Read Online Intrigues: Book Two of the Collegium Chronicles (a Valdemar Novel) by Mercedes Lackey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mercedes Lackey
Tags: Fiction, General, Fantasy fiction, Fiction - Fantasy, Fantasy, Epic, Fantasy - Epic, Fantasy - General, American Science Fiction And Fantasy, Valdemar (Imaginary place)
Ads: Link
Because judging by that “feel,” Chamjey was using that very flamboyance as a kind of . . . mask? No, a distraction. He was using it to make the other Councilors underestimate him. Not that he was brilliant by any means, but he was shrewd. He knew exactly what he was doing.
The outside was a plainish man, average in height, weight, and facial features, with thinning hair and a bit of a belly, who appeared to be desperately trying to make himself look more important, attractive and wealthy with his rather too elaborate clothing.
The inside was a shrewd calculator, who never did anything without studying it from as many angles as possible. If Chamjey had been an animal, he would have been a crow. Not highly intelligent, but clever. Very clever.
And very much on the lookout for himself and no one else. When the set of pages that Mags was with was relieved of duty by another trio, he wandered off to his room to try and make up for missing two candlemarks worth of study time, wondering if he had somehow stumbled onto something not even the King’s Own was aware of.
Strange.
:What’s strange?: Dallen asked.
Mags leaned idly against the side of a building and waited while his quarry, all unaware, approached him. This was a relatively busy corner, where young men with nothing better to do—or who hoped to pick up an odd, easy job or two—loitered in the shadow of an inn. He was wearing the same set of mismatched cast-offs from various Guardsmen that he had arrived at the Collegium wearing—although, now that he had a bit more weight and height, they fit him a great deal better.
:Clothes. Funny how they make ye feel. Yon fancy stuff I have, tha’ I wore t’ Midwinter . . . feel like there’s allus someone watchin’ me, an’ I gotta be extra careful and quiet like so’s I don’t make mistakes. Like if I open m’mouth I’ll get found out an’ kicked out, even when it was just Master Soren what invited me in the first place.:
:I can see that,: Dallen replied.
:Reg’lar Trainee uniform, I feel like I gotta just try hard all the time, not waste a drip of a candlemark, better measure up, no slackin’, no slouchin’. Like . . . like I gotta live up t’ the Grays, belike. This . . . : He chuckled to himself. :This, y’know, I dun feel like there’s all that pressure.:
:An amusing observation. Is that why your posture is so poor?:
Dallen was—somewhere. Somewhere that Chamjey wouldn’t see him from the street at any rate, and somewhere that a Companion alone would not excite much interest. Nowhere near Mags. Probably waiting in an inn-yard somewhere nearby, one where Heralds or Trainees might leave a Companion while they went on an errand. Companions were not exactly unobtrusive after all—horse-sized, horse-shaped, brilliantly white with silver hooves and blue eyes—you couldn’t mistake them for anything else, and their white coats literally would not “take” dyes. So having a Companion visible on this street, when he was already nervous, would immediately put Chamjey on alert.
But one more lounging youth leaning against a wall and watching several other wastrels at a game of dice wouldn’t alert him to anything. Except, perhaps, an irritated observation about wastrel youth and wasting time.
:Nay. Just blendin’ in.: Mags had picked this spot very deliberately. It was the first place where Chamjey would be able to choose a direction once he came down off the street that led to his manor. So Mags was going to wait here, see what direction it was that Chanjey chose, then ride forward on Dallen, getting ahead of him, to the next spot where the same choice was likely to happen. Chamjey would never see anyone following him because no one would be following him. It was all about staying within range of that faint “feel” of the man. As long as he did that, he would know exactly where Chamjey went.
And in this case, as he leaned over the game intently, Chamjey reached the intersection and went west
The outside was a plainish man, average in height, weight, and facial features, with thinning hair and a bit of a belly, who appeared to be desperately trying to make himself look more important, attractive and wealthy with his rather too elaborate clothing.
The inside was a shrewd calculator, who never did anything without studying it from as many angles as possible. If Chamjey had been an animal, he would have been a crow. Not highly intelligent, but clever. Very clever.
And very much on the lookout for himself and no one else. When the set of pages that Mags was with was relieved of duty by another trio, he wandered off to his room to try and make up for missing two candlemarks worth of study time, wondering if he had somehow stumbled onto something not even the King’s Own was aware of.
Strange.
:What’s strange?: Dallen asked.
Mags leaned idly against the side of a building and waited while his quarry, all unaware, approached him. This was a relatively busy corner, where young men with nothing better to do—or who hoped to pick up an odd, easy job or two—loitered in the shadow of an inn. He was wearing the same set of mismatched cast-offs from various Guardsmen that he had arrived at the Collegium wearing—although, now that he had a bit more weight and height, they fit him a great deal better.
:Clothes. Funny how they make ye feel. Yon fancy stuff I have, tha’ I wore t’ Midwinter . . . feel like there’s allus someone watchin’ me, an’ I gotta be extra careful and quiet like so’s I don’t make mistakes. Like if I open m’mouth I’ll get found out an’ kicked out, even when it was just Master Soren what invited me in the first place.:
:I can see that,: Dallen replied.
:Reg’lar Trainee uniform, I feel like I gotta just try hard all the time, not waste a drip of a candlemark, better measure up, no slackin’, no slouchin’. Like . . . like I gotta live up t’ the Grays, belike. This . . . : He chuckled to himself. :This, y’know, I dun feel like there’s all that pressure.:
:An amusing observation. Is that why your posture is so poor?:
Dallen was—somewhere. Somewhere that Chamjey wouldn’t see him from the street at any rate, and somewhere that a Companion alone would not excite much interest. Nowhere near Mags. Probably waiting in an inn-yard somewhere nearby, one where Heralds or Trainees might leave a Companion while they went on an errand. Companions were not exactly unobtrusive after all—horse-sized, horse-shaped, brilliantly white with silver hooves and blue eyes—you couldn’t mistake them for anything else, and their white coats literally would not “take” dyes. So having a Companion visible on this street, when he was already nervous, would immediately put Chamjey on alert.
But one more lounging youth leaning against a wall and watching several other wastrels at a game of dice wouldn’t alert him to anything. Except, perhaps, an irritated observation about wastrel youth and wasting time.
:Nay. Just blendin’ in.: Mags had picked this spot very deliberately. It was the first place where Chamjey would be able to choose a direction once he came down off the street that led to his manor. So Mags was going to wait here, see what direction it was that Chanjey chose, then ride forward on Dallen, getting ahead of him, to the next spot where the same choice was likely to happen. Chamjey would never see anyone following him because no one would be following him. It was all about staying within range of that faint “feel” of the man. As long as he did that, he would know exactly where Chamjey went.
And in this case, as he leaned over the game intently, Chamjey reached the intersection and went west
Similar Books
