"Reader And Raelynx" - читать интересную книгу автора (Shinn Sharon)

CHAPTER 3

IT took Cammon about an hour to walk from Jerril’s house to the palace. It was cold, of course, but sunny, for a wonder, and he enjoyed the brisk exercise.

“Don’t dawdle on your way, now,” Lynnette had told him as she fixed his breakfast and fussed over him a little. He loved it when Lynnette fussed. Her fluttering attention could drive Areel mad, but Cammon couldn’t get enough of the quick pats on the arm, the additional offerings of food, the questions, the worrying. “Keep in mind that you have a destination, and don’t let yourself get sidetracked.”

Cammon grinned. Lynnette had been with him often enough when a quick walk to the marketplace had resulted in five detours because Cammon sensed someone needing assistance. Once they had come upon a man brutalizing a girl in the alley, his hand across her mouth to keep her from screaming. Lynnette had screeched for help and hit the attacker in the head with a rock, and other passersby had taken him down when he tried to run. Another time, Cammon had insisted they go inside a tumbledown, uninhabited building, and they’d found a baby whimpering there, half dead from neglect.

“Not even if it’s something important?” he teased.

“I think the princess is even more important,” she said in a firm voice.

So he’d bundled up some spare clothes and headed out for the palace, his mind half shielded to keep out the incessant rumble of other people’s thoughts. Mostly he managed to ignore the stray spikes of strong emotion that intruded anyway-a shrill scream that modulated into a laugh, a spasm of grief, a flare of anger-none of them seemed urgent or desperate. He did stop twice to give directions to individuals who stood on street corners looking confused and feeling helpless, but those moments of kindness took very little time, and anyone else would have done the same thing.

The gate to the palace grounds was guarded by four Riders, all of them familiar to him. “Hey, coming by to visit for a day?” one of them greeted Cammon. “Tired of playing at being a mystic, so now you want to play at being a swordsman?”

Cammon grinned. “I’ll never be as good at fighting as I will be at magic.”

“Is Justin coming back?” asked another. Her name was Wen and she was one of only five or six women good enough to be a Rider. She wasn’t very tall, but she was stocky and strong; Cammon had practiced against her often enough to know she was an excellent swordswoman. “Is that why you’re here?”

“He’s still in the Lirrens, from what I can tell,” Cammon replied.

“First Tayse married, and now Justin,” said one of the other Riders. “Makes you think anything can happen. The whole world can turn upside down.”

Wen laughed along with the others, but Cammon caught her buried pulse of regret. She had been half in love with Justin, not that Justin would ever have realized it. And now he’s gone and married himself some strange little creature from the Lirrens. Never even thought about me. Cammon hastily shut his mind, not wanting to eavesdrop on her thoughts, but he felt sorry for her all the same. He liked Wen a great deal, and he knew Justin considered her an excellent comrade. Clearly, that wasn’t enough for Wen.

“I’m here to see Senneth,” he said.

“At the palace,” Wen replied. “Go on in.”

It was still another twenty minutes before he tracked down Senneth. First he had to traverse the wide lawn from the gates to the palace doors, pass another checkpoint there, and then be escorted through the large, sumptuous building. The footman took him to a sunny room decorated in yellow and blue, where Senneth was writing someone a letter. Her brother, Cammon guessed, since she didn’t seem to feel especially warm toward the recipient.

She laid aside her pen with alacrity, and greeted him with a smile that turned quickly to a frown. “Is that the best you have to wear?” she asked. She was most unusually dressed-for her-in a long-sleeved blue gown with bits of lace at the throat and cuffs. Her white-blond hair was almost styled, pinned in place with a clip that sported a row of Brassenthwaite sapphires.

He glanced down at his clothes. “This is the sort of thing I always wear,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“You look like a street urchin, that’s what’s wrong.”

“I always look like a street urchin, according to you and Kirra.”

“And when’s the last time someone actually trimmed your hair?”

“Maybe you should have cut it yourself last night.”

She sighed. “Come on. Let’s see if I can find any clothes that make you look more respectable.”

They both knew it was a hopeless task-no matter what he was wearing, Cammon always managed to look like he’d just come back from the ragpicker’s shop. He just didn’t care enough about things to figure out how to wear clothing. He was too focused on people.

But they hunted up Milo, the king’s steward, who took them to a huge and starchy-smelling room filled with hundreds of uniforms hanging from two levels of rods. Cammon wandered between the rows of jackets and trousers, fingering the woven cloth and elegant braid, and wondered what Areel would make of all these discards from previous fashions for royal servants. Between them, Milo and Senneth quickly culled out a half dozen outfits that they thought would be suitable, and then insisted that Cammon try them all on, one right after the other. He didn’t mind the part about getting half naked, but he was just a little annoyed about all the bother over outward appearances. As if that were what mattered.

They picked one, black with gold trim, and handed it back to Cammon. “We’ve set aside a room for Cammon’s use,” Milo said in his stately fashion. He was a staid and portly man who behaved with far more formality than King Baryn himself usually displayed. “Perhaps he would like to get himself cleaned and dressed.”

Now Cammon was surprised. “I’m to live here? I didn’t realize that.”

“No, but you might need to stay overnight when there are visitors for several days,” Senneth said. “We’re still working out some of the details.”

“If you’d come with me,” the steward said, and Cammon and Senneth followed him down the halls and up to a room on the third floor. It proved to be somewhat smaller than the ones reserved for Senneth and Kirra and other visiting serramara, but spotless.

“Quickly, now,” Senneth said as Milo departed. “We want you stationed in the dining hall before all the guests come in.”

So he changed into the black uniform, submitted to Senneth’s ruthless combing of his hair, washed his face again although he didn’t really think it was necessary, saw her roll her eyes and shrug at the scuff marks on his shoes, and finally she was willing to call him ready. Back down the stairs and through the hallways, past marble archways and rooms decorated with both gold and silver leaf, past statuary, past guards, past every variant of opulence.

She led him to the grand dining hall, very formal, the walls covered with murals interspersed with gilt-edged mirrors. Servants were busy laying the table, lighting candles, and checking the silver for invisible spots of tarnish.

“The king will sit here-Amalie here-the Karyndein envoy here,” Senneth said, pointing. “You could stand either there or there. What would work best for you?”

“It doesn’t really matter. If I could read him, I’d be able to read him from anywhere in the room, but Senneth-”

“I know. Just do what you can. I’ll be sitting on the other side of him, if that helps you any.”

He grinned. “Probably the opposite. You’re so clear in my head that you’ll probably just cover up anything he might be thinking.”

She looked annoyed, then she laughed. “I’ll try to keep my mind quiet. You try to stand there and do nothing to draw attention to yourself.”

“Just wait and see how invisible I can be.”

She disappeared, and there was a long, boring wait before anything happened. Cammon perched on the edge of one of the chairs and talked idly to the footmen who would be stationed at other posts around the room. When they heard a rumble of conversation in the adjoining room, they all took their places and assumed solemn expressions, folding their hands behind their backs.

Finally, finally, the door swung back and King Baryn entered, followed by about twenty guests. The king was tall and thin, with wispy gray hair and a mischievous expression. Queen Valri, who entered at his side, could not have looked more different. She was small-boned and delicate, with a porcelain-white face set off by very short, very lustrous black hair and eyes of an incredible shade of green. She was also at least forty years younger than her husband-twenty-five or so to his sixty-five. In no way did they appear to be well suited. Yet, as always, Cammon picked up from Baryn a strong sense of affection and trust for his young queen, underlying all the complicated intellectual exercises that the king was engaged in as he prepared to entertain a foreign dignitary over a meal.

From Valri herself, Cammon received no impressions whatsoever. So it had been last summer, no matter how much time they spent together. It was as if she had built herself that walled stone structure that Jerril had described, and set herself within it, and refused to let anyone else inside. If she loved her husband, if she hated him, Cammon could not tell from magic. But she stationed herself at the foot of the table, facing him; she watched him closely; she seemed to pick up his unspoken signals with the ease of long companionship. Cammon’s guess was that she was devoted to him, but he had nothing he would consider to be proof.

Behind them came Amalie on the arm of the Karyndein ambassador. Cammon allowed himself a moment to be pleased at the picture she made-gold hair, gold dress, gold jewelry, smiling face-before turning his attention to the man at her side. The Karyndein man was not particularly tall but solidly built, with thick dark hair, swarthy skin, and a pronounced mustache. A certain coarseness to his look was counteracted by his smile, which was wide and seemed genuine. Cammon guessed him to be in his midthirties. Young, for an ambassador. Maybe he was the same age as the prince they wanted to force poor Amalie to marry. Even so, thought Cammon somewhat darkly, thirty-five made a bad match for nineteen.

Cammon couldn’t get a true read of either Amalie or the ambassador, and he was starting to feel aggrieved. From Amalie, he picked up a froth of excitement and happiness-she loved being in company, she loved all the attention and the scripted flattery-but the information was faint, little more than he could have gleaned from merely watching her face. Someone, sometime, had taught her how to shield. He had not expected to be able to scan the ambassador’s thoughts, but he tried anyway, circling the other man’s mind like a hawk quartering a meadow, seeking elusive prey. But the quarry was all burrowed in, safe underground, not to be flushed out.

Senneth was right behind Amalie, escorted by the regent, and both of them were so easy to read that Cammon relaxed again. Senneth’s mind, as always, was full of glancing observations, quick assessments, and equal parts worry, humor, and readiness. Romar Brendyn, on the other hand, was all business. He was here to support his king, protect his niece, make alliances with foreign nations, and stop trouble from coming to the realm. Very little pretense or subterfuge about Romar Brendyn.

The others filed in and Cammon scanned them all, but everyone seemed to be just as they presented: aristocrats eager to serve their liege, thinking of little more than prestige, honor, and reputation. No one posing a danger.

“Thank you all for coming,” Baryn said, and nodded at his wife. “My dear, shall we be seated?”

The meal seemed to go on forever, and Cammon was soon wishing he’d eaten something before taking up his position, because it was torture to stand so close to such delicious food and know he couldn’t even snatch a morsel. He couldn’t resist, just once, sending Senneth a quick, pitiful wail of I’m hungry!-not as plain as that, of course, because she wasn’t sensitive enough to pick up actual words, but clear enough for her to get the idea. She started, gave him one narrowed, reproving look, and then turned her attention back to the ambassador. She tried to keep her face serious, but he could tell she was having trouble holding back a smile.

Cammon had been so intent on listening to the interior monologues that he hadn’t paid much attention to the audible conversation, but that changed when the Karyndein ambassador abruptly came to his feet.

“Esteemed king, gracious queen, noble guests, most beautiful princess,” he said, bowing in the appropriate directions as he spoke. His voice was heavily accented, but his pronunciation was perfect. “I have so much enjoyed my brief stay here and am looking forward to another week in your excellent company. I would like to express my appreciation-indeed, the appreciation of all Karyndein-with a humble gift. May I have my servants bring it in now?”

Cammon doubted there was anything humble about the offering. It was no doubt the item that Areel had sensed “glowing” in the foreigner’s carriage when it arrived at the gates of the city. He straightened a little (it seemed he had started to slump), but so did everyone else in the room. What might a man from Karyndein consider rich enough to serve as a gift to a king? It would have to be quite special.

“Most certainly you may send for it,” Baryn said, and one of the footmen disappeared out the door. “But my dear Khoshku, how unexpected! You did not have to buy our favor with lavish attentions.” This was a lie, as Cammon could plainly tell. Everyone expected an exchange of expensive gifts. Baryn had a pile of them ready to give Khoshku before he sailed for home.

“Just a trifle, a small sample, something that is very common in Karyndein and we thought perhaps would be unusual and welcome in Gillengaria.”

Talk continued in the same vein while they awaited the arrival of Khoshku’s servants. Footmen circled the table, refilling glasses and removing plates. Some of the guests whispered to each other, speculating about the nature of the gift.

It took two men to carry in the long, slim casket that held Karyndein’s treasure. The box was made of a bright metal that looked more yellow than gold, and it was randomly studded with an array of jewels. The servants carried it by handles welded to either end, and they wore gloves on their hands to keep from leaving fingerprints.

One of the men was from Karyndein and impervious to Cammon’s quick scrutiny, but the other was from Gillengaria. That’s odd, Cammon thought. The Gillengaria man wore Karyndein livery and kept his head ducked down as if overwhelmed by such unfamiliar surroundings. Cammon wondered if one of Khoshku’s own servants had fallen ill on the road, and this man had been pressed into service, hired at a roadside inn, perhaps, or even supplied by Baryn when Khoshku arrived shorthanded.

Cammon pressed a little harder, poking at the other man’s mind as he might poke at an anthill, waiting for something to spill out. There was a furtive excitement there, belying the stoic attitude, and it was starting to expand to almost uncontainable proportions with every slow step the two men took toward Baryn’s chair. Then an image flashed into the man’s mind-brief and clear-a vision of himself dropping his end of the casket, pulling free a hidden knife, leaping for the king-

“Senneth!” Cammon cried, and then the whole room went mad.

Chairs crashed to the floor as people jumped to their feet; the air was full of shouting. A column of fire suddenly danced around Amalie, and several women were shrieking. Through the kinetic swarm of bodies, it was hard to sort out exactly what was happening, but the actions of two people were absolutely clear: Senneth had vaulted across the table to stand beside Amalie, safe within the circle of fire, and the regent had drawn his sword and hacked his way to the king. Both Senneth and Romar Brendyn looked absolutely murderous.

“My liege! What is happening? What is this outrage?” the ambassador was shouting. Those were the last words he had a chance to say, because doors blew back from two ends of the room, and King’s Riders poured in. Within seconds, the ambassador had Tayse’s sword at his throat, and every other guest had been shoved away from the table and against the wall. The Riders were taking no chances. They didn’t know why the alarm had been raised and who might be guilty of what crime. They were ready to destroy anyone in the room.

“Cammon,” Senneth said over her shoulder. “What is it?”

“That man-the one kneeling on the floor in front of the regent,” Cammon said in a shaky voice. “He’s got a knife and he was going to attack the king.”

An incredible outcry at that. Wen spun away from the well-dressed couple who were cowering in front of her sword, and dropped to her knees beside the disguised Gillengaria man. He yelped and tried to scrabble away, but she caught him by the collar, jerked him back, and planted her knee on his spine. It wasn’t long before she’d uncovered the blade-a long, sharp kitchen knife, wicked and finely made.

“Messy, but will get the job done,” she said, sliding it through her belt. “We searched everyone before they came through the gates. He picked it up here.”

Khoshku found his voice. “Your Majesty! Most excellent king! I did not-this is not-I cannot express my horror! This was not my king’s intention-I swear, neither he nor I had any knowledge-”

The wall of flame around Amalie abruptly disappeared as Senneth decided the princess wasn’t in danger. Queen Valri instantly came around the table and hurried to Amalie’s side, putting her arms around the princess. The Riders lowered but did not sheathe their swords, and the shaken guests began to collapse in their chairs. Baryn was staring fixedly at the ambassador, who still had Tayse’s blade about three inches from his throat.

“You will be returned immediately to your own country and be very glad I do not have you executed on the spot,” Baryn said in an icy voice. “I see now why there has been such a long history of distrust between our nations.”

“Majesty, you must believe I had no inkling such a hideous crime would be attempted,” the ambassador begged. “For a man of Karyndein to behave in such a way-I cannot believe-I cannot understand-”

“He’s not a man of Karyndein,” Cammon interrupted, and then everybody was staring at him. He blushed and fell silent.

“Who is he, then?” Senneth said.

Cammon shook his head. “He’s from Gillengaria. I don’t know how he ended up in the ambassador’s train.”

Khoshku looked bewildered. “But-everyone who attends me is from my own country. Why would I need more servants when I have plenty of my own? How did he come to join my company?”

“Let’s ask him,” Wen said in a pleased voice. She twisted her hand through her captive’s hair and yanked back hard. He cried out in pain but didn’t speak.

Suddenly the Karyndein servant broke into low sobs and began confessing in a choked, rapid voice, saying something only the ambassador could understand. Khoshku looked, if possible, even more appalled. “He says that shortly after we sailed into Forten City, a few of my men got into a drunken brawl. There was a dreadful fight, and my servants were overmatched until a few strangers came to their aid. One of my men disappeared-they believed he had run away-but they were too embarrassed to tell me. And this other man, this impostor, he agreed to come with us so I would not realize anyone was missing.” Khoshku looked with horror at the king. “He has been with us all this time. More than a week.”

As clearly as if Tayse had spoken, Cammon could feel the big Rider’s contempt. You are so ill-acquainted with the men who serve you that you can spend a week with a stranger and not realize it? Such a fate would never befall Baryn, who prided himself on a close relationship with each of his Riders.

Though he might not, perhaps, recognize each of his cooks and scullery maids and lower footmen, Cammon thought. How many great lords would? Cammon could catch the same ideas cycling through the minds of all the nobles in the room. I would know my own men…most of them…well, one or two might slip by me. The thought made all of them uncomfortable, Cammon could tell.

“This is a very distressing tale,” Baryn said, but his voice was a degree or two warmer. “We must have time to review your story, interrogate this-this-person, and decide if we believe you are telling the truth.”

“What’s significant is that this brawl occurred in Forten City,” Senneth said. “We have long suspected that Rayson Fortunalt is in league with Halchon Gisseltess in plans to unsettle the throne.”

Now Khoshku was starting to look angry. Cammon could scarcely imagine how the ambassador could have had a worse day, and he did not look like the sort of man who could always keep his ire in check. “No one told us not to sail to Forten City,” he said stiffly. “No one told us outlaws would be lying in wait for us, trying to turn our mission of peace into a bloody debacle.”

Tayse glanced from Senneth to Cammon to the king. “They’re targeting envoys,” he said in a quiet voice. “This is the second one.”

Cammon could feel the bewilderment that swept over everyone else in the room, but the three of them nodded back. Of course. The assassin who had crept into Ghosenhall a couple of weeks ago had been dressed in Arberharst colors, but he had been a Gillengaria man with murder to his credit.

“And we have to believe they’ll keep trying,” Senneth said.

Finally, Tayse slipped his sword back in its scabbard. “And they won’t always come in disguise.”

“I demand to know what is happening in Gillengaria and why I have been chosen to appear as a villain,” said Khoshku, truly beginning to work up some righteous indignation. “It seems there is trouble in the realm and I have stumbled into the middle of it! Explain this to me! All of it!”

Baryn merely turned his gentle smile on Khoshku and waved everyone else to their seats. “In good time, my dear ambassador. Let us now finish our meal, so rudely interrupted. I believe there is some excellent wine waiting to be served, and it will make all of us feel very much better.”

NATURALLY, the rest of the luncheon was an awkward, rushed affair, strange and uncomfortable even after the Riders had carried off the impostor. Cammon could tell that all the marlords and marladies were relieved when it was over, and Valri hurried Amalie out of the room as quickly as she could. Riders reappeared to escort Khoshku into a private conference with the king, and Cammon was off duty.

He was still in the kitchen, stuffing himself with leftover food, when Senneth came looking for him.

“Well done,” she said, ruffling his hair. “The king has directed Milo to give you all sorts of rewards-bags of gold or some such thing. I told him to have it delivered to Jerril’s.”

Cammon was pleased, more by the praise than the money, because what use did he have for gold? He didn’t own anything, and didn’t want anything, either. “It seems he would be better off hiring me to protect him than Amalie.”

“He considers Amalie more valuable.”

“So is this going to happen again and again? Murderers sneaking into the city to try to kill the king?”

Senneth sighed, glanced around, and pulled up a chair. He was sitting at the massive table in the middle of the enormous kitchen, and probably twenty cooks and scullery maids were scurrying around them, cleaning up the remains of the meal. Not the most private place to have a conversation. Still, by now everyone in the palace compound, down to the youngest groom in the stables, knew there had been an attempt on the life of the king.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” she said. “We have heard talk of war for a year now. If I were to guess, I would say Halchon Gisseltess and his allies are waiting for good weather before making an assault on the throne. They plan to take us into battle-but if they can kill Baryn first, they will be that much closer to their goal.”

“Then-like I said-”

She smiled. “He has the Riders to protect him. You need to watch over Amalie.” She glanced around the kitchen again. “Actually, I thought you could watch over both of them. If you’re living at the palace, you’ll be able to sense anyone who comes in and out of the gates.”

“Living at the palace? I thought-”

“I know. I’ve sent to Jerril for your things.” She took in his borrowed costume, and her smile widened. “Though I don’t know why I bothered. My guess is Milo will provide you with an entirely new wardrobe, since your own is so atrocious.”

Cammon felt a certain excitement-What an honor! Commanded to serve at the will of the king!-and a certain disquiet. What if he failed, what if no one liked him, what if he embarrassed himself and the royalty he was set to serve? And what would Jerril and Lynnette do-and Areel-without him there? For he completed many of the harder physical chores, and his sunny disposition cheered their bleaker days-he didn’t have to be a reader to know that, they had each told him so. They viewed him as a sort of favored nephew or grandson. “Can I go back some days?” he said. “Just to visit?”

Senneth’s face showed a good deal of comprehension. “Of course. You won’t be a prisoner here in the palace. And Jerril and the others will get along just fine without you. Why, you were gone for months last year, traveling around the country with me. How do you think they managed then?”

He grinned and ducked his head. “I just wanted-it seemed-”

She ruffled his hair again. “You’ve been abandoned so many times yourself that you hate to abandon anyone else,” she said, though he had never told her that, not in so many words. “I know. But this time, trust me, Cam, it’s all right. Now, come on. I’m supposed to take you to say hello to the princess.”