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

documents yesterday. This is only a copy."
The third man, who was also the youngest of them, glanced over the text
with hungry eyes that did not miss a thing, an oddly academic quirk in a man
so obviously a soldier in every other way. Big-boned, well-muscled, solid but not
fat, Baron Rhun of Horthness was a rising star in the army of Gwynedd at only
thirty-two. The sparse, wolfish grin now spreading slowly across his face was a
feature which had made friends and enemies alike refer to him as Rhun the
Ruthless.
"I assume that Cullen hasn't seen this," Rhun said, his tone clearly
confirming a fact rather than asking a question.
Murdoch nodded, steepling spiderlike fingers in a gesture mixed of
confidence and arrogance. "He hasn't, and he won't," he said. "As far as our
dear chancellor is concerned, the king's will remains exactly as we all witnessed
it last fall. And because this is not a change of the will, but only an alteration of
the guidelines for a potential regency council, there is no reason that he should
see it until after the king is dead and it cannot be changed. God grant that the
king's death may be painless, and soon," he added piously.
Rhun chuckled at that, a low, dangerous rumble, but the first man did not
even smile. As he glanced at Murdoch again, his expression was thoughtful.
"Tell me, does anyone know when Bishop Cullen will be returning?" he
asked.
"Too soon to suit me," Murdoch said. "The king sent Jebediah to fetch him
yesterday. Knowing the way our illustrious earl marshal rides, he should reach
Grecotha by tomorrow at the latest, even allowing for bad weather. That puts
Cullen back in Valoret well before the first of February. I had hoped he would
winter at Grecotha, butтАФ" He shrugged, a surly twitch of the narrow shoulders.
"At least this will probably be the last time. The king can't last much longer."
"He's that ill, then?" asked the third man.
"I wasn't certain he would survive past Twelfth Night," Murdoch replied
coolly, "though the Healer Rhys seems to have kept body and soul together
rather better than I hoped. Curse the miserable Deryni, anyway!"
The exclamation elicited a short, taut silence, as each of the men considered
what the king's death might mean to him personally. Finally Murdoch rolled up
the document and bound it with a length of vermillion cord. As he glanced at
his companions again, he tapped it several times against the heel of his hand.
"Well, I'm off, then. I want to show this to Hubert before I put it away for
safe-keeping: Either of you care to come along?"
"I will," said Rhun.
After they had gone, Earl Tammaron Fitz-Arthur, Third Lord of the High
Council of Gwynedd, sat quietly for several minutes, thinking. If things went
according to plan, he could very shortly be the next Chancellor of Gwynedd.


A few days later, on a snow-clogged road leading south toward Valoret, the
Deryni Camber MacRorie and his escort trotted at a steady pace, the sound of
their passage muffled by the snow and carried away by the wind.
Camber, whom the world knew as Bishop Alister Cullen, one-time Vicar
General of the powerful Order of Saint Michael and now Lord Chancellor of
Gwynedd, had received the king's message before dawn, grouchy at being
rousted from his warm bed until he realized that the king's messenger was his