按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
The duke had paced the near…endless halls all morning and afternoon； keeping an eye open for a suspicious pair of monks or anything else that might ease his predicament。 His search had been fruitless； except to remind him of the size and power of Mother Church。 He had bee so frustrated by his inability to discover whether Miriamele was here or not that as the afternoon waned he had left the Sancellan Aedonitis entirely。
He took his supper in an inn partway down the Sancellane Hill； then walked quietly in the Hall of Fountains； something he had not done for many years。 He and Gutrun had visited the fountains shortly before their marriage； when they had e to Nabban on a nuptial pilgrimage traditional in Isgrimnur's family。 The glistening play of water and its continual music had filled him with a kind of pleasant melancholy； although his longing and worry for his wife were great； for the first time in weeks he had been able to think of her without being overwhelmed by pain。 She must be safe…and Isorn； too。 He would just believe it； for what else could he do？ The rest of the family； his other son and two daughters； were in the capable hands of old Thane Tonnrud in Skoggey。 Sometimes； when all was uncertain； a man just had to trust in the goodness of God。
After his walk； Isgrimnur had returned to the Sancellan； his mind calmed and ready to turn to his task once more。 His panions from the morning meal had e in for a while but had left early； old Septes explaining that they kept 〃country hours。〃 The duke had sat and listened long to the talk of others； but to no avail。
Much of the gossip； although couched in careful terms； seemed to be about whether Lector Ranessin would legitimize Benigaris' succession to Nabban's ducal seat。 Not that anything Lector Ranessin might say would actually lift Benigaris' hind end from the throne； but the Benidrivine House and Mother Church had long ago reached a delicate balance concerning Nabban's governance。 There was much worry that the lector would do something rash； like denounce Benigaris on the basis of the rumors that the new duke had betrayed his father； or had not defended him properly in the battle before Naglimund； but most of the Nabbanai priests…the Sancellan's home…grown men…were quick to assure their foreign brethren that Ranessin was an honorable and diplomatic man。 The lector； they promised； would certainly do the right thing。
Duke Isgrimnur flapped the hem of his cassock； trying to force a little warm air up beneath the garment。 If only the lector's honor and diplomacy could solve everybody's problems 。 。 。
Of course！ That's it！ Damn my ignorant eyes for not seeing it before！ Isgrimnur smacked a broad hand on his thigh and chuckled fruitily。 I'll talk to the lector。 Whatever he thinks； my secret will be safe with him。 I'm sure Miriamele's will； too。 If anyone has the authority to find her here without raising a fuss； it's His Sacredness。
The duke felt much better after this solution had presented itself。 He turned and rubbed his hands before the flames a few more times； then set out across the polished wooden floor of the mon room。
A small crowd at one of the arched doorways caught his attention。 Several monks were standing in the open door； several others stood on the balcony outside； cold air bleeding in past them。 Many of the mon room's other inhabitants were protesting； or had already given up and moved nearer the fire。 Isgrimnur wandered over； his hands tucked up in his voluminous sleeves as he peered over the shoulder of the hindmost monk。
〃What is it？〃 he asked。 He could see a couple of dozen men milling in the courtyard below； half of them on horseback。 It seemed nothing unusual： the figures moved calmly and unhurriedly； those on foot apparently the Sancellan's guards； greeting new arrivals。
〃It's the High King's counselor；〃 the monk standing before him said。 〃That Pryrates fellow。 He used to be here once…in the Sancellan Aedonitis； I mean。 They say he's a clever one。〃
Isgrimnur clenched his teeth； choking down a shout of anger and surprise。 He felt a hot breath of fury moving within him and stood up on his toes to see。 There indeed was the priest's tiny； hairless head bobbing atop a scarlet cloak that looked orange in the gateyard torchlight。 The duke found himself wondering how he could get close enough to stick a knife into the sneaking traitor。 Ah； sweet God； but that would be satisfying！
But what good would it do； besides the admitted good of removing Pryrates from this earth？ It would not find Miriamele； and I would never escape to search for her after the deed was done。 Not to mention what would happen if Pryrates did not die…p'raps he has some sorcerous shield。
No； it would not do。 But if he could get in to see the lector； he would give Ranessin an earful about that devil's bastard of a red priest and his hellish counseling of the High King。 But what was Pryrates doing here of all places？
Isgrimnur tramped off to bed； thoughts of mayhem denied swim… ming through his mind。
Twenty cubits below； Pryrates looked up to the mon room balcony as though he had heard someone calling his name； his black eyes glitteringly intent； his pale head gleaming like a toadstool in the shadows of the gateyard。 The spectators in the mon room； separated by distance and darkness； could not see the smile that curled across the priest's gaunt face； but they could feel the sudden draught of chill air that swept down on the Sancellan Aedonitis； setting the guards' cloaks to billowing。 Goosefleshed； the monks on the balcony quickly made their way inside； pushing the door shut behind them before hastening back to the fire。
12
The Fly of a Bird
SIMON and his panions left Binabik's people behind and rode southeast along the base of the Trollfells； clinging to the foothills like a nervous child unwilling to wade into deeper water。 On their right； the white emptiness of the Waste stretched away into the distance。
In the middle of the gray afternoon； as they walked their horses across a thin trail of stones that made an uncertain crossing over one of Blue Mud Lake's inlet streams； a wedge of cranes flew overhead； gabbling and honking until it seemed they would rattle the sky。 The birds swerved above the riders' heads； wings thrusting； then banked as one and flew into the south。
〃Three months it is before they should be making that journey；〃 Binabik said ruefully。 〃It is wrong； very wrong。 Spring and summer have been retreated like a beaten army。〃
〃It doesn't seem much colder than it did when we were on our way to Urmsheim；〃 Simon offered； clutching at Homefinder's reins。
〃That was in late spring；〃 Sludig grunted； working to keep his footing on the water…slicked stones。 〃Now we are in midsummer。〃
Simon thought about that。 〃Oh；〃 he said。
They stopped on the stream's far bank to share a few of the provisions that Binabik's folk had sent with them。 The sun was gray and remote。 Simon wondered where he would be when another summer came…if another summer came。
〃Can the Storm King make it winter forever？〃 he asked。
Binabik shrugged。 〃That is not in my knowledge。 He has been m