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

Gwynedd's military forces in the hands of non- and anti-Deryni lords gave the
Michaeline grand master nightmares, even though he had a sizable cadre of
Michaeline-trained men already placed in key positions of authority, who could
hopefully keep more reactionary overlords from too drastic action.
And so Joram and Jebediah discussed the military implications of Cinhil's
possibly imminent demise, and tried not to show their anxiety when Camber at
last joined them, several hours before dawn. The king had finally succumbed to
troubled sleep, Camber told them, but his health was even more precarious
than they had feared. There would be miracle, indeed, if he survived what must
be done.
The cathedral bells tolled Lauds in the leaden, predawn silence before their
plans were complete and the three retired for a few hours' much-needed sleep.
The dawn did not bring relief from the bitter cold which passed over the
land. The bells of Prime and Terce never rang that morning from the high
cathedral tower, for a savage ice storm raged across the Valoret plain soon after
sunrise, immobilizing outdoor movement and leaving in its wake a world of
white and silver silence.
Rhys and Evaine, stranded at Ebor for nearly four hours with Joram's
messenger and their escort, could only fret and listen to the wind and wait,
until at last, near noon, their guard commander judged that it was reasonably
safe to go on. Even then, the road was slickly treacherous, every frozen tree and
bush and tuft of ice-laden grass a cruel, razor-edged obstacle for man and
beast. When they reached the city at last, hours later than anticipated, all were
nearly frozen, their cloaks stiff with ice.
The spent horses shivered as they trudged the final weary mile through the
city gates and up the steep cobblestone street to the castleyard, even though
they bore thick bardings to ward off the cold. Their legs were red almost to the
knees from breaking through the icy crust on the road and sometimes falling,
and their steps left bloody hoofprints to show the way that they had come. As
they drew up in the yard, heads lowered and blowing, Rhys slid from his mount
gratefully and staggered on numbed feet to help his wife from the saddle.
Joram was waiting for them at the top of the stair, bundled in his Michaeline
greatcloak and looking anxious and worn. For the benefit of their escort, he
informed them that Bishop Cullen was awaiting their arrival. When they had
hurried to the bishop's chambers, they found a tired but hale Camber waiting
for them by a roaring fire, with bowls of steaming stew and mulled wine and
warmed fur-lined robes to wrap around themselves while they thawed out from
their ride.
He would not let them speak until they had gotten some of the hot food into
their stomachs and stopped their shivering, preferring instead to outline the
previous night's events to give them background. He finished his synopsis at
about the same time that Rhys set aside his empty bowl and accepted another
cup of mulled wine from Joram. The Healer drank deeply, then absently held
out the cup for another refill, his attention fully on Camber. Beside him, Evaine
was finishing a piece of bread spread thick with butter and honey, licking the
sweet stickiness from fingers no longer red and stiff with cold.
"How is Cinhil taking it all?" Rhys asked.
Camber sighed and laced his fingers together in a gesture which was at once
his own and Alister's.
"He is resigned, I would say. You will be better able to judge his physical