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the Carthaginian tribute was impressive, and curiosity and greed made for a powerful incentive.
It was an open session in the Hall of Audience, every seat along the long, curved tables filled, and
a throng of avid onlookers pressed together in the back of the hall. The place was buzzing like a beehive,
but it fell silent when Ysandre, seated at the center of the table, raised her hand.
An offer lies before us, she announced. Lord Admiral, will you present it?
The Palace Guard cleared a path for the Royal Admiral Quintilius Rousse. He strode into the hall
with a rolling seafarer s gait, bluff and hearty despite the grey salting his ruddy hair. There was a chalice
tucked under one arm. He swept a deep bow, then placed it on the table before Ysandre.
Your majesty, august peers! His voice boomed in the hall. I bear greetings from Astegal of
Carthage, Prince of the House of Sarkal, appointed General by the Council of Thirty. He wishes to pay
tribute to Terre d Ange on behalf of Carthage.
Ysandre eyed the chalice. It was wrought of translucent red carnelian, the stem shaped like a pair
of clasped hands, the base adorned with gold. Why?
Quintilius Rousse cleared his throat. There is a letter. May I read it?
She inclined her head. Please do.
I knew what it said; Ysandre had already read it, of course, and so had Sidonie.
Since I was a boy, Rousse read aloud, rather badly, I have longed to see for myself the
splendors of Terre d Ange and its Queen famed for her beauty; and yet, the shadow of misfortune has
hung between our two great realms, born of deeds carried out by people too low to mention. I come at
the behest of the Council of Thirty, anxious to dispel this shadow and restore amity between us.
Keep reading! someone shouted when he paused.
Rousse cleared his throat again. For myself, it would suffice to gaze upon the fabled white walls
of the City of Elua, and gaze on your face. I dare to present this small token, this chalice, in the hope that
the clasped hands wrought thereon might prove emblematic of a restored amity between us. He
squinted, holding the parchment at arm s length. It in itself is a mere token, emblematic of the gifts the
Council of Thirty wishes to bequeath to your majesty and her people, to evince the sincerity of
Carthage s desire. These gifts are as follows . . .
In his resounding voice, Quintilius Rousse read a long litany of the tribute-gifts that Carthage
offered. Gold, gold in abundance. Ivory and salt. Spices, exotic seedlings gathered from many places.
Bolts of cloth dyed Tyrian purple. Furniture made of fragrant woods.
I watched the avid faces of my peers and felt uneasy.
. . . and as your majesty s horologists will doubtless have informed you, a great event is pending.
With your permission, my own horologists will consult with yours to show you a great marvel, Rousse
finished.
Excited murmurs arose.
Hold! Ysandre said crisply. What great event?
There was a delay, then, while the Court horologist was sent for and found. I listened to the
peers gossiping among themselves, stirred by the manifest Quintilius Rousse had recited. At length, the
horologist arrived, bowing apologetically.
Forgive me, your majesty he began.
Ysandre waved one hand dismissively. No doubt you ve informed me. I ve been distracted.
What event?
He was a small fellow, sweating and anxious. It is the belief among those of us who study the
stars and the planets that in three weeks time, the full moon will pass through the earth s shadow, and its
light shall be dimmed.
She has been distracted, Sidonie murmured beside me.
Is this an omen? Ysandre asked.
No! The horologist shook his head. No, no, no. Merely a natural phenomenon, your majesty.
And what marvel might we expect to see? she asked.
The horologist licked his lips. Although I have not seen it for myself, it is said that the moon
takes on extraordinary hues while it lies beneath our shadow. Beyond that, I cannot guess. A scholar s
hunger surfaced in his features. All knowledge is worth having. I would be eager to partake of the
wisdom of Carthage s horologists.
Ysandre inclined her head. Thank you, my lord, she said, adding to Quintilius Rousse, You
may continue.
Rousse read the remainder of the letter aloud: more fulsome compliments, nothing of substance. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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the Carthaginian tribute was impressive, and curiosity and greed made for a powerful incentive.
It was an open session in the Hall of Audience, every seat along the long, curved tables filled, and
a throng of avid onlookers pressed together in the back of the hall. The place was buzzing like a beehive,
but it fell silent when Ysandre, seated at the center of the table, raised her hand.
An offer lies before us, she announced. Lord Admiral, will you present it?
The Palace Guard cleared a path for the Royal Admiral Quintilius Rousse. He strode into the hall
with a rolling seafarer s gait, bluff and hearty despite the grey salting his ruddy hair. There was a chalice
tucked under one arm. He swept a deep bow, then placed it on the table before Ysandre.
Your majesty, august peers! His voice boomed in the hall. I bear greetings from Astegal of
Carthage, Prince of the House of Sarkal, appointed General by the Council of Thirty. He wishes to pay
tribute to Terre d Ange on behalf of Carthage.
Ysandre eyed the chalice. It was wrought of translucent red carnelian, the stem shaped like a pair
of clasped hands, the base adorned with gold. Why?
Quintilius Rousse cleared his throat. There is a letter. May I read it?
She inclined her head. Please do.
I knew what it said; Ysandre had already read it, of course, and so had Sidonie.
Since I was a boy, Rousse read aloud, rather badly, I have longed to see for myself the
splendors of Terre d Ange and its Queen famed for her beauty; and yet, the shadow of misfortune has
hung between our two great realms, born of deeds carried out by people too low to mention. I come at
the behest of the Council of Thirty, anxious to dispel this shadow and restore amity between us.
Keep reading! someone shouted when he paused.
Rousse cleared his throat again. For myself, it would suffice to gaze upon the fabled white walls
of the City of Elua, and gaze on your face. I dare to present this small token, this chalice, in the hope that
the clasped hands wrought thereon might prove emblematic of a restored amity between us. He
squinted, holding the parchment at arm s length. It in itself is a mere token, emblematic of the gifts the
Council of Thirty wishes to bequeath to your majesty and her people, to evince the sincerity of
Carthage s desire. These gifts are as follows . . .
In his resounding voice, Quintilius Rousse read a long litany of the tribute-gifts that Carthage
offered. Gold, gold in abundance. Ivory and salt. Spices, exotic seedlings gathered from many places.
Bolts of cloth dyed Tyrian purple. Furniture made of fragrant woods.
I watched the avid faces of my peers and felt uneasy.
. . . and as your majesty s horologists will doubtless have informed you, a great event is pending.
With your permission, my own horologists will consult with yours to show you a great marvel, Rousse
finished.
Excited murmurs arose.
Hold! Ysandre said crisply. What great event?
There was a delay, then, while the Court horologist was sent for and found. I listened to the
peers gossiping among themselves, stirred by the manifest Quintilius Rousse had recited. At length, the
horologist arrived, bowing apologetically.
Forgive me, your majesty he began.
Ysandre waved one hand dismissively. No doubt you ve informed me. I ve been distracted.
What event?
He was a small fellow, sweating and anxious. It is the belief among those of us who study the
stars and the planets that in three weeks time, the full moon will pass through the earth s shadow, and its
light shall be dimmed.
She has been distracted, Sidonie murmured beside me.
Is this an omen? Ysandre asked.
No! The horologist shook his head. No, no, no. Merely a natural phenomenon, your majesty.
And what marvel might we expect to see? she asked.
The horologist licked his lips. Although I have not seen it for myself, it is said that the moon
takes on extraordinary hues while it lies beneath our shadow. Beyond that, I cannot guess. A scholar s
hunger surfaced in his features. All knowledge is worth having. I would be eager to partake of the
wisdom of Carthage s horologists.
Ysandre inclined her head. Thank you, my lord, she said, adding to Quintilius Rousse, You
may continue.
Rousse read the remainder of the letter aloud: more fulsome compliments, nothing of substance. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]