Raymond E. Feist - Conclave of Shadows 02 - King of Foxes

King of FoxesRaymond E. Feist

King of Foxes

Conclave of Shadows, book 2

CONTENTS

PART ONE: Agent

Chapter 1 Return

Chapter 2 Reception

Chapter 3 Hunt

Chapter 4 Choice

Chapter 5 Service

Chapter 6 Rillanon

Chapter 7 Oath

Chapter 8 Task

Chapter 9 Emissary

Chapter 10 Discovery

Chapter 11 Salador

Chapter 12 Betrayal

PART TWO: Soldier

Chapter 13 Prison

Chapter 14 Cook

Chapter 15 Escape

Chapter 16 Survival

Chapter 17 Mercenaries

Chapter 18 Deception

Chapter 19 Assault

Chapter 20 Resolution

EPILOGUE: Retribution

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

It has become a tradition that I begin each acknowledgement with a heartfelt

"thank you" to the original creators of Midkemia, and this book is no

different.

So, again, I acknowledge my never-ending debt to Steve, Jon, Anita, Steve,

Bob,

Rich, Tim, Ethan, April and Conan. As I explain at every opportunity, yours

are

the "other voices" that permeate my work.

To Jonathan Matson of the Harold Matson Company, Abner Stein of the Abner

Stein

agency, Nicki Kennedy of the Intercontinental Literary Agency, and the folks

at

Tuttle-Mori Agency for taking care of the franchise around the world.

To Jennifer Brehl and Jane Johnson for being amazing; they know how to make a

writer look better.

To so many friends for keeping me upright and sane over the last few years.

To the members of the Feist Fans Mailing List at Cornell University who are

not

shy about telling me what they like and dislike but who have also become

virtual

friends, and a few who've become more than virtual. Thanks for keeping things

interesting.

To Jennifer, Roseanna, Rebecca, Milisa, and Heather for keeping things lively.

To Jamie Ann for keeping things interesting and lively.

To my mother, for so many reasons, and my children, for even more reasons.

And, lastly, but certainly not least of all, you, the readers, for keeping me

working at a craft I love.

Raymond E. Feist

San Diego, CA

July, 2003

PART ONE

Agent

"In the service of Caesar, everything is legitimate."

Pierre Corneille, La Mort de Pompe'e

CHAPTER ONE

Return

A bird soared over the City.

Its eyes sought out a figure in the throng on the docks, one man amidst the

teeming surge of humanity occupying the harbour-side during the busiest part

of

the day. The Port of Roldem, harbour to the capital city of the island

kingdom

of the same name, was one of the most crowded in the Sea of Kingdoms. Trade

goods and passengers from the Empire of Great Kesh, the Kingdom of the Isles,

and half a dozen lesser nations nearby came and went daily.

The man under scrutiny wore the travel clothes of a noble, all sturdy weave

and

easily cleaned, with fastenings which allowed him to remain comfortable in

all

weathers. He sported a jacket designed to be worn off the left shoulder,

leaving

his sword arm unencumbered. Upon his head was a black beret adorned with a

silver pin and a single grey feather, and upon his feet he wore sturdy boots.

His luggage was being offloaded and would be conveyed to the address he had

specified. He travelled without servant, which while unusual for a noble was

not

unheard of—for not all nobles were wealthy.

He paused for a brief second to drink in the sights. Around him people

scurried:

porters, sailors, stevedores, and teamsters. Wagons loaded so high their

wheels

appeared on the verge of buckling rolled slowly by him, cargo heading into

the

city or out to the ferry barges which would load them onto outbound ships.

Roldem was a busy port by any standard; not only were goods delivered here,

but

also transhipped, for Roldem was the trading capital of the Sea of Kingdoms.

Everywhere the young man looked he saw commerce. Men bargaining over the cost

of

goods to be sold in distant markets, others negotiating the price of

offloading

a cargo, or insuring one against pirates or loss at sea. Still others were

agents of trading concerns eagerly watching for any sign that might prove an

advantage to their sponsors, men who sat in coffee houses as far away as

Krondor

or as close as the Traders Exchange, just one street away from where the

young

man now stood. They would dispatch young boys with notes who would run to

those

men who awaited news on arriving cargo, men trying to sense a shift in a

distant

market before buying or selling.

The young man resumed his walk, and avoided a gang of urchins dashing past

with

determined boyish purpose. He forced himself not to pat his purse, for he

knew

it was still where it was supposed to be, but there was always the

possibility

the boys were sent by a gang of pickpockets on the look-out for a fat purse

to

rob. The young man kept his eyes moving, seeking out any potential threat. He

saw only bakers and street vendors, travellers and a pair of guardsmen. It

was

exactly who he would have expected to see in the crowd on Roldem's docks.

Looking down from above, the soaring bird saw in the press of the crowd that

another man moved along a parallel course and at the same pace as the young

noble.

The bird circled and observed the second man, a tall traveller with dark hair

who moved like a predator, easily keeping his eye upon the other man, but

using

passers-by as cover, dodging effortlessly through the crowd, never falling

behind, but never getting close enough to be discovered.

The young noble was fair-skinned, but sun-browned, his blue eyes squinting

against the day's glare. It was late summer in Roldem and the dawn mists and

fog

had fled, burned off by mid-morning to a brilliant sunny sky, made tolerable

by

a light wind off the sea. Trudging up the hill from the harbour, the noble

whistled a nameless tune as he sought out his old quarters, a three-bedroomed

flat above a moneylender's home. He knew he was being followed, for he was as

adept a hunter as any man living.

Talon of the Silver Hawk, last of the Orosini, servant of the Conclave of

Shadows, had returned to Roldem. Here he was Talwin Hawkins—distant cousin to

Lord Seljan Hawkins, Baron of the Prince's Court in Krondor. His title was

Squire of Morgan River and Bellcastle, Baronet of Silverlake—estates

producing

almost no income—and he was vassal to the Baron of Ylith; a former Bannerette

Knight Lieutenant under the command of the Duke of Yabon, Tal Hawkins was a

young man of some rank and little wealth.

For almost two years he had been absent from the scene of his most

significant

public triumph, winning the tournament at the Masters' Court, thus earning

the

title of World's Greatest Swordsman. Cynical despite his youth, he tried to

keep

the illusion of superiority in perspective—he had been the best of the

several

hundred entrants who had come to Roldem for the contest, but that hardly

convinced him he was the best in the world. He had no doubt there was some

soldier on a distant battlement, or mercenary riding guard-duty somewhere who

could cut him up for fish-bait given the chance; but fortunately they hadn't

entered the contest.

For a brief instant, Tal wondered if fate would allow him to return to Roldem

in

three years' time to defend that championship. He was but twenty-three years

of

age, so it would only be circumstance that would prevent him from returning

to

Roldem. Should he do so, he hoped the contest would be less eventful than the

last. Two men had died by his sword during the matches—a very rare and

usually

regrettable outcome. Nevertheless Tal had felt no regret, since one of the

men

had been among those responsible for the destruction of his nation, and the

other had been an assassin sent to kill him. Memories of assassins turned his

mind to the man following him. The other man had also boarded at Salador, yet

had managed to avoid direct contact with him aboard the small ship for the

duration of the voyage, despite their being nearly two weeks at sea.

The bird wheeled overhead, then pulled up, wings flapping as it hovered, legs

extended downward and tail fanned, as if watching prey. With its telltale

cry,

the predator announced its presence.

Hearing the familiar screech, Tal looked up, then hesitated for a moment, for

the bird above the throng was a silver hawk. It was his spirit guide and had

given him his naming vision. For an instant Tal imagined he could see the

creature's eyes and hear a greeting. Then the bird wheeled and flew away.

"Did you see that?" asked a porter nearby. "Never seen a bird do that."

Tal said, "Just a hawk."

"Never seen a hawk that colour, leastways not around here," answered the

porter

who took one look at where the bird had hovered then returned to lugging his

bundle. Tal nodded, then moved back into the throng. The silver hawk was

native

to his homeland far to the north, across the vast Sea of Kingdoms, and as far

as

he knew, none inhabited the island kingdom of Roldem. He felt troubled, and

now

by more than the presence of the man who had followed him from Salador. He

had

been subsumed so long in the role of Tal Hawkins that he had forgotten his

true

identity. Perhaps the bird had been a warning.

With a mental shrug he considered that the bird's appearance might have been

nothing more than a coincidence. While still an Orosini at heart, in all ways

he

had been forced to abandon the practices and beliefs of his people. He still

owned a core being—Talon of the Silver Hawk—a boy forged in the crucible of a

nation's history and culture; but he had been shaped and alloyed by fate and

the

teachings of outlanders so that at times the Orosini boy was no more than a

distant memory.

He wended his way through the press of the city. Shops displayed colourful

fashions as he entered a more prosperous part of the city. He lived at just

the

right level to convince everyone he was a noble of modest means. He was

charming

enough and successful enough as Champion of the Masters' Court to warrant

invitations to the very best Roldemish society had to offer, but had as yet

to

host his own gala.

Reaching the door to the moneylender's home, he reflected wryly that he might

crowd half a dozen close friends into his modest apartment, but he could

hardly

entertain those to whom he owed a social debt. He knocked lightly upon the

door

and then entered.

The office of Kostas Zenvanose consisted of little more than a tiny counter

and

there was barely enough room to stand before it. A clever hinge allowed the

counter to be raised at night and put out of the way. Three feet behind the

counter a curtain divided the room. Tal knew that behind the curtain lay the

Zenvanose family living-room. Beyond that lay the kitchen, bedrooms, and exit

to

the back courtyard.

A pretty girl appeared and her face brightened with a smile. "Squire! It's

wonderful to see you again."

Sveta Zenvanose had been a charming girl of seventeen when Tal had last seen

her. The passing two years had done nothing but turn a pretty lass into a

burgeoning beauty. She had lily-white skin with a hint of rose on her high

cheekbones and eyes the colour of cornflowers, all topped off with hair so

black

it shone with blue and violet highlights when struck by the sun. Her

previously

slender figure had also ripened, Tal noted as he quickly returned her smile.

"My lady," he said with a slight bow. She began to flush, as she always had

when

confronted by the notorious Tal Hawkins. Tal kept the flirtation to a

minimum,

just enough to amuse the girl, but not enough to pose any serious issues

between

himself and the girl's father. While the father posed no threat to him

directly,

he had money, and money could buy a lot of threats. The father appeared a

moment

later, and as always Tal wondered how he could have sired a girl as pretty as

Sveta. Kostas was gaunt to the point of looking unhealthy, which Tal knew was

misleading, for he was lively and moved quickly. He also had a keen eye and a

canny knack for business.

He moved swiftly between his daughter and his tenant, and smiled. "Greetings,

Squire. Your rooms have been readied, as you requested, and I believe

everything

is in order."

"Thank you." Tal smiled. "Has my man put in an appearance?"

"I believe he has, otherwise you have an intruder above who has been banging

around all day yesterday and this morning. I assume it's Pasko moving the

furniture to dust and clean, and not a thief."

Tal nodded. "Am I current with our accounts?"

As if by magic, the moneylender produced an account ledger and consulted it,

with one bony finger running down the page. With a nod and an "ah" he said,

"You

are most certainly current. Your rent is paid for another three months."

Tal had left the island nation almost two years previously, and had deposited

a

sum of gold with the moneylender to keep the apartment against his return. He

had judged that if he didn't return within two years, he'd be dead, and

Kostas

would be free to rent out the rooms to someone else.

"Good," said Tal. "Then I will leave you to your business and retire. I

expect

to be here for a while, so at the end of the three months, remind me and I'll

advance more funds against the rent."

"Very well, Squire."

Sveta batted her lashes. "Good to see you home, Squire."

Tal returned the obvious flirtation with a slight bow and smile, and fought

down

a sudden urge to laugh. The rooms above were no more his home than was the

palace of the King. He had no home, at least he hadn't since the Duke of

Olasko

had sent mercenaries to destroy the land of the Orosini. As far as Tal could

judge, he was the sole surviving member of his people.

Tal left the office. One quick glance around the street told him that the man

who had followed him from the ship was out of sight, so he mounted the stairs

next to the door, climbing quickly to the entrance to his rooms. He tested

the

door and found it unlocked. Stepping in he was confronted by a dour-looking

man

with a droopy moustache and large brown eyes.

"Master! There you are!" Pasko said. "Weren't you in on the morning tide?"

"Indeed," replied Tal, handing his jacket and travel bag to his manservant.

"But

as such things are wont to be, the order of landing was dictated by factors

of

which I am ignorant."

"In other words, the ship's owner didn't bribe the harbourmaster enough to

get

you in early."

"Most likely." Tal sat down on a divan. "So expect the luggage to arrive

later

today."

Pasko nodded. "The rooms are safe, master." Even in private, Pasko observed

the

formalities of their relationship: he the servant, Tal the master, despite

the

fact that he had been one of Tal's instructors over the years.

"Good." Tal knew that meant Pasko had employed various wards against scrying

magic, just as he would have inspected the premises against more mundane

observation. The chances of their enemies knowing that Tal was an agent of

the

Conclave of Shadows were small, but not out of the question. And they had

sufficient resources to match the Conclave in dealing with opponents.

Since his victory over Raven and his mercenaries, avenging his own people's

slaughter, Tal had lived on Sorcerer's Isle, recovering from wounds—both

mental

and physical—learning more of the politics of the Eastern Kingdoms, and

simply

resting. His teaching had continued in various areas, for Pug and his wife,

Miranda, had occasionally instructed him in areas of magic that might concern

him. Nakor the Isalani, the self-proclaimed gambler who was far more than

that,

instructed him in what only could be termed "dodgy business", how to cheat at

cards and spot others cheating, how to pick locks and pockets, as well as

other

nefarious skills. With his old friend Caleb he would go hunting. It had been

the

best time he had known since the destruction of his people.

During that period he had been allowed to glimpse some of the dealings of the

Conclave on a level far above his station; and had thus gained the sense that

the Conclave had agents numbering in the hundreds, perhaps thousands, or at

least had links to thousands of well-positioned individuals. He knew the

organization's influences reached down into the heart of the Empire of Great

Kesh, and across the sea to the lands of Novindus, as well as through the

rift

to the Tsurani home world, Kelewan. He could tell that enormous wealth was at

their disposal, for whatever they needed always appeared somehow. The false

patent of nobility that Tal carried in his personal portfolio had cost a

small

fortune, he was sure, for there were "originals" in the Royal Archives on

Rillanon. Even his "distant cousin" Lord Seljan Hawkins had been delighted to

discover a long-lost relative who had been victorious in the Masters' Court,

according to Nakor. Tal didn't feel emboldened enough to ever visit the

capital

of the Kingdom of the Isles, because while the elderly Baron might believe

that

some distant cousin had fathered a lad who had some versatility with the

sword,

the possibility of Tal failing to be convincing when it came to small-talk

about

this or that family member made such a visit too risky to contemplate.

Still, it was reassuring to know that these resources lay at his disposal

should

he need them. For he was ready to embark upon the most difficult and

dangerous

portion of his personal mission to avenge his people: he had to find a way to

destroy Duke Kaspar of Olasko, the man ultimately responsible for the

obliteration of the Orosini nation. And Duke Kaspar happened to be the most

dangerous man in the world, according to many sources.

"What news?" asked Pasko.

"Nothing new, really. Reports from the north say that Olasko is again causing

trouble in the Borderlands, and may be once more seeking to isolate the

Orodon.

They still send patrols through my former homeland to discourage anyone who

might think to claim Orosini lands." Then he asked, "What is the news in

Roldem?"

"The usual court intrigues, master, and quite a few rumours of this lady and

that lord and their dalliances. In short, with little of note to comment

upon,

the nobles, gentry and wealthy commoners turn their attention to gossip."

"Let's confine ourselves to matters of importance. Any sign of Olasko's

agents

here in Roldem?"

"Always. But nothing out of the ordinary, or at least nothing we can see

that's

out of the ordinary. He builds alliances, seeks to do favours in exchange for

social debts, loans gold, and insinuates himself in the good graces of

others."

Tal was silent for a long moment. Then he asked, "To what ends?"

"Pardon?"

Tal leaned forward in his chair, elbows on knees. "He's the most powerful man

in

the Eastern Kingdoms. He has blood ties to the throne of Roldem—he's, what?

Sixth in line of succession?"

"Seventh," replied Pasko.

"So why does he need to curry favour with Roldemish nobility?"

"Indeed."

"He doesn't need to," said Tal, "which means he wants to. But why?"

"Lord Olasko is a man with many irons in the fire, master. Perhaps he has

interests here in Roldem which might require a vote of the House of Lords?"

"Perhaps. They ratify treaties enacted by the Crown, and verify succession.

What

else do they do?"

"Not much else, save argue over taxes and land." Pasko nodded. "Given that

Roldem is an island, master, land is of great importance." He grinned. "Until

someone discovers how to build dirt."

Tal grinned back. "I'm sure we know a few magicians who could increase the

size

of the island if they felt the need."

Pasko said, "So, what are we doing back in Roldem, master?"

Tal sat back and sighed. "Playing the role of bored noble looking to find a

better station in life. In short, I must convince Kaspar of Olasko I'm ready

to

take service with him by creating a muddle here that only he can get me out

of."

"Such as?"

"Picking a fight with a royal seems a good choice."

"What? You're going to smack Prince Constantine and provoke a duel? The boy's

only fifteen years of age!"

"I was thinking of his cousin, Prince Matthew."

Pasko nodded. Matthew was the King's cousin. He was considered the

"difficult"

member of the royal family; more arrogant, demanding and condescending than

any

other member of the King's family, he was also a womanizer, a drunk and he

cheated at gambling. Rumour had it that the King had bailed him out of very

difficult straits on a number of occasions. "Good choice. Kill him and the

King

will privately thank you... while his executioner is lopping off your head."

"I wasn't thinking of killing him, just... creating enough of a fuss that the

King would be unhappy with me remaining in his country."

"You'd have to kill him," said Pasko dryly. "As Champion of the Masters'

Court

you could probably sleep with the Queen and the King would pass it off as a

boyish prank. Why do you need all this bother? Olasko offered you a position

when you won the tourney."

"Because I wish to appear the reluctant petitioner. I would have undergone

close

scrutiny had I accepted his offer immediately after the tourney two years

ago.

If I were to appear suddenly requesting that position today, I would undergo

an

even closer examination. But if I'm merely forced by circumstances to seek

out

his patronage, then my motives are obvious—at least I hope they are.

"While at Sorcerer's Isle, I was... prepared, to withstand a great deal of

examination."

Pasko nodded. He understood what was being said. Tal had been conditioned by

Pug

and the other magicians to deal with any magic that might uncover his true

allegiance.

"But the circumstances of my seeking service with Kaspar must also be

credible.

Being in his debt for my life seems an obvious motive."

"Assuming he can keep you off the headsman's block." Pasko rubbed his throat.

"I've always thought beheading a barbaric choice. Now, the Kingdom hangs its

felons. A short drop—" he snapped his fingers "—and the neck is broken, and

it's

over. No mess, no fuss, no bother.

"In Great Kesh, I've been told, they have many different choices of

execution,

depending on the location and nature of the crime: decapitation, burning at

the

stake, being buried up to your neck next to an anthill, drowning, exposure,

being pulled apart by camels, being buried alive, defenestration—"

"What?"

"That's throwing someone off a very high place onto the rocks below. My

personal

favourite is castration, then being fed to the crocodiles in the Overn Deep

after having watched them first consume your manhood."

Tal stood up. "Have I ever mentioned that you have a seriously morbid streak?

Rather than contemplate the means of my demise, I'll spend my energies on

staying alive."

"Then, to a practical concern?"

Tal nodded.

"While I suspect Duke Kaspar would intervene on your behalf in such a

circumstance—the humiliation of Prince Matthew, I mean, not the feeding to

crocodiles thing..."

Tal smiled.

"...isn't it going to be difficult for him to do so from across the seas?"

Tal's smile broadened. "Nakor had intelligence from the north just as I left

Salador; Duke Kaspar arrives within the week for a state visit."

Pasko shrugged. "In aid of what?"

"A little hand-holding for his distant cousin, I imagine, prior to doing

something that might otherwise earn the King's displeasure."

"Such as?"

"We have no idea, but the north is constantly on a low roil, and Kaspar only

has

to raise the heat in one place or another for a kettle to boil over

somewhere.

That's one of the many things I wish to find out."

Pasko nodded. "Shall I draw you a bath?"

"I think I'll take a walk to Remarga's and indulge in a long massage and tub

there. Bring suitable clothing for an evening in town."

"Where will you be dining, master?"

"I don't know. Somewhere public."

"Dawson's?" The former inn was now exclusively a dining establishment for the

noble and the rich, and had spawned a dozen imitators. "Dining out" had

become

something of a pastime for those in the capital city.

"Perhaps that new establishment, the Metropol. It's considered the place to

be

seen, I have been told."

"It's a private club, master."

"Then get me an invitation while I bathe, Pasko."

With a wry expression, Pasko said, "I'll see what I can do."

"I must be seen in public so word will spread I'm back in the city, but I

need

to be alone tonight when I finish supper and return to these quarters."

"Why, master?"

"So I can find out who's been following me since I left Salador, and what's

on

his mind."

"A spy?"

With a stretch and a yawn, Tal said, "Probably an assassin."

Sighing, Pasko said, "So it begins."

Nodding as he headed for the door, Tal said, "Yes. So it begins."

* * *

Fog shrouded the city. Mist hung so thick it was impossible to see more than

three feet ahead. The bright lamps at each corner of the merchants' quarter

were

reduced to dim yellow spots in the distance, and even the occasional lantern

beside a tavern door became just a faint pool of light across the street.

There

were places on long streets where no light was visible, and the senses were

confounded, distances were meaningless and the entirety of the universe was

murk.

Even sound was muted. The taverns he passed offered just a murmur of voices

rather than the raucous cacophony normally heard. Footfalls were a soft

grinding

of heel on caked mud rather than a clatter of leather on stone.

Even so, Tal Hawkins knew he was being stalked. He had known that the instant

he

had departed Lady Gavorkin's home. He had lingered over dinner at the

Metropol—it had taken only minutes for Pasko to gain an invitation on behalf

of

the owner of the establishment for the Champion of the Masters' Court to dine

as

his guest—and Tal had left with a free membership in the club. He had been

impressed with the decor, the ambiance and the service. The food was only

just

acceptable, and he planned on having words with the chef, but he could see

this

club business might be a useful enterprise.

Roldem lived on commerce more than any nation in the east, and this new club

was

in a location where nobles and wealthy commoners could come together in

casual

surroundings to socialize in a fashion impossible to imagine anywhere else in

the city. Tal suspected that over the coming years fortunes would be lost and

titles gained, marriages arranged and alliances formed in the quiet interior

of

the Metropol. Even before he had finished dining, a note from Lady Gavorkin

had

been handed to him, and Tal judged it as likely he would encounter his

stalker

on his way to her townhouse as he would back to his own. He had not, however,

been accosted by whoever followed, and had spent a pleasant two hours, first

being scolded for his long absence, then being ardently forgiven by Lady

Gavorkin.

The lady was recently widowed, her husband having perished in a raid against

a

nest of Ceresian pirates operating out of an isolated bay off Kesh. His

service

to the Roldemish Crown had garnered Lady Gavorkin a fair amount of sympathy,

some guarantees of a modest pension in addition to her ample estates and

holdings, and an appetite for a new husband as soon as the proper mourning

period had been observed. She was childless, and her estates stood at risk if

the Crown decided that another noble would better able manage them. Ideally,

from the royal perspective it would be ideal that Lady Gavorkin, Countess of

Dravinko, should marry some other noble who was favoured by the Crown, which

would tie up two loose ends nicely.

Tal knew he would have to sever all contact with Lady Gavorkin soon because

he

would never withstand the close scrutiny reserved for those marrying into

Roldemish nobility. A minor squire's son from a town outside a distant

Kingdom

city who was socially acceptable as an escort for galas and festivals was one

thing, but someone who wed the widow of a recently departed war hero was

another

matter entirely. Besides, being tied down to anyone, even someone as

attractive

as Lady Margaret Gavorkin, held limited appeal for Tal, her substantial

wealth,

holdings, and energetic lovemaking notwithstanding.

Tal listened as he walked and let his hunter's instincts serve him well. He

had

learned years earlier that a city was nothing but a different kind of

wilderness, and that the skills he had learned as a child in the mountains to

the far north, across the sea, could keep him alive in any city. Each place

had

its own rhythm and pace, its own dynamic feeling, and once he was comfortable

within that environment, threats and opportunities for a hunt would be

recognized, just as they were in the wild.

Whoever followed him was desperately trying to keep a proper distance and

would

have gone unnoticed by anyone less keenly aware of his surroundings than Tal.

Tal knew this area of the city as well as anyone born here, and he knew he

would

Raymond E. Feist - Conclave of Shadows 02 - King of Foxes

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: