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The Magehound :: Каннингем Элейн
Страница: 107 из 216Do you think that would be true if no one was prepared for battle? Why do you think our enemies stay away? The Crinti elf-breeds and their Dambraii subjects, and the Mhair savages, and the barbarians of the Shaar desert, and the wizards of Thay and Unther and Mulhorand, and Mystra only knows where else? Because we remain strong," Procopio concluded in a tone that rang with certainty.
Matteo had heard this argument many times before. It was a difficult one, for the line between a strong defense and a strong nation inclined toward offensive action was thin and nebulous. He couldn't help but wonder how this passion for military strategy fit into Procopio's personal goals. If the wizard deemed that the best way to ascend Zalathorm's throne was as a war hero, how far might he go to ensure his goal?
The wizard seemed to sense his counselor's unease, for he broke off the session and strode over to his desk. He opened a drawer and took from it a small scroll.
"I would have you take a message for me to Xavierlyn. You know of her?"
Matteo nodded. Zephyr had described in great detail all the wizards of the city's Council of Elders. Xavierlyn was a powerful diviner, a distant relative of King Zalathorm, and touted by many as his probable successor. As such, she was Procopio's most obvious rival.
"I have met Frando, her jordain counselor. It is his habit to speak in the Arbor Square before the sunsleep hours."
"No doubt many come to listen in preparation for midday slumber," Procopio said dryly. "I have heard the man. His lectures induce slumber more effectively than charms and potions."
Matteo's lips twitched, but he refrained from agreeing with his patron's assessment of a fellow jordain. He took the scroll Procopio handed him and scanned the writing upon it, then handed back the scroll and repeated the message word for word. The wizard nodded, satisfied, and Matteo went his way.
He set a brisk pace and reached Arbor Square shortly before highsun. It was a pretty place, cobbled with pink and green stone and surrounded by elaborate iron trellises and arches. The air was rich with the scent of ripening grapes, as well as the savory odors that wafted from the nearby market. Chairs and small tables had been scattered about so that passersby could take advantage of the shade.
In the center of the square was a raised platform, which was variously used for town criers, street musicians, and wizardly exhibitions. Frando, a dark, thick-bodied man some fifteen years Matteo's senior, was currently holding forth on the topic of pirate raids. With an alchemist's skill and a pompous voice, Frando transformed that exciting topic into a sleep-inducing drone. Matteo settled down under an arbor of pink grapes and tried to look politely interested.
Finally the jordain concluded his lecture and acknowledged the patter of applause with a deep bow. His self-satisfied smile broadened when his gaze fell on Matteo.
Matteo had heard this argument many times before. It was a difficult one, for the line between a strong defense and a strong nation inclined toward offensive action was thin and nebulous. He couldn't help but wonder how this passion for military strategy fit into Procopio's personal goals. If the wizard deemed that the best way to ascend Zalathorm's throne was as a war hero, how far might he go to ensure his goal?
The wizard seemed to sense his counselor's unease, for he broke off the session and strode over to his desk. He opened a drawer and took from it a small scroll.
"I would have you take a message for me to Xavierlyn. You know of her?"
Matteo nodded. Zephyr had described in great detail all the wizards of the city's Council of Elders. Xavierlyn was a powerful diviner, a distant relative of King Zalathorm, and touted by many as his probable successor. As such, she was Procopio's most obvious rival.
"I have met Frando, her jordain counselor. It is his habit to speak in the Arbor Square before the sunsleep hours."
"No doubt many come to listen in preparation for midday slumber," Procopio said dryly. "I have heard the man. His lectures induce slumber more effectively than charms and potions."
Matteo's lips twitched, but he refrained from agreeing with his patron's assessment of a fellow jordain. He took the scroll Procopio handed him and scanned the writing upon it, then handed back the scroll and repeated the message word for word. The wizard nodded, satisfied, and Matteo went his way.
He set a brisk pace and reached Arbor Square shortly before highsun. It was a pretty place, cobbled with pink and green stone and surrounded by elaborate iron trellises and arches. The air was rich with the scent of ripening grapes, as well as the savory odors that wafted from the nearby market. Chairs and small tables had been scattered about so that passersby could take advantage of the shade.
In the center of the square was a raised platform, which was variously used for town criers, street musicians, and wizardly exhibitions. Frando, a dark, thick-bodied man some fifteen years Matteo's senior, was currently holding forth on the topic of pirate raids. With an alchemist's skill and a pompous voice, Frando transformed that exciting topic into a sleep-inducing drone. Matteo settled down under an arbor of pink grapes and tried to look politely interested.
Finally the jordain concluded his lecture and acknowledged the patter of applause with a deep bow. His self-satisfied smile broadened when his gaze fell on Matteo.