"Dave Duncan - Tales of King's Blades 5 - The Jaguar Knights" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

Since his summons had officially come from Commander Vicious, Wolf could go straight to him and
ignore the King, always a pleasure. He stamped boots and tapped sword hilt in salute. Dark and
menacing as one of the bronze memorials along Rose Parade in Grandon, the Commander was standing
well inside the chamber, so he had been tak-ing part in the talk, not just being an ornamental doorstop.
Vicious was notoriously taciturn, but had not always been so. The facial scar that made speech physically
painful for him was a memento of the Garbeald Affair, another of the King’s follies. His vitriolic hatred of
inquisitors dated from that same disaster.

Maps, papers, and dirty dishes littered the central table. Lord Chan-cellor Sparrow stood on one side of
the crackling fire, the Earl Marshal sat bundled in his wheeled chair on the other, and Grand Inquisitor
were by the window, being extra-inscrutable. Grand Inquisitor were twins, indistinguishable. All
inquisitors seemed foreboding, with their black robes, sinister reputation, and unblinking stare, but to
have two of them doing it at you was twice as bad.The Guard called them the Grue-some Twosome.
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Sparrow was a perky, beak-nosed little man, more of a pompous robin than a cheeky sparrow, but
rated a better-than-average chancellor. He feared Athelgar not at all and often quashed his mad notions
before they did too much harm. The Earl Marshal, old as the ocean and crip-pled with gout, was
asleep.A spidery clerk crouched over a writing desk, busily wielding a quill.

Flintand Huntley were slumped on chairs in a far corner. They looked exhausted and were probably
chilled to the bone over there, too. They had earned some sleep, and keeping them from it was carrying
se-curity to absurd lengths.

And the Pirate’s Son . . . as always, Athelgar was wandering, restless as a dog with fleas. He was not
his usual splendid self. His hose were rumpled, he wore no jewelry, and his hair—dyed a respectable
Chivian brown—was badly in need of brushing. Even his goatee, which he left its original Baelish red,
looked somehow bedraggled. He had just turned twenty-five and was about to celebrate the fifth
anniversary of his ac-cession.

5



Dave Duncan

P

“Sir Wolf, sire,”Vicious said.

Wolf turned and performed the gymnastics of a full court bow.

“Ah, Wolf.” Athelgar headed to the fire. “We have bad news. Your brother has been seriously
injured.We are distressed to impart such dire tidings.”

That could not explain the emergency. The King had no interest whatsoever in the well-being of an