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'See for yourself, your highness.' The Monk's sleeves parted, revealing no hands at the grey cuffs, and
only darkness within. The right sleeve gestured gracefully, and the air before Prince Lewis shimmered and
then cleared to show a vision of Barrow-meer. Lewis fought to keep his expression calm and
unim-pressed. It was like looking through a window that wasn't there, save that the scene was utterly
silent. Lewis watched closely as the four men on horseback reined in their horses and looked out across
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the open moor. His gaze settled on one familiar face, and he nodded grimly.
'Viktor. I knew he wasn't in the Castle any more.'
The Monk gestured lightly, and Prince Viktor's face filled the view.
'Are you sure that is him, your highness? All my magic indicates that Prince Viktor has not left Castle
Midnight since his return from exile.'
'Of course that's him! Do you think I don't know my own brother when I see him?' Lewis scowled
angrily. 'I should have had him killed when he was still safely in exile.'
'He was no threat then, your highness. He had no allies of any worth, save for Sir Gawaine.'
'Well he's got allies now,' snapped Lewis. 'I don't know what they've been out looking for, but it must
have been bloody
important for them to leave the Castle at this time. Maybe they've found a clue as to where the crown
and seal are hidden . . . And if they get to them before we do . . .'
'They won't, your highness,' said the Monk, 'if you allow me to deal with them. You've seen for yourself
that assassins are not the answer. The mercenaries you sent were no match for Gawaine and Roderik.
But if I were to use my arts . . .'
'Do it,' said Lewis, staring unblinkingly at Viktor's face in the vision. 'Do it now.'
The sun had been up an hour, and the rain had finally stopped. It had been raining all night, and Jordan
had begun to wonder if it would ever end. The early morning felt sharp and fresh after the storm, and the
rich scents of earth and grass and heather lay heavily on the air. A few birds were calling to each other
out in the heather, and Jordan glared in their general direction. Roderik had kept the party moving all
through the night without a break, despite the storm, and as far as Jordan was concerned the rest of the
world had no business sounding so cheerful when he felt so lousy. He sighed heavily, and swung down
out of his saddle. Roderik didn't know it, but he was lucky to be alive. Because if he hadn't called this
halt, Jordan would undoubtedly have killed him. He stamped back and forth beside his horse, working
out the cramps in his legs and trying to coax some warmth back into his chilled bones. Ah well, he
thought resignedly, it could be worse, I suppose. It could still be raining.
Roderik and Argent set about hobbling the horses, while Gawaine gathered fuel for a fire. Infuriatingly,
none of them seemed particularly bothered by the long ride. Jordan scowled, and kicked at the muddy
trail with the toe of his boot. It was going to be a rotten day, he could tell. He knew he ought really to be
doing something to help the others, but he couldn't seem to summon up the energy. He hated missing his
sleep. Finally he moved over to help Roderik remove the saddles and gear from the horses, on the
grounds that it looked like the least work he could get away with. Besides, if he didn't
do something soon, they'd probably make him dig the latrines. Roderik nodded shortly to him, but didn't
seem particularly to appreciate his help.
'Nice morning,' said Jordan, just to be polite.
'Indeed,' said Roderik, not looking up from the bridle he was checking.
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'Do we have much further to go before we reach Castle Midnight?'
'Quite a way.'
'Have you been this way before?'
Roderik gave him a hard look. 'Be a good chap, and stop bothering me, Jordan. I've got work to do.
Why don't you go for a little walk, or something?'
It was the long-suffering patience in Roderik's voice that annoyed Jordan the most. It was the kind of
voice a harried adult used with an overactive child. Still, never let it be said that the Great Jordan was one
to push himself in where he wasn't wanted. He turned away, and then stopped as he saw Robert Argent
coming towards him. He smiled at the mer-chant determinedly. He was going to have some friendly
con-versation this morning if it killed him. After a whole night's travelling in the cold and the rain, he felt he
was owed a little friendly conversation.
'Good morning, Robert,' he said brightly. 'Looks like it's going to be a nice day.'
'Shut up and go away,' said Argent.
'I beg your '
'Shut up. Go and find something useful to do. If you can do anything useful, actor.'
Jordan spun on his heel and walked away, fuming. Argent would pay for that. No one talked to the
Great Jordan like that and got away with it. Maybe he could hide a snake in the man's bedding ... or his
britches . . . [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]