Read The Game of Kings for Free Online Page B

vulgar prose to flowand Latin. Deafen us, enchant us, educate us, boy.”
    There was a pause. The examinee, dazed by mental gymnastics at top speed, at first boggled. Then he had a pleasing idea. Lowering his lashes over a malicious sparkle he recited obligingly.
    “Volavit volucer sine plumis

Sedit in arbore sine foliis

Venit homo absque manibus …”
    Flat incomprehension informed every face. He halted.
    There was an uneasy and deferential pause. Then Lymond gave a short laugh and capped him in German:
    “… un freet den Vogel fedderlos

Van den Boem blattlos …
    “You appear,” said the Master, “to have left your studies at a very tender age? Don’t trouble to explain: tell me this instead. What about Pharaoh’s chickens appealed to you? Why did you decide to join me?”
    “Why … ?” repeated Redhead, needing time to think.
    “Word of three letters,” said Lymond. “Come along, for God’s sake: no need to let me have it all my own way. What was it? Rape, incest, theft, treason, arson, wetting the bed at night …”
    “… Or burning my mother alive,” said the other sarcastically.
    “Oh, be original at least.” The Master was undisturbed. “Why are you here?”
    Silence. Then the boy said slowly, “Because I admire you.”
    An appreciative titter ran round the audience. “You shock me,” said Lymond. “Explain, please.”
    “All right,” said the boy. “You’ve chosen a life of vice, and have been consistent and reliable and thorough and successful in carrying it out.”
    Lymond considered this with every appearance of seriousness. “I see. Thus the baseness of my morals is redeemed by the stature of my manners? You admire consistency?”
    “Yes, I do.”
    “But prefer consistency in evil to consistency in good?”
    “The choice is hypothetical.”
    “Lord; is it? What an exciting past you must have.”
    “I despise mediocrity,” stated the young man firmly.
    “And you would also despise me if I practised evil but professed purity?”
    “Yes. I should.”
    “I see. What you are really saying, of course, is that you dislike hypocrisy, and people who can’t stand by their principles. I find it so helpful,” continued Lymond, “when some of my gentlemen have well-defined codes of conduct. It makes them more predictable. What security have I got for your loyalty?”
    Redhead chanced his arm, solemnly. “Your appraisal of me, sir.”
    “Touching; but I’d prefer your appraisal of yourself. Do your principles admit an oath of fealty?”
    “If you want it. I won’t betray you, any of you; you can have my word on that. And I’ll do anything you want, within reason. I don’t mind,” said Redhead recklessly, “what crimes I commit, as long as they’ve got a sensible purpose. Wanton injury and destruction, of course, are just juvenile.”
    “Of course,” said the Master, digesting this remarkable statement. “Then let us be adult at all costs. Do you have a mistress? A wife? No? All, all in vain, this flors de biauté? A little quietness, if you please. We are all ready to help, you see. What else … Do you use broadsword or rapier? A hackbut?”
    Smoothly spinning, the inexorable questions resumed, faster and faster. “What do you know about gunpowder? Not very much, is it? How old are you? Year of birth? If you must invent, stay awake afterwards.… What are you like with the longbow? There’s Mat’s quiver: hit that tree. Passable. Now the thorn. Good. Now,” said Lymond, “kill the man by the cooking-pot.”
    Exhausted, deflated and angry, the boy directed one haughty grimace at the Master, hauled on the bowstring and sent the shot of a lifetime buzzing for the mark.
    A great cheer, part shocked, part sardonic, arose. There was a blur of movement. Mat disappeared, and a swarm of curious bodies shut off the view of the target. Redhead knew, if he had never shot straight before, that he had put an arrow through blood and bone this time. He stood still.
    A gentle