Lois Mcmaster Bujold Chalion 1 The Curse Of Chalion

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avidly around him, crowding each other like vultures around a dead horse. He
hissed, lurched, and swiped his arm through the air to scatter them. Could a
body with its head smashed in be animated by one of them?
The archdivine s words implied so. Escape through suicide was blocked by this
ghastly patrol, it seemed. Dreading sleep, he stumbled from bed and went to
wash and dress.
Coming back from a perfunctory breakfast in the banqueting hall, Cazaril
encountered a breathless
Nan dy Vrit upon the stairs.
My lady begs you tend upon her at once, Nan told him, and Cazaril nodded
and pushed up the steps. Not in her chambers, Nan added, as he started past
the third floor. In Royse Teidez s.
Oh. Cazaril s brows rose, and he turned instead to pass his own chamber and
go down the hall to
Teidez s, Nan at his heels.
As he entered the office antechamber, twin to Iselle s above, he heard voices
from the rooms opening beyond; Iselle s murmur, and Teidez s, raised: I don t
want anything to eat. I don t want to see anyone! Go away!
The sitting room was cluttered with weapons, clothes, and gifts, strewn about
haphazardly. Cazaril picked his way across to the bedchamber.
Teidez lay back on his pillows, still in his nightgown. The close, moist air
of the room smelled of boy sweat, and another tang. Teidez s secretary-tutor
hovered anxiously on one side of the bed; Iselle stood with her hands on her
hips on the other. Teidez said, I want to go back to sleep. Get out. He
glanced up at Cazaril, cringed, and pointed. I especially don t want him in
here!
Nan dy Vrit said, in a very domestic voice, Now, none of that, young lord.
You know better than to talk to old Nan that way.
Teidez, cowed by some ancient habit, went from surly to whiney. I have a
headache.
Iselle said firmly, Nan, bring a light. Cazaril, I want you to look at
Teidez s leg. It looks very odd to me.
Nan held a brace of candles high, supplementing the wan gray daylight from the
window. Teidez at first clutched his blankets to his chest, but didn t quite
dare fight his older sister s glare; she twitched them out of his hands and
folded them aside.
Three scabbed, parallel grooves ran in a spiral partway around the boy s right
leg. In themselves, they did not appear deep or dangerous, but the flesh
around them was so swollen that the skin was shiny and silvery. Translucent
pink drainage and yellow pus oozed from their edges. Cazaril forced himself to
keep his expression even as he studied the hot red streaks climbing past the
boy s knee and winding up the inside of his thigh. Teidez s eyes were glazed.
He jerked back his head as Cazaril reached for him.
Don t touch me!
Be still! Cazaril commanded in a low voice. Teidez s forehead, beneath
Cazaril s wrist, was scorching.
He glanced up at the sallow-faced secretary, watching with a frown. How long
has he been feverish?
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Just this morning, I believe.
When did his physician last see this?
He would not have a physician, Lord Cazaril. He threw a chair at me when I
tried to help him, and bandaged it himself.

And you let him?
Cazaril s voice made the secretary jump.
The man shrugged uneasily. He would have it so.
Teidez grumbled,
Some people obey me. I ll remember who, too, later. He glowered up at
Cazaril through half-lowered lashes, and stuck out his lower lip at his
sister.
He s taken an infection. I ll see that a Temple physician is sent in to him
at once.
Teidez, disgruntled, wriggled back down under his covers. Can I go back to
sleep now? you don
If
t mind. And draw the curtain, the light hurts my eyes.
Yes, stay abed, Cazaril told him, and withdrew.
Iselle followed him into the antechamber, lowering her voice. It s not right,
is it?
No. It s not. Good observation, Royesse. Your judgment was correct.
She gave him a satisfied nod, and he bowed himself out and made for the end
stairs. By Nan dy Vrit
s shadowed face, she at least understood just how not-right it was. All
Cazaril could think of, as he hastened down the stairs and back across the
stones of the courtyard toward Ias s Tower, was how very seldom he d seen any
man, no matter how young or strong, survive an amputation that high upon the
thigh. His stride lengthened. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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