The Avengers of Carrig Read Online Free PDF Page A

the pit of torment in the Smoking Hills. He had only words to utter.
    “Eighteen years, Ambrus, have made the king mighty beyond belief. Perhaps I have helped him. Perhaps but for me, and the—the luck-cups I have sent annually to his challengers, he would have been laid low. But now it is time to make an end of interfering. We must cast our destiny to him, and rely on his strength and cunning.”
    He could read the rebellion in Ambrus’ eyes, to which words were no counter. Ambrus was saying, “But that this womanish Saikmar should oust Clan Parradile from ruling—it’s unspeakable!”
    “If it happens, it happens,” his father answered heavily.
    “It must not!” Ambrus stamped his foot. “Oh, why was I born into Clan Parradile that’s permitted to rule only when others default?”
    “You’re greedy!” snapped Sir Bavis. “Envious of power! I’m ashamed for you. Do not men pray as they lie dying to be reborn into this clan you prize so lightly? Do they not hold it an honor to have the noblest of beasts for a clan-sign?”
    “Oh, for you to speak is well enough!” Ambrus retorted. “How do you think I feel, seeing hope of such estate as you’ve enjoyed for eighteen years snatched from me?”
    “By your words and actions now, you seem ill-fitted for any post of dignity!”
    For a moment Ambrus was at a loss for speech. His eyes narrowed. Finding himself before a low table, he planted a balled fist on it for a prop and leaned forward. He said, “How shall I prove you wrong? Shall I arm my glider and go forth tomorrow to contend with the king? Better that I should lay him low than that—that weakling Saikmar!”
    All Sir Bavis old strength came back with a sudden torrent of rage and horror. He strode toward his son, snapped his fingers on the youth’s ear like the jaws of a parradile, and used the pain as a lever to bend him from the waist. As he had not done since Ambrus was twelve years old, he clouted him enormously on the seat of his breeches.
    “Go!” he said thickly when he had delivered the blow. “Go purify your mouth before you dare speak to me again—or anyone! You must make atonement for your sacrilege!”
    As though realizing at last the weight of what he had said, Ambrus’ anger gave way to fear, and he made no move against his father. His mouth working, but not uttering a word, he turned blindly to the door and went out Shocked to the core, Sir Bavis remained alone. That his son should speak of going forth against the king—himself a member of the king’s clan! How far was it from there to talk of killing a cousin … or even his father?
    Through his sick dismay an important point gradually worked its way into consciousness. If he was capable of blasphemy, mere disobedience would be nothing to Ambrus—and he knew of the existence of the porcelain jar in the next room.
    Sir Bavis stole, guiltily like a thief, to the door and peered both ways along the corridor. No one was in sight. Hastily he located the proper keys among the many which depended from his belt, let himself into the other room and opened the chest. There was the jar, mercifully untouched since last year. He seized it and hastened to the nearest window. Outside it ran a rain-sluice. He spilled the contents of the jar into it, and as the poison trickled away felt a great calmness come over him. With an exultant gesture he hurled the empty jar far into the distance, and heard it smash on one of the lower roofs of the fortress.
    He returned to the robing-room moments before the chief acolyte came tapping at its door with his staff of office to say that the sun would shortly be setting. Sir Bavis, smiling a little, accepted the staff and followed the acolyte to the winding stair that led to the topmost parapet of the highest watchtower. In the distance could be heard the confused noise of the nobles as they arrived for the assembly that would succeed the sunset ritual.
    Emerging on the flat stage that circled the top of the