Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) Read Online Free Page B

that canny old devil, had seen a spark in me — a wastrel if there ever was one — that he nurtured with more care and understanding than I can ever claim to have done in my dealings with Cligus.
    My father had not only backed my expeditions to the Far Kingdoms but had skipped over all my kin — to Porcemus’ special displeasure — to name me head of the family. I had only been a year or so younger than Hermias. Now I was in my father’s position. Actually it was a little worse. He was forced to choose one son over another. I was contemplating picking a nephew — and a great-nephew at that — over my own son. Mind you I’d never hinted at my thinking, and at the time of this launching, despite speculation by others, it was only a vague possibility.
    Guilt and feelings of duty toward Cligus kept me closer to his path than Hermias’.
    I finished my cup and looked for the promised other. Hermias caught my glance at a passing tray of brimming wine cups and plucked one off.
    “There’s thirsty winds ahead, Uncle,” he said. “And it’s my professional observation that you’ve only got one sail raised flying.”
    “Then by all means,” I said. “Let’s hoist the other.” I reached out to trade my empty cup for its more bounteous sister.
    But just as I did, Cligus blurted, “ Please , Hermias. Don’t encourage him!”
    Without thinking he thrust out a hand to block Hermias. Instead he knocked the cup from Hermias’ grasp and wine spilled down the front of my tunic.
    “Look what you’ve done, Cligus!” Hermias said, wiping at the stain with his own sleeve. “Since when did you become your father’s conscience? A man doesn’t need a son to judge his limits.”
    Again I marked Hermias’ distaste for my son. There was more boiling under the surface of his remarks than competition for my favor.
    “It wouldn’t have happened,” Cligus blustered, “if you hadn’t tried to interfere. It’s my place to serve my father. Not yours.”
    Then he looked quickly around seemed relieved when he saw no one had been close enough to witness the incident.
    “Gentlemen,” I chided, not wanting a stupid argument spoil the day after I’d gone to so much effort to rouse myself to enjoy. “There’s no harm in a little wine, be it inside.... “and I scrubbed at my tunic “... or out.”
    Hermias chortled, his good temper restored. But now Cligus was stricken with remorse. Whether from his actions or for being so revealing about his dislike for Hermias I couldn’t say.
    “Please forgive me, father,” he said. “Shall I send Quatervals back for a fresh tunic?”
    “Don’t worry yourself,” I said, although I noted it was Quatervals he volunteered, not himself. “It’s not the first time I’ve had wine spilled on me. Although when it happened last I was in a rather low tavern and the fellow didn’t spill it but hurled it into my eyes. Then he came at me with a knife.”
    “What happened?” Hermias asked, although he knew the answer, since the tale was a variation I’d told in many forms over the years.
    “He killed me,” I said.
    Hermias chuckled at his favorite uncle’s tired jest, and Cligus recovered poise enough to make perfunctory noises of appreciation.
    Another voice broke in. “Hells an’ green hells! Could that’ be me master, lads? Drunk ag’in with wine stains on ’is tunic?”
    The day brightened considerably as I turned to embrace Kele, my most trusted ship’s captain and a woman I was honored to call friend. Kele was short and sturdy like her father, L’ur — who’d captained for me since the days of my expeditions to the Far Kingdoms. He’d died some years before but although I missed him, his daughter did her able best to fill the void.
    Kele clapped me on the back. “Heard you was dead, or worse, M’Lord,” she said.
    “What could be worse than dead?” I asked.
    “Eatin’ cold porridge ’n wet bread,” she said. “Please to see for meself ’twas all tavern