"01 - The Cutting Edge 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

The legate stiffened. "An Yllipo?" Stunned silence.
Then the prince said softly, "Thank you, gentlemen," and everyone else melted
away. Remarkable. Empty tent.
Just the two of them.
Prince Emshandar nodded toward an oaken chest. The new signifer tottered
gratefully across to it and sat down, thinking that he would have fallen over
had he been left on his feet much longer. His bones burned.
"Tell me."
Ylo told his story. It did not take long.
The legate stared hard at him all the time, fingers still motionless upon the
wolfskin. Then he gestured at a table in a corner. "Wine. And take one for
yourself."
Ylo rose. He snapped open the sealed flask with an expertise he had forgotten he
had, but his hand trembled as he filled the goblets. He had just realized that
he must be a problem for the prince, and men who embarrassed princes had a very
short life expectancy. His hand shook even harder as he passed over the drink,
because he was thinking poison. That was another possible means of
assassination, safer for the assassin. Revenge would be sweeter if he could
himself survive to enjoy it. Oh Gods! His mind was a rats' nest. He didn't know
what he was thinking. Kill the heir to the throne? What madness was that?
He went back to the chest.
They drank, and the legate's gaze never left him. Good wine ... brought back
memories.
"Signifer," the prince said softly.
Not certain he was being addressed, Ylo said, "Sir?"
"Your predecessor was a close confidant of mine. Did you know that? "
"Yes, sir. Your cousin."
That display of knowledge won a nod of surprise, and approval. "Yes. He was my
signifer. He was also my personal secretary, my closest and most trusted aide,
and chief of my personal staff. " Emshandar sipped at the wine without taking
his eyes off Ylo. "I assumed you were just a common legionary. I assumed you
would become the legion's signifer-but not mine. You understand? You understand
the distinction?"
"Yes, sir. "
"There's a world of difference between a man who waves a pole about and one who
ciphers letters to the imperor. "
"I understand, sir."
The prince laid his goblet down on a table beside him and rubbed his eyes with
the knuckles of both hands. Then he fixed that dark, burning gaze on Ylo again.
Had he been capable of feeling anything, Ylo might have felt relief then-or even
amusement at the thought of him, Ylo, attempting to function as aide-de-camp to
the prince imperial. Being signifer to the legion was enough-it would be heaven
after being a common sword banger. And there would be opportunities for revenge
if that was what he wanted after he had considered the pros and cons.
Then the prince said, "Could you serve me?"
God of Madness! Ylo had thought the matter was settled. Serve this murderer?
The imperor was ancient. Any day now the Gods were going to call in his black
soul and weigh it-good luck to Them if They found one grain of good in it! This
man would mount the Opal Throne as Emshandar V.
His close friends and aides would roll to the top of the heap at once. His