The Starfollowers of Coramonde by Brian Daley Read Free Book Online Page A

been
unceremoniously removed. Traditionalists had wanted to strike the name from
history; Springbuck had forbidden that. Strongblade’s name, deeds and fate
would be an infamous lesson for posterity.
    Gil entered,
the only person besides Gabrielle and Hightower whom the door warders would let
interrupt the Ku-Mor-Mai’s musings. He saw that the young monarch was
lost in introspection. “Hey, I could catch you later.”
    “No, come in.
I hungered for early-morning silence before the day’s obligations. They are
bringing Midwis before me today, a thorny problem, one of the Legion-Marshals
who went against me. He’s been decorated half a hundred times, and his battle standard’s
heavy with ribbons of valor. His family’s influential as well, and at the very
last he renounced the conspiracy. I can neither deny him some measure of
clemency, nor let him go unpunished. A twisty dilemma.”
    “You’ll think
of something.”
    “May it be
so. Tonight will be little less busy. A famous poet will be here. Court will be
crowded and last late.” He sat on the top step of the dais. “Gil, do you
remember Freegate, in my exile? Reacher brought in that prestigious harper, but
you and Duskwind were tipsy. You insisted the poor man come with the two of you
to the kitchens, and teach the scullions to dance? What music was that?”
    “A slide. A
Kerry slide.”
    “Oh yes,
slide.” Springbuck chuckled. “The courtiers were quite astonished.”
    “Yeah, but
Katya liked it. And it was the only time I ever saw Reacher dance.” Gil, too,
chortled.
    “And in the
end, didn’t that harper add it to his repertoire? Aha, and offer you both
places with his company?” He burst into mirth again.
    Gil sobered,
nodding to himself, speaking so the other could hardly hear. “We had ourselves
some times, then.”
    He went up
the dais and plopped down on the throne, one leg dangling nonchalantly over its
arm. Springbuck was no longer shocked at such irreverence.
    “Gil, I
should like to hear your version of what happened last night with Brodur. He’s
mending nicely, by the way.”
    Recounting
the incident at the White Tern and the séance, the other became strained and
brittle. There was anger, curbed violence, just beneath the surface of him. As
he spoke, he felt with his forefinger the scar on his forehead.
    When he’d
heard it all, Springbuck said, “A foolish idea. You could have died, you
idiot!”
    “Sue me. I
just tried for a lead on Bey. How was I supposed to know we’d be set up?”
    “I did not
mean going to the White Tern, though that was no stroke of genius either. I
meant using the Dreamdrowse. It could easily have been poisoned; Bey’s traps
are subtlety itself.”
    “Gabe would
have spotted it if it had been a hotshot. Besides, I figure it was worth it.”
    “Ah,
marvelous epitaph! ‘He figured it was worth it.’ Splendid!”
    “Hey, take it
easy. Don’t be such a hardcase.” There was a tray of food and a pitcher set out
on a small table. Gil poured them each a stone mug of lager. “Here, put some money
in your meter. What I did doesn’t matter. Bey does.” He drew breath for the big
question. “How many men can you spare me?”
    Springbuck
took a long bowie knife from beneath his robes and toyed with it. It had been a
gift from Gil, a genuine Hibben, and had left that mark in the wood of the
throne.
    “Have you
considered this in detail?” he finally asked.
    “What’s to
consider? I got through to Dunstan. Gabe felt it too. She thinks he’s at a
place called Death’s Hold, an old hangout of Bey’s.” He pointed vaguely
southwest. “It’s thataway, on the coast of the Outer Sea. I’m going. Do I get
men, or not?”
    Springbuck
put the tips of his fingers together and pressed them to his lips. He avoided
the American’s glance, racked between commitment to his friend and duty to the
suzerainty.
    He spoke into
the little steeple of fingers, resenting what he must say. “Had I left that
Legion under