[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
but his calluses didnot. He cleaned and oiled his steel each night as the
lampsmenmade rounds to light the wicks along the Lionsgate stair. Then, as
Brith and his cadre of off-duty guardsmen gathered, laughing, to visit their
alehouses and taverns, Jaric slung hisweapons across sweating shoulders. Bound
by Anskiere'sgeas, he stepped into the gathering dark to begin his search for
means to safeguard the Keys to Elrinfaer.
He went first to Kordane's shrine. An acolyte met himwithin the tiled arches
of the forecourt. The man wore a robeof blue, the single gold star which
adorned his collar showinghe had sworn life service barely one year past. He
could nothave been much beyond Jaric's age, yet he carried himselfwith an
arrogance that seemed common to all junior officialsin Landfast. The acolyte
regarded the baldric, sword, and dagger slung across the visitor's shoulders,
and his lips pursedwith disdain, even as he executed the bow of ritual
welcome.
"Have you come to worship?" The alcoyte straightened,chin lifted for the
negative he expected would come.
Jaric stared at him, the disappointment inspired by suchbrusqueness politely
kept hidden. "I wish to speak with thehead priest."
"Head priest?"The alcoyte sighed, loftily amused."You're backlands-born,
aren't you, soldier? We have no headpriest here.Only his holiness the Master
Grand High Star."
Jaric accepted this without the least sign of discomfort. Hishands gently
shifted the sword belt. "Does he have a shorter title?"
'"His Eminence' will do." Nettled by the chime of steelcross guards, the
acolyte added, "You don't need those inhere."
"But I didn't come to worship," Jaric reminded. "If hisEminence is too busy
with devotions, please mention that thematter concerns Keithland's defenses."
The acolyte raised his brows at this, as if he doubted anyconnection a boy
with a north-shore accent might have withthe preservation of civilization.
Still, the single star on his collar was no match for sharpened steel if
argument arose; he spun with a flap of dark robes and jerked his head for
Jaric tofollow.
The anteroom of Kor's shrine was lamplit and chill, thewalls being faced with
black marble, and the floor polishedstone with no carpets. Dark hangings with
the gold-sewn sigilof the priesthood seemed to swallow what little light
wasavailable, and the raised dais with the reliquary and publicaltar were
shadowed and dim with mystery. Footsteps andvoices echoed under lofty vaulted
ceilings; the few worship-pers clustered by the offering chests spoke in
whispers, and acted apologetic if their children made noise or their sandals
scraped inadvertently. Jaric waited where his guide indicated. Still holding
his weapons, he dropped no coins in the offeringchest; nor did he ask the
attendant on duty to light any lamps for loved ones. Taen deserved such a
courtesy, he knew. But the thought of crossing the chamber was daunting; and a
par-ticularly demanding practice with Brith had left his musclesin knots.
Weary, hungry, and anxious to be quit of the Keys,Jaric debated the propriety
Page 66
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
of sitting down on the floor where he stood. Then the acolyte returned and
beckoned him througha door into the inner sanctuary.
Beyond lay a drafty expanse of stairwell. The stoneworkwas pierced at
intervals with lancet arches open to the outside,and by the lack of glass
Jaric guessed the acolyte had led himthrough the oldest portion of Kor's
sanctuary. Here at one timethe openings would have been covered by siege
shutters, for the walls were dressed and buttressed like a fortress, and the
risers worn by the generations of tramping feet.
"Tell me your name," wheezed the acolyte. Since he was a
manunaccustomed to exertion, his second ascent of a verysteep climb exacted a
punishing toll.
"Kerainson," Jaric replied, and winced inwardly as histired legs protested
the length of the stair. Yet he managedwith better grace than the acolyte, and
finally took pity as theman began to gasp."If you tell me where, I can go on
myown."
The acolyte rolled his eyes. "His Eminence would send meto fast. Don't tell
him?"
Jaric shook his head,then memorized what seemed an un-duly complex set of
directions. Three flights and two corridors later, he knocked on the one door
he found that had the Broth-erhood's star and fireburst inlaid in gold into
ebony.
"What!" barked an impatient-sounding voice fromwithin. "If it's the accounts
from the grain tax, leave them for tomor-row, will you?"
"I'm not the accountant," called Jaric. Gently he lifted thelatch.
A gray-haired man in a rumpled smock jumped up andpeered over the papers
piled on his desk. The lamp which burned by his elbow lit apple cheeks, a
harried frown, andhands better suited to a farmer. "Ah, the visitor, yes, do
comein."
Jaric took a startled step into the room. "You're his Emi-nence the Grand
High Star?"
"Eh? No." The man noticed the sword and dagger slungacross his visitor's
shoulder and blinked. "You don't needthose in here." Then, belatedly
remembering the question onlypartially answered, he said, "I'm his Eminence's
secretary.Tell me why you came, and if the matter warrants, I'll referyou."
The boy made no move to lay aside his blades. Neither didhe speak, but
instead reached one-handed to his collar andlifted a sweat-stained thong over
his head. A small leatherpouch dangled from the ends. He loosened the
drawstringswith his teeth,then dumped the contents onto the only square of
desk not littered with paperwork.
A heavy object tumbled out. Black, cube-shaped, it clat-tered like a die and
stopped with a device inlaid in one sideuppermost. Lamplight flickered over
the triple circle and fal-con, sigil of Anskiere, once Stormwarden and sworn
defenderof Tierl Enneth. The secretary sucked in a surprised breath,then bit
off an exclamation as a second item settled with a
whisperof sound beside the first. Scratched wood framed the
black-and-gold-barred length of a stormfalcon's feather; evenhere, fenced by
Page 67
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
papers and pens and the clutter of shelteredliving, the spell-wrought thing
radiated the chill of galesdriven by sorcery.
"Korhave mercy," murmured the secretary. He directed anervous glance at
Jaric, as if seeing him for the first time."Where did you come by those? Are
you the Stormwarden's emissary? You knew his powers leveled Tierl Enneth?
Fourthousand people drowned, they say. Should Anskiere everagain set foot on
any isle of the Alliance, he stands con- demned to death by fire."
Jaric said nothing. For an extended interval, the flash and gleam of lantern
flame over Anskiere's gold seal was the onlymovement in the room. Then
thesecretary jerked open a drawer, raked out a pair of spectacles, and jammed
them over his ears. "Wait here, boy. Wait." And near to shaking with
agitation, he burst through the door behind his chair.
A taller man stepped through a moment later, the secretarytagging anxiously
behind. The newcomer wore no robes but trousers and shirt close-fitted to his
body. The fabric was knitrather than woven, the emblem of office in sewn
silver and indigo on his chest. More agile than the secretary, with a
facebarely wrinkled and hair dusted gray at the temples, he turnedsharp, dark
eyes upon Jaric, then glanced at the desk, to the items isolated between
tiered stacks of accounts.
His voice proved as authoritative as his attitude."Kerainson?Pick those up
and bring them in,"
Brisk but not unkindly, he held the door open while the boyfiled past. The
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]