waiting. ”Perhaps the answers to some of these questions have just arrived,"
he said. He turned back to Gerald Owen. “Send him down.”
6
The occupants of the hidden room looked at one another in amazement as footfalls could be heard descending the stone Is he mad?“ Anborn said in a low voice. ”It was his bloody demand that this meeting take place in secret; why in the name of every wench I've ever bedded would he be breaking the seal of this place to allow an interloper? Your husband is a fool, Rhapsody."
“Won't get an argument from us on that,” Granthor said. The Lady Cymrian rose, still weak, and stepped over to the doorway. From the darkness at the bottom of the staircase a figure emerged, cloaked and hooded. The man came immediately to Ashe and spoke a few soft words in a low tone, then followed him into the hidden chamber. The Lord Cymrian closed the door behind him. Even beneath the plain broadcloth cloak it was clear that he was tall and wide of shoulder, taller than any of the men present except for Grunthor. He did not bow, but turned in the direction of Rhapsody and the infant for a moment, then reached out a large hand, one sheathed in a lambskin glove, and rested it gently on the baby's head. Gwydion Navarne watched the odd spectacle unfold in silence. With the other hand the man reached up and took down his hood revealing hair streaked gray and silver with age, though there was still enough white-blond hue to it to hint of hat it must have looked like in his youth. His beard was long, curled slightly at the ends, and his eyes were clear and blue as the cloudless summer sky, reflecting the flickering light of the lantern. Constantin, the Patriarch of Sepulvarta. For a long moment after he knew he should be kneeling, Gwydion remained frozen in place, finally rising long enough to sink to one knee. His father, Stephen Navarne, had been at. adherent of the Patrician religion, though he was also a good friend of Llauron the Invoker, the former head of the Filidic order of nature priests, and had been conversant in and respectful of the religious practices of both sects. Stephen's attitude, unique as it was in the polarized world of faith, was unsurprising given both the geography of his duchy and his accepting nature. Navarne was located at the crux of the northern forest of Gwynwood, the eastern border of the neighboring duchy of Avonderre, and the northern fringe of Tyrian, making it the crossroads of the continent's faiths. So the magnitude of the Patriarch's appearance in his fam-ily's home was not lost on Gwydion Navarne. The Patriarch only left the Basilica of the Star, Lianta'ar, in Sepulvarta for occasions of state, such as royal funerals, marriages, or coro-nations, or in the direst of emergencies. As far as Gwydion knew, no one royal was being buried, married, or crowned. The Patriarch's white brows drew together, and gestured impatiently at Gwydion. “Get up,” he said tersely. “It's far too crowded in here to be doing that, and inappropriate for a man who has been invested as duke of an Orlandan province. Rise from your knees and sit down.” Gwydion complied, abashed. “What brings you here at this time, Your Grace?” asked quickly, offering the Patriarch a chair. The holy man's body, while elderly, still bore the signs of great strength from his youth; he waved a hand dismissively at the chair. “I can't remain here long, lest it be discovered that I am gone from Lianta'ar,” Constantin replied. “I bring disturbing news-but by the look of things, I am not alone in that.” “Step within the circle, then. Rial, Anbom, and Gwydion were reporting on the preparations Sorbold is making for war.” said Ashe, sitting down beside Rhapsody. He ran a hand gently over his son's head. "It would appear mat Roland, and perhaps the other members of the Alliance, are the targets of
“Eventually,” the Patriarch agreed, coming within the pro-tective light. Some will fall before you, others
he said. He turned back to Gerald Owen. “Send him down.”
6
The occupants of the hidden room looked at one another in amazement as footfalls could be heard descending the stone Is he mad?“ Anborn said in a low voice. ”It was his bloody demand that this meeting take place in secret; why in the name of every wench I've ever bedded would he be breaking the seal of this place to allow an interloper? Your husband is a fool, Rhapsody."
“Won't get an argument from us on that,” Granthor said. The Lady Cymrian rose, still weak, and stepped over to the doorway. From the darkness at the bottom of the staircase a figure emerged, cloaked and hooded. The man came immediately to Ashe and spoke a few soft words in a low tone, then followed him into the hidden chamber. The Lord Cymrian closed the door behind him. Even beneath the plain broadcloth cloak it was clear that he was tall and wide of shoulder, taller than any of the men present except for Grunthor. He did not bow, but turned in the direction of Rhapsody and the infant for a moment, then reached out a large hand, one sheathed in a lambskin glove, and rested it gently on the baby's head. Gwydion Navarne watched the odd spectacle unfold in silence. With the other hand the man reached up and took down his hood revealing hair streaked gray and silver with age, though there was still enough white-blond hue to it to hint of hat it must have looked like in his youth. His beard was long, curled slightly at the ends, and his eyes were clear and blue as the cloudless summer sky, reflecting the flickering light of the lantern. Constantin, the Patriarch of Sepulvarta. For a long moment after he knew he should be kneeling, Gwydion remained frozen in place, finally rising long enough to sink to one knee. His father, Stephen Navarne, had been at. adherent of the Patrician religion, though he was also a good friend of Llauron the Invoker, the former head of the Filidic order of nature priests, and had been conversant in and respectful of the religious practices of both sects. Stephen's attitude, unique as it was in the polarized world of faith, was unsurprising given both the geography of his duchy and his accepting nature. Navarne was located at the crux of the northern forest of Gwynwood, the eastern border of the neighboring duchy of Avonderre, and the northern fringe of Tyrian, making it the crossroads of the continent's faiths. So the magnitude of the Patriarch's appearance in his fam-ily's home was not lost on Gwydion Navarne. The Patriarch only left the Basilica of the Star, Lianta'ar, in Sepulvarta for occasions of state, such as royal funerals, marriages, or coro-nations, or in the direst of emergencies. As far as Gwydion knew, no one royal was being buried, married, or crowned. The Patriarch's white brows drew together, and gestured impatiently at Gwydion. “Get up,” he said tersely. “It's far too crowded in here to be doing that, and inappropriate for a man who has been invested as duke of an Orlandan province. Rise from your knees and sit down.” Gwydion complied, abashed. “What brings you here at this time, Your Grace?” asked quickly, offering the Patriarch a chair. The holy man's body, while elderly, still bore the signs of great strength from his youth; he waved a hand dismissively at the chair. “I can't remain here long, lest it be discovered that I am gone from Lianta'ar,” Constantin replied. “I bring disturbing news-but by the look of things, I am not alone in that.” “Step within the circle, then. Rial, Anbom, and Gwydion were reporting on the preparations Sorbold is making for war.” said Ashe, sitting down beside Rhapsody. He ran a hand gently over his son's head. "It would appear mat Roland, and perhaps the other members of the Alliance, are the targets of
“Eventually,” the Patriarch agreed, coming within the pro-tective light. Some will fall before you, others
Similar Books
