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CAMBER OF CULDIVolume I in The Legends of Camber of CuldiKatherine KurtzContentschapter oneIn the multitude of people is the kings honour; but in the want of the people is the destruction of the prince.-Proverbs 14:28Though it was but late September, a wintry wind howled and battered at the ramparts of Tor Caerrorie, rattling the narrow, glazed windows in their frames and snapping to tatters the gules/azure MacRorie standard atop the tower keep.Inside, the only daughter of the Earl of Culdi sat huddled over the manorial accounts beside a crackling hearth, wrapped in a fur-lined mantle against the chill of the deserted great hall, a brindle wolfhound asleep at her feet. Torches guttered on the wall behind her, though it was not yet mid-afternoon, besmirching the stone walls with soot. Smoke mingled with the scent of mutton roasting in the nearby kitchens, and a rushlight cast a yellow glow across the table where she worked. It was with some relief that she finally marked the last entry with her cipher and laid down her quill. Umphred, her father's bailiff, heard her sigh and came to collect the rolls with a bow."That completes the accounts for last quarter, mistress. Is all in order?"Evaine MacRorie, chatelaine of Tor Caerrorie since her mother's death seven years before, favored Umphred with a gentle smile. The wolfhound raised his great head to look at the bailiff, then went back to sleep."You knew it would be," Evaine smiled. She touched the old man's hand in affection as he curled the membranes into their storage tubes and gathered them into his arms. "Would you please ask one of the squires to saddle a horse and come to me?" she added. "I have a letter to go to Cathan in Valoret."As Umphred bowed and turned to go, Evaine pushed a strand of flaxen hair from her forehead, then began nibbling at an inkstain on her thumb as she glanced at the letter on the table. She wondered what Cathan would say when he got the letter. For that matter, she wondered how her other brother, Joram, would react when the news reached him.Actually, Cathan's reaction was not difficult to predict. He would be shocked, dismayed, outraged, in turn; but then the double bond of friendship to his king and duty to his father's people would move him to plead the king's mercy, to urge the tempering of royal wrath with princely pardon. Though the MacRories themselves were not implicated in what had happened, the incident had taken place on Camber's hereditary lands. She wondered whether Imre would be in one of his difficult moods.Joram, on the other hand, was not so bound by the cautious duty which ruled his elder brother. An avowed priest of the militant Order of Saint Michael, Joram was apt to explode in one of the grandiloquent tirades for which the Michaelines were so justly famous, when he heard the news. However, it was not the possibility of Joram's eloquent and caustic rhetoric which made Evaine apprehensive; it was the fact that the priests of Saint Michael were just as likely to follow verbal pyrotechnics with physical action, if prudence did not take the upper hand. The Michaelines were a fighting as well as a teaching order. More than once, their intervention in secular affairs had touched off incidents best forgotten by their more contemplative brethren.She consoled herself with the probability that Joram would not receive the news until he got home for Michaelmas two days hence, then stood and stretched and fished for a missing slipper in the rushes with one stockinged toe, bidding the hound remain in the hall.Perhaps, by Michaelmas, the situation would have resolved itself-though Evaine doubted it. But whatever the outcome, the MacRories' Michaelmas would be a bit more sober than usual this year. Joram would be home, of course, bringing her beloved Rhys with him; but Cathan and his wife and sons must remain in Valoret with the Court. The young king was demanding, and no more than on the time and attention of his favorites, like Cathan. Evaine remembered the long months her father had spent at Court, when he had been in the old king's service.A squire came and bent his knee to her, and she bantered with him briefly before handing over the missive he was to deliver to her brother. Then she pulled her mantle close and crossed the rush-strewn hall, to make her way up the narrow, newel staircase to her father's study. She and Camber had been translating the classic sagas of Pargan Howiccan, the Deryni lyric poet, and this afternoon Camber had promised to go over a particularly difficult passage with her. She marvelled again at the many facets of the man who was her father, fond memories accompanying her up the spiral stair.Camber's secular successes had never been quite anticipated, nor were they by design. In his youth, he had been preparing for the clergy and had earned impressive academic credentials at the new university in Grecotha, under some of the greatest minds of the century. There would have been no limit to his rise in the Church.But when plague took two elder brothers and left him heir to the MacRorie lands and name-and he not yet under his final vows-he had found himself quite rudely plucked from the religious life by his father and thrust into the secular world-and found he liked it. Further honing of his abilities as an educated layman, and an earl's son at that, had been accomplished, earning him wide academic notoriety long before he was first called to the Court at Valoret. When the old king's father, Festil III, had sought the most brilliant men in the land to advise him, Camber had had little competition. The next quarter-century was spent mostly in the royal service.But that was past. Now in his late fifties, Camber had retired three years ago, on the death of King Blaine, to his beloved Caerrorie, birthplace of himself and his five children. It was not the principal seat of the Culdi earls; that was reserved to the great fortress tower of Cor Culdi, on the Kierney border, which Camber still visited several times a year to preside over the feudal court. But here, near to the capital and his children's active lives, he was free at last to resume the academic pursuits which he had abandoned for the Court so many years before-this time in the company of a fair, witty, and insatiably curious daughter whose depths he had but lately begun to discover.If confronted, he would have vigorously denied that he favored any one of his children above the others, for he loved all of them fiercely; but Evaine unquestionably occupied a special place in his life and his heart-Evaine, youngest of his living children and the last to remain at home. Evaine accepted this facet of her father as she accepted all the others, without consciously stopping to analyze it-and without needing to.She reached her father's door and knocked lightly before slipping the latch and going inside.Camber was seated behind a curved hunt table, the leather surface littered with rolls of parchment and ink-stained quills and other accoutrements of the academic mind. Her cousin, James Drummond, was with him, and both of them stopped speaking as she entered the room.Cousin James looked decidedly angry, though he tried to conceal it. Camber's face was inscrutable."I beg your pardon, Father. I didn't know Jamie was with you. I can come back later.""There's no need, child." Camber stood, both hands resting lightly on the table. "James was just leaving, weren't you, James?"James, a blurred, darker copy of the silver-blond man behind the table, hitched at his belt in annoyance and controlled a scowl. "Very well, sir, but I'm still not satisfied with your analysis. I'd like to return tomorrow and discuss it further, if you don't mind.""Certainly I don't mind, James," the older man said easily. "I am always willing to listen to well-reasoned arguments different from my own. In fact, stay and share Michaelmas with us, if you can. Cathan won't be here, but Joram is coming, and Rhys. We'd love to have you join us."Disarmed by Camber's reply, James murmured his thanks and something about having things to do, then bowed stiffly and made his exit.With raised eyebrows, Evaine turned to face her father, leaning thoughtfully against the closed door."Goodness, what was that about? Or shouldn't I ask?"Camber crossed to the stone fireplace-a rare luxury in so small a room-and pulled two chairs closer, gesturing for her to sit. "A slight difference of opinion, that's all. James looks to me for guidance, now that his father is dead. I fear he didn't get the answer he wanted to hear."He yanked on a bell cord, then busied himself with poking at the fire until a liveried servant appeared at the door with refreshment. Evaine watched curiously as her father took the tray and bade the servant go. Then, cupping a goblet of mulled wine between her palms, she gazed across at him. Despite the fire and the tapestried walls, it was chill in the old room."You're very quiet this afternoon, Father. What is it? Did Jamie tell you about the murder in the village last night?"Camber tensed for just an instant, then relaxed. He did not look up. "You know about that?"She spoke carefully. "When a Deryni is killed, practically, under one's window, one learns of it. They say that the king's men have taken fifty human hostages, and that the king intends to invoke the Law of Festil if the murderer is not found."Camber drank deeply of his wine and stared into the fire. "A barbarous custom-to hold an entire village to blame for the death of one man-even if the-man was a Deryni.""Aye. Maybe it was a necessary barbarism in the early days," Evaine mused. "How else for a conquering race, few in numbers, to secure its hold over the conquered? But you know how much Rannulf was disli... [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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CAMBER OF CULDIVolume I in The Legends of Camber of CuldiKatherine KurtzContentschapter oneIn the multitude of people is the kings honour; but in the want of the people is the destruction of the prince.-Proverbs 14:28Though it was but late September, a wintry wind howled and battered at the ramparts of Tor Caerrorie, rattling the narrow, glazed windows in their frames and snapping to tatters the gules/azure MacRorie standard atop the tower keep.Inside, the only daughter of the Earl of Culdi sat huddled over the manorial accounts beside a crackling hearth, wrapped in a fur-lined mantle against the chill of the deserted great hall, a brindle wolfhound asleep at her feet. Torches guttered on the wall behind her, though it was not yet mid-afternoon, besmirching the stone walls with soot. Smoke mingled with the scent of mutton roasting in the nearby kitchens, and a rushlight cast a yellow glow across the table where she worked. It was with some relief that she finally marked the last entry with her cipher and laid down her quill. Umphred, her father's bailiff, heard her sigh and came to collect the rolls with a bow."That completes the accounts for last quarter, mistress. Is all in order?"Evaine MacRorie, chatelaine of Tor Caerrorie since her mother's death seven years before, favored Umphred with a gentle smile. The wolfhound raised his great head to look at the bailiff, then went back to sleep."You knew it would be," Evaine smiled. She touched the old man's hand in affection as he curled the membranes into their storage tubes and gathered them into his arms. "Would you please ask one of the squires to saddle a horse and come to me?" she added. "I have a letter to go to Cathan in Valoret."As Umphred bowed and turned to go, Evaine pushed a strand of flaxen hair from her forehead, then began nibbling at an inkstain on her thumb as she glanced at the letter on the table. She wondered what Cathan would say when he got the letter. For that matter, she wondered how her other brother, Joram, would react when the news reached him.Actually, Cathan's reaction was not difficult to predict. He would be shocked, dismayed, outraged, in turn; but then the double bond of friendship to his king and duty to his father's people would move him to plead the king's mercy, to urge the tempering of royal wrath with princely pardon. Though the MacRories themselves were not implicated in what had happened, the incident had taken place on Camber's hereditary lands. She wondered whether Imre would be in one of his difficult moods.Joram, on the other hand, was not so bound by the cautious duty which ruled his elder brother. An avowed priest of the militant Order of Saint Michael, Joram was apt to explode in one of the grandiloquent tirades for which the Michaelines were so justly famous, when he heard the news. However, it was not the possibility of Joram's eloquent and caustic rhetoric which made Evaine apprehensive; it was the fact that the priests of Saint Michael were just as likely to follow verbal pyrotechnics with physical action, if prudence did not take the upper hand. The Michaelines were a fighting as well as a teaching order. More than once, their intervention in secular affairs had touched off incidents best forgotten by their more contemplative brethren.She consoled herself with the probability that Joram would not receive the news until he got home for Michaelmas two days hence, then stood and stretched and fished for a missing slipper in the rushes with one stockinged toe, bidding the hound remain in the hall.Perhaps, by Michaelmas, the situation would have resolved itself-though Evaine doubted it. But whatever the outcome, the MacRories' Michaelmas would be a bit more sober than usual this year. Joram would be home, of course, bringing her beloved Rhys with him; but Cathan and his wife and sons must remain in Valoret with the Court. The young king was demanding, and no more than on the time and attention of his favorites, like Cathan. Evaine remembered the long months her father had spent at Court, when he had been in the old king's service.A squire came and bent his knee to her, and she bantered with him briefly before handing over the missive he was to deliver to her brother. Then she pulled her mantle close and crossed the rush-strewn hall, to make her way up the narrow, newel staircase to her father's study. She and Camber had been translating the classic sagas of Pargan Howiccan, the Deryni lyric poet, and this afternoon Camber had promised to go over a particularly difficult passage with her. She marvelled again at the many facets of the man who was her father, fond memories accompanying her up the spiral stair.Camber's secular successes had never been quite anticipated, nor were they by design. In his youth, he had been preparing for the clergy and had earned impressive academic credentials at the new university in Grecotha, under some of the greatest minds of the century. There would have been no limit to his rise in the Church.But when plague took two elder brothers and left him heir to the MacRorie lands and name-and he not yet under his final vows-he had found himself quite rudely plucked from the religious life by his father and thrust into the secular world-and found he liked it. Further honing of his abilities as an educated layman, and an earl's son at that, had been accomplished, earning him wide academic notoriety long before he was first called to the Court at Valoret. When the old king's father, Festil III, had sought the most brilliant men in the land to advise him, Camber had had little competition. The next quarter-century was spent mostly in the royal service.But that was past. Now in his late fifties, Camber had retired three years ago, on the death of King Blaine, to his beloved Caerrorie, birthplace of himself and his five children. It was not the principal seat of the Culdi earls; that was reserved to the great fortress tower of Cor Culdi, on the Kierney border, which Camber still visited several times a year to preside over the feudal court. But here, near to the capital and his children's active lives, he was free at last to resume the academic pursuits which he had abandoned for the Court so many years before-this time in the company of a fair, witty, and insatiably curious daughter whose depths he had but lately begun to discover.If confronted, he would have vigorously denied that he favored any one of his children above the others, for he loved all of them fiercely; but Evaine unquestionably occupied a special place in his life and his heart-Evaine, youngest of his living children and the last to remain at home. Evaine accepted this facet of her father as she accepted all the others, without consciously stopping to analyze it-and without needing to.She reached her father's door and knocked lightly before slipping the latch and going inside.Camber was seated behind a curved hunt table, the leather surface littered with rolls of parchment and ink-stained quills and other accoutrements of the academic mind. Her cousin, James Drummond, was with him, and both of them stopped speaking as she entered the room.Cousin James looked decidedly angry, though he tried to conceal it. Camber's face was inscrutable."I beg your pardon, Father. I didn't know Jamie was with you. I can come back later.""There's no need, child." Camber stood, both hands resting lightly on the table. "James was just leaving, weren't you, James?"James, a blurred, darker copy of the silver-blond man behind the table, hitched at his belt in annoyance and controlled a scowl. "Very well, sir, but I'm still not satisfied with your analysis. I'd like to return tomorrow and discuss it further, if you don't mind.""Certainly I don't mind, James," the older man said easily. "I am always willing to listen to well-reasoned arguments different from my own. In fact, stay and share Michaelmas with us, if you can. Cathan won't be here, but Joram is coming, and Rhys. We'd love to have you join us."Disarmed by Camber's reply, James murmured his thanks and something about having things to do, then bowed stiffly and made his exit.With raised eyebrows, Evaine turned to face her father, leaning thoughtfully against the closed door."Goodness, what was that about? Or shouldn't I ask?"Camber crossed to the stone fireplace-a rare luxury in so small a room-and pulled two chairs closer, gesturing for her to sit. "A slight difference of opinion, that's all. James looks to me for guidance, now that his father is dead. I fear he didn't get the answer he wanted to hear."He yanked on a bell cord, then busied himself with poking at the fire until a liveried servant appeared at the door with refreshment. Evaine watched curiously as her father took the tray and bade the servant go. Then, cupping a goblet of mulled wine between her palms, she gazed across at him. Despite the fire and the tapestried walls, it was chill in the old room."You're very quiet this afternoon, Father. What is it? Did Jamie tell you about the murder in the village last night?"Camber tensed for just an instant, then relaxed. He did not look up. "You know about that?"She spoke carefully. "When a Deryni is killed, practically, under one's window, one learns of it. They say that the king's men have taken fifty human hostages, and that the king intends to invoke the Law of Festil if the murderer is not found."Camber drank deeply of his wine and stared into the fire. "A barbarous custom-to hold an entire village to blame for the death of one man-even if the-man was a Deryni.""Aye. Maybe it was a necessary barbarism in the early days," Evaine mused. "How else for a conquering race, few in numbers, to secure its hold over the conquered? But you know how much Rannulf was disli... [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]