"Tyrants And Kings - 02 - The Grand Design" - читать интересную книгу автора (Marco John)

"I know," said Eris. "But you're back now, and there's nowhere for any of us to go, not until the Master moves against Nar. And that may be months yet." She sighed dreamily. "Months together ..."
"Or less," interjected Simon. He didn't want to shatter the moment, but she had to know the truth. "I don't know what Biagio has planned for Herrith, or even Vantran. He may need me for something."
"Not yet," begged Eris. "Not so soon. You've just returned. Tell him to wait."
Simon laughed. "Oh, yes, he'd love to hear that. Sorry, Master, but your slave doesn't want me to go. You can put off all your plans, can't you? You can? Wonderful!"
"Plans?" scoffed Eris. "Does the Master have plans? You wouldn't think so from the way everyone is acting."
"Then they don't know him," said Simon. "The Master always has a strategy. And I think he's going to tell us about it, in a few days. At least that's what he told me."
Eris traced her finger over his lips. "Mmm; then that gives you time to talk to him about us, doesn't it?"
"I can't. He's already angry with me. I can't ask him for anything now."
Eris uncoiled her arms from his neck. "Simon, you promised. ..."
"I know, but it's different now. He's too obsessed with Vantran. I think he wants me to go back to Lucel-Lor."
"No," Eris shrieked. "You said you would ask him when you returned. He already knows about us anyway. He won't refuse you this. Not you. I've seen him with you, Simon. He can refuse you nothing. He's in love with you. ..."
"Stop," Simon warned, putting up his hands, j "Don't say it. I know what the Master is. But I am Roshann, Eris. No Roshann agent has ever married j before."
"He will make an exception for you," said Eris I evenly. "I'm sure he will."
Simon wasn't sure at all. He loved Eris; he had ever since Biagio had purchased her and brought her back to Crote, but he had taken an oath to the Master long ago. He was already married to the Roshann. He was bound to the Order for life, and such exceptions sim- I ply weren't made. More, they were never requested. I He had promised Eris he would ask Biagio to bend the I rules and stretch their strange friendship, but now that he was back under the count's dark wing his enthusiasm had chilled. Biagio was too enamored to share j him with a woman.
Simon fingered the golden collar around the girl's slender neck. Except for that unwanted piece of jewelry, she hardly looked like a slave at all. Her skin smelled of expensive oils and perfumes, not the coals of the kitchens. She was Biagio's pampered pet, his prize dancer, and he had paid a royal ransom for her. He adored herЧnot in the way Simon did, but as a collector would adore any fine piece. There were portraits and statues aplenty in Biagio's rambling mansion, all of them priceless. But Eris was his greatest possession. She was perhaps the finest performer in the Empire, a prodigy not unlike Biagio himself. When Biagio looked at her, Simon knew, he was seeing some of Heaven.
"I will speak to him," said Simon sullenly.
"When?" Eris pressed. "After he sends you away again?"
"If he sends me away again," Simon corrected. "I don't know what he has planned yet. It may be he has nothing for me. I'm very popular around here, it seems. You both like to keep me close."
It wasn't a joke, so Eris didn't laugh. She watched as Simon rose from the piano bench and went to a window. Outside, larks were singing. It had been hot when Simon left for Lucel-Lor, but now the island was cooling, hinting at a seasonal change. That's all Crote ever didЧhint at autumn. Simon wanted to escape outside, to lie with Eris under an oak and stare at the clouds like children. He wanted to be away, to stop being Biagio's top man. He wanted to be normal.
"I'm changing," he muttered. Eris slipped up beside him and took his hand, but Simon stayed focused on the panorama through the window.
"You're tired, my love," offered Eris. "Rest now. Come to me tonight if you wish. Or do not, and just sleep."
Simon chuckled. "You're not hearing me. I'm changing, Eris. I'm not sure I belong here anymore. The Master is different these days. All he thinks of is revenge. That drug has driven him mad. And we are all caught up in his insanity."
"Do not say such things," Eris cautioned. "Someone may hear you."
"It doesn't matter. Everyone knows that Biagio has gone mad. Do you know he had me kidnap a man from Lucel-Lor? I brought him back with me. Savros spent the night torturing him to find out where Vantran is."
Eris blanched. "What happened to him?"
"I killed him," said Simon. "I had to. Savros was playing with him. It was sickening. I had to stop it."
"You were merciful to him," said Eris softly. "You see? You are a good man, my love."
"A good man?" scoffed Simon. "I am Roshann. There are no good men in the Roshann. And if I am good, then I don't belong here."
She took his hand, and there was endless forgiveness in her sea-green eyes. "You do what you must, as do I. We are his. To defy him is death."
Simon feigned acquiescence. "You're right," he said, hoping to end the conversation. "I was ill on the ship. It has unbalanced me." He kissed her hand. "I'm sorry to greet you like this. I promise you, I'll be a different man tonight."
"Do not come if you don't wish to," she said gently. "Or if you think it will upset the Master. I'll understand."
"I will be there," said Simon. He let his hand slide gently out of hers. "Look for me at midnight, near the garden wall. Now, get to your practice. Biagio wouldn't want me keeping you from work."
They spared each other a final kiss before Simon left the music room, his heart thundering with anticipation.
THREE Richius Vantran ichius Vantran drew back on the reins of his gelding and brought the beast to a halt near a jm. x. grove of berry bushes. Here in the hills around Falindar the breeze was stiff, and if not for the wind he might never have noticed the bloodied swatch of cloth skewered like a flag onto the gnarled branch. He spotted it from atop his saddle, took a wary look around, then dismounted.
It was tranquil save for the buzz of the wind; the animals of the hills had fallen into a disquieting hush. Not far away, Lucyler and Karlaz were following him, stealthily scanning the land, but somehow Richius knew their search had finally ended.
The sun was bright on the mountains. Richius shaded his eyes and turned the tapering cloth in the light to examine it. It appeared to have been torn from a well-worn shirt, like the sturdy kind the farmers wore. It wasn't indigo so it wasn't Hakan's, but it wasn't weathered either, and the dried blood still had color. Triin blood, he supposed, unless the farmer had been doing some slaughtering of his own. Richius looked around. Not far above, the rocky hill disappeared into what looked like a cave. He craned his neck to see, but the entrance was dark and hidden behind an avalanche of stones. The horse, seeming to read his mind, gave an unhappy snort.
"Don't worry, boy," said Richius to his mount, going over to the beast and scratching its ear. "We're not going in there."
The gelding dropped its head, letting Richius tickle its neck. A horse was a rare commodity in this part of Lucel-Lor, and this one seemed to appreciate its station. The land was rugged here, and most of those who had owned horses had eaten them during the lean days of the war. This one was a Naren beast, given to Richius by an old comrade. It had an impeccable gait and an easy manner that reminded him of home.
"Richius?" Lucyler and Karlaz were coming up the hill on foot, their white Triin faces shining in the sun. Richius hurried over to them.
"Quiet," he cautioned. "I've found something."
He handed the shred of cloth to Lucyler. The Triin's gray eyes narrowed as he inspected it. Lucyler nodded knowingly and passed the tatter to Karlaz, who sniffed it and grunted.
"Where did you find this?" Lucyler asked.
Richius gestured to the bushes. "There, near the rocks. It was in a branch." Together they walked to the bushes where Richius showed them the spiky twig that had impaled the cloth. It was a stout bush with thorny appendages reaching out in all directions, but there were no other fragments of cloth. Several more branches had been snapped away and lay strewn on the rocky ground. Karlaz ran his hand over the top of the bush, examined the dirt, and grunted again.
"Tasson," whispered the lion-master knowingly. It was the name of the beast they were hunting, a Triin word meaning "gold." Just as Richius had dubbed his sturdy horse Lightning, the lion riders always named their enormous cats. Karlaz knelt down and put his face to the earth, drawing a breath. Then he dug a finger into the dirt and tasted the soil. Seemingly satisfied, he looked up at Lucyler and nodded.
"What was that?" Richius asked. Then, in the Trim's own tongue, he said, "Karlaz? What is it?"
"Urine," Lucyler explained. "The cats always mark where they have been. Karlaz can taste it. He thinks it is very near."
Richius pointed toward the cave's maw. "Up there," he guessed.
Karlaz seemed to agree. The trio reached for their weapons. Both Triin undid the jiiktars from their backs while Richius freed his giant sword Jessicane. Lucyler chuckled when he saw the monstrous blade.
"A good weapon for slaughtering lions," he remarked. "Not much else."
Richius drew an unsteady breath and wrapped his hands around the sword's hilt. He was under six feet tall, and the sword stood almost as high as a man. It had been made decades ago for his father, and even after months of practice with it the huge blade could still exhaust him.