Read Online Master of the Shadows by Lynn Viehl - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lynn Viehl
Ads: Link
stronghold.”
Having a strange mortal under their roof at the same time strange Kyn were arriving made Sylas uneasy. Still, he had no time to chase after Reese Carmichael, and Alain would assure that she came to no harm. “Very well. I will see you shortly in the hall.”
Not for the first time, Sylas was glad of the work he had done to disguise Rosethorn’s fortifications from the ever-curious eyes of the mortal world. Flower beds and turf covered the steep inclines of the curtain walls’ plinth bases. Trees planted along the inside of the lower courtyard cast shade over the subtle crenellations and hoardings where the Kyn on perimeter patrol stood watch. The plaster veneer of the keep, which had been designed to appear as a large contemporary manor house, concealed five-meter-thick masonry walls.
The decorative casings above the large picture windows housed rolls of steel slats that at the push of a button could be dropped down to form an impenetrable barrier over the glass panes; dual wooden shutters on hidden tracks flanking the windows covered tall, narrow arrow loops. The garages, gardening sheds, generator, and pump houses were actually smaller versions of the old gate towers and were manned by armed guards around the clock. Even the collapsible ramps leading from the lower bailey up to the shield walls had been paved with granite cobblestone and lined with flowering shrubs to appear to the ignorant eye as nothing more than pleasant, well-landscaped walkways.
Robin had disagreed with his castellan over the need for one last, outmost barrier against invasion. While the modern world had developed formidable means and firepower since the age of castles, water still presented a sizable and difficult obstacle. The suzerain, however, had maintained that nothing could adequately conceal or explain away a wide, water-filled trench encircling the entire property. Sylas had to be content with a series of retention ponds and ditches for which he fashioned collapsible borders and a massive underground system of supply pipes. Should the stronghold come under attack, he could flip a switch and flood the ditches within minutes, creating an almost instantaneous moat.
Knowing the stronghold was well guarded did not relieve all of Sylas’s misgivings about their unexpected visitors. If the Brethren had tracked the Italians after they had fled Venice, they might have followed them across the sea to America. Hopefully their mistress had been too clever to lead their mutual enemy directly to Robin of Locksley’s door.
Sylas led his personal escort down the ramp to where the Italians were waiting. Their leader, a tall warrior whose dark face gave away none of his thoughts, stepped forward and performed a respectful bow.
“I am Saetta, maréchal to Contessa Salvatora Borgiana, sent here by leave of your suzerain, Robin of Locksley.” He straightened and met Sylas’s gaze with the steadiness of an experienced leader. “We are grateful for the sanctuary you provide.”
As castellan, Sylas had considerably more rank than Saetta, whose position in Italy was roughly equal to that of a head groom or stablemaster. Under any other circumstances it would be an insult to have such a member of the contessa’s household act as her liaison. Still, Sylas knew that Salvatora Borgiana and her jardin had been without proper leadership since the death of her lord paramount and husband, Arno, during the jardin wars. That Richard had permitted the situation to persist for so long puzzled him, but was not a matter for him to question or challenge.
“Sylas of Daven, Lord Locksley’s castellan.” He walked forward a few steps, eliminating most of the space between them before returning the bow. Among the Kyn, it was a gesture of confidence as well as a silent offer of friendship. “You and your men are welcome here, maréchal .”
“We will endeavor not to create any hardship for you or your men, castellan.” Saetta turned and introduced
Having a strange mortal under their roof at the same time strange Kyn were arriving made Sylas uneasy. Still, he had no time to chase after Reese Carmichael, and Alain would assure that she came to no harm. “Very well. I will see you shortly in the hall.”
Not for the first time, Sylas was glad of the work he had done to disguise Rosethorn’s fortifications from the ever-curious eyes of the mortal world. Flower beds and turf covered the steep inclines of the curtain walls’ plinth bases. Trees planted along the inside of the lower courtyard cast shade over the subtle crenellations and hoardings where the Kyn on perimeter patrol stood watch. The plaster veneer of the keep, which had been designed to appear as a large contemporary manor house, concealed five-meter-thick masonry walls.
The decorative casings above the large picture windows housed rolls of steel slats that at the push of a button could be dropped down to form an impenetrable barrier over the glass panes; dual wooden shutters on hidden tracks flanking the windows covered tall, narrow arrow loops. The garages, gardening sheds, generator, and pump houses were actually smaller versions of the old gate towers and were manned by armed guards around the clock. Even the collapsible ramps leading from the lower bailey up to the shield walls had been paved with granite cobblestone and lined with flowering shrubs to appear to the ignorant eye as nothing more than pleasant, well-landscaped walkways.
Robin had disagreed with his castellan over the need for one last, outmost barrier against invasion. While the modern world had developed formidable means and firepower since the age of castles, water still presented a sizable and difficult obstacle. The suzerain, however, had maintained that nothing could adequately conceal or explain away a wide, water-filled trench encircling the entire property. Sylas had to be content with a series of retention ponds and ditches for which he fashioned collapsible borders and a massive underground system of supply pipes. Should the stronghold come under attack, he could flip a switch and flood the ditches within minutes, creating an almost instantaneous moat.
Knowing the stronghold was well guarded did not relieve all of Sylas’s misgivings about their unexpected visitors. If the Brethren had tracked the Italians after they had fled Venice, they might have followed them across the sea to America. Hopefully their mistress had been too clever to lead their mutual enemy directly to Robin of Locksley’s door.
Sylas led his personal escort down the ramp to where the Italians were waiting. Their leader, a tall warrior whose dark face gave away none of his thoughts, stepped forward and performed a respectful bow.
“I am Saetta, maréchal to Contessa Salvatora Borgiana, sent here by leave of your suzerain, Robin of Locksley.” He straightened and met Sylas’s gaze with the steadiness of an experienced leader. “We are grateful for the sanctuary you provide.”
As castellan, Sylas had considerably more rank than Saetta, whose position in Italy was roughly equal to that of a head groom or stablemaster. Under any other circumstances it would be an insult to have such a member of the contessa’s household act as her liaison. Still, Sylas knew that Salvatora Borgiana and her jardin had been without proper leadership since the death of her lord paramount and husband, Arno, during the jardin wars. That Richard had permitted the situation to persist for so long puzzled him, but was not a matter for him to question or challenge.
“Sylas of Daven, Lord Locksley’s castellan.” He walked forward a few steps, eliminating most of the space between them before returning the bow. Among the Kyn, it was a gesture of confidence as well as a silent offer of friendship. “You and your men are welcome here, maréchal .”
“We will endeavor not to create any hardship for you or your men, castellan.” Saetta turned and introduced
Similar Books
