arm of the chair, and he peered at them over the rim of a flat-bowled kylix. "No insult at all," he answered, wiping a trace of wine from his lip with one finger.
To Innowen's surprise, Kyrin's voice carried with equal power, though he did not shout. The girl at his feet fluttered a note on her pipe suddenly, as if to draw his attention to the hall's nearly perfect acoustics. He looked at her, and their eyes met briefly before she glanced shyly away, lifted her instrument, and resumed her soft play.
"Unless it is to me," Kyrin continued, straightening himself as he put both feet on the floor. "I ordered two of my men to stand duty so that yours could join the search for that cursed Witch."
Innowen stiffened. Cautiously, he moved from behind Minarik and found a place near the lord's right hand. He took a harder look at this king. A scarlet cloak lay discarded in a heap on the floor near the chair. Several trays and vessels were also scattered about. Innowen studied the fine red robe that Kyrin wore, the mass of black braids that crowned his head, the richly oiled beard that hid the lower half of his face, the eyes that glittered darkly even over the length of the hall.
Who are you, he thought with slowly growing bitterness, to speak of the Witch and to dare hunt her through rain and wind. Even if you were king of the world, you would pale beside her.
"But they refused!" Kyrin rose from the chair, his hand clenching so tightly on the supporting base of the kylix that wine splashed over its rim. "As if your order took precedence over mine!" As suddenly as he had sprung up, he seemed to relax again, and he forced a smile. "Still, because it's your house, I spared their heads. This time." He took a sip from his cup and wiped his mouth again with the back of a hand. "Well, did you find her?"
Minarik sighed and rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. "Except for the few who remain on watch, all my men are scouring the countryside. But I tell you, Kyrin, this damned storm has spoiled any sign of a trail. The gods alone know where she is by now."
Anger flashed over Kyrin's face. With a visible effort, he mastered himself, bent down to the girl with the reed pipe, and placed a hand affectionately on her head as he whispered something in her ear. She put down her pipe and smiled up at him. He stroked her beautiful black hair and returned her smile. Slowly, she got to her feet, made a delicate curtsy to him and then to Minarik, hugged her instrument to her bosom and left the room.
Innowen stared after her, painfully aware of the absence of her quiet piping. The room seemed cold and still without her music. Even the air went stale, and what had seemed splendid before became plain.
"I ordered you to find the Witch!" Once the child was gone, Kyrin's rage returned. "I ordered you!" He rose to his feet and shook a fist at Minarik. "You dare face me empty-handed ?"
Minarik sneered. "You'll find soon enough, boy, that it's one thing to order men, and quite another to order fate! Are you such a great king? Go tell the storm to stop, and tell the rain to leave her tracks untouched! Go on, I'll wait here!"
Kyrin purpled. With a shout, he flung his winecup at the Lord of Whisperstone. Innowen also gave a cry. Without thinking, he leaped in front of Minarik, The vessel struck him in the chest; red wine splashed his face.
A hand closed on his shoulder and pulled him out of the way, but Minarik spared no glance or thanks. He turned toward the doors instead, and called to one of his men. "Take my young guest to Taelyn," he instructed the green-sleeved guard. "He's prepared a room. Make sure the boy and his guardian are comfortable."
"Don't turn your back on me, Uncle!" Kyrin bellowed. "It's a mistake to turn your back on me!"
"So I've heard," Minarik answered darkly, turning from Innowen and resuming his argument with Kyrin.
Uncle! Innowen watched over his shoulder as the guard led him out. Minarik and Kyrin faced each other. Like
To Innowen's surprise, Kyrin's voice carried with equal power, though he did not shout. The girl at his feet fluttered a note on her pipe suddenly, as if to draw his attention to the hall's nearly perfect acoustics. He looked at her, and their eyes met briefly before she glanced shyly away, lifted her instrument, and resumed her soft play.
"Unless it is to me," Kyrin continued, straightening himself as he put both feet on the floor. "I ordered two of my men to stand duty so that yours could join the search for that cursed Witch."
Innowen stiffened. Cautiously, he moved from behind Minarik and found a place near the lord's right hand. He took a harder look at this king. A scarlet cloak lay discarded in a heap on the floor near the chair. Several trays and vessels were also scattered about. Innowen studied the fine red robe that Kyrin wore, the mass of black braids that crowned his head, the richly oiled beard that hid the lower half of his face, the eyes that glittered darkly even over the length of the hall.
Who are you, he thought with slowly growing bitterness, to speak of the Witch and to dare hunt her through rain and wind. Even if you were king of the world, you would pale beside her.
"But they refused!" Kyrin rose from the chair, his hand clenching so tightly on the supporting base of the kylix that wine splashed over its rim. "As if your order took precedence over mine!" As suddenly as he had sprung up, he seemed to relax again, and he forced a smile. "Still, because it's your house, I spared their heads. This time." He took a sip from his cup and wiped his mouth again with the back of a hand. "Well, did you find her?"
Minarik sighed and rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. "Except for the few who remain on watch, all my men are scouring the countryside. But I tell you, Kyrin, this damned storm has spoiled any sign of a trail. The gods alone know where she is by now."
Anger flashed over Kyrin's face. With a visible effort, he mastered himself, bent down to the girl with the reed pipe, and placed a hand affectionately on her head as he whispered something in her ear. She put down her pipe and smiled up at him. He stroked her beautiful black hair and returned her smile. Slowly, she got to her feet, made a delicate curtsy to him and then to Minarik, hugged her instrument to her bosom and left the room.
Innowen stared after her, painfully aware of the absence of her quiet piping. The room seemed cold and still without her music. Even the air went stale, and what had seemed splendid before became plain.
"I ordered you to find the Witch!" Once the child was gone, Kyrin's rage returned. "I ordered you!" He rose to his feet and shook a fist at Minarik. "You dare face me empty-handed ?"
Minarik sneered. "You'll find soon enough, boy, that it's one thing to order men, and quite another to order fate! Are you such a great king? Go tell the storm to stop, and tell the rain to leave her tracks untouched! Go on, I'll wait here!"
Kyrin purpled. With a shout, he flung his winecup at the Lord of Whisperstone. Innowen also gave a cry. Without thinking, he leaped in front of Minarik, The vessel struck him in the chest; red wine splashed his face.
A hand closed on his shoulder and pulled him out of the way, but Minarik spared no glance or thanks. He turned toward the doors instead, and called to one of his men. "Take my young guest to Taelyn," he instructed the green-sleeved guard. "He's prepared a room. Make sure the boy and his guardian are comfortable."
"Don't turn your back on me, Uncle!" Kyrin bellowed. "It's a mistake to turn your back on me!"
"So I've heard," Minarik answered darkly, turning from Innowen and resuming his argument with Kyrin.
Uncle! Innowen watched over his shoulder as the guard led him out. Minarik and Kyrin faced each other. Like
Similar Books
