"Katherine Kurtz - Camber 3 - Camber the Heretic" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kurtz Katherine)

who knelt motionless at his feet. The man's back was to Jebediah, but his dark
red hair and Healer's green robe proclaimed him to be Tavis O'Neill, the very
person with whom Jebediah had hoped to speak.
The pair did not appear to notice his approach. It was not until Jebediah
reached the window alcove and mounted the two steep steps that Javan looked
up and frowned. Now Jebediah could see the reason for Tavis's stance; the boy's
deformed right foot was cradled in his cupped hands, its specially constructed
boot stripped off and laid aside so that the Healer might work. Tavis was
massaging the foot very gently, his eyes half-closed in trancing, obviously in his
Healing mode, but it was evident from Javan's occasional grimaces that
something was amiss.
Cautiously Jebediah moved closer, not wishing to disturb the Healer's
concentration, but he was unable to see precisely what Tavis was doing.
"Is anything wrong, Your Highness?" he asked in a quiet voice.
Javan's face flushed red, and Tavis started and then recovered, covering the
deformed foot beneath his hands with a casual gesture which was not lost on
Jebediah. He did not turn toward the earl marshal.
"My Lord Marshal," Tavis said softly. "What brings you to the royal
schoolroom?"
"Concern for Their Highnesses," Jebediah replied. "It appears that my
concern is well founded. What are you doing?"
"His Highness's tutors are not always gentle in their training, my lord," Tavis
murmured, still not turning toward the grand master. "This morning's training
was particularly brutal."
"Brutal?"
Tavis pivoted on his haunches, his face almost white with fury. "Yes, brutal!
They made him walk a five-mile march this morning in the snow, wearing full
mail and carrying an adult-weight sword and shield. He finished," he said,
fiercely proud, "and not far behind his brothers, eitherтАФbut this is the price he
had to pay. And I have already eased much of the hurt!"
As he spoke, he raised the foot he had been cradling and glared at Jebediah
in challenge. The marshal, finally gaining a clear look, had to exert great
control not to flinch openly.
The boy's right foot was raw and angry-looking, where it was not purpling
with bruises, the pale skin chafed badly all around the thick, misshapen ankle.
The other foot was also chafed and red, though not as severely. Beside Tavis on
the wide windowsill, Jebediah could see a basin of water and several damp
towels, a glass vial containing what looked like soothing oil.
 "Who is responsible for this?" Jebediah asked, his voice deadly calm and
even.
"It wasтАФ"
"It doesn't matter," Javan interjected, cutting Tavis off before he could say a
name. "If I'm going to be a warrior, I have to be tough. I have to be able to keep
up with the others. I have to be able to lead them. I'm going to show them that I
can."
"Sheer physical ability is not the only requisite for leadership, my prince,"
Jebediah said, biting off a harsher comment he had been going to make about
whoever had been responsible. "Who has told you that it was?"
Javan stiffened, his lower lip quivering a little in his indignation. "If I am
possibly to rule after my brother Alroy, I must be strong. Do you think they will