Название: Wrath of a Mad God
Автор: Raymond Feist
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Исторические приключения
Серия: Darkwar
isbn: 9780007347506
isbn:
‘I shall leave word that you are to be permitted access to me at any time of the day or night, Lady Miranda. I shall provide you with whatever I may on this side of the rift.’
Miranda said, ‘Farewell, Majesty and might I suggest there is one thing we can both do: pray.’
The Emperor was suddenly left looking at an empty chair, for Miranda had vanished from sight. He glanced at the four guards in the room, but they were motionless, as they always were, their eyes locked forward, unmoved by the sight of a woman vanishing before them. Sezu, First of that Name, and Ruler of All The Nations of Tsuranuanni, sat down in his chair and began to compose himself. For whatever was coming, until it arrived, he had an empire to govern.
Caleb looked up and felt an instant sense of relief at the sight of his mother. ‘I was starting to worry …’ Her expression stopped him ‘What is it?’
Miranda said, ‘That animal Varen got me captured by the Dasati.’
Caleb said, ‘Are you …?’ He let the question fall away, realizing that as far as he could see his mother was unhurt and had obviously escaped.
‘Only my dignity was injured. Pain, as you know, goes away.’ She sat down in the other chair, a rolled parchment on her knees. ‘What news?’
‘Rosenvar and Joshua stand watch over the Talnoy, and Rosenvar reports that your experiments with Nakor have yielded good results. The control crystals work as well as the ring, with apparently no ill-effect.’ He began to sift through a pile of parchments and papers. ‘I have his report here somewhere.’
‘I’ll read it later.’ She sighed. ‘I know it’s pointless to ask about your father, brother and Nakor?’
Caleb nodded. There had been some hope that Pug might devise a manner in which to send communication back to his son and wife, but everyone counted it a very slim hope.
‘No word from Kaspar’s expedition, either.’
‘The warning from … what do they call themselves?’
‘The Circle,’ answered Caleb.
‘They’re interested in the Peaks of the Quor … that report was vague on any specific time, wasn’t it?’
Caleb picked up another parchment. ‘Simply that we should expect them to appear in some force down on the lee side of the peninsula before the Spring Festival.’
‘That’s another week, so they could be dealing with them now.’ She glanced at her son. ‘Are you worried?’
The dark-haired hunter pushed himself back from the table. ‘Always. Especially when you and father leave me in charge.’ He rose and paced around the desk. ‘You know I am here only because I’m your son. There are others in the Conclave who are better suited—’
‘No,’ she cut him off. ‘I know it is not your first choice, and you’d rather be out tramping through the woods or climbing some mountain, but the fact is you’ve been groomed all your life to take charge should anything happen to the rest of us. You know things, thousands of tiny details that no one else, not even Nakor, knows. You just don’t know you know.’ She was thoughtful. ‘But I think we need to find you an assistant, a magician – perhaps that young girl …’
‘Lettie?’
‘Yes, that’s the one. She’s not the best student we’ve had, but she’s got an uncanny grasp of how things fit together. Yes, I’ll have her sent here and you can begin to train her. I didn’t realize it until now, but we have no one ready to step in should anything happen to you.’
‘What is all this?’ asked Caleb. ‘You’re usually not this concerned with … contingencies.’
Miranda looked at her younger son. She could see a hint of her husband around his mouth, and the way in which he cocked his head to one side when thoughtful. Otherwise, he resembled his mother, from the high forehead and narrow chin to the way he moved, and his tall slender build. Like many parents she was occasionally and unexpectedly struck by how much she loved her children. ‘Two things, actually,’ she said. ‘Had that madman Varen’s plan worked, I would probably still be strapped to a Dasati table being examined by their Deathpriests or I’d be dead and dissected. Many bad things besides my discomfort and ultimate demise would have occurred, the least of which was you being the only member of this family still here.’
‘We knew that,’ said Caleb, putting his hand on his mother’s shoulder. ‘There’s something more. What is it?’
‘This,’ she said handing him the parchment she had received from the Emperor.
‘Tsurani,’ said Caleb. ‘Father’s hand.’
‘Another of those damned notes!’ Miranda wasn’t irritated by the fact that notes kept appearing mysteriously from some future date – warning of threats, instructing them on actions to take – she was annoyed that they were always cryptic, and it was never clear as to how, exactly, to deal with the information provided. Moreover, she was truly annoyed that her husband had taken years to tell her about them, and had told Nakor before her!
Caleb read the note. There were three lines of text above his father’s signature:
Listen to Miranda.
Give this to her.
Prepare to evacuate.
Milamber.
‘Prepare to evacuate?’ asked Caleb. ‘He’s telling the Emperor to prepare to evacuate … what? The palace? The Holy City?’
Frustrated, Miranda shook her head. She knew in the pit of her stomach that she stood a very real chance of never seeing her husband again, and with equal certainty she knew what the note meant. ‘No,’ she said, emotion making her voice hoarse. ‘He means, prepare to evacuate the world. He’s telling the Emperor the Tsurani will have to leave Kelewan.’
KASPAR LAY DOUBLED OVER IN PAIN.
An elf stood over him ready to strike him again if Kaspar resisted the order to move. Servan reached down to assist the General to his feet and Kaspar’s look showed that he had no intention of forgetting this elf any time soon. He had tried to prolong the first break during the long march and for his trouble had received the butt end of a staff in the stomach.
The elf who had first spoken to them now approached Kaspar. ‘We have no time to waste. You humans are slow. We must hurry: we still have a steep climb to Baranor.’
‘Baranor?’ asked Kaspar.
‘Our home,’ said the elf. ‘We need to be there before sundown and for that reason you cannot tarry.’
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