Wysard by Carolyn Kephart

Author:Carolyn Kephart [Kephart, Carolyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, epic fantasy
ISBN: 1563151448
Publisher: Samarkand Press
Published: 1999-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

On his return to the headquarters Ryel was ushered by Roskerrek's orderly to his quarters, which by their rich appointments seemed intended for visits from heads of state. The Count Palatine's rooms overlooked the courtyard and the city, but the wysard's faced the Lorn and the mountains beyond it. As Ryel was examining the rooms, a platter of the Verlande's delicious cuisine was sent in accompanied by noble wine, and Ryel fully enjoyed both as coppers of steaming water and a bath were made ready in front of the blazing hearth.

Just as the wysard had sank into the bath with a contented sigh, with a perfunctory knock Jorn Alleron entered the room, carrying a large long cloth bag over his arm. At the sight of the enbathed and embarrassed Ryel he bowed with punctiliously averted eyes. "Forgive the intrusion, m'lord prince—and rest assured that I know your Steppes ways well, and won't abash you by staring. My lord thought you might find use for some clothes in the Northern fashion. They're fresh from the tailor, never yet worn. If you don't want them, I'm to leave them here nonetheless."

"How did you know to address me by that title?" Ryel demanded, surprised at how matter of factly Alleron had uttered it. "I thought I was incognito."

"No chance of that, thanks to my lord's spies at Grotherek," Alleron replied, almost in apology. "Speaking of which, here's his letter."

Opening the crackling silver-sealed paper, Ryel quickly scanned the sharp-angled symmetry of the writing.

'The Count Palatine regrets that he knew not the wandering Prince of Vrya in his incognito, and wishes to make amends for his oversight by taking advantage of the old Northern custom by which guests are made welcome with fresh raiment. He further asks that the Prince command whatever he wishes for his ease and comfort.

In all recognizance,

Roskerrek.'

Ryel folded the letter again, inwardly debating. Gorgeous Almancarian robes would more suitably adorn the Prince of Vrya than Northern dress—and attract the most inconvenient kind of attention. "The Count Palatine's generosity is not only thoughtful, but remarkably well-timed," he said at last. "I accept it with pleasure."

Alleron nodded approvingly. "Good. You and he are just of a height, and much of a size, so these should serve. I'll give order to have your own things laundered, by your leave." He dropped the bag on the bed, somewhat exasperated. "You might have told me you were a prince of Destimar, sir—but I should have guessed as much from your horse. Will you need help in dressing?"

The question surprised Ryel, but then he realized it had been asked because of his exalted rank, a status he knew would be hard to get used to. "I can manage on my own, Captain. Have a seat and try some of this wine; it's remarkable."

The flaxen captain nodded thanks as he removed his hat and tossed it aside. He had changed out of uniform, and was now handsomely outfitted in lapis-blue shorn velvet and finely pleated lawn. "I have time for a glass or two.

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