, plumes bobbing behind, he drew back the bolt and let himself into the corridor. There were no guards in that part of Earthfast, nor were any needed since Fania's own picked men manned the gates with orders not to permit him egress, and they were under the impression that he was in custody and under guard.
But of this he cared little; he simply wanted to leave Earthfast forever.
Chapter Three
They all hold swords, being expert in war; every man hath his sword upon his thigh because of fear
in the night.
THE SONG OF SONGS, Which Is Solomon's
HE'D readied a story against being stopped by the port-glaves, of being confused and lost in looking to rejoin his "master," the eavoy from Alebowrene, the sort of thing that happened often in Earthfast with so many visitors and their retinues quartered there. Crossing the open exercise areas he came to the stables, filled with the ceaseless sounds and thick smells of horses of all sorts: brave coursers and glum-faced palfreys, massive destriers, well-formed jumpers and the enormous draft annuals that pulled the war drays of the entourage from Matloo.
Springbuck had planned to take his own horse, Fire-heel, but found the big gray gone from his stall and was afraid to inquire after it with a groom for fear of recognition. Instead, he selected a light reconnaissance cavalryman's saddle and began to ready a swift-looking ronc-in bearing the markings of the High Ranges on its flanks and Earthfast's croppings on its ear. The horse proved balky though, shying from him and whinnying softly. His warmask, light as it was, yet made things more troublesome, and so he removed it and set it aside. He finished quickly and turned to reopen the stall door, to find himself faced with a figure from his past. The light was poor but he still knew his old playmate Micko, stableboy now, but close companion back in the days when rank meant less and larking was the order of the day. Micko was at one with animals, just as his father was, though he hadn't inherited his sire's affinity
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Of Deaths, Of Departure 21
for forest and field, and was most at home in kennel, aerie or barn. But even Micko, never one for insight or subtlety, knew the drift of things at Court and must know it was his obligation to raise the alarm on pain of a traitor's fate. Springbuck could only wait and taste bitterness. But Micko, a sorrowful expression on his grimy face, said only, "Do not let him take his head, as he likes to; he will wear himself out early in the ride." Springbuck's cheeks burned. He wanted to explain why he was flying by night like a criminal, how his enemies had an infinite number of ways to ensure that he wouldn't survive a duel for the throne, but he couldn't think of any words which did not strike him as self-serving.
So, he brushed brusquely past Micko and, mounting and masking, guided his horse through the stable and out across the main bailey, clopping over smooth paving lit by fluttering torches and toward the portcullis, raised in this time of moribund festivity. He fell in with a group of riders, laughing celebrants who'd just mounted nearer the palace proper. The gate warder did not try to delay them, obvious guests of the Queen. As they all rode down the rampway from Earthfast, Springbuck gradually fell behind his temporary escorts.
Once down the long slope, he stopped and turned in his saddle for one last look at the ancient keep with its bright lights and whipping flags and battle pennons, as the faint sounds of gaiety drifted out over the night. With a sigh, he faced back to the way before him. He knew he must make good distance before dawn, and started down the broad boulevard which led from the palace-fortress through the city spread at its feet. He'd thought to perhaps hide in the city for a while until it was feasible to travel overland, but had dismissed the idea. Kee-Amaine would be torn brace from beam in the search for him and the rewards offered would guarantee betrayal from anyone else who identified himЧ unless Micko had already changed his mind.
He cantered slowly down the way, not wishing to attract attention by moving any faster.
Kee-Amaine, the City of the Protector, surrounded Earthfast as a gaudy collar does* a desperado's neck,
22
THE DOOMFARERS OF CORAMONDE
being here fine and colorful and there frayed and badly used. The street saw little traffic at this hour and the lanterns that lined it flickered fitfully in the night wind. He passed a detachment of the civic watch making its rounds, but they didn't bother to hail him or ask his business, seeing him come from the palace-fortress, since things had seemed quiet this night. It was getting Х colder, and they were anxious to finish their tour and return to lay down their heavy pikes for the warmth of their barracks berths.
Before Springbuck's grandfather had imported the twin innovations of night patrols and streetlighting, life in Kee-Amaine had been confined after dark, since none but the well-armed or foolish ventured out into the threatening blackness to risk robbery or murder.
Two riders approached from the other direction, that of the Brass Lion Gate, which gave access to the Western Tangent. Their course would bring them right past him, but Springbuck thought that conspicuously avoiding them would be poor strategy, and so rode along,
He was soon sorry he did; as they neared him, he recognized them for Novanwyn, a Legion-Marshal and favorite of Fania's, and his senior captain, Desenge. They stopped and stared at him curiously just as he drew even with them, and Desenge called out, "What does an Alebowrenian do here, sitting a horse which I myself saw in the royal stables only this afternoon?"
The Prince stopped, like it or not. To ignore them would demand pursuit and ruinous inquiry. Besides, Desenge carried in its saddle rest his long spear, Finder, heavy and black and said by some to be unable to miss its mark when it flew from its owner's hand, with many ill deeds to its name.
The Prince attempted to disguise his voice, hoping that the war mask would help, as he faced them and answered, "I have just made obeisance for my liege, Knight-Commander to the Warchief of Alebowrene, at the feet of your Queen. My horse was lamed and I was given this one to take Her Grace's regard to my lord." Novanwyn inclined his head politely. "Please excuse my aide's curiosity." He smiled blandly. "And let us keep you tarrying no longer. Oh, and if you would be so
Of Deaths, Of Departure
23
kindЧLegion-Marshal Novanwyn's respects to your liege?"
Springbuck grunted noncommittally and continued on his way, shaken. Passing long walls and hedgerows bordering the way in this area, he rode for a time, then paused in a side street and squinted back along the way to see if he were being followed. To no avail; either he wasn't pursued or his nearsightedness made it impossible to see those behind him.
He decided, though, to take a circuitous route, swinging past the marketplace and coming round to the southern wall and the Brass Lion Gate by back streets. He hoped that, in tomorrow's turmoil at his escape, no one would link a renegade Prince to a lone Alebowrenian. Then it occurred to him that it was a foolish hope; Duskwind had seen his attire.
Memories of Hightower's death began to intrude again and he spent the ride in painful examination of his conscience. Alternate outcomes spun in his head; if he'd moved sooner, faster, fought harder, could he have saved the Duke? Should he have stayed in Earthfast and fought the duel? At best, he would eventually have had to meet Strongblade in arms, Strongblade who was wont to toy with two lesser opponents at a time and who'd often bested their instructor, Eliatim.
Springbuck's stealthy leave-taking and the deaths of Hightower arid Faurbuhl began in him a desire for some act of violence and retribution, with a vague idea that he could expiate his shame and redeem his self-respect.
Perhaps there would come an opportunity in the promised war between Coramonde and Freegate, if things actually went that far. No major war had been fought in or by Coramonde in nearly a generation, but FaniaЧand Yardiff BeyЧseemed set on starting one. There were many and diverse substates under Coramonde; to greater or lesser extent internal friction was a constant. It wasn't beyond conceiving that Springbuck could find support for an attempt at wresting back the Crown.
But there came to him the lines from the Old Tongue," impressed upon him with admonishments by his father, regarding civil war:
24 THE DOOMFARERS OF CORAMONDE
He should pause and search his heart well
Who thinks to go Doomfaring
In the War that is war between brothers.
A single house bleeds with Every internecine fall of the sword And the abattoiral axe.
Could such wounds to Coramonde be justified? The Prince was unsure.
Still, if armies were waging war on the far side of the Keel of Heaven, the situation could come full ripe for the dislodging of Fania and Strongblade.
And Yardiff Bey.
Springbuck thought again of the look that had passed between the Queen and the sorcerer in the throne room, that of vassal to Lord.
Bey in command?
How much, after all, did anyone know about him? The archives had it that he'd first appeared in Earthfast over half a century earlier. Since then he'd been away often, for as long as ten years at a time. He'd come back from one such sojourn, twenty years earlier, with the bizarre ocular in place of his left eye, object of cautious speculation.
Rumors about him were inexhaustible: that his sword Dirge dealt wounds which couldn't be healed, that he had an enchanted flying vessel concealed in the mountains of the Dark Rampart, that some of his hidden conspiracies and secret liaisons led ultimately to the distant south, to Shardishku-Salama, where oldest magic still worked against men.