The Fall of Neskaya by Marion Zimmer Bradley Read Free Book Online Page A

the too-rich food, turned to his brother. They had drawn a little away from the others and spoke in lowered voices. Usually he paid little attention to Petro’s rambling, but now he asked, “Do you mean King Damian—or Dom Rumail—would be—would be—” He couldn’t quite force out the words, would be tyrants? He knew little of King Damian Deslucido, but Rumail filled him with an uneasiness he could not put words to.
    “I don’t know,” Petro answered. “ Dom Rumail has been our good friend and I know nothing against this Damian. My objections apply to any King. If one rules over so many, who must he then answer to? If an ordinary man is treated unjustly—if a farmer starves because royal soldiers steal his crops or a woodsman has his hand chopped off for not bowing quickly enough to suit the King—what can he do but take up arms? And then what will stop the King from turning against his own people? But these are dangerous thoughts, little brother. Keep them to yourself. Promise me.”
    Coryn gulped and nodded, thinking of his own formless distrust of Rumail.
    The party proceeded to the yard, where Rumail’s horse and pack animal stood waiting, alongside Coryn’s dun Dancer, and a chervine laden with everything a young man entering a Tower might want, from down-stuffed quilt to soothing winterberry lotion, tins of candied figs and rock sugar, even a set of reed pipes to while away the long winter nights.
    Coryn’s escort, a livestock handler named One-eyed Rafe, waited beside his own mount. No one knew how he’d lost one eye, although the other looked as pale as if all color had been burned out by gazing too long at the sun. Coryn didn’t know the man well, had barely exchanged a few sentences with him. Castle gossip had it that Rafe had been a mercenary soldier in his youth and he looked capable of single-handedly fighting off a small army. The long-knife strapped to his thigh in a well-worn leather sheath had done ample service.
    As the final round of well wishes and good-byes drew to a close, Rumail bent to speak to Coryn. “If I alarmed you with my frank talk, it was to prevent you from taking serious symptoms too lightly.”
    Rumail’s nearness sent prickles up Coryn’s spine. With relief, he turned to accept one last hug from Margarida. Then he moved toward Dancer, gathering up the reins in preparation for mounting.
    Rumail restrained him with a single feather-light touch on the back of the wrist. “You are feeling better now , I can see that. The kirian sometimes has a lasting beneficial effect. But travel, for even a few days, can upset that fragile balance.”
    He gestured to Rafe. “If the young master should experience any recurrence of threshold sickness, you must make sure he eats well and is kept warm. If he becomes disoriented—doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t recognize you, seems confused, or cannot eat—then you must give him this.” Rumail held out a small glass vial half-filled with colorless liquid. He placed it in a pouch of wool-lined leather and handed it to Rafe. “Only a spoonful at a time. If he can still ride, make all speed to the Tower. Under no circumstances must you leave him. Do you understand?”
    Rafe placed the wrapped vial in his saddlebags without a word, his expression as blank as ever. Clearly, he needed no foreign wizard to teach him his duty.
    Kristlin threw herself into Coryn’s arms. For once, he had no words of easy reassurance for her. Just as he was beginning to squirm, she drew back. Rumail reached out to stroke her head, but she shied away.
    “You are not to touch me.” Kristlin lifted her chin, her eyes flashing. “It is not you who is my promised husband, but Prince Belisar, he who will be King.”
    “Nevertheless, you must speak politely to Dom Rumail, who will be your kinsman,” Tessa, who had been following behind, said primly. “And a Queen must be courteous to everyone, especially a laranzu of great power.”
    “When Coryn comes