"Joel Rosenberg - Hidden Ways 1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rosenberg Joel C)

Rodic as to have him killed. No matter that, practically, it would be a matter of great simplicity for the duke to have Rodic killed
here and now.

While there were undoubtedly abditories and adits and passages in the keep that the Duke of the House of Flame didn't know—the
keeps had been built for the Old Ones, after all, and they hardly left behind a map!—His Warmth would hardly have picked as his
private office a room without several secret entries under his control. Quite likely, a brace of soldiers hid behind the tapestry or
perhaps in the ceiling, waiting and listening until a raised voice called for them. But probably only one such hiding place was
available to His Warmth's servants. Knowledge of the Hidden Ways wasn't merely a convenience to the rulers of the Houses] at
times it was a matter of life and death.

Politically, it would be the simplest thing in the world for the Flamebearer to order Rodic's death. After all, Rodic's use-name was
his fullname: Rodic was only a second-generation noble. His two brothers were long dead in duels, and his sister married off to a
Caprician knight minor.

There was no one to carry out a vendetta against nobility of any House, and certainly not against the Fire Duke.

But Rodic's father had long ago taught him that the Old Families respected impertinence at a level that cut below conscious thought,
and that the only way to keep from having to constantly grovel before them was to refuse to, to constantly show an acceptable
trace of disdain—but only an acceptable one.

Rodic didn't want to die the way his father had, not now. Another fifteen years, perhaps, and young Rodic del Rodic—with, by the
Dominion, a true use-name!—would be established, perhaps even accepted as a cadet into the House of Flame. Or of Ice, if it came
to that.

But he would not spend his life in what the true houses mockingly called the House of Steel, doing the dirty work of the nobility.
That was for Rodic del Renald.

"You sent for me to complain about stasis, Your Warmth?" Rodic asked, then took another sip.

"No," the Fire Duke said, "I sent for you for two reasons. There's a small dispute with the Stone—I'd like you to represent me in
it."

"A matter of honor?"

"No," the duke said. "Territory. A smallish part of a smallish holding. We have the records to prove it ours."

"I am, of course, honored." Rodic bowed his head. Not particularly. Money matters were of no interest to him; that's what he had a
wife for, after all. "I'll have to examine the documents before I commit myself—"

"My word is not good enough?"

"Of course it is," Rodic said. "If you wish to face the House of Stone's representative yourself, Your Warmth. If you wish to steep
yourself in the rightness of your cause, and then reinforce the strength and cunning of your arm with the appropriate rituals and
herbs, why, then of course your word is good enough for me, and I'll proudly stand as your second, to bind up your wounds, if
received, and help carry you from the field, dead or alive, should you fall."

He raised a finger. "But since I happen to know that Stanar del Brunden is representing the Stone Duke, and since I've received
more cuts from his blade than I can count, I'll see your proof before I commit myself and my too, too tender flesh to your cause."

Perhaps he had gone too far. The Fire Duke's nostrils flared. "Have it as you will, this time. But don't think yourself essential,