Corambis Read Online Free PDF Page B

useless fervor of my heart that I did not.
“Who are you?” said I.
“I suppose we weren’t properly introduced,” said he; I could hear the truth of him, anger and festered grief and raw personal hatred, and for the first time since I assumed the margravate of Rothmarlin, I feared another man. “My name is Thomas Albern. Thanks to you, I am the Duke of Glimmering.”
I knew instantly what he meant, for it was thanks to a certain warrior of the Usara that I had become Margrave of Rothmarlin at fifteen, but Glimmering continued regardless, “My brother Geoffrey stood against you at Angersburn, where you cut him down and beheaded him like a dog. I have five oath- sworn Caloxan soldiers to testify it.”
Not Corambin. No Corambin soldier who had marched into the Anger River’s narrow valley against us had come out of it again, marching, limping, or crawling. We had slaughtered all three hundred of them. I had beheaded their commander, and I remembered the rich satisfaction I had felt, remembered that my arms had been blood- soaked past my elbows. I had not let my men take the head as a trophy.
“An he had beheaded me, would you reproach him thus?”
The blow rocked my head to the side; I tasted blood. Had I not been blind, it would not have touched me.
“You will not speak of him,” said Glimmering, his voice rising in pitch and volume. I felt the bone and heat of his fingers against my skin as they clenched on my shoulders, and he dragged me forward so that his breath was hot and foul on my face when he spoke again: “You will keep a civil tongue in your head or I will have it cut out. Do you understand me?” He sounded more than half- mad, and I was not fool enough to believe his threat an idle one. Had myself done worse on provocation no greater.
“I understand,” I said and shut my eyes, since I could not judge well enough to lower my gaze. At this moment I wanted to do nothing to cause further offense. Blind was horror enough; blind and mute— I shuddered away from my own imaginings.
Slowly, Glimmering’s fingers relaxed. He let me go with a shove so that I fell back on my elbows. “See that you remember,” said he, and I knew he used the word ‘see’ deliberately. “And the proper address for a duke is ‘Your Grace.’ ”
I knew that— was not my brother- in- law a duke of more ancient foundation than Glimmering? But was no place here for my pride. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“There,” said Glimmering. “Even savages can be taught.”
And someone else said, “Yes, Your Grace.”
I jerked myself upright again, drawing my legs up as best I could, although the chain kept me from bending my right knee more than halfway. Was an unmistakably Caloxan voice, without even the Corambin veneer that education often gave. It was worse, far worse, to be seen thus— blind, naked, and chained— by a Caloxan. Glimmering and his soldiers were northermen; they mattered not.
Glimmering said, “Intended Marcham has come to hear your confession.”
The Intended of Howrack, a sour- faced man, older than myself, a bitter despot as back- country priests often were. He had not opposed Gerrard, too cannily aware of his dominion’s views to do anything so unpop u lar, but I was not surprised to find him bending the knee to Glimmering. Caloxan or Corambin, Eadian or Caddovian, no priest was ever entirely free of his loyalty to the Descent Esmerine, that last withered vestige of the kings of Corambis. Priests now, and they claimed descent through augury and portent, not through blood, a dynasty of celibates: the current Prince Aethereal had no more bloodright to the Corambin throne than I did. But that mattered not, for his power, despite the title, was not the power of princes. He commanded the honor of every priest in our two countries, and if he was loyal to the Convocation, as every Prince Aethereal since Saint Edgar had been, then so were they.
“I have nothing to confess to Intended Marcham,” said I.
“No?” said