"Raymond E. Feist - Kingdom of the Isles 1 - Prince of the Blood" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

sister, who gave back as good as she got. She would
think nothing of embarrassing them in the King's own
court.

Arutha, sensing some exchange between his children,
glanced over and gifted his four offspring with a quick
frown, enough to silence any potential mirth. His gaze
lingered on his elder sons and showed his anger in full
measure, though only those close to him would recog-
nize it as such. Then his attention was back upon the
matter before the court. A minor noble was being ad-
vanced into a new office, and while the four royal chil-
dren might not find it worthy of much dignity, the man
would count this among one of the high points of his
life. Arutha had tried to impress such awareness upon
them over the years but continuously failed.

Overseeing the Prince's court was Lord Gardan,
Duke of Krondor. The old soldier had served with
Arutha, and his father before him, thirty years and
more. His dark skin stood in stark contrast to his beard,
almost white in color, but he still had the alert eyes of
one whose mind had lost none of its edge and a ready
smile for the royal children. A commoner by birth,
Gardan had risen on his ability, and despite an often
expressed desire to retire and return to his home in Far
Crydee, he had remained in Arutha's service, first as
Sergeant in the garrison at Crydee, then Captain of the
Prince's Royal Household, then Knight-Marshal of
Krondor. When the previous Duke of Krondor, Lord
Volney, had died unexpectedly after seven years' loyal
service in his office, Arutha had awarded the office to
Cardan. Despite the old soldier's protestations of not
being suited to the nobility, he had proven an able
administrator as well as a gifted soldier.

Cardan finished intoning the man's new rank and
privileges and Arutha preferred a terribly oversized
parchment with ribbons and seals embossed upon it.
12 Prince of the Blood

The man took his award of office and retired to the
crowd, to the hushed congratulations of others in court.

Gardan nodded to the Master of Ceremonies, Jerome
by name, and the thin man brought himself to his full
height. Once a boyhood rival of Baron James, the office
suited Jerome's self-important nature. He was, by all
accounts, a thorough bore and his preoccupation with
trivia made him a natural for the post. His love of detail