"Ed Greenwood - Band of Four 02 - The Vacant Throne" - читать интересную книгу автора (Greenwood Ed)

continued loyalty of the merchants of Helvand if royal assent is not given to our—their—plans to launch
new trading barges. With every day Helvand waits, coins slip away!"
"Yet," the Tersept of Yarsimbra snarled, from the other side of the River Throne, "Your Majesty can
hardly fail to have noticed that fires struck the barges of Yarsimbra at their docks on three successive
nights. Lightning strikes, Helvand claims—yet no storms rode the sky on those nights. Light-nings out of a
clear sky? When Helvand just happens to have opened a new shipyard? Me, I doubt the Risen King is
quite so stupid as Helvand seems to think he is!"
"Majesty," the Tersept of Helvand hissed, "must we listen to the unbridled lies this man speaks? Does his
title give him leave to impugn and sneer and slander freely?"
King Snowsar kept his face as blank and calmly patient as stone, mov-ing only his eyes to fix a dark and
level gaze on each of the two wrangling tersepts in turn. Anger and the desire to yawn rose together behind
his face, but he let that inward roiling touch only his eyes.
Helvand took no notice of such subtle warnings. Like the men he served, Ul—Ulgund, that was the
man's name!—strode straight forward through life, trampling or thrusting aside anyone who stood in the
way. Hel-vand was the north shore of the Silverflow just upriver of Sirlptar, a succes-sion of wooded
estates owned by merchants rich enough to rise out of the crowding of the Glittering City and build secure
castles of their own. Not that such pursuits meant they were retiring from the slap-and-dagger ways of
Sirlptar ... or bending their knees overmuch to a king who stepped out of legend to sit on a dusty throne far
upriver. "What Helvand wants, Hel-vand gets," this strutting tersept had warned the king a few breaths ago,
his tone adding the unspoken threat or else loudly enough for some of the sur-rounding courtiers to wince
visibly.
Yarsimbra was hardly better. The long-independent point of land that jutted north from Sart to force the
Silverflow into one last pair of bends ere it reached the sea had years ago attained the wealth and
sophistication the merchants of Helvand were now so eagerly seizing—and it seemed Yarsim-bra would do
just about anything to keep not only its abundant coins, but its dominance over lower river trade. Poisonings
and the summoning of hireswords had already befallen—and the king could well believe no one had paused
for an instant to consider the danger such things brought to Aglirta.
Not caring about consequences: a problem for a king when almost all of his appointed rulers, as well as
every last swaggering one of the nobility, suf-fered from this disease. These two tersepts had probably
forgotten that he could dismiss them at will—or were prepared to ignore any dismissal he might order,
according him all the authority granted to the flapping mouth of a dowager aunt shut up somewhere alone to
rail at servants where once she'd lectured a baron daily.
Abruptly he was very tired of it all. King Kelgrael Snowsar rose like a rearing lion, in a single graceful
bound, and spread his hands, flat and palms down, in a vicious chopping motion that brought sudden silence
to the room.
This, at least, he was able to do: dominate his court by sheer presence and the heavy threat of his
displeasure. A hundred eyes were locked on him now, seeking to read meaning into his smallest movement,
gesture, utter-ance, or shift in expression.
He left them little room for sly interpretations. "Both of you have raised valid points, lords—points a wise
ruler needs time to ponder, so as to dis-pense justice as fair and farsighted as it is royal. Blustering will not
bring me to decisions any the faster, my Lord of Yarsimbra—"
 He bent a colder gaze than before on the older, shorter tersept, who met it with an impassive stare that
held far too little fear ... or respect.
"Nor, my Lord of Helvand, is threatening your king likely to force his tongue into wagging the way you
want it to."
The younger tersept was seething with boiling rage, and looked it; the king had expected no shame or
deference in those glittering eyes, and found none.
He continued on, his voice calmer than he felt. "You may protest that you intended neither to bluster nor
threaten, and that I misjudge you. Be reminded that misjudging is a royal prerogative—and more: that both
of you are my Lords, to appoint or dismiss at my pleasure. Barons may claim to have some blood right to