Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 05 by A Pride of Princes (v1.0) Read Free Book Online Page A

ring.
     
                The Mujhar, stepping into one of the
soft gray-dyed kneeboots, looked up sharply as Taggart finished speaking.
"They did what?"
                Taggart's face was very stiff. He
repeated his final statement. "They destroyed most of Reynald's escort, my
lord."
                " 'Destroyed’? " Niall
straightened as a body-servant knelt to adjust the droop of soft leather.
"Is anyone dead?" '
                "Not so far as we can tell, my
lord. It appears several of the Caledonese are wounded, but none
seriously."
                Taggart folded his hands behind his
back and waited.
                Niall stood stock still in the
center of the antechamber that held most of the clothing suitable for a Mujhar.
He preferred the soft leather jerkin and leggings of the Cheysuli, but all too
often he was forced to wear Homanan apparel. Tonight was such a night.
                "My lord . . ." The
body-servant held up the other boot.
                Niall glanced down, frowning in
distraction. "Ah. Aye."
                He accepted the boot and pulled it
on, then waited as it was properly adjusted. "All three of them?" he
asked.
                Taggart nodded.
                "Even Brennan," Niall
murmured. "Oh, curse them for fools, all of them. I do not need this
tonight—most of all tonight." He waved the body-servant away and paced
across the room to the doorway opening into his bedchamber. Serri was, yet
again, asleep on the bed.
                "My lord, Dion reported that it
did not appear to be entirely the fault of the princes. And if my lord Reynald
truly did provoke them, there must have been good reason."
                "Reason, perhaps, but not good
reason," Niall said grimly. He shook his head, still bare of its heavy
circlet, and swung back. "I cannot believe Brennan took part in this
idiocy. It is not like him. Hart and Corin, aye—they would hardly balk at a
fight, regardless of provocation—but Brennan?"
                Deirdre swept into the room from
another entrance,
                "My lord Mujhar, your
favoritism is showing."
                "Is it?" Niall absently
admired the rich blue gown that fit her slender body so snugly. Her
brass-bright hair was twisted up on her head in a knot secured with thick pins
of silver wire, and she wore yet another of his gifts, a silver chain crusted
with diamonds and dark blue sapphires. It glittered against her throat. "Aye,
well . . . even you must admit it is unlike Brennan."
                "What have they done, your
sons?" Deirdre smoothed the fit of his black doublet, quilted with jet and
seed pearls.
                "They have torn up a tavern—one
of the better ones, I might add—and accounted for multiple casualties,"
Niall answered. "In short, they may have permanently destroyed any hope
for a renewal of the trade alliance between Homana and Caledon ."
                "Have they, then?" She
patted the silver chain of office that stretched from shoulder to shoulder,
each wide link cleverly fashioned into a rampant lion. A remarkable distance
from shoulder to shoulder; privately, Deirdre smiled.
                "You do not seem to
understand." Niall moved away from her to face Taggart again. "Where
are they now?"
                "In your private solar, my
lord." Taggart paused. "I think they knew you would wish to say
something to them. They went there on Prince Brennan's suggestion."
                "Wise Brennan," Niall
remarked darkly. "Aye, I wish to say something to them. Go and fetch them,
Taggart. Fetch them now."
                Taggart was clearly surprised.
"Here, my lord?"
                "Here."
                "Aye, my lord." A bow, and
he was gone.
                "Niall," Deirdre said
uneasily, "what it is you are