Sorcerer's Legacy by Janny Wurts Read Free Book Online Page A

her smudged oval face.
    “Hello,” said Elienne.
    When Kennaird turned and saw whom she had addressed, he stopped at once and bent imposingly over the bush and the child it sheltered. “What are you doing here? Does your governess know where you are?”
    “No!” The girl shrank into her thicket of needles, hands clenched tightly around scuffed knees.
    Elienne grasped Kennaird’s elbow. “Must you be so harsh with her?”
    The girl seemed no older than twelve. Elienne stooped and offered her hand, but the child backed violently away. Branches whipped, dealing Elienne a stinging rebuff, and the girl escaped at a run across the emerald expanse of lawn on the far side.
    “You insolent brat!” Kennaird yelled after her. “I’ll have you punished.”
    Elienne frowned. “Let the poor child be. She was obviously frightened to death of you.”
    Kennaird presented her with a startled glance. “That was Minksa,” he said angrily. “She‘s ]ieles’s bastard and, incidentally, one of your enemies. You’ve a lot to learn about this court and its ways before you question my judgment, Missy. Remember that.”
    Kennaird strode off before Elienne had time to reply. She was obliged to hurry as the apprentice hustled her without sympathy through an exquisitely carved entry and down a maze of hallways. The decor within reflected the same restrained artistry as the garden. Though Elienne longed to linger and stare, Kennaird‘s hasty step prevented her.
    He slowed at last before a wide doorway with broad double panels and a round stag device chased in gold. The knob was set with gems.
    Kennaird addressed the liveried steward who guarded the entrance against intrusion with urgency. “I bring with me Ielond’s candidate for the Prince’s Consort.” He waved the sealed document. “This writ was the Master’s last in life. Let me and the maid pass. She is the one chosen to share his Royal Grace’s destiny.”
    The steward raised eyebrows in surprise. “You bring a missy endorsed by the Prince’s Guardian? Enter, with my blessing. They’re fighting in there like the two halves of Eternity over His Grace’s future, and—”
    “I know. Excuse me.” Kennaird pushed past the steward and opened the door, motioning Elienne after him.
    Neither the garden nor the exceptional elegance of the palace halls prepared her for the sight of the Grand Council Chamber of Pendaire. The room was oval-shaped. Loftily domed, a triple row of galleries filled with seated councilmen, tiered its entire circumference. The floor was tiled with a mosaic depicting Ma’Diere’s seasons, fall and winter beneath her shining Scythe, and spring and summer lit with the warmth of the Seed of Life. A dais centered this array, upon which sat an exquisitely dressed collection of notables.
    “Which is the Prince?” whispered Elienne in Kennaird’s ear.
    “Hush.” The apprentice was sweating. Something had made him nervous, and, searching that vast chamber for the reason, Elienne began to take note of the proceedings. An emaciated old man stood on the dais. Heavily ornamented red and black robes draped his stooped back, and though his poor health was evident from a distance, his tremulous voice carried clearly the breadth of the room.
    “...since his Guardian’s death, his Grace has done nothing but drink himself senseless,” the elderly man said with succinct clarity. “Were he a Prince worthy to rule, he would not indulge himself to the point of shameless exhibition. It is my opinion this Council wastes time seeking a formal Consort. What can his Grace achieve in seven days that he hasn’t already tried with every scullery drudge and loose wench he could find to fill his nights? My Lords, your Excellency, I say Prince Darion is unfit for succession. The sooner that sad fact is faced, the better for the well-being of this realm.”
    Elienne wondered how anyone could listen to such a hidebound outburst; but like the first warning of stormwind on a