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the daughter he had lost: somber Cara, night-black hair blowing in the morning
mists. But he had called; and she had come. Cara would have been about Moira's
age, had she lived.
With an impatient shake of his bead, Thorne slapped the girl smartly on the
buttocks and dismissed the thought from his mind. As he sat up to stretch, the
girl ran a questing finger down his bare arm and smiled. It was with
commendable restraint that Thorne removed her hand and shook his head.
"Sorry, little one, but it's time you were on your way. The Council does not wait,
even for high Deryni lords." He leaned over to kiss her forehead in a fatherly
gesture. "I shant be too late, though. Why don't you come back around
midnight?"
"Of course, ralord." She bounded up and began pulling on a flowing yellow robe,
her dark eyes caressing him as she crossed toward his door. "Perhaps I shall even
bring you a surprise I"
As the door closed behind her, Thorne shook bis head and sighed contentedly, a
silly grin playing across his face. He scanned the darkening room with a bemused
satisfaction, then got up and padded toward his wardrobe door. As he walked, he
muttered a phrase under his breath and made a casual, sweeping gesture with the
fingers of his right hand. Candles sprang to life around the chamber, and Thorne
ran a hand through his thinning brown hair as be glanced at the figure in his
burnished wall-mirror.
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r r
He certainly looked fit His body was almost as hard and firm at fifty as it had
been a quarter of a century ago. Of course, he had lost some hair and added a few
pounds since then; but he preferred to think the changes added maturity to his
looks. Pink cheeks and blue eyes frozen in perpetual astonishment had been a
curse through most of his youth; he had been nearly thirty before people would
even believe he was of legal age. At last, however, that was working to his
advantage. For while Thorne Hagen's contemporaries had aged, and were now
firmly ensconced in middle age, Thorne, with the proper clothes and the clean-
shaven demeanor he preferred, could easily pass for a man of thirty. And there
was no doubt, he thought, as he recalled the girl who had just left him, that the
appearance of youth was often a distinct advantage.
Thorne considered calling his body servants to help him bathe and dress for the
Council session, then decided against it. He had a little extra time. If he was
careful, he should be able to work that water spell that Laran had been trying to
teach him for the past month. He was peeved that he couldn't seem to master the
spelL There seemed to be a certain point of coordination beyond which he simply
could not go. But he would try again.
Stepping to the center of the room, Thorne planted his bare feet about a yard
apart and drew himself to his full height, joining his palms above his head to form
a wedge-shaped silhouette in the flickering candlelight As he began chanting the
words of an incantation under his breath, water vapor condensed around him like
a miniature thunderstorm, complete with lightning. He closed his eyes tightly
and held his breath as the water scrubbed across his body, wriggling slightly in
pleasure at the tingle of the tame lightning bolts. Then, still in complete control at
this point, he tensed himself for the difficult part of the spell.
Stripping the water and lightning away, Thorne willed it to gather in a sphere
before his chest a tiny storm cloud crackling and spitting in the dim candlelight.
He cracked his eyes open and saw it hovering there, and had just begun to
maneuver it toward the window to dump it, when there was a brilliant flash
behind him from the direction of his Transfer Portal. He whipped his head
around to see who was there, and in that instant lost control of the spell.
Miniature lightning flashed from cloud to sorcerer in a painful arc; the water fell
to the floor with a magnificent splash, drenching the marble flagstones, a
priceless rug tapestry, and Thorne's dignity; and as Rhydon stepped from the
Transfer Portal, Thorne began cursing fluently, his baby eyes flashing with anger
and indignation.
The Devil take you, Rhydon!" Thorne sputtered, when he at last became coherent
"Can't you ever announce
yourself? I would have done it that time. Now youVe made me flood the entire
room!"
He stepped back out of the puddle and stamped his bare feet, trying in vain to
shake them dry and maintain some shred of dignity in his nakedness, then glared
at Rhydon again as his fellow sorcerer crossed the room.
"Sorry, Thorne," Rhydon chuckled. "Shall I clean it up for you?"
"Sony, Thorne, can I clean it up for you?" Thorne mimicked. The small, greedy
eyes clouded in the baby face. "You probably can, too. There isn't anyone who
can't do this spell except me."
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r r
Controlling a smile, Rhydon spread his hands over die wet floor and murmured
several short phrases, his grey eyes hooded as he spoke. The dampness
disappeared, and Rhydon shrugged and raised an apologetic eyebrow as he
glanced back at Thorne. The interrupted sorcerer said nothing, but his look was
petulant as he turned on his heel and stalked into his wardrobe chamber. After a
few seconds, the rustic of fine fabrics issued faintly from the open doorway.
"I'm truly sorry to have disturbed you, Thorne," Rhydon said conversationally,
walking around the room and examining the various artifacts there. "Wencit
wanted me to ask a favor of you."
"For Wencit perhaps. Not for you."
"Now, don't pout I said I was sorry."
"All right all right" Pause. Then, grudgingly curious: "What does Wencit want?"
"He wants you to have the Council declare Morgan and McLain liable to challenge
as full Deryni are. Can you do it?"
"Liable to challenge as full Deryni are you serious?" There was another pause and
then Thorne continued, the anger apparently past "Well, I can try. But I hope that
Wencit remembers that I haven't as much influence as I once did. We changed
Coadjutors last month. Why don't you introduce the subject yourself? You're full
Deryni. You're still permitted to speak before the Council, even if you aren't a
member of the Inner Circle anymore."
"You have a short memory, Thorne," Rhydon retorted. "Wheu last I stood before [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]