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clinging to her. A
willow tree sheltered the rock, pressed along the right side, its roots humped
across the edge and rear like a confusion of dried brown serpents. The long
skirt of Searlait's blue dress spread out around her thin hips and legs,
revealing her ankles and the lower part of her age-withered calves. An inch of
cleavage showed above her tightly laced bodice, just enough to tease in the
current de rigueur of fashion.
Kynyr could see the fading traces of Searlait's vanished beauty, and wondered
why she had never wed. She resembled her niece Merissa, with a wealth of
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ginger hair that had begun to fade toward white with age and a single ivory
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streak at her left temple. He imagined that Merissa would look like Searlait
when she grew old.
The young guardsmon climbed up to the smooth rock she sat on and settled
beside her. "I don't trust him."
"Who? Malthus?" Searlait cast another twig from her small pile into the water.
"I think he's dashing."
"Yeah, Malthus. He's proposed marriage to Merissa."
"You were eavesdropping?"
Kynyr blushed at her tone. "It's part of my job. Keep the sweet little bitches
out of trouble. That includes you." He winked at her.
"Foo. I'm not a sweet little bitch; I'm a crotchety old crone." Searlait
looked away from Kynyr, her eyes going distant as she turned them back upon
the waters. "I was lovely once. All the finest young dogs paid court to me.
Age changes everything."
"You're still lovely."
"And you're still sweet." Searlait patted his cheek. "But I'm too old for
blandishments. I know what I look like now." She looked away and then turned
toward him again. "So you don't like Malthus?"
"That's right."
"You can't dictate love, Kynyr. When it happens, it happens. I haven't seen
Merissa so in love since Isranon abandoned her. Like it or not; he's good for
her."
"I think she's making a mistake."
"Is she?" Searlait looked at him with gentle patience. "Are you in love with
her, Kynyr?"
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"No." He shook his head. "She's like a sister to me. I'd be a lot happier if
she picked someone like Finn or Ramsey. Then
I'd know they'd take good care of her."
"Kynyr..."
"Searlait, I've got six sisters. Some younger; some older than me. And I grew
up with Finn's eight right next door. We call them the Dreaded Horde. Merissa
reminds me of
Kathleen, my sister who's two years older than I am. She was seeing this dog
from Three Stones who was working at the dry goods in Longbranch for the
summer. I was just twelve and she was fourteen. One time he made her cry. I
took a stick and beat the holy crap " Kynyr stopped short, a faint blush
spreading across his cheeks. "I beat the ... well you get the idea."
"Kynyr, as dearly as we all love you, you're not family.
Leave Merissa and Malthus alone."
Kynyr scratched the back of his head in an offhand manner, feeling a bit
stung. They were his family and he could not tell them so. "I'll leave Malthus
alone where it concerns Merissa. But if he steps out of line with me ... then
it's on his head."
* * * *
Malthus possessed the largest home in the camp, having added a study and a
bedroom for his nieces onto it. Ros and
Lyrri walked sedately beside him: they had worn themselves out playing with
Darmyk and his cat all day. Once they entered the deeply forested area in the
waning light, Malthus extended his necromantic senses in a low level scan of
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the
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area. He still feared that Sergei would return for Ros. His hand settled on
the hilt of a long knife at his hip as he sensed two presences near his home.
"Stay behind me," he whispered to the girls.
They dropped back without a word.
Malthus found Shalto and Oswyl sitting outside waiting for him. He touched Ros
on her shoulder, "Take your sister inside, and stay there until I say you can
come out."
"Yes, Uncle Malthus." Ros took Lyrri by the hand and they went inside.
Malthus waited until the door had closed before turning to the two young
lycans. "What's brought you here?"
"We wanted to ask you a few questions," Shalto said.
Malthus tensed, wondering if they had seen him doing something better left
unknown. So far they had proved too good a tool to waste by killing them.
"Certainly. Would you like a drink?"
Oswyl grinned and nodded.
"Yeah, that'd be nice," said Shalto.
Malthus fetched tankards of mead. He hesitated a moment and sat them on the
table before going back outside. The tankards were a deliberately mismatched
set, one a coppery color with a hunting scene in bas relief, the second was a
goldish tone with a leaping stag, and the third bore a dragon wrapped around a
tree. He sketched a rune with his fingertip on the first two tankards. The
runes glowed for a moment, and then vanished. Malthus carried the tankards out
and handed them around.
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The two young myn looked delighted, as always, to drink with him. Malthus
watched them drink deeply and smiled with his head lowered. "Now tell me all
about it, good fellows." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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