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The Magehound :: Каннингем Элейн
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They chatted for a few moments more, then the elf jordain tired and excused himself to rest.
For a long time, Matteo lay abed and considered what the elf had said. He had long understood that Halruaa was a society controlled by many rules and customs. For the first time, he considered the complexity of political maneuvering beneath the mannered and orderly surface.
It was hard for him to find a place for himself amid this. A jordain's stated role was to see and speak truth, cloaked perhaps in satire or other rhetorical garb, but truth untainted by either magic or personal ambition. The honor and veracity of the jordain was proverbial. Things were true or they were not. It was that simple.
But what of Andris? Was it possible that truth was a changeable thing, that the inviolate judgment of the magehounds, perhaps even the Disputation Table, could be bought with subtle coin?
These were disturbing thoughts, and they followed him into his dreams when at last he fell asleep.
The following days proved no better than the first Matteo learned that although the king had no heirs, Procopio was abundantly blessed with them. The jordaini in Procopio's service were entrusted with the education of these would-be princes and princesses-nine of them, by Matteo's best count.
His charge was Penelope, a girl of about eight, with long, fat black ringlets and a permanently petulant expression. Matteo got out a finely carved game of Castles and began to instruct her in the strategy.
The tiny buildings held her interest for a few moments, but her attention soon wandered. Matteo quickly surrounded her fledgling structure with his pieces.
"You are encircled, child. Next time keep a closer eye on the board and think with each move of what might come next."
Penelope's lip thrust out, and her small hand flashed forward. Pieces of carved sandalwood and ivory scattered across the marble floor.
"You cheated," she said heatedly.
Matteo blinked, not sure how to respond to such an absurd accusation. "Not so, lady. You simply lost the game."
She folded her arms and glared at him. "I don't lose. I've never lost any game, ever."
Matteo began to understand the situation. "Why don't you play in the courtyard gardens, and we will try again after midday meal."
The child shrugged ungraciously and left the room. Matteo made his way directly to his patron's study. He told the wizard in a few words about the child's response.
"Next time let her win," the wizard decreed.
They chatted for a few moments more, then the elf jordain tired and excused himself to rest.
For a long time, Matteo lay abed and considered what the elf had said. He had long understood that Halruaa was a society controlled by many rules and customs. For the first time, he considered the complexity of political maneuvering beneath the mannered and orderly surface.
It was hard for him to find a place for himself amid this. A jordain's stated role was to see and speak truth, cloaked perhaps in satire or other rhetorical garb, but truth untainted by either magic or personal ambition. The honor and veracity of the jordain was proverbial. Things were true or they were not. It was that simple.
But what of Andris? Was it possible that truth was a changeable thing, that the inviolate judgment of the magehounds, perhaps even the Disputation Table, could be bought with subtle coin?
These were disturbing thoughts, and they followed him into his dreams when at last he fell asleep.
The following days proved no better than the first Matteo learned that although the king had no heirs, Procopio was abundantly blessed with them. The jordaini in Procopio's service were entrusted with the education of these would-be princes and princesses-nine of them, by Matteo's best count.
His charge was Penelope, a girl of about eight, with long, fat black ringlets and a permanently petulant expression. Matteo got out a finely carved game of Castles and began to instruct her in the strategy.
The tiny buildings held her interest for a few moments, but her attention soon wandered. Matteo quickly surrounded her fledgling structure with his pieces.
"You are encircled, child. Next time keep a closer eye on the board and think with each move of what might come next."
Penelope's lip thrust out, and her small hand flashed forward. Pieces of carved sandalwood and ivory scattered across the marble floor.
"You cheated," she said heatedly.
Matteo blinked, not sure how to respond to such an absurd accusation. "Not so, lady. You simply lost the game."
She folded her arms and glared at him. "I don't lose. I've never lost any game, ever."
Matteo began to understand the situation. "Why don't you play in the courtyard gardens, and we will try again after midday meal."
The child shrugged ungraciously and left the room. Matteo made his way directly to his patron's study. He told the wizard in a few words about the child's response.
"Next time let her win," the wizard decreed.