[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
without a way to delay for even another
"I grovel," Broglin said, bending his head at the neck. "I abase myself in
shame," he said. "Disgracefully, I have already fed Thorian del Thorian the
Elder, his woman and girlchild; they have returned to their beds, a cure for
the drinker's malaise making them sleep, albeit fitfully. I prostrate myself,
I "
"Silence, Vestri," Branden del Branden said, not unkindly. "Enough. I guess
I'll have to disappoint His Warmth, though I don't care to do that. I can't
imagine he'd want a drugged Thorian del Thorian for company."
Never look a gift horse in the mouth, Torrie thought.
Pulse still pounding like a trip-hammer, Torrie arched an eyebrow. "Did he ask
for Thorian del Thorian the Elder, or just Thorian del Thorian?"
Branden del Branden smiled. "The latter, I'm amused to admit. I assumed, but "
"But nothing. I just happen to be Thorian del Thorian." Torrie tossed his
towel aside, quickly donning the clothes that the Vestri was already handing
him. He hopped on one foot, then another, as he pulled on a pair of tan linen
trousers, then shrugged into a loose white tunic that fell to his thighs. He
plopped down on a chair to pull on his boots, but Broglin was already kneeling
in front of him with a pair of socks. The Vestri's blunt fingers were
surprisingly adept as he quickly slid the socks and boots on Torrie, blousing
the trousers with gentle tugs of his fingers.
Torrie stood, accepting his swordbelt and buckling it around his waist. "I'll
be pleased to join His Warmth at table; I missed the serving here. I... need
to handle something, then I shall join you."
"Eh? I'm to bring "
"I need to go to the place where even dukes walk."
It took a moment. "Ah. The garderobe is "
"I know where it is," Torrie said, stepping forward. The hall was narrow
enough that Branden del Branden had no choice but to back up.
Torrie turned to shut the door behind him; the Vestri was already there. "Be
thou well, friend of the Father of Vestri, he who was
Father of the Folk, until we meet again," the dwarf said in a low, guttural
language that Torrie had never heard before.
"Until again we meet, friend of this friend," Torrie responded in the same
language, "well be thou."
Branden del Branden was impressed. "You speak Vestri, too, eh? How did that
come to be?"
One thing that was clear was that Branden del Branden didn't speak Vestri.
Page 132
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"You should have attended Hardwood High," Torrie said.
"Apparently." He dismissed the idea with a shrug. "Still, what benefit is
there of learning Vestri, when they can be taught
Bersmal?"
"I couldn't say," Torrie said, precisely.
On pleasant days, Branden del Branden explained, His Warmth breakfasted on a
small veranda outside his private office.
It was a warm and clear day; high above and to the east, a flock of birds was
making its way north to south, broad wings beating slowly, lazily, as though
to rush neither themselves nor the day. Further to the east, cottony puffs of
clouds hid the distant peaks, casting dark shadows on the greens and browns of
the valley below. It was clear enough that Torrie could even make out the
distant shape of a peasant and his oxen working their fields, and they must
have been a good ten miles away.
"A good morning to you, Thorian del Thorian," His Warmth rumbled, his face
showing no surprise at Torrie's presence. "Join me, if it pleases you," he
said, waving Torrie to the seat opposite his bulk, another flick of his wrist
urging Branden del Branden to the seat next to him. His overtunic had been
constructed of leather straps, loosely woven and edged in gold, revealing a
glistening white shirt beneath. It looked uncomfortable, but Torrie doubted
that it was; the Fire Duke would hardly put himself to any trouble.
It couldn't even be very functional, given the spaces between the leather
straps. Torrie wondered what would happen if he simply drew his sword and
lunged, but His Warmth shifted slightly in his chair as though preparing or
prepared for that? No, but still he would have thought about it.
Torrie sat.
The table had been set for five, but there was enough food for ten gluttons.
The centerpiece was a small pyramid consisting of ten of what Torrie would
have called Rock Cornish game hens small chickens, each with its skin roasted
to a perfect brown. The platter was rimmed with a dark rainbow of sliced meats
and cheeses, from a dark, almost black, pate through brown meats and darkly
yellow cheeses, occasionally interlaced with slices of red onion so thin as to
be almost transparent.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]