Wurts, Janny - Wars of Light and Shadow 08 - Stormed Fortress by Wurts Janny

Author:Wurts, Janny [Wurts, Janny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Speculative Fiction
ISBN: 9780007217816
Publisher: Voyager
Published: 2007-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

The duke sat for the royal inquiry, sullen with hobbled rage for the twist that had reined in his scheme by state process. Like the ox stung by the goad in the flank, he bent to Liesse's insistence and changed his ink-splattered surcoat. Clean, but not cowed, he convened the assembly in the small ward-room, used by the elite troop of the citadel guard. The narrow space with its thin lancet windows and thick walls gave excuse to weed down the attendance.

Mearn and Sevrand were present. Armed and in family colours, they flanked the central chair, prepared in the unwanted event they might be called on to adjudicate. Liesse appeared also, too sharp-eyed for humility, her seat at the right hand of the chancellor. That prim stick was tasked with the pen to record, in place of the scribe nobody wished to indoctrinate. The captain of the tower watch held the threshold, with his company arrived in formation outside.

Past question, the mood at the dais was grim, an atmosphere drenched in pent peril and sweat, thick enough to cut with a cleaver.

Against that cranked silence, which abjured all apology, Prince Arithon arrived on the punctual stroke of the hour. He came formally clad in the green, silver, and black of Rathain, the rich doublet from Dame Dawr a sharp contrast with the forest scout's leathers worn for the forced audience, the day prior. A glitter of storm-scud and lightning overtop, the black mantle from Davien the Betrayer draped over his Grace's trim shoulders. He did not bring Dakar. Though he was entitled to a Fellowship presence, none but Sidir attended him. Not Jeynsa, whose complaint had already been made. Nor Elaira, whose split loyalty to the sisterhood might become misconstrued as a threat.

As crown prince to subjects who were the wronged parties, Rathain held the right to bear arms; could have demanded of Alestron's own captains an honour guard to vouchsafe his person.

Arithon brought only the clothes on his body. Alithiel's black hilt did not hang at his side. The clan Companion's blades at his back were his sole, inadequate protection: a fact still the subject of singeing contention, by the measure of Sidir's fixed frown.

Each footfall a shout in the inimical quiet, Arithon approached the dais. He stopped. His right-hand liegeman stayed a half step behind. For an ugly, drawn second, he did nothing at all. Only acknowledged Mearn's impassive quiet, and Sevrand's clamped jaw, and Duke Bransian's vicious, braced carriage, which suggested a mouth clipped shut with a staple just in case the shade of a Sorcerer saw fit to attend his ignominy.

Yet Arithon had entrained no higher authority. Instead of a ringing list of accusations, he probed, gently quiet, 'What did you want?'

The question fell with such lack of censure that Liesse masked her face with ringed hands. Before her silenced sobbing, the chancellor shut his eyes and looked sick to his soul. Most stunned of all, Duke Bransian sat tongue-tied. His huge hands clenched, empty, offered no fight against which to rail and bluster.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.