[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
His last assignment. His death at the end. And the death of the Chairman, who would no longer have
his personal Swordmaster, the Shadow of the Master of Swords, to ward him from that danger.
He felt the honor, and it warmed him. Death had not been a stranger to him for years, and nothing
waited for him in age but someone's blade when he faltered. This this he could do for his people
and his faith, and he almost smiled, thinking of it.
"Go now," the Chairman said, and Hostite withdrew, already thinking how he would do it.
OLD PALACE, CASTLE ROCK
Hobart slung his clothes into the hamper angrily. Worse every day, those damned idiots.
He put on his fencing tights, and began his exercises. When the door opened, he glanced up,
expecting Iagin Persius. But he had never seen this Swordmaster. An older man, a bit stockier, in
sleek black stretch with a funny-looking red cap and red slippers. In his hands he carried a sword
unlike those Hobart used.
"It is time," he said, in a voice as soft as rainwater.
"All right," Hobart straightened up, and pushed past him into the salle. "Where's that other
Swordmaster? I'm used to him."
"He was indisposed, Lord Conselline, and asked me to take his place, that you might not be
inconvenienced awaiting his recovery."
Hobart stared at the man. "You're certainly more formal than he was. What's that blade you've got?
Do I have to work out with that? I suppose you want me to learn yet another stupid archaic weapon
. . ."
"Not if you don't wish it. What weapon would you prefer?"
"Rapier." Hobart looked around, and realized that his coach wasn't there either; he would have to
get his own gear, since he didn't think this old man would oblige him. But to his surprise, the
Swordmaster moved quickly to the racks, and brought him a rapier his favorite, he realized and a
mask.
"You seem angry," the man said.
"I am," Hobart said. He didn't want to talk about it; he came to exercise to forget or at least
ignore his problems for a time.
"Did someone illtreat you?" asked the Swordmaster.
"Yes but I'm here to fence."
"Of course. My pardon, Lord Conselline. Swordmaster Iagin told me of your dedication, your
seriousness."
"He did?" Hobart had never been sure the Swordmaster approved of him, though the man had always
been courteous and respectful.
"Yes . . . he said you were unusual, a man who took everything seriously."
"That's true enough." Hobart adjusted the mask, and bounced a little, loosening his knees. He had
skimped on stretching, and if Iagin thought him serious, then he had better be serious. "Not many
are you would not believe no, never mind . . ."
"But if you need to stretch out, and ease your mind with talk as your sinews with the exercise,
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then you should, milord."
"Oh very well." Hobart laid his blade down on the mat, carefully, and leaned over to grasp his
ankle. "I hope it doesn't bore you, and you must realize it's confidential "
"Of course. You need to turn your wrist a little more, milord."
"It's these idiots these dung-for-brains weaklings that I sponsored to high office. I made them
what they are, I led them and taught them and groomed them for office, and now that they're in
power . . . they simply will not do what they're told."
"Ah. And now, milord, another centimeter of pull . . . yes. And now the other leg . . .
remembering to keep the wrist rotated in . . . yes."
"I don't know what it is, Swordmaster, but no matter how smart they are, or how much initiative
they show when I start working with them, no sooner do they get into a position of real
responsibility than they turn on me. Insubordinate, arrogant, selfish "
"If you can tilt the head now yes, like that and a little more "
"And they're supposed to be my supporters, but do they support? No. They go off and do stupid
things, like that idiot Orregiemos . . ."
"And to the other side, now, milord . . ."
"It's enough to make a saint spew rocks," Hobart said. Amazing how easy the fellow was to talk to.
The combination of the warm, quiet room, and familiar scents of leather, steel, oil, sandalwood,
cedar, and the quiet, patient, steady hands of the older man molding him into one shape after
another that stretched out knots he hadn't even realized he had . . .
"It is difficult when subordinates are not obedient," the Swordmaster said.
"Exactly. I've tried reasoning, scolding, even threats "
"And they resist."
"They certainly do. If they only realized, I'm trying to make things better."
Hostite had studied the files; he knew Hobart Conselline as well as anyone could, who had only
files to go on. But the man in reality had shocked him. He was so miserable, so full of anger and
fear and envy that the whole room stank of it. His body had been stiffened and deformed by it; the
very muscles of his face were saturated with his rage and fear.
He was a skin bag of poison.
He was immortal, being a Rejuvenant, as the silver and cobalt rings in his ear boasted to the
world.
So old, and yet so full of folly. He had learned nothing, Hostite saw, in all those decades of
renewed vigor that rejuvenation had given him.
Pride . . . was his own pitfall, Hostite reminded himself. Yes, this man was proud, and bitter,
and angry, but why? He had never yet killed without understanding why those he killed were as they
were.
He must offer the opportunity for understanding, for contrition, for repentance, though he could
not offer must not offer any chance of escape. He must give the soul a chance, while giving the
body none.
But how to do that with unbelievers, with those who were not aware of the soul, of anything beyond
the body? Hostite had studied unbelievers of all kinds, over the years, and found them all to have
beliefs of a sort, just wrong ones. They believed in wealth, or security, or the kindness of
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file:///F|/rah/Elizabeth%20Moon/Moon,%20Elizabeth%20-%20The%20Serrano%20Legacy%2006%20-%20Change%20Of%20Command.txt
strangers, or something other than the True Faith. And so what they believed in failed them,
eventually, and they were brought low . . .
All that Lord Conselline was saying could be considered a confession, but in a true confession the
sinner knew that what he confessed was sinful. Hobart didn't seem to grasp that at all. Everything
that went wrong was someone else's fault. Hostite felt a wave of sympathy for these stupid
uncooperative men who so angered Lord Conselline. They, too, were heathens, and enemies, and the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl szamanka888.keep.pl
His last assignment. His death at the end. And the death of the Chairman, who would no longer have
his personal Swordmaster, the Shadow of the Master of Swords, to ward him from that danger.
He felt the honor, and it warmed him. Death had not been a stranger to him for years, and nothing
waited for him in age but someone's blade when he faltered. This this he could do for his people
and his faith, and he almost smiled, thinking of it.
"Go now," the Chairman said, and Hostite withdrew, already thinking how he would do it.
OLD PALACE, CASTLE ROCK
Hobart slung his clothes into the hamper angrily. Worse every day, those damned idiots.
He put on his fencing tights, and began his exercises. When the door opened, he glanced up,
expecting Iagin Persius. But he had never seen this Swordmaster. An older man, a bit stockier, in
sleek black stretch with a funny-looking red cap and red slippers. In his hands he carried a sword
unlike those Hobart used.
"It is time," he said, in a voice as soft as rainwater.
"All right," Hobart straightened up, and pushed past him into the salle. "Where's that other
Swordmaster? I'm used to him."
"He was indisposed, Lord Conselline, and asked me to take his place, that you might not be
inconvenienced awaiting his recovery."
Hobart stared at the man. "You're certainly more formal than he was. What's that blade you've got?
Do I have to work out with that? I suppose you want me to learn yet another stupid archaic weapon
. . ."
"Not if you don't wish it. What weapon would you prefer?"
"Rapier." Hobart looked around, and realized that his coach wasn't there either; he would have to
get his own gear, since he didn't think this old man would oblige him. But to his surprise, the
Swordmaster moved quickly to the racks, and brought him a rapier his favorite, he realized and a
mask.
"You seem angry," the man said.
"I am," Hobart said. He didn't want to talk about it; he came to exercise to forget or at least
ignore his problems for a time.
"Did someone illtreat you?" asked the Swordmaster.
"Yes but I'm here to fence."
"Of course. My pardon, Lord Conselline. Swordmaster Iagin told me of your dedication, your
seriousness."
"He did?" Hobart had never been sure the Swordmaster approved of him, though the man had always
been courteous and respectful.
"Yes . . . he said you were unusual, a man who took everything seriously."
"That's true enough." Hobart adjusted the mask, and bounced a little, loosening his knees. He had
skimped on stretching, and if Iagin thought him serious, then he had better be serious. "Not many
are you would not believe no, never mind . . ."
"But if you need to stretch out, and ease your mind with talk as your sinews with the exercise,
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file:///F|/rah/Elizabeth%20Moon/Moon,%20Elizabeth%20-%20The%20Serrano%20Legacy%2006%20-%20Change%20Of%20Command.txt
then you should, milord."
"Oh very well." Hobart laid his blade down on the mat, carefully, and leaned over to grasp his
ankle. "I hope it doesn't bore you, and you must realize it's confidential "
"Of course. You need to turn your wrist a little more, milord."
"It's these idiots these dung-for-brains weaklings that I sponsored to high office. I made them
what they are, I led them and taught them and groomed them for office, and now that they're in
power . . . they simply will not do what they're told."
"Ah. And now, milord, another centimeter of pull . . . yes. And now the other leg . . .
remembering to keep the wrist rotated in . . . yes."
"I don't know what it is, Swordmaster, but no matter how smart they are, or how much initiative
they show when I start working with them, no sooner do they get into a position of real
responsibility than they turn on me. Insubordinate, arrogant, selfish "
"If you can tilt the head now yes, like that and a little more "
"And they're supposed to be my supporters, but do they support? No. They go off and do stupid
things, like that idiot Orregiemos . . ."
"And to the other side, now, milord . . ."
"It's enough to make a saint spew rocks," Hobart said. Amazing how easy the fellow was to talk to.
The combination of the warm, quiet room, and familiar scents of leather, steel, oil, sandalwood,
cedar, and the quiet, patient, steady hands of the older man molding him into one shape after
another that stretched out knots he hadn't even realized he had . . .
"It is difficult when subordinates are not obedient," the Swordmaster said.
"Exactly. I've tried reasoning, scolding, even threats "
"And they resist."
"They certainly do. If they only realized, I'm trying to make things better."
Hostite had studied the files; he knew Hobart Conselline as well as anyone could, who had only
files to go on. But the man in reality had shocked him. He was so miserable, so full of anger and
fear and envy that the whole room stank of it. His body had been stiffened and deformed by it; the
very muscles of his face were saturated with his rage and fear.
He was a skin bag of poison.
He was immortal, being a Rejuvenant, as the silver and cobalt rings in his ear boasted to the
world.
So old, and yet so full of folly. He had learned nothing, Hostite saw, in all those decades of
renewed vigor that rejuvenation had given him.
Pride . . . was his own pitfall, Hostite reminded himself. Yes, this man was proud, and bitter,
and angry, but why? He had never yet killed without understanding why those he killed were as they
were.
He must offer the opportunity for understanding, for contrition, for repentance, though he could
not offer must not offer any chance of escape. He must give the soul a chance, while giving the
body none.
But how to do that with unbelievers, with those who were not aware of the soul, of anything beyond
the body? Hostite had studied unbelievers of all kinds, over the years, and found them all to have
beliefs of a sort, just wrong ones. They believed in wealth, or security, or the kindness of
file:///F|/rah/Elizabeth%20Moon/Moon,%20Eli...Legacy%2006%20-%20Change%20Of%20Command.txt (198 of 202) [5/20/03 11:39:49 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Elizabeth%20Moon/Moon,%20Elizabeth%20-%20The%20Serrano%20Legacy%2006%20-%20Change%20Of%20Command.txt
strangers, or something other than the True Faith. And so what they believed in failed them,
eventually, and they were brought low . . .
All that Lord Conselline was saying could be considered a confession, but in a true confession the
sinner knew that what he confessed was sinful. Hobart didn't seem to grasp that at all. Everything
that went wrong was someone else's fault. Hostite felt a wave of sympathy for these stupid
uncooperative men who so angered Lord Conselline. They, too, were heathens, and enemies, and the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]