Read Online The Secular Wizard - Wis in Rhyme - 4 by Christopher Stasheff - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christopher Stasheff
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Fantasy fiction, Fiction - Fantasy, Fantasy, Epic, Fantasy - General, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantasy - Series, Wizards
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the rest of the court." Boncorro glanced at the lady in question and felt the fire of lust blaze as he let his glance linger on her flawless cheek, her full ruby lips, her swelling bosom more displayed than covered by the cut of her neckline. For a few minutes he devoured her with his eyes, enjoying the surge of desire she wakened in him-then he forced his eyes to look elsewhere. "The new Contessa of Corvo, you mean?
Ah, Rebozo! You know I must not gratify my senses with such as her, no matter how I long to!"
Even as he spoke, Sir Pestilline, seated next to the countess, reached past her for a tidbit from a platter on her other side; as he was
bringing it back, it "happened" to drop into her cleavage. The lady squealed, clapping a hand to her dcolletage, while the gentleman laughed, leaning forward, reaching-and the lady shrank away, giggling, her hand slipping lower ...
A hand clamped down on the man's shoulder and wrenched him about. He stared up in surprise-at the Conte of Corvo. With a single motion, the count loosed his hold and slapped the offender's cheek. Sir Pestilline's head rocked; then he was on his feet catching his dagger from the table. Corvo sneered and stepped back, drawing his sword.
The ladies screamed, the men shouted, benches turned over as all sprang up and away. In seconds a circle had opened around the two men, even as the count lunged at Sir Pestilline.
The knight jumped aside, dagger flicking out to parry the count's lunge as he drew his own sword-but too slowly, for Corvo riposted, then shouted in anger as he lunged again. And again Pestilline dodged, but too slowly; Corvo's blade slit his doublet and came away with its edge reddened. Pestilline howled in anger and leaped in, thrusting and parrying in earnest now. Corvo gave back as good as he got, and there wasn't even the slightest sign of mercy in either of their faces.
"Enough!" Boncorro cried, but the two hotheads could not hear him over the clash and clang of their swords. The king's mouth tightened in disgust, and he waved to his guards, who plowed through the throng, halberds at the ready. But they were taking too long; one man might be dead before they came. Boncorro rolled his hands about one another, then pantomimed throwing as he rapped out an arresting verse in an archaic language.
A loud report shook the great hall, and smoke billowed up between the two fighters. Ladies screamed and clung to their men; the two fighters leaped back, covering their mouths and noses, already coughing. Then the guardsmen were there; the king flung his hands up and out, and the smoke disappeared, leaving not a trace or a teary eye be-hind. Corvo and Sir Pestilline looked up, startled, to find crossed hal-herds separating them.
"Not within my great hall, lord and knight!" King Boncorro called. "My lords of L'Augustine and Benicci! Act for these two while they cool their heels outside my door! Conte Corvo! Sir Pes-tilline!
Leave this hall at once! Do not return until you have settled your differences and can sit at the same table without seeking to murder one another!"
The two men turned to face him, drawing themselves up and
sheathing their weapons. They bowed, then turned and marched out. The guardsmen opened the door before them and shut it after. L'Augustine and Benicci stepped forward to confer with one another as the courtiers turned to take their seats again with a buzz of avid conversation, everyone comparing notes on the incident. Even the young countess, the cause of the fracas, sat down and joined in the talk with a merry glint in her eye.
"They shall duel at sunrise tomorrow, I doubt not," the chancellor said, just as hungrily as any of the others.
"I do not doubt it," the king said, "and the outcome is forgone, un-less Pestilline has some noteworthy surprise in store, for Corvo is the best swordsman among the young bloods, and has slain two in duels already. " "And wounded four more. But he has not contended against your Majesty, and
Ah, Rebozo! You know I must not gratify my senses with such as her, no matter how I long to!"
Even as he spoke, Sir Pestilline, seated next to the countess, reached past her for a tidbit from a platter on her other side; as he was
bringing it back, it "happened" to drop into her cleavage. The lady squealed, clapping a hand to her dcolletage, while the gentleman laughed, leaning forward, reaching-and the lady shrank away, giggling, her hand slipping lower ...
A hand clamped down on the man's shoulder and wrenched him about. He stared up in surprise-at the Conte of Corvo. With a single motion, the count loosed his hold and slapped the offender's cheek. Sir Pestilline's head rocked; then he was on his feet catching his dagger from the table. Corvo sneered and stepped back, drawing his sword.
The ladies screamed, the men shouted, benches turned over as all sprang up and away. In seconds a circle had opened around the two men, even as the count lunged at Sir Pestilline.
The knight jumped aside, dagger flicking out to parry the count's lunge as he drew his own sword-but too slowly, for Corvo riposted, then shouted in anger as he lunged again. And again Pestilline dodged, but too slowly; Corvo's blade slit his doublet and came away with its edge reddened. Pestilline howled in anger and leaped in, thrusting and parrying in earnest now. Corvo gave back as good as he got, and there wasn't even the slightest sign of mercy in either of their faces.
"Enough!" Boncorro cried, but the two hotheads could not hear him over the clash and clang of their swords. The king's mouth tightened in disgust, and he waved to his guards, who plowed through the throng, halberds at the ready. But they were taking too long; one man might be dead before they came. Boncorro rolled his hands about one another, then pantomimed throwing as he rapped out an arresting verse in an archaic language.
A loud report shook the great hall, and smoke billowed up between the two fighters. Ladies screamed and clung to their men; the two fighters leaped back, covering their mouths and noses, already coughing. Then the guardsmen were there; the king flung his hands up and out, and the smoke disappeared, leaving not a trace or a teary eye be-hind. Corvo and Sir Pestilline looked up, startled, to find crossed hal-herds separating them.
"Not within my great hall, lord and knight!" King Boncorro called. "My lords of L'Augustine and Benicci! Act for these two while they cool their heels outside my door! Conte Corvo! Sir Pes-tilline!
Leave this hall at once! Do not return until you have settled your differences and can sit at the same table without seeking to murder one another!"
The two men turned to face him, drawing themselves up and
sheathing their weapons. They bowed, then turned and marched out. The guardsmen opened the door before them and shut it after. L'Augustine and Benicci stepped forward to confer with one another as the courtiers turned to take their seats again with a buzz of avid conversation, everyone comparing notes on the incident. Even the young countess, the cause of the fracas, sat down and joined in the talk with a merry glint in her eye.
"They shall duel at sunrise tomorrow, I doubt not," the chancellor said, just as hungrily as any of the others.
"I do not doubt it," the king said, "and the outcome is forgone, un-less Pestilline has some noteworthy surprise in store, for Corvo is the best swordsman among the young bloods, and has slain two in duels already. " "And wounded four more. But he has not contended against your Majesty, and
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