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be heard and forgotten, never remaining in the mind of either speaker or
listener.
Silently, space itself spun into a solid fabric of mist and fog, swirling in a
silent hurricane around
Andy, as she sat astride her dappled mare, the mists spinning faster, faster,
until they totally concealed her and her horse, and then, suddenly, as if
someone had flicked a switch
 she and the horse were gone.
"Andy?"
A familiar chuckle sounded out of the air. "No. It's Claude Rains," she said.
"Get to work, hero.
I'm fine."
Karl turned and kicked his horse into a canter.
"With me, not in front of me," he said, raising his voice. "Because we," he
said, calling out, "and that means I, Karl Cullinane, prince and emperor, and
my entire escort are going to be waiting around this bend for the prisoner
cart to pass later this morning," he called out, "and we will all ride with it
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to Tyrnael, if necessary, to see that no mishaps befall it. If you catch my
fucking drift."
There was a rustling from the woods. Garthe started for his pistol, but
desisted at his father's emphatic shake of the head.
"We will wait here for it," Karl said. "And since I know the seven of us are
alone, we don't have to worry about any sounds from the woods they're just
rabbits or something."
A voice called out from the mist and leaves. "I'm coming out, Karl."
In a moment, Thomen Furnael, dressed in a ragged farmer's tunic but with a
sword belted around his waist, stood in front of him.
"He's not alone, sir," Gashier said. "I can hear two others, at least"
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"Of course he's alone," Karl said. "The baron is just out for a pleasure ride,
like ourselves. It wouldn't be old Hivar back there, would it?"
"Very good," Thomen said, his hands folded across his chest. "How did you know
it was him?"
Karl swung a leg over the back of the horse and dropped to the ground,
signaling at Garavar and the others to stay put. "Who else would you trust,
boy? Hivar's been with your family since before
I met your father. But you're wrong he's not back there, and there aren't any
other loyal family retainers back there, because you're out, alone, for a
pleasure ride and you're going to finish your pleasure ride and hie your ass
back to Biemestren.
Understood?"
It was the sort of fix that would have occurred to Karl at that age: dress up
as highwaymen, free
Vernim, and send him on his way. Simple, elegant.
The only thing wrong with it was that it wouldn't work. Too many people had
seen how shocked
Thomen was when Vernim spoke up during sentencing; Vernim had already
demonstrated that he had a loud mouth he would talk.
It wouldn't work, dammit.
"There's another possibility," Thomen said, his hand resting on the hilt of
his sword. "We could settle it, you and I, your majesty."
"Make another move and you're a dead man, Danagar," Karl said, as he caught a
motion out of the corner of his eye. He turned back to Thomen. "You think that
you could take me?
Truthfully?"
Some skill with the sword was something that Thomen had inherited from his
father; blunt, brutal self-honesty was another. "No. I may not be good enough
even to put a mark on you. But "
"Then do you think that we'll all be better off if both you and Vernim die?
Who benefits, Thomen, who benefits " Staring the younger man straight in the
eye, Karl Cullinane snapped a foot into
Thomen's crotch; as Thomen gasped, clutched at himself, and crumpled, Karl
gripped him and spun him around.
"Hivar, there's no need for a fight," he said, as he eased the groaning young
baron to the ground.
"He's not badly hurt."
There was a long pause, then a voice called out from the darkness. "He'd best
not be."
"I told you, he isn't. He's not going to want to fork a horse for a while, but
he isn't badly hurt."
Karl beckoned to Garthe. "Take charge of the baron. Bind him we'll release him
after the cart
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0-%20The%20Heir%20Apparent.txt has passed. He can ride home with us. I'll take
responsibility for his safety, Hivar. My word."
"Very well," sounded from the fog. "And I?"
"You get out of here, old man," Karl said. "Because you were never here, and
this never happened."
Garavar nodded in approval; Thomen, in pain, forced a question through his
lips: "Why?"
"Don't ever threaten me, Thomen," he said. "It's impolite."
Because, Karl Cullinane thought, hanging Vernim is my responsibility. You're
not ready for it, not yet. You were ready to salve your conscience by letting
me kill you; I'd rather salve your conscience more cheaply.
I owe that to you, Thomen and to your father and brother.
"Because I am the emperor," Karl Cullinane said. "And you'd better understand
that, boy."
CHAPTER EIGHT:
The Best-Laid Plans...
I'm a hero with coward's legs. I'm a hero from the waist up.
 Spike Mulligan
Except for the weather, Walter Slovotsky's part of the attack went off like it
was charmed.
Walter Slovotsky's commando he insisted on the correct usage of the word; it
referred to the group, not the members of the group consisted of only ten; ten
against the seventeen in the horseborne slaver reserves wasn't great odds.
But there were compensating factors. Lou had told him that Aeia was still just
about the best shot in Home; Bren Adahan, while inexperienced with a pistol,
was a better swordsman than Walter, and quite good with a crossbow and, most
important, an experienced warrior; he had been thoroughly blooded in the
Holtun-Bieme war.
Six of the others were warriors that Daherrin had recommended, only two of [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]