Krondor: The Assassins
Krondor: The Assassins
Raymond E. Feist
The second instalment of The Riftwar Legacy, Assassins reveals Feist at his storytelling best. There is intrigue, humour and breakneck action aplenty here from the undisputed master of epic fantasy.Fresh back from the front, another foe defeated, Prince Arutha arrives to find all is not well in Krondor. A series of apparently random murders has brought an eerie quiet to the city. Where normally the streets are bustling with merchants and tricksters, good life and night life, now there seems to be a self-imposed curfew at sundown.Mutilated bodies have been turning up in the sewers, the Mockers’ demense. The Thieves’ Guild has been decimated – men, women, children, it matters not. The head of the Mockers is missing, presumed dead. Those few who survived the terrible attacks are lying low. Very low.The Crawler, it seems, is back in town. And he’s being helped by others, more ruthless than he. Can it be the Nighthawks again? The Prince enlists his loyal Squire James to find out. If anyone can unravel what’s happening in the bowels of Krondor, he can. He knows the sewers like the back of his hand. Afterall, as Jimmy the Hand, he grew up there.Meanwhile, the retinue of the Duke of Olasko has arrived suddenly at the palace, a week ahead of schedule but with no apologies and many demands. They say they are here to hunt. But to hunt what. Pug’s son William, on his first posting as a knight-lieutenant, must escort them into the wilds. It should have been a straightforward mission…
Copyright (#ud4ffa4e7-5bee-53ca-b279-b6e391eb9bad)
HarperVoyager
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1999
Copyright © Raymond E. Feist
Cover design by Dominic Forbes © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Raymond E. Feist asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008311261
Ebook Edition © January 2018 ISBN: 9780007352456
Version: 2018-11-13
Dedication (#ud4ffa4e7-5bee-53ca-b279-b6e391eb9bad)
This book is dedicated to all the editors who have put up with, inspired, corrected, and aided me, to the ends of improving the work and making me look good: Adrian Zackheim, Nick Austin, Pat LoBrutto, Janna Silverstein, Malcolm Edwards, and my current guides: Jennifer Brehl and Jane Johnson.
Also, to Peter Schneider, who has done far more on my behalf than he realizes.
My deepest thanks to them all.
Raymond E. Feist
Rancho Santa Fe, CA
May, 1999
Contents
Cover (#u3441d1db-0770-5370-9853-30f28b0e8d3d)
Title Page (#u6332ebf0-a683-5757-91a4-632f36f6a22c)
Copyright
Dedication
Map
Prologue: Departures (#u3cbc9d03-d536-5da4-b57f-b08cbdbe2914)
Chapter One: Escape (#u6442809c-85ed-56e0-86d0-11dfd1f9e27a)
Chapter Two: Krondor (#uc7c26e50-ed30-5ac4-9b92-cbd694d6720f)
Chapter Three: Reception (#u5ab5b198-2088-56ef-89de-4585ea319409)
Chapter Four: Surprises (#ub8c38563-c880-57b9-be28-3a42487b8c70)
Chapter Five: Secrets (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six: Confusion (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven: Ambush (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight: Attack (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine: Decisions (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten: Revelation (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven: Stealth (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve: Improvisation (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen: Concealment (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen: Murders (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen: Desperation (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen: Discovery (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen: Misdirection (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen: Unmasking (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue: Encounters (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
By the same author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Map (#ud4ffa4e7-5bee-53ca-b279-b6e391eb9bad)
• PROLOGUE • (#ulink_d96d5c89-4761-5b89-80ed-327ca24f5f41)
Departures (#ulink_d96d5c89-4761-5b89-80ed-327ca24f5f41)
LINES OF SOLDIERS MARCHED ALONG THE RIDGE.
The baggage train had been broken into two segments, the first of which was now departing with the wounded and the dead who would be cremated with honours back in Krondor. Clouds of dust rose from the trail as wheels rolled and boots tramped towards home, the fine powder mixing with the acrid smoke from campfires as they were extinguished. The rising sun streamed through the haze, orange and pale gold, lances of colour in an otherwise grey morning. In the distance birds sang, ignoring the aftermath of battle.
Arutha, Prince of Krondor and ruler of the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles, sat on his horse, taking a moment to enjoy the majesty of the sunrise and the serenade of the birds as he watched his men heading home. The fighting had been blessedly short but bloody, and while casualties were lighter than anticipated, he still hated to lose even one solider under his command. He let the beauty of the vista before him soothe his frustration and regret for a few moments.
Arutha still resembled the youthful man who had come to the throne of Krondor ten years before, though lines around his eyes and a small scattering of grey through his otherwise black hair revealed the toll rulership had taken on him. For those who knew him well, he was still much the same man, a competent administrator, military genius, and fiercely duty-bound man who would surrender his own life without question to save the lowest soldier under his command.
His gaze went from wagon to wagon, as if somehow willing himself to see the wounded men inside, as if he could communicate to them his sense of gratitude for a job well done. Those closest to Arutha knew he paid a silent price, pain kept within, for each injury done a man who served Krondor and the Kingdom.
Arutha pushed aside his regrets and considered the victory. The enemy had been in full retreat for two days, a relatively small force of dark elves. A much larger force had been prevented from reaching the Dimwood when a rift machine had been destroyed by Arutha’s two squires, James and Locklear. It had cost the life of a magician named Patrus, but his sacrifice had allowed the invaders to fall prey to their own internal conflicts. Delekhan, the would-be conqueror, had died beside Gorath, a moredhel chieftain who had proven as honourable and worthy a being as Arutha had ever met, while they struggled to seize control of the Lifestone. Arutha cursed the existence of that mysterious and ancient artifact under the abandoned city of Sethanon, and wondered if its mystery would ever be understood, its danger removed, in his lifetime.
Delekhan’s son Moraeulf had died from a dagger thrust home by Narab, once an ally of Delekhan. As agreed to by Narab, the retreating moredhel weren’t being harassed by Kingdom forces as long as they were heading straight north. Orders had been dispatched to allow the moredhel safe passage home as long as they kept moving.
The Kingdom forces in the Dimwood were now dispersing to their various garrisons, the majority returning to the west, and some heading back north to the border baronies. They would start moving later in the morning. The previously secret garrison north of Sethanon would be moved to another location and reprovisioned.
Sunlight began to bathe Arutha as the morning mist burned off, leaving only the smoke and dust to cloud the air. The day was already growing hot, and the cold of the previous winter was fading from memory. Arutha kept his distress deep inside as he considered the latest assault upon the tranquillity of his Kingdom.
Arutha had taken the Tsurani magicians at face value after the end of the Riftwar. For nearly ten years they had been free to come and go between worlds, via several magic rifts. And now he felt a profound sense of betrayal. He fully understood the rationale that had driven Makala, a Tsurani Great One, to attempt to seize the Lifestone at Sethanon, the belief that the Kingdom possessed a great weapon of destruction, some engine of power that would give predominance in war to whoever held it. Had he been in Makala’s place, with the same suspicions, he might have acted in the same way. But even so, he could not trust the Tsurani to be loose in the Kingdom, and that meant an end to almost a decade of trade and exchange. Arutha pushed aside worry as to how he would effect the changes he must make, but he knew that eventually he would have to sit down with his advisors and fashion a plan that would ensure future security for the Kingdom. And he knew almost no one would be pleased at the changes he would make.
Arutha glanced to his right and saw two very fatigued young men sitting astride their horses. He permitted himself one of his infrequent smiles, a bare upturning of the sides of his mouth, which served to soften the often sombre expression on his still-youthful face. ‘Tired, gentlemen?’ he asked.
James, senior squire to the Prince, returned his ruler’s gaze from eyes surrounded by dark circles. James, and his companion Squire Locklear, had ridden a punishing ride, abetted by magic herbs which had kept them awake and alert for days in the saddle. The after-effects of the prolonged use of the draught was to unleash all the pent-up fatigue and body-ache on the young men at once. Both had slept through the night, upon cushions in Arutha’s tent, but had awakened tired and bone-weary. Summoning up his usual brazen wit, James said, ‘No, sire, we always look like this when we wake. Usually you don’t see us until after our morning coffee.’
Arutha laughed. ‘I see none of your charms have faded, squire.’
A short man with dark hair and beard walked over to where the Prince and his companions sat astride their horses.
‘Good morning, Highness,’ said Pug, as he bowed.
Arutha returned a polite nod and said, ‘Pug, do you return to Krondor with us?’
Pug’s expression revealed concern. ‘Not straight away, Highness. There are matters I must investigate at Stardock. The activities of the Tsurani Great Ones involved with this last attempt at Sethanon cause me great concern. I need to ensure that they were the only magicians involved, and that those who still reside at my Academy are free of any guilt.’
Arutha looked at the retreating wagons again as he said, ‘We do need to talk about the role played by the Tsurani in your Academy, Pug. But not here.’
Pug nodded agreement. Even though everyone within earshot was privy to the secret of the Lifestone which sat beneath the city of Sethanon, it was wise to talk only in private. And Pug also knew that Arutha had grave concerns about the betrayal by the Tsurani magician Makala which had led to this last battle between the Prince’s army and an invading army of moredhel warriors. He expected that Arutha would insist on far more stringent controls over who and what came through the rift – the magic gateway – between Midkemia and the Tsurani homeworld of Kelewan.
‘We will, Highness. First, I must see to the safety of Katala and Gamina.’
‘I understand your concerns,’ said the Prince. Pug’s daughter Gamina had been abducted and transported by magic to a distant world in order to lure him away from Midkemia while the Tsurani magician attempted to seize the Lifestone.
Pug said, ‘I must make sure that I am never again made vulnerable because of a family member.’ He looked knowingly at the Prince. ‘There’s nothing I can do about William, but I can ensure that Gamina and Katala are safe at Stardock.’
‘William is a soldier, so by the nature of his craft he is at risk.’ Then Arutha smiled at Pug. ‘But he’s as safe as a soldier can be, surrounded by six companies of the Royal Krondorian Household Guard. Anyone attempting to blackmail you through William will find him difficult to reach.’
Pug’s expression showed he didn’t approve. ‘He could have been so much more.’ His look silently implored Arutha to do something. ‘He still can. It’s not too late for him to return to Stardock with me.’
Arutha regarded the magician. He understood Pug’s frustration and his parental desire to see his son back with his family. But his tone left no confusion as to his willingness to intercede on Pug’s behalf. ‘I know you two have had your differences about his choice, Pug, but I’ll leave it for you to work out at your own leisure. As I told you when you first objected to William coming into my service, he’s a royal cousin by adoption and a free man of age, so there was no reason for me to refuse his request.’ Before Pug could voice another objection, he raised his hand. ‘Not even as a favour to you.’ His tone softened. ‘Besides, he’s got the makings of a better than average soldier. Quite a knack, actually, according to my swordmaster.’ Arutha changed the subject. ‘Did Owyn return home?’ Owyn Belefote, youngest son of the Baron of Timons, had proven a valuable ally to James and Locklear in the recent struggle.
‘At first light. He said he must mend fences with his father.’
Arutha motioned towards Locklear, though he kept his eyes on Pug. ‘I have something for you.’ When Locklear failed to respond to the gesture, Arutha shifted his gaze to Locklear. ‘Squire, the document?’
Locklear had been on the verge of falling asleep in the saddle but he snapped to attention as the Prince’s voice penetrated his muzzy thoughts. He moved his horse to where Pug stood and handed a parchment down to him.
Arutha said, ‘Over my signature and seal, this names you the final authority over all issues of magic as they affect the Western Realm.’ He smiled slightly. ‘I should have no trouble convincing His Majesty to ratify this for the entire Kingdom. You’ve had our ear in this area for years, Pug, but this gives you authority if you ever find yourself having to deal with another noble or King’s officer without me at your shoulder. It names you official magician of the court of Krondor.’
‘My thanks, Highness,’ said Pug. He seemed about to speak, but hesitated.
Arutha cocked his head to one side. ‘There’s a but here, isn’t there?’
‘But I need remain at Stardock with my family. There’s much work to be done and my attention there precludes me from serving in Krondor, Arutha.’
Arutha sighed slightly. ‘Understood. But that still leaves me without a magician in court, if you’re unwilling to take residency in the palace.’
‘I could send Kulgan back to nag at you,’ said Pug with a smile.
‘No, my former teacher is too quick to forget rank and scold me in front of my court. It’s bad for morale.’
‘Whose?’ asked Jimmy under his breath.
Arutha didn’t look at the squire, but said, ‘Mine, of course.’ To Pug he said, ‘Seriously, the betrayal of Makala shows me the wisdom my father employed by having an advisor on matters of magic close to hand. Kulgan’s earned his retirement. So, if not you or young Owyn, who then?’
Pug thought for a moment and said, ‘I have one student who might be just the person to advise you in the future. There is one problem.’
‘What would that be?’ asked Arutha.
‘She’s Keshian.’
Arutha said, ‘That’s two problems.’
Pug smiled. ‘Knowing your sister and wife, I would have thought a woman’s advice wouldn’t be alien to His Highness.’
Arutha nodded. ‘It’s not. But many in my court would find it … difficult.’
Pug said, ‘I’ve never noticed you to be overly concerned with the opinions of others when your mind was set, Arutha.’
The Prince said, ‘Times change, Pug. And men get older.’ He was silent for a minute as he watched another contingent of his army break camp and start to move out. Then he turned to face Pug, one eyebrow raised in question. ‘But Keshian?’
‘No one will accuse her of allying herself with this or that faction in court,’ said Pug.
Arutha chuckled. ‘I hope you’re joking.’
‘No, I’m not. She’s unusually gifted despite her youth; she’s cultured and educated, reads and writes several languages, and has a remarkable grasp of magic, which is exactly what you need in an advisor. Most importantly, she’s the only one among my students who can understand the consequences of magic in a political context, as she’s had court training in Kesh. She’s from the Jal-Pur and understands how things stand in the west, as well.’
Arutha seemed to consider this for a long moment, then said, ‘Come to Krondor when you can and tell me more. I’m not saying I will not finally agree to your choice, but I need more convincing before I do.’ Arutha smiled his half-smile and turned his horse around. ‘Still, the expression on the faces of the nobles in court when a woman from Kesh walks in might be worth whatever risk she brings.’
‘I will vouch for her; I give my word on it,’ said Pug.
Arutha looked back over his shoulder. ‘You’re very serious about this, aren’t you?’
‘Very. Jazhara is someone I would entrust my family’s lives to. She is only a few years older than William and has been with us at Stardock for almost seven years, so I’ve known her a third of her life. She can be trusted.’
Arutha said, ‘That counts for much. A great deal actually. So, come to Krondor when you will, and we will discuss this at length.’ He bade Pug good-bye, then turned to James and Locklear. ‘Gentlemen, we have a long ride ahead.’
Locklear could barely conceal his pain at the thought of more time in the saddle, albeit at a less furious pace than a few days earlier.
‘A moment, if Your Highness permits. I would speak to Duke Pug,’ said James.
Arutha waved his permission as he and Locklear rode forward.
When the Prince was out of earshot, Pug said, ‘What is it, Jimmy?’
‘When are you going to tell him?’
‘What?’ asked Pug.
Despite his crushing fatigue, James managed one of his familiar grins. ‘That the girl you’re sending is the great-niece of Lord Hazara-Khan of the Jal-Pur.’
Pug suppressed a chuckle. ‘I thought I’d save that for a more propitious moment.’ Then his expression changed to one of curiosity. ‘How did you know that?’
‘I have my own sources. Arutha suspects that Lord Hazara-Khan is involved with Keshian intelligence in the west – which he almost certainly is, from what I can find out. Anyway, Arutha is considering how to counter Keshian intelligence with an organization of his own – but you didn’t hear that from me.’
Pug nodded. ‘Understood.’
‘And as I have ambitions, I count it a wise thing to keep current on these matters.’
‘So you were snooping?’
‘Something like that,’ said James with a shrug. ‘And there just can’t be that many noble-born Keshian women from the Jal-Pur named Jazhara.’
Pug laughed. ‘You will go far, Jimmy, if someone doesn’t hang you first.’
James seemed to shed his fatigue as he returned the laugh. ‘You’re not the first to say that, Pug.’
‘I will get around to mentioning the relationship, in the future.’ Waving to Arutha and Locklear, Pug said, ‘You’d better catch up.’
Nodding as he turned his horse, James said, ‘You’re right. Good day, my lord duke.’
‘Good day, squire.’
James put heels to his horse’s sides and the animal cantered after Arutha and Locklear. He overtook Locklear as Arutha moved to confer with Knight-Marshal Gardan about the ongoing dispersal of the army.
As James rode up next to him, Locklear asked, ‘What was that about?’
‘Just a question for Duke Pug.’
Locklear yawned and said, ‘I could sleep for a week.’
Arutha overhead the remark as he rejoined them and said, ‘You can rest for a full night in Krondor when we get back, squire. Then you leave for the north.’
‘North, sire?’
‘You came back from Tyr-Sog without leave, although I grant your reasons were good ones. Now the risk has subsided, you must return to Baron Moyiet’s court and fulfill the terms of your service there.’
Locklear closed his eyes as if in pain. Then he opened them and said, ‘I thought …’
‘… you’d wormed your way out of that banishment,’ supplied James under his breath.
Arutha, taking pity on the exhausted youth, said, ‘Serve Moyiet well, and I may order you back to Krondor early. If you stay out of trouble.’
Locklear nodded without comment, as Arutha put heels to his horse and rode ahead.
James said, ‘Well, you can sleep in a warm bed in the palace for a night before you leave.’
‘What about you?’ asked Locklear. ‘Don’t you have some unfinished business in Krondor?’
James closed his eyes for a moment as if thinking made him tired, then said, ‘Yes, there’s a bit of trouble with the Guild of Thieves. But nothing for you to be bothered with. Nothing I can’t handle by myself.’
Locklear snorted and said nothing. He was too tired to think of a jibe.
James said, ‘Yes, after this nasty business with the Tsurani and moredhel, my business with the thieves in Krondor will seem dull by comparison.’
Locklear looked at his friend and saw that James’s mind was already turning to whatever problems were caused by the Mockers – the Guild of Thieves. And with a chilling certainty, Locklear knew that his friend was making light of something serious, for James had the death mark on him for leaving the Guild to serve the Prince.
And, he sensed, there was something more. Then Locklear realized, with James, there was always something more.
• CHAPTER ONE • (#ulink_ac5d27df-2fcd-569c-959e-cdffb49f85e6)
Escape (#ulink_ac5d27df-2fcd-569c-959e-cdffb49f85e6)
THE SOUNDS OF PURSUIT ECHOED THROUGH THE DARK TUNNELS.
Limm was nearly out of breath from attempting to evade those determined to kill him. The young thief prayed to Ban-ath, God of Thieves, that those who followed were not as knowledgeable about the sewers of Krondor as he was. He knew he could not outrun them or fight them; his only hope was to outwit them.
The boy knew that panic was the enemy, and he struggled against the terrible fear that threatened to reduce him to a frightened child, clinging to anything that might provide warm comfort while he huddled in the shadows, waiting for the men who would kill him. He paused for a moment at an intersection of two large channels and then took off to the left, feeling his way through the gloom of the deep sewers, his only illumination a small, shuttered lantern. He kept the sliding window closed to the narrowest setting, for he needed only the slightest light to know which way to go. There were sections of the sewer in which light filtered down from above, through culverts, gratings, broken street stones, and other interstices. A little light went a long way to guide him through the stinking byways under the city. But there were also areas of total darkness, where he would be as blind as one born without eyes.
He reached a narrowing of the sewer, where the circumference of the circular tunnel grew smaller, serving to slow the flow of sewage through this area. Limm thought of it as a ‘dam’, of sorts. He ducked to avoid hitting his head on the smaller opening, his bare feet splashing through the filthy water which collected at the end of the larger sewer until the level rose up enough to funnel down the rough and rusty narrow pipe.
Spreading his legs, Limm moved in a rocking motion, his feet high up on the side of the circular passage, for he knew that in less than ten feet a nasty outfall sent waste to a huge channel twenty feet below. Hard calluses kept the jagged build-up of sediment on the stonework from slicing open his soles. The boy shuttered the lantern as he intersected a tunnel with long lines of sight; he knew exactly where he was and was fearful of even the smallest light being seen by his pursuers. He moved by touch around a corner and entered the next passage. It was hundreds of feet long, and even the faintest spark would be visible from one end to the other.
Hurrying as best he could in this awkward fashion, he felt the tug of air as the water fell below him from a hole in the pipe he was in, splashing noisily. Several other nearby outfalls also emptied in this area, known as ‘the Well’ to the local thieves. The sound of all the splashing water echoed in the small pipe, making its exact source difficult to locate, so he proceeded slowly. This was a place in which a six-inch misjudgment could send him falling to his death.
Reaching a point another ten feet further, Limm encountered a grate, almost bumping into it, so focused was he on the sound of those who came behind. He crouched, making himself as small a target as possible, in case a mirrored light was shone into the tunnel.
Within moments he heard voices, at first only the sound of indistinguishable words. Then he heard a man say, ‘—can’t have gone too far. He’s just a kid.’
‘He’s seen us,’ said the leader, and the boy knew full well who the speaker was. He had the image of that man and those who served him etched in his memory, though he had only glimpsed them for a few seconds before turning and fleeing. He didn’t know the man’s name, but he knew his nature. The boy had lived among such men all his life, though he had known only a few who might be this dangerous.
Limm had no illusions about his own abilities; he knew he could never confront such men. He was often full of bravado, but it was a false courage designed to convince those who were stronger that he was just a little more trouble to dispose of than he was in actuality. His willingness to look death in the eye had saved the boy’s neck on more than one occasion; but he was also nobody’s fool: Limm knew that these men wouldn’t give him the time to even try a bluff. They would kill him without hesitation, because he could link them to a horrible crime.
Looking around, the young fugitive saw a trickle of water coming from above. Risking detection, he briefly shone the barest light he could manage above him. The top of the grating didn’t reach the roof of the tunnel, and just the other side of the grate was a passageway running upward.
Without hesitation the youth climbed up on the grate and pushed his free arm through, experience showing him how likely it was that he might pass through such a tiny passage. Praying to Ban-ath that he hadn’t grown too much since the last time he had tried such a stunt, Limm pushed upward and turned. His head went first. Twisting it slightly, he thrust his face forward between the top bar and the stones above. Practice had taught him that his ears would suffer less if not bent backwards as he tried to pull his head through. A rising sense of urgency battled the pain he felt, as he sensed his pursuers closing in. Yet the pain from his cheeks as he slowly pressed through the gap grew more intense. He tasted the salty, iron tang of blood and sweat and he continued to wiggle his head through the gap. Tears flowed freely, yet he held his silence as he cruelly scraped both ears, one against stone and the other against filthy iron. For an instant panic threatened to rise up and overwhelm him as images of him hanging helpless in the grate while his pursuers raced to seize him played vividly in his imagination.
Then his head was past the top bar. He easily snaked his arm through, and he moved his shoulder. Hoping he wouldn’t have to dislocate his joints to get through, the young thief continued. He got his shoulders through and, by exhaling, his chest followed. He held the lantern in his trailing arm and realized it wouldn’t fit through the gap.
Taking a deep breath, the boy let it fall as he twisted the rest of his body through. He was now on the other side of the grate, clinging to it like a ladder as the lantern clattered onto the stones.
‘He’s in there!’ came a shout from close by and a light shone into the tunnel.
Limm held himself poised for a moment, and looked up. The hole above him was barely visible in the faint light hurrying towards him. He shoved upward, slapping his palms against the tunnel walls, keeping his feet firmly on the grate. He pressed hard with both hands on the sides of the vertical shaft. He needed solid hand-holds before he pushed off the grate. He felt around and got his fingers into a deep seam between two stones on one side and had just found another when he felt something touch his bare foot.
Instantly he pushed off with his feet, and heard a voice cursing. ‘Damn all sewer rats!’
Another voice said, ‘We can’t get through there!’
‘But my blade can!’
Summoning all his strength the young thief pulled himself up into the shaft, and in a dangerous move, released his hold on the top of the grate, dropped his hands to his side, and pushed upward. He slapped his palms backwards and braced his back against the wall of the chimney, and pulled his feet up, jamming them acrobatically against the far wall. He heard the scrape of steel on iron as someone shoved a sword through the grating. Limm knew that had he hesitated, he would have been impaled on the point of that long blade.
A voice swore and said, ‘He vanished up that chimney!’
Another voice said, ‘He’s got to come out somewhere on the level above!’
For an instant Limm could feel the shirt on his back move as the material slipped against the wall and his bare feet skidded on the slimy stones. He pressed harder with his feet and prayed he could hold his position. After an instant of downward movement, he stopped.
‘He’s gone!’ shouted one of the men who had been chasing him. ‘If he was going to fall, he’d have been out of there by now!’
The boy recognized the voice of the leader. ‘Head back up to the next level and spread out! There’s a bonus for whoever kills him! I want that rat dead before morning!’
Limm moved upward, one hand, one foot, another hand, another foot, by inches, slipping down an inch for every two he gained. It was slow going and his muscles cried out for a pause, but he pressed on. A cool whiff of air from above told him he was close to the next level of the sewers. He prayed it was a large enough pipe to navigate, as he had no desire to attempt another passage downward and back through that grate.
Reaching the lip of the shaft, he paused, took a deep breath and turned, snatching at the edge. One hand slipped on something thick and sticky, but the other hand held firm. Never one for bathing, nevertheless he looked forward to scrubbing this muck off and finding clean clothing.
Hanging in the silence, the boy waited. He knew it was possible that the men who had pursued him might appear in a few moments. He listened.
Impulsive by nature, the boy had come to learn the dangers of acting rashly in dangerous situations. Seven boys had come to Mother’s, the Mockers’ safe haven, at roughly the same time, within a few weeks of one another. The other six were now dead. Two had died by accident: falling from the rooftops. Three had been hanged as common thieves during crack-downs by the Prince’s magistrates. The last boy had died the previous night, at the hands of the men who now sought Limm, and it was his murder the young thief had witnessed.
The boy let his racing heart calm and his straining lungs recover. He pulled himself up and into the large pipe, and moved off in the darkness, a hand on the right wall. He knew he could negotiate most of the tunnels hereabout blindfolded, but he also knew it only took one wrong turn or missing a side tunnel in passing to become completely lost. There was a central cistern in this quarter of the city, and knowing where he was in relationship to it provided Limm with a navigational aid as good as any map, but only if he kept his wits about him and concentrated.
He inched along, listening to the distant sound of gurgling water, turning his head this way and that to ensure he was hearing the sound coming down the sewer and not a false echo bouncing off nearby stones. While he moved blindly, he thought about the madness that had come to the city in recent weeks.
At first it had seemed like a minor problem: a new rival gang, like others that had shown up from time to time. Usually a visit from the Mockers’ bashers, or a tip to the sheriff’s men, and the problem went away.
This time, it had been different.
A new gang showed up on the docks, a large number of Keshian thugs among them. That alone wasn’t worth notice; Krondor was a major port of trade with Kesh. What made this group unusual was their indifference to the threat posed by the Mockers. They acted in a provocative fashion, openly moving cargo into and out of the city, bribing officials and daring the Mockers to interfere with them. They seemed to be inviting a confrontation.
At last the Mockers had acted, and it had been a disaster. Eleven of the most feared bashers – the enforcers among the Guild of Thieves – had been lured into a warehouse at the end of a semi-deserted dock. They had been trapped inside and the building set afire, killing all eleven. From that moment on, warfare had erupted deep in Krondor’s underworld.
The Mockers had been driven to ground, and the invaders, working for someone known only as the Crawler, had also suffered, as the Prince of Krondor had acted to restore order to his city.
Rumour had it some men dressed as Nighthawks – members of the Guild of Assassins – had been seen weeks before in the sewer, bait to bring the Prince’s army in after them, with the final destruction of the Mockers as the apparent goal. It was a foregone conclusion that had the Prince’s guard entered the sewers in sufficient numbers, everyone found down below the streets – assassins, false Nighthawks, or Mockers – all would be routed out or captured. It was a clever plan, but it had come to naught.
Squire James, once Jimmy the Hand of the Mockers, had foiled that ruse, before vanishing into the night on a mission for the Prince. Then the Prince had mustered his army and moved out – and again the Crawler had struck.
Since then, the two sides had stayed holed up, the Mockers at Mother’s, their well-disguised headquarters, and the Crawler’s men at an unknown hideout in the north docks area. Those sent to pinpoint the exact location of the Crawler’s headquarters failed to return.
The sewers had become a no-man’s land, with few daring to come and go unless driven by the greatest need. Limm would now be lying low, safe at Mother’s, save for two things: a terrible rumour, and a message from an old friend. Either the rumour or the message alone would have made Limm huddle in a corner at the Mockers’ hideout, but the combination of the two had forced him to act.
Mockers had few friends; the loyalty between thieves was rarely engendered by affection or comity, but from a greater distrust of those outside the Guild and fear of one another. Strength or wit earned one a place in the Brotherhood of Thieves.
But occasionally a friendship was struck, a bond deeper than common need, and those few friends were worth a bit more risk. Limm counted fewer than a handful of people for whom he would take any risk, let alone at such a high price should he be caught, but two of them were in need now, and had to be told of the rumour.
Something moved in the darkness ahead and Limm froze. He waited, listening for anything out of the ordinary. The sewer was far from silent, with a constant background noise made up of the distant rumble of water rushing through the large culvert below that took the city’s refuse out past the harbour mouth, a thousand drips, the scrabble of rats and other vermin and their squeaky challenges.
Wishing he had a light of any sort, Limm waited. Patience in one his age was rare outside the Mockers, but a rash thief was a dead thief. Limm earned his keep in the Mockers by being among the most adroit pickpockets in Krondor, and his ability to calmly move among the throng in the market or down the busy streets without attracting attention had set him high in the leadership’s estimation. Most boys his age were still working the streets in packs, urchins who provided distraction while other Mockers lifted goods from carts, or deflected attention from a fleeing thief.
Limm’s patience was rewarded, as the faint echo of a boot moving on stone reached him. A short distance ahead, two large culverts joined in a wade. He would have to cross through the slowly-flowing sewage to reach the other side.
It was a good place to wait, thought the boy thief. The sound of him moving through the water would alert anyone nearby and they’d be on him like hounds on a hare.
Limm considered his options. There was no way around that intersection. He could return the way he came, but that would cost him hours of moving through the dangerous sewers under the city. He could avoid crossing the transverse sewer by skirting around the corner, hugging the wall to avoid being seen, and moving down that passage to his right. He would have to trust that darkness would shelter him and he could remain silent enough to avoid detection. Once away from the intersection, he could be safely on his way.
Limm crept along, gingerly placing one foot ahead of the other, so as to not dislodge anything or step on an object that might betray his whereabouts. Fighting the impulse to hurry, he kept his breathing under control and willed himself to keep moving.
Step by step he approached the intersection of the two passages, and as he reached the corner at which he would turn, he heard another sound. A small scrape of metal against stone, as if a scabbard or sword blade had ever-so-lightly touched a wall. He froze.
Even in the dark, Limm kept his eyes closed. He didn’t know why, but shutting his eyes helped his other senses. He had wondered at this in the past, and finally stopped trying to figure out why it was so. He just knew that if he spent any energy trying to see, even in the pitch black, his hearing and sense of touch suffered.
After a long, silent, motionless period, Limm heard a rush of water heading towards him. Someone, a shopkeeper or city worker, must have purged a cistern or opened one of the smaller sluices that fed the sewer. The slight noise was the only mask he needed to resume moving, and he was quickly around the corner.
Limm hurried, still cautious but now feeling the need to put some distance between himself and whoever guarded the intersection behind him. He silently counted his steps and when one hundred had passed he opened his eyes.
As he expected, ahead was a faint dot of light, which he knew was a reflection coming down from an open grating in the West Market Square. There wasn’t enough light by which to see well, but it was a point of reference and confirmed what he already knew about his whereabouts.
He moved quickly and reached the crossway that ran parallel to the one he had been travelling before encountering the silent guard. He eased into the foul sewage and crossed the now-moving stream of refuse, reaching the opposite walkway without making much sound.
Limm was quickly up and on his way again. He knew where his friends were holed up and knew that it was a relatively safe place, but given the time and circumstances, nothing was truly safe any more. What had once been called the other Thieves’ Highway, the rooftops of Krondor, was now as much an open war zone as the sewers. The citizens of the city of Krondor might be blissfully ignorant of this silent warfare above their heads and below their feet, but Limm knew that if he didn’t encounter the Crawler’s men along the way, he risked the Prince’s soldiers, or murderers posing as Nighthawks. No man unknown to him was trustworthy, and a few whom he knew by name could be trusted only so far these days.
Limm stopped and felt the wall to his left. Despite moving by his own silent count, he discovered with satisfaction that he had been less than a foot off estimating the whereabouts of the iron rungs in the wall. He started to climb. Still blind, he felt himself enter a stone chimney, and quickly knew he was at the floor of a cellar. He reached up and felt the latch. An experimental tug showed it to be bolted from the other side.
He knocked: twice rapidly, then a pause, then twice again, another pause and a final, single knock. He waited, counting to ten, then repeated the pattern in reverse order, one knock, pause, two knocks, pause, and two again. The bolt slid open.
The trap swung upward, but the room above was as dark as the sewer below. Whoever was waiting preferred to wait unseen.
As Limm cleared the floor of the room, rough hands hauled him through, the trap shutting quickly behind him. A feminine voice whispered, ‘What are you doing here?’
Limm sat down heavily upon the stone floor, fatigue sweeping over him. ‘Running for my life,’ he said softly. Catching his breath, he continued. ‘I saw Sweet Jackie killed last night. Ugly basher working for the Crawler.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Cracked his neck like you’d break a chicken’s, while his mates stood watching. Didn’t even give Jackie a chance to beg or say a prayer, nothing. Just put him out of the way like a cockroach.’ He was close to weeping as he told them – and as relief at being relatively safe for the first time in hours washed over him. ‘But that’s not the worst of it.’
A lantern was lit by a large man with a grey beard. His narrow gaze communicated volumes: Limm had better have compelling reasons for violating a trust and coming to this hideout. ‘What else?’ he asked.
‘The Upright Man is dead.’
Ethan Graves, one-time leader of the Mockers’ bashers, for a time a brother of the Order of Ishap, and now fugitive from every court of justice in the Kingdom, took a moment to accept the news.
The woman, named Kat, was half her companion’s age, and an old friend to Limm. She asked, ‘How?’
‘Murdered, is the rumour,’ said Limm. ‘No one is saying for certain, but it’s held without doubt he’s dead.’
Graves sat down at a small table, testing the construction of the small wooden chair with his large frame. ‘How would anyone know?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘No one knows who he is … was.’
Limm said, ‘Here’s what I know. The Daymaster was still working when I came to Mother’s last night, and he was holed up in the back with Mick Giffen, Reg deVrise, and Phil the Fingers.’
Graves and Kat exchanged glances. Those named were the most senior thieves in the Mockers. Giffen had succeeded Graves as leader of the bashers, deVrise oversaw those who burgled and fenced goods, and Phil was in charge of pickpockets, smash-and-grab gangs, and the urchins who ran the streets of Krondor.
Limm continued. ‘The Nightmaster never showed. Word went out and we started looking for him. Just before dawn, we heard they found the Nightmaster floating in the sewers near the dock. His head was all bashed in.’
Kat almost gasped. ‘No one would dare touch him.’
Graves said, ‘No one in the know. But someone who didn’t care about the Mockers’ wrath would.’
‘Here’s the dicey part,’ said Limm. ‘The Daymaster says the Nightmaster was supposed to meet with the Upright Man. Now, as I understand things, if the Upright Man is supposed to meet with you, and you don’t show, he’s got ways of sending word to the Daymaster or Nightmaster. Well, no word was heard. So the Daymaster sends one of the boys, Timmy Bascolm, if you remember him—’ they nodded ‘—and Timmy turns up dead an hour later.
‘So the Daymaster heads out with a bunch of bashers and an hour later they come running back to Mother’s and hole up. Nobody’s saying anything, but word spreads: the Upright Man’s gone.’
Graves was silent for a minute, then said, ‘He must be dead. There’s no other explanation for this.’
‘And there are bully boys to make a strong man faint chasing through the sewers, last night, so Jackie and I figure the hunt is on and our best bet is to lie low somewhere. We got run to ground last night near Five Points—’ both Kat and Graves knew the region of the city sewers by that name ‘—so after they killed Jackie, I figured my best bet was to get here, with you.’
Graves said, ‘You want to leave Krondor?’
The boy said, ‘If you’ll take me. There’s a war on, for truth, and I’m the last of my band alive. If the Upright Man is dead, all bets are off. You know the rules. If the Upright Man isn’t here, it’s every man for himself and make what deal you can.’
Graves nodded. ‘I know the rules.’ His voice lacked the rough, commanding edge Limm had come to know as a boy in the Mockers, when Graves was first among the bashers. Still, Graves had saved Limm several times, from freebooting thugs and the Prince’s men alike. Limm would do whatever Graves said.
After a moment of reflection, Graves spoke. ‘You stay here, boy. No one in the Guild knows you’ve helped Kat and me, and the truth is, I’m fond of you. You were always a good lad, as far as that goes. Too full of yourself, but what boy isn’t at times?’ He shook his head in regret. ‘Out there it’ll be every hand against us – Mockers, Prince’s men, or the Crawler’s. I’ve got a few friends left, but if the blood is running in the sewers, who knows how long I can count on them?’
‘But everyone else thinks you’ve escaped!’ objected Limm. ‘Just me and Jackie knew, ’cause you told us so we could fetch you food. Those notes you sent out, to the Temple, and some of your friends, to that magician you travelled with …’ He waved his hand as if trying to recall the name.
‘Owyn,’ Graves supplied.
‘Owyn,’ repeated Limm. ‘Word spread through the city you’d fled to Kesh. I know at least a dozen bashers were sent outside the walls to track you down.’
Graves nodded. ‘And an equal number of monks from the Temple, too, I warrant.’ He sighed. ‘That was the plan. Lie low here while they looked for us out there.’
Kat, who had remained silent throughout, said, ‘It was a good plan, Graves.’
Limm nodded.
Graves said, ‘I figured another week or ten days, and they’d come back, each thinking some other had just missed sight of us, then we’d walk down to the docks one night, get on a ship, and sail off to Durbin, just another merchant and his daughter.’
‘Wife!’ said Kat, angrily.
Limm grinned.
Graves shrugged and spread his hands in a sign of surrender. ‘Young wife,’ he said.
She put her arms around his neck and said, ‘Wife,’ softly.
Limm said, ‘Well, you play the parts well enough, but right now getting to the docks is no small order.’ He glanced around the cellar. ‘What about just going out the door, up there?’ He pointed to the ceiling.
Graves said, ‘Sealed off. That’s why I built this place as a hideout. The building upstairs is abandoned, roof beams collapsed. The man who owned it died, so it belongs to the Prince for back taxes. Fixing up old buildings is not very high on the Prince’s list of things to do, it seems.’
Limm nodded in approval of the scheme. ‘Well, how long do you think we should stay?’
‘You,’ said Graves, rising, ‘are staying in the Kingdom. You’re young enough to make something of yourself, boy. Get off the dodgy path and find a master. Apprentice in a craft or become a serving man.’
‘Honest work?’ said Limm, as he jumped to his feet. ‘When did a Mocker seek honest work?’
Graves pointed a finger at him. ‘Jimmy did.’
‘Jimmy the Hand,’ agreed Kat. ‘He found honest work.’
‘He saved the Prince’s life!’ objected Limm. ‘He was made a member of the court. And there’s a death mark on his head! He couldn’t return to the Mockers if he begged.’
Graves said, ‘If the Upright Man is dead, that mark is erased.’
Softly Limm asked, ‘What should I do?’
Graves said, ‘Lie low for a while, until things get quiet, then leave the city. There’s a man named Tuscobar, once a trader from Rodez. He has a shop in a town called Biscart, two days’ fast walk up the coast. He owes me a favour. He also has no sons, so there is no one to apprentice for him. Go there and ask him to take you to service. If he objects, just tell him “Graves clears all debts if you do this.” He’ll understand what it means.’
‘What does he do?’ asked Limm.
‘He sells cloth. He makes a good living, as he sells to nobles for their daughters.’
Limm’s expression showed he was less than taken with the notion. ‘I’d rather go to Durbin and take my chances with you. What are you going to do there?’
‘Turn honest,’ said Graves. ‘I have some gold. Kat and I are going to open an inn.’
‘An inn,’ said Limm, his eyes alight. ‘I like inns.’ He got down on his knees in an overly dramatic pleading. ‘Let me come! Please! I can do many things in an inn. I can tend fires, and show customers to their rooms. I can haul water and I can mark the best purses for cutting.’
‘An honest inn,’ said Graves.
Some of the enthusiasm left Limm’s expression. ‘In Durbin? Well, if you say so.’
Kat said, ‘We’re going to have a baby. We want him to grow up honest.’
Limm was speechless. He sat in wide-eyed astonishment. Finally, he said, ‘A baby? Are you daft?’
Graves exhibited a wry smile and Kat’s brown eyes narrowed as she said, ‘What’s daft about a baby?’
Limm said, ‘Nothing, I guess, if you’re a farmer or a baker or someone who can expect a fair chance at living to old age. But for a Mocker …’ He let the thought go unfinished.
Graves said, ‘What’s the clock? We’ve been cut off from sunlight so long I have no sense of it.’
‘It’s nearly midnight,’ said Limm. ‘Why?’
‘With the Upright Man dead, or even just the rumour of it, things will be happening. Ships that would otherwise have stayed in Krondor will be leaving the docks before the morning tide.’
Limm fixed Graves with a questioning look. ‘You know something?’
Graves stood up from the small chair and said, ‘I know lots of things, boy.’
Limm jumped to his feet. ‘Please take me with you. You’re the only friends I’ve got, and if the Upright Man’s dead, who knows who’ll come to rule in his place. If it’s that Crawler, most of us are dead anyway, and even if it’s one of our own, who’s to say what my life is worth?’
Graves and Kat understood. The peace within the Mockers was imposed from the top down, and it would never be mistaken for friendship. Old grudges would surface and old scores would be settled. More than one Mocker would die not knowing for which past transgression he was paying the ultimate penalty. Graves sighed in resignation. ‘Very well. Not much for you here, I’ll grant, and another pair of eyes and nimble fingers might prove worthwhile.’ He glanced at Kat, who nodded silently.
‘What’s the plan?’
‘We need to be at the docks before the dawn. There’s a ship there, a Quegan trader, the Stella Maris. The captain is an old business acquaintance of mine. He was lying low, claiming a refit was needed, against the time when we could smuggle ourselves out of here. He’ll sail for Durbin as soon as we board.’
Kat said, ‘Lots of ships will be leaving on the morning tide, so another won’t cause too much notice.’
Limm look excited. ‘When do we head to the docks?’
‘An hour before dawn. It’ll still be dark enough for us to stay in shadows, but enough of the town will be awake and about so we won’t attract much attention.’
Kat smiled. ‘We’ll be a family.’
Limm’s narrow young face took on a sour expression. ‘Mother?’
Kat was barely ten years older than Limm, so she said, ‘Big sister.’
Limm said, ‘We have one problem, though.’
Graves nodded. ‘Getting to the street.’
Limm sat back, for he knew that there could be no plan, ruse, or providential miracle that would get them safely to the docks. They would simply have to leave this hideout and risk a short walk through a dark tunnel which might house a dozen murderers or sewer rats. And they wouldn’t know which until they left. Limm was suddenly tired and said, ‘I think I’ll sleep for a bit.’
‘Good idea,’ agreed Graves. ‘There’s a pallet over there you can use. We’ll wake you when it’s time to go.’
Limm moved to the indicated corner and lay down. Kat whispered, ‘What are the odds?’
‘Bad,’ admitted her lover. ‘We’ve got to get the boy some clothing. Dirty boys are nothing unusual at the dock. But not that dirty.’ Trying to muster some optimism, he said, ‘Still, if the Upright Man is dead, there may be enough chaos in the city that we can slip out without attracting notice.’
‘Any other choice?’
‘Only one,’ admitted Graves, ‘but I won’t use it unless we’re caught.’
‘What is it?’
Graves looked at the young girl for whom he had thrown away everything and said, ‘I have one friend left, who gains nothing from my fall. If I must, I’ll send Limm to him begging for help.’
‘Who?’ whispered Kat.
Graves closed his eyes as if admitting he might seek help was hard for one as self-reliant as himself. ‘The only thief who can beg the Prince of Krondor for my life.’
‘Jimmy?’
Graves nodded. ‘Jimmy the Hand.’
• CHAPTER TWO • (#ulink_0691e3a5-0241-5532-a8ca-c2d9f8924876)
Krondor (#ulink_0691e3a5-0241-5532-a8ca-c2d9f8924876)
THE COLUMN RODE TOWARDS THE CITY.
Krondor was backlit by a late afternoon sun, dark towers rising against a lemon-yellow sky. In the east, distant clouds turned rose and orange against a blue that seemed to shimmer. The column behind the Prince’s vanguard tightened up as they entered the southernmost city gate, the one closest to the palace and barracks. Traffic in the area was normal for this time of day: a few traders drove wagons into the city, while farmers who’d visited the city for the day were leaving, starting their homeward journey.
James pointed. ‘Not much of a welcome, is it?’
Locklear saw that a few curious onlookers were turning to watch the approaching company that was escorting Arutha through the palace district. Otherwise they were ignored by the citizenry, as they had been since entering the outer reaches of Krondor. ‘I guess Arutha didn’t send word we would arrive today.’
‘No, there’s something else,’ said James, his days of fatigue washing away as curiosity took hold of him.
Locklear looked at the faces of those on the street who stood aside to let the Prince’s company ride past, and saw anxiety. ‘You’re right, James.’
The capital city of the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles was never silent. Even at the darkest hours before sunrise, sounds could be heard from all quarters. There was a pulse to any city, and Krondor had one that was as well known to James as his own heartbeat. He could listen to its rhythm and understand what it was saying: Something’s wrong. It was less than an hour before sundown, yet the city was far more subdued than it should be.
Locklear listened and knew what it was James was hearing, a muted quality, as if everyone was speaking a little more softly than usual. A shout from a teamster to his mules was cut slightly short, lest it hang too long in the air and attract notice. A mother’s command for a child to come home was short and sharp, followed by a low threatening warning rather than a top-of-the-voice shriek.
‘What do you think is going on?’ asked Locklear.
Just ahead, Arutha spoke quietly to the two squires without looking back. ‘We should find out in a moment.’
The young men looked past their ruler and saw a committee waiting for them at the palace gate. In the forefront was Princess Anita, her smile edged with relief at seeing her husband unharmed before her. Still youthful despite ten years of marriage and motherhood, her red hair was gathered up under a wide white hat, looking more like a sailing ship set atop her head, thought James, than anything else. But it was the current fashion, and one did not make jests at the expense of the Princess, especially not when her second smile was directed at you.
James returned the Princess’s welcoming smile and basked for a moment in its warmth. His boyhood infatuation with Anita had matured into a deep, abiding affection, and while she was too young to be viewed as his surrogate mother, she served as surrogate older sister with ease and humour. And it was clear to all who knew them that she viewed James as the younger brother she never had. It went so far as the Princess’s children calling James ‘Uncle Jimmy’.
At Anita’s right stood twin boys, the Princes Borric and Erland, jostling with one another, as if it were impossible for the two nine-year-olds to remain at rest even for a moment. The red-headed lads were intelligent, James knew, and undisciplined. Some day they would number among the most powerful nobles in the Kingdom, but at present they were simply fractious boys bored with having to act the part of Princes and anxious to be off about whatever mischief they could find. Directly before her mother stood the Princess Elena, four years younger than the boys. Her features were as fine as her mother’s, but her colouring was her father’s, dark and intense. She beamed at the sight of her father riding at the head of his Household Guard. Succumbing to impulse, she pointed and said, ‘There’s Daddy!’
Arutha held up his hand and ordered a halt. Without waiting for official greetings from the Master of Ceremonies, he jumped from his mount and hurried to his family. Embracing his wife, he then turned his attention to his sons and daughter.
James motioned with this chin towards the welcoming guards and whispered to Locklear, ‘Willie’s on duty.’
William, Pug’s son, was a cadet, a young soon-to-be officer who presently was learning his trade. He exchanged glances with James, giving the squire a tiny nod.
The order was given for the company to fall out, and James and Locklear dismounted. Grooms hurried over and took away the tired mounts.
Their duty required the squires to wait upon their Prince’s need, so they moved to stand at Arutha’s right hand.
Anita gifted the young men with a warm greeting, then turned her attention to Arutha. ‘I know I shouldn’t worry. I know you’ll always come back to me.’
Arutha’s smile was both happy and tired. ‘Always.’
A small knot of court officials stood silently behind the royal family, and Arutha nodded greetings. He saw by their expressions that he would be needed in council before he would be permitted the pleasure of a long visit with his family. He noticed the Sheriff of Krondor in attendance, and sighed. That could only mean grave problems in Krondor, for the sheriff, while an important officer in the city, wasn’t properly a member of Arutha’s court. Glancing at Gardan, he said, ‘Marshal, see what the sheriff and the others want, and meet me in my private council chamber in a half hour. I will have this road-dirt off before I sit down to another meeting.’ He smiled at Anita. ‘And I’ll steal a few minutes to speak with my wife and children.’ He leaned over and kissed Anita on the cheek and said, ‘Take the children to our apartment. I’ll be along in a minute, dearest.’
Anita herded the children away, and Arutha motioned to James and Locklear. ‘No rest for the wicked, boys.’ Looking over at the palace guard, he added, ‘Young William looks as if he’s going to pop with news to share, so go find out what’s on his mind. I’m sure I’ll be hearing a different version of the same tale from my officers in council. If something warrants some snooping around in the city, do it, and be back no later than the end of the evening meal.’ Then he looked James in the eyes and said, You know what you must do.’
James nodded. As he led Locklear away, Locklear said, ‘What does that mean?’
‘What?’
‘“You know what you must do?”’
‘Just something Arutha and I have been working on since you were sent north to Tyr-Sog for …’
‘I know why I was banished to Tyr-Sog,’ Locklear said in a tired voice. ‘Too well,’ he added, considering his imminent return to that cold and lonely town on the northern frontier.
James signalled to the guardsman in charge of the trainees, who stood to attention as he shouted, ‘Members of the court!’
The cadets were already at attention, but they seemed to stiffen a bit more as the two squires approached.
James nodded greeting to Swordmaster McWirth. ‘How are the cadets this afternoon, swordmaster?’
‘A worthless lot, squire, but one or two of them may survive to actually be allowed to serve as an officer in my army!’
James smiled wryly at the pointed remark, given that he and the swordmaster had little affection for one another. As a member of Arutha’s court, the young man was not technically part of the army, and trained with weapons with the Prince; in fact, James was Arutha’s favourite duelling partner as he was one of the few in the city as fast as Arutha with a blade. As a squire, he also carried some rank, which meant that often he was put in charge of soldiers who had trained under the swordmaster, and it galled the old soldier.
Still, thought James, McWirth was thorough in his job and the officers he turned out, especially those who were chosen for the élite Royal Household Guards, were fine soldiers, to a man. In his travels, James had seen the worst of the army as well as the best, and he had no doubt these were the among the best in the Western Realm.
‘I need to speak to the Prince’s cousin when you’re done with him, swordmaster.’
The dour old soldier fixed James with a baleful gaze for an instant, and one more time James was thankful he never had to endure the swordmaster’s supervision. McWirth turned and shouted, ‘Dismissed! Cadet William, over here!’
William came to stand before the swordmaster, while the other cadets headed back towards their quarters, and said, ‘Sir!’
‘Member of the court desires your company, it seems.’ He smiled at James and Locklear and said, ‘Good day to you, squires.’
The other cadets hurried off to their duties and McWirth said, ‘And when you’re done, I expect you to catch up with the rest of the cadets, else you’ll be tending your equipment during mess, is that clear?’
‘Sir!’ replied William with a salute. The old swordmaster stalked off and William approached Locklear and James.
James asked, ‘What’s the news?’
‘Lots,’ said William. He was a short man, though taller than his father, with dark brown hair and eyes. The boyish cast to his features had faded in the months since he had come to serve in the Prince’s army and his shoulders had broadened. He was lethally effective with the two-handed sword, a difficult weapon for most soldiers to master, and his horsemanship was considered exceptional. ‘I’m to be commissioned next week!’
‘Congratulations,’ said Locklear. ‘I’m to be exiled.’
William’s eyes narrowed. ‘Again?’
James laughed. ‘Still. Arutha appreciated his reasons for returning without leave, but decided it didn’t warrant an early reprieve from the icy north.’
Frowning, Locklear said, ‘I depart for Tyr-Sog again, tomorrow.’
James said, ‘Something’s funny in the city. What do you hear, Willie?’
Only Arutha’s family, James, and Locklear called William by that nickname, a familiarity he allowed no one else. William said, ‘Odd things. They keep us cadets busy and we don’t get to mix much with the others in the garrison when we’re not training, but you do hear this and that. Seems like an unusually high number of people in the city have been turning up dead this last week.’
James nodded. ‘That would explain the sheriff waiting for the Prince.’
Locklear said, ‘He doesn’t usually do that sort of thing, now that you mention it.’
James was lost in thought a moment. He had crossed paths with Sheriff Wilfred Means on more than one occasion when James had plied his trade as a thief. A few times he had come close to being the sheriff’s guest in the Old Town Jail. The sheriff acknowledged James as the Prince’s squire and treated him with the respect due his office; their relationship was a cold one at best. James suddenly was visited with the image of a younger Wilfred Means glaring up at James as he bolted over the rooftops of the city, the then constable’s ginger-coloured moustache almost quivering with rage at the boy’s escape.
But the sheriff was stalwart in his duty, and tried to keep crime in Krondor as much under control as possible. The city was an orderly one by most any measure James could imagine, and unlike others who held the office before him, Wilfred Means was not a man to take a bribe or barter a favour.
For him to be waiting in person to speak to Arutha as soon as he returned meant something grave had occurred, something the sheriff judged required the Prince’s immediate attention.
‘You get back to your duties,’ said James absently to William. ‘Locky and I had better catch up with Arutha.’
William said, ‘Well, Locky, I will bid you farewell, again, if you’re off for the north in the morning.’
Locklear rolled his eyes theatrically, but took the proffered hand and shook it. ‘Take care of this rascal, William. I would hate to see him get killed when I wasn’t around to watch.’
‘Sorry you’re going to miss the commissioning,’ said William.
James grinned. ‘Don’t worry, Willie. I’ll find you a celebration, and even without this knave’s vaunted reputation as a lodestone for the girls, we’ll find us some pretty faces to look upon you in awe as you sport your new badge of rank.’
William couldn’t help blushing at that. ‘Take care, Locky,’ he said.
Locklear bid him farewell, and as William ran off to his duties Locklear said, ‘Did you see that blush? I warrant the lad’s never been with a woman.’
James elbowed his friend in the side. ‘Not everyone is as precocious as you were, Locky.’
‘But he’s nearly twenty!’ said Locklear in mock astonishment.
‘He’s a bright lad and fair to look at. I suspect things will have changed by the time you return,’ said James.
‘You think?’
‘Certainly,’ said James as they entered the palace. ‘I’m sure I can find him an agreeable girl to bed him in the next five years.’
Locklear’s grin vanished. ‘Five years!’ With wide eyes he said, ‘You don’t think Arutha’s going to keep me up there for five years, do you?’
James laughed at his friend’s distress. As the two young men hurried along to their Prince’s chambers, Locklear threw an elbow at James – which James adroitly dodged – and for an instant they were boys again.
James and Locklear reached Arutha’s private council room just as the Prince was approaching after his brief visit with his wife and children. He moved purposefully down the small hallway that connected his family’s private apartments with the council chamber and the formal court. James hurried to fall in behind his liege lord, with Locklear one step after. A pair of court pages flanked the council chamber door, and one quickly opened it so that Arutha might enter.
Arutha arrived to greetings from Master of Ceremonies Brian de Lacy. Standing at his right hand was his assistant, Housecarl Jerome. Jerome and his supervisor bowed as one to the Prince; the housecarl gave a fleeting nod of greeting to the two squires. Jerome had been a member of the company of squires with James and Locklear as boys, and James had been the first one to stand up to the older boy, who had been the resident bully. Now Jerome was studying to succeed de Lacy as the man in charge of the daily business of the court, and serving as the chief administrator of the palace while doing so, and James was forced to admit his fussy attention to detail made him ideally suited for the job.
Arutha said, ‘I am very tired and would like to join my family for an early supper; let’s save as much as we may for formal court tomorrow. What can’t wait?’
De Lacy nodded and then looked up. He noticed who was in the room and said, ‘Shall we wait for the Knight-Marshal?’
Just then Gardan entered. ‘Apologies, Highness. I wanted to make sure the men were taking care of their mounts and weapons before I joined you.’
Arutha’s brow furrowed and his mouth turned up in a familiar half-smile. ‘You’re not a sergeant any more, Gardan. You’re the Knight-Marshal of Krondor. You have others to ensure that the men and animals are properly billeted.’
Gardan nodded in reply, then said, ‘That’s something I wish to discuss with you.’ He glanced at the nobles in the Prince’s private offices and added, ‘But it will wait until after this evening’s business. Highness?’ Arutha indicated his agreement.
De Lacy said, ‘Two communiqués from Great Kesh via courier arrived during your absence, Highness, informing the crown of matters of small urgency, yet they do require a formal response.’
Arutha waved them over to James. ‘Leave them. I’ll read them tonight and compose a reply first thing in the morning.’
De Lacy handed them to James who tucked them under his arm without looking at them.
The Master of Ceremonies looked at the sheriff, who stepped forward and bowed. ‘Highness, I fear I must report a rash of black murders have been done in your city during the time you’ve been away.’
The Prince was silent for a moment as he considered these words, then he said, ‘You speak then of something warranting my personal attention? Murder is not uncommon in our city.’
‘I do, Highness. Several men of prominence have been slain in their beds at night, throats cut while their wives slept undisturbed beside them.’
Arutha glanced at James and nodded slightly. James knew what the Prince was thinking: Nighthawks.
For nearly ten years the city had been untroubled by the Guild of Death. The assassins who had been employed by Murmandamus’s agents had vanished at the end of the Riftwar. A few months ago rumours about their return had begun to circulate. Then they had suddenly reappeared in the Kingdom. James himself had killed their current leader, but was under no illusion that the Nighthawks would just go away. If there was another cell of them here in Krondor, they already knew of the death of one called Navon du Sandau, an erstwhile merchant from Kenting Rush. Exposing his true identity had almost got James killed in a duel, and it was only by dint of hours spent practising the sword with Arutha that James had prevailed.
Looking troubled, Arutha asked the sheriff, ‘What have your men uncovered?’
‘Nothing, Highness. Of some of the victims, what you’d expect: men with enemies due to their prominence in their trade. But others were men of little significance except to their families. There is nothing of sense about these murders. They seem … random.’
Arutha sat back and weighed what he had been told. His mind turned furiously as he considered, then discarded options. Finally he said, ‘Random? It may be we simply do not understand what is behind the selection of victims. Have your men return in the morning and question the families of the victims, those who worked with them, their neighbours and anyone who may have seen them prior to their deaths. There may be some vital bit of information we are not seeing because we do not know it is important. Send a scribe with your men to record the conversations. In all of this we may discover some connection between those murdered.’ He sighed, fatigue evident in his features. ‘Return to your post, sheriff. Join me after morning court tomorrow and we’ll discuss this business at length. I’ll want your men’s reports by tomorrow evening.’ The sheriff bowed and withdrew.
Arutha turned to de Lacy. ‘What else?’
‘Nothing that cannot wait, Highness.’
Arutha rose. ‘Court is dismissed until the tenth hour of the day tomorrow.’ De Lacy and Jerome left the chamber, and Arutha turned to Gardan and the squires. ‘Now, Gardan, what is it you wished to speak with me about?’
‘Highness, I’ve served your house since I was a boy. I’ve been a soldier and sergeant to your father, and a captain and marshal to you. It’s time I returned home to Crydee. I wish to retire.’
Arutha nodded. ‘I see. Can we speak of this over supper?’
The Knight-Marshal said, ‘If you wish.’
‘I do.’ Turning to the squires, Arutha said, ‘Locklear, you’d best be getting ready for your journey tomorrow morning. I’ll have travel warrants and orders sent to your quarters. Leave with the dawn patrol to Sarth. If I fail to see you before then, have a safe journey to Tyr-Sog.’
Locklear tried to keep his expression neutral as he answered, ‘Thank you, Your Highness.’
Arutha turned to James and said again, ‘You know what to do.’
Arutha and Gardan turned towards the royal apartments as the two squires moved in the other direction. When they were out of hearing distance, Locklear mimicked the Prince: ‘“You know what to do.” All right: what is this all about?’
James sighed and said, ‘It means I don’t get any sleep tonight.’
Locklear said, ‘Is this your way of telling me it’s none of my business?’
‘Yes,’ James answered. He said nothing more as they moved to the wing of the palace which housed their quarters. Reaching the door to Locklear’s room, James said, ‘I probably won’t see you before you leave, also, so take care not to get yourself killed.’
Locklear shook hands, then embraced his best friend. ‘I’ll try not to.’
James grinned. ‘Good, then with luck we’ll see you at Midsummer’s Festival, assuming you don’t do anything to cause Arutha to keep you up there longer than that.’
Locklear said, ‘I’ll be good.’
‘See that you are,’ instructed James.
He left his friend and hurried to his own quarters. Being a member of the Prince’s court merited James a room of his own, but since he was only a squire, it was a modest one; a bed, a table for writing or eating a solitary meal, and a double door wooden wardrobe. James closed the door to his room, locking it behind him, and undressed. He was wearing travel clothing, but it was still too conspicuous for what he needed to do. Opening his wardrobe, he moved aside a bundle of shirts in need of laundry, and beneath those he found what he was looking for. A dark grey tunic and dark blue trousers, patched and mended and looking far dirtier than they actually were. He dressed in those, pulled on his oldest boots and slipped a well-made but plain-looking dagger into his boot-sheath. Then once again looking like a creature of the streets, he slipped out through the door of his quarters, avoiding servants and guards as he made his way down into the palace cellar.
Soon he was moving through a secret passage that connected the palace with the city sewers, and as night fell on Krondor Jimmy the Hand once more moved along the Thieves’ Highway.
The sun had set by the time James reached the transition point between the sewer under the palace and the city sewer system. The sky above might still be light for a while, but beneath the streets it was as dark as night. During the day there were places in the sewer where illumination filtered down from above, tunnels close to the surface where culverts had broken through, others below streets where missing stones or open drains admitted daylight.
But after sundown, the entire system was pitch-black, save for a few locations with light sources of their own, and only an expert could move through the maze of passages safely. From the moment he left the palace, James knew exactly where he was.
While a member of the Guild of Thieves, the Mockers, James had learned every trick of survival that harsh circumstance, opportunity, and keen native intelligence had presented to him. He moved silently to a stash he had prepared and moved a false stone. It was fashioned from cloth, wood, and paint, and in light far brighter than any likely to ever be present here, it would withstand inspection. He set the false stone down and retrieved a shuttered lantern from the stash. The hidey-hole held an extra set of picks, as well as a number of items unlikely to be welcome inside the palace proper: some caustic agents, climbing equipment, and a few non-standard weapons. Old habits died hard.
James lit the lantern. He had never considered keeping a lantern in the palace, for fear someone might observe him making the transition between the palace sewer and the one under the city. Guarding the secret of how the palace could be reached through the sewers was paramount. Every drawing on file in the palace, from the original keep through the latest expansion, showed the two systems as entirely separate, just as the city’s sewer was divided from the one outside the city walls. But smugglers and thieves had quickly rendered royal plans inaccurate, by creating passages in and out of the city.
James trimmed the wick, lit it, and closed the shutters until only a tiny sliver of light shone, but it was enough for him to navigate his way safely through the sewer. He could do it with no light, he knew, but it would slow him down to a painful near-crawl to have to feel his way along the walls the entire way, and he had a good distance to travel this night.
James did a quick check to ensure he had left nothing exposed for anyone to chance across. He considered the never-ending need for security which created this odd paradox: the Royal Engineers spent a lot of time and gold repairing the city’s sewers – and just as quickly the Mockers and others damaged them to have a furtive passage free of royal oversight. James often was the one responsible for identifying a new breach. Occasionally he was guilty of hiding one, if it suited his purposes more than it compromised the palace’s security.
Thinking that there was a great deal more to being a responsible member of the Prince’s court than he had imagined when he had first been put in the company of squires, the former thief hurried on towards his first appointment.
It was almost dawn when James started looking for his last contact. The squire was having trouble keeping his concerns in check. The first three informants he had sought were missing. The docks were unnaturally silent, devoid of even the boisterous noise usually marking the area’s inns and taverns. The poor quarter was clearly a no man’s land, with many of the Mockers’ usual bolt-holes and accesses blocked off and sealed.
Of the Mockers, James had seen nothing. That alone was not completely unusual. He wasn’t the only one adroit at travelling through the sewers and streets unnoticed. But there was something different about this night. There were others who used the sewers. Beggars who weren’t Mockers had places where they could sleep unmolested. Smugglers moved cargo short distances from secret landings built into the larger outflows into the harbour to basements farther in the city. With such activities came noises: small, unnoticed unless one was trained to recognize them for what they were, but usually they were there. Tonight everything was silent. Only the murmur of water, the scurrying of rats and the occasional rattle of distant machinery, waterwheels, pumps, and sluice gates echoed through the tunnels.
Anyone in the sewers was lying low, James knew. And that meant trouble. Historically, in times of trouble, the Mockers would seal off sections of the sewers, especially near the poor quarter, barring the passages to Mockers’ Rest, the place called ‘Mother’s’ by members of the Guild of Thieves. Armed bashers would take up station and wait for the crisis to pass. Others not belonging to the guild would also hole up until the trouble passed. Outside those enclaves and safe areas, anyone in the tunnels was fair game. The last time James had remembered such a condition had been during the year following the end of the Riftwar, when Princess Anita had been injured and Arutha had declared martial law.
The more he had travelled through the sewers below and the streets above, the more James was convinced something equally dire had occurred while he had been out of the city on the Prince’s business. James looked around to see that he was unwatched and moved to the rear of the alley.
A pair of old wooden crates had been turned towards a brick wall to offer some shelter against the elements. Inside that crate lay a still form. A swarm of flies took off as James moved the crate slightly. Before he touched the man’s leg, James knew he wasn’t sleeping. Gingerly he turned over the still form of Old Edwin, a one-time sailor whose love of drink had cost him his livelihood, family, and any shred of dignity. But, James thought, even a gutter-rat like Edwin deserved better than having his throat cut like a calf at slaughter.
The thick, nearly-dried blood told James he had been murdered earlier, probably around dawn the day before. He was certain that his other missing contacts had met a similar fate. Either whoever was behind the troubles in the city was killing indiscriminately – and James’s informants had been exceedingly unfortunate – or someone was methodically murdering off James’s agents in Krondor. Logic dictated the latter as the most likely explanation.
James stood and looked skyward. The night was fading, as a grey light from the east heralded the dawn’s approach. There was only one place left he might find answers without risking confronting the Mockers.
James knew that some agreement between the Prince and Mockers had been reached years before when he had joined Arutha’s service, but he never knew the details. An understanding of sorts had arisen between James and the Mockers. He stayed out of their way and they avoided him. He came and went as he pleased in the sewers and across the roofs of the city when he needed, and they looked the other way. But at no time had he any illusion that he would be warmly welcomed should he attempt to return to Mockers’ Rest. You were either a Mocker or you weren’t, he knew, and for nearly fourteen years he had not been a Mocker.
James put aside concerns about braving a visit to Mother’s and turned towards the one other place he might find some news.
James returned to the sewer and made his way quickly to a spot below a particular inn. It sat on the border between the poorest quarter of the city and a slightly more respectable district, one inhabited by workmen and their families. A rank covering of slime hid a secret release, and once it was tripped, James felt a slight grinding as a section of stone swung aside.
The ‘stone’ was made of plaster over heavy canvas, covering a narrow entryway to a short tunnel. Once inside the tunnel, with the secret door closed behind him, James opened the shutters of the lantern. He was almost certain he knew of every trap along the short passage, but as the key word was ‘almost’ he took great caution as he traversed the tunnel.
At the far end he found a thick oaken door, on the other side of which he knew rose a short flight of stairs leading to a cellar below an inn. He inspected the lock and when he was satisfied nothing had changed, he picked it adroitly. When it clicked open, he pushed it gingerly aside against the possibility of a new trap on the other side of the door. Nothing happened and he quickly mounted the stairs.
At the top of the stairs, he entered the dark cellar, thick with barrels and sacks. He moved through the maze of stores and climbed the wooden steps up to the main floor of the building, opening into a pantry, behind the kitchen. He opened the door.
A young woman’s scream split the air and a moment later a crossbow bolt flew through the space James had occupied the instant before. The young man rolled on the floor as the bolt splintered the wooden door and James came to his feet with his hands held palm out as he said, ‘Easy, Lucas! It’s me!’
The innkeeper, a former soldier in his youth, was halfway around the kitchen, the crossbow set aside as he was drawing his sword. He had grabbed the crossbow and fired through the door, across the kitchen, upon hearing the scream. He hesitated a moment, then returned his sword to its scabbard as he continued moving towards James.
He circled around a butcher’s block. ‘You idiot!’ he hissed, as if afraid to raise his voice. ‘You trying to get yourself killed?’
‘Honestly, no,’ said James as he stood up.
‘Dressed like that, sneaking at my cellar door, how’d I know it was you? You should have sent word you were coming that way, or waited an hour and come in the front door like an honest man.’
‘Well, I am an honest man,’ said James, moving from the kitchen, past the bar and into the empty common room. He glanced around, then sat down in a chair. ‘More or less.’
Lucas gave him a half-smile. ‘More than some. What brings you crawling around like a cat in the gutter?’
James glanced over at the young girl who had followed him and Lucas into the commons. She had regained her composure as the intruder was revealed to be a friend of the innkeeper. ‘Sorry to startle you.’
She took a breath and said, ‘Well, you did a good job of it.’ She stood upright, and her high colour from the fright put her fair complexion in contrast to her dark hair. She appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties.
James asked, ‘The new barmaid?’
‘My daughter, Talia.’
James sat back. ‘Lucas, you don’t have a daughter.’
The proprietor of The Rainbow Parrot sat down opposite James and said, ‘Run to the kitchen and see nothing’s burning, Talia.’
‘Yes, father,’ she said, leaving.
‘I have a daughter,’ Lucas said to James. ‘When her mother died I sent her to live with my brother on his farm near Tannerbrook.’
James smiled. ‘Didn’t want her to grow up in this place?’
Lucas sighed. ‘No. It gets rough in here.’
Feigning innocence, James said, ‘Why, Lucas. I never noticed.’
Pointing an accusatory finger in his direction, Lucas said, ‘Far less savoury characters than you have graced that chair, Jimmy the Hand.’
James held up his hands as if surrendering. ‘I’ll concede as much.’ He glanced towards the kitchen door as if somehow seeing through it. ‘But she doesn’t sound like any farm girl I’ve heard before, Lucas.’
Lucas sat back, ran his bony hand through his grey-shot hair. His angular face showed irritation at having to explain. ‘She studied with a sisterhood in a nearby abbey for more hours than she milked cows. She can read, write, and do sums. She’s a smart lass.’
James nodded in appreciation. ‘Laudable. Though I doubt your average customer will appreciate those qualities as much as … the more obvious ones.’
Lucas’s expression darkened. ‘She’s a good girl, James. She’s going to marry a proper man, not some scruffy … well, you know the type. I’ll have a dowry set by and …’ He dropped his voice so as not to be heard in the kitchen. ‘James, you’re the only one I know who knows some proper lads, being in the palace and all. At least since Laurie ran off and got himself named duke in Salador. Can you arrange for my girl to meet the right kind of boy? She’s been back in the city only a few days and already I feel as green as a raw recruit on his first day of training. With her brothers dead in the war, she’s all I’ve got.’ He glanced around the well-tended but rough common room and said, ‘I want her to have more than this.’
James grinned. ‘I know. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll bring a couple of the more likely fellows down for a drink and let nature take its course.’
‘But not Locklear!’ said Lucas. ‘You keep him away.’
James laughed. ‘No worries. He’s probably riding out the gate this very minute, heading for a long tour of duty in Tyr-Sog.’
Talia came back into the room and said, ‘Everything is ready, father.’
‘That’s a good lass,’ he replied. ‘Open the door, then, and let anyone in who’s waiting for breakfast.’
As she moved off, Lucas said to James, ‘All right then. You didn’t get yourself almost killed sneaking in from the sewers to gossip about my girl and the boys in court. What brings you here before sunrise?’
James’s face lost any hint of humour. ‘There’s a war underway in the sewers, Lucas. And someone’s killed some friends of mine. What’s going on?’
Lucas sat back and nodded. ‘I knew you’d come asking one of these days. I thought it would be sooner.’
‘I just got back into the city last night. I was off with the Prince … doing some things.’
Lucas said, ‘Well, Arutha would do well to look closer to home for trouble, for he has heaps of it here free for the asking. I don’t know the truth of it, but according to the rumours men are killing freely in the sewers and along the waterfront. Citizens and Mockers alike are dying. I hear of Keshians setting up shops in buildings once owned by Kingdom merchants, and new bully gangs working along the docks. No one knows what’s going on, save the Mockers who have gone to ground and are hiding out. I’ve not seen one in a week. Most of my regulars come later and leave earlier, wanting to be home safe before dark.’
‘Who’s behind it, Lucas?’ asked James.
Lucas looked around, as if afraid some invisible agency might overhear him. Softly he said, ‘Someone calling himself the Crawler.’
James sat back. ‘Why am I not surprised?’ he muttered.
• CHAPTER THREE • (#ulink_9c183ff7-54bb-542e-8826-9167958f2969)
Reception (#ulink_9c183ff7-54bb-542e-8826-9167958f2969)
JAMES WAITED.
A court page knocked upon the door, his youthful expression neutral as befitted a lad of twelve stationed just outside the royal apartments. An answering voice bid James enter, and he waited as two pages pushed open the ornate wooden doors. Inside, the Prince took breakfast with his family, the fractious twins poking at one another while attempting to avoid parental notice. A scolding look from their mother indicated their failure and they went back to a pretence of model behaviour. The little Princess was happily singing a song of her own making while she purposefully put spoon to a bowl of hot breakfast mush.
Princess Anita smiled at James as he presented himself to the family and bowed. ‘Our squire finally appears,’ said Arutha dryly. ‘I trust we’re not inconveniencing you this morning?’
James smiled back at the Princess as he straightened, then turned to the Prince and said, ‘I was dressed in a quite inappropriate fashion for a meal with the royal family, Highness. I am sorry to be so tardy.’
Arutha indicated for James to stand at his right hand, where he was expected to wait on his ruler’s pleasure unless out on some errand or another. James did so and took a moment to rest in the glow of the only thing in his life that felt like family to him.
The Prince of Krondor and his squire enjoyed a relationship that was eccentric and unique. At times they were comrades as much as master and servant, while at other times their bond was almost brotherly. Yet there was always this one thing between them: James never forgot that Arutha was his Prince and he was Arutha’s loyal servant.
‘You look tired,’ observed the Prince.
‘It’s been a long time since I enjoyed the comfort of a warm bed and a good night’s sleep, sir,’ James replied. ‘Last night included.’
‘Well, was it worth it?’
James said, ‘In one way, very much. In another, no.’
Glancing at his wife and children, Arutha looked at James and softly said, ‘Do we need to speak in private?’
James said, ‘I judge it inappropriate table conversation, if that’s the answer you seek, Highness.’
Arutha said, ‘Retire to my private office and wait. I will join you in a few minutes.’
James did as he was told and walked the short distance to Arutha’s private office. Inside he found it as it always was, ordered and clean. He eased his fatigued body into a chair near the Prince’s writing desk and sat back.
James lurched awake as Arutha entered a short while later. ‘Sleeping?’ asked the Prince with amusement as James came to his feet.
‘It was a very long and tiring ride home, Highness, followed by another night without sleep.’
Arutha waved James back into his chair and said, ‘Relax a bit while you talk, but don’t nod off again.’
‘Sire,’ said James as he sat. ‘Three of my informants have gone missing.’
Arutha nodded. ‘From what the good sheriff tells me, we have a rash of killings here in Krondor again, and this time it looks as if there’s no pattern. But the disappearance of your informants tells us someone knows more about us than we do about him, and doesn’t want us improving our knowledge.’
James said, ‘I don’t see any pattern either.’
‘Not yet,’ said the Prince. There was a knock at the door, and Arutha called out, ‘A moment.’ To James he said, ‘That would be Gardan with his retirement documents.’
‘He is leaving, then?’ asked James.
Arutha nodded. ‘I’m sorry to see him go, but he’s earned his rest. He’ll go home to Crydee and spend his last years with his grandchildren, and I can’t think of a better fate for any man. And I suspect he’s correct in his accusation that I don’t leave him much to do, really. He suggests I appoint someone with administrative talents to the post rather than a military man as long as I insist on personally supervising the army. And this conversation stays in this room.’
James nodded silently.
Pointing to the door, Arutha said, ‘Let Gardan in on your way out. Then go to your room and get some sleep. You’re excused from court duty this morning. You have a busy evening ahead of you.’
‘More scouting the city?’ asked James.
Arutha said, ‘No, my wife’s arranged a homecoming ball, and you must attend.’
James rolled his eyes heavenward. ‘Couldn’t I go crawl around in the sewers some more?’
Arutha laughed. ‘No. You’ll stand and look interested as rich merchants impress you with tales of their fiscal heroics, and their vapid daughters try to entice you with their marginal charms. That’s a royal command.’ He fingered a document upon his desk. ‘And we have word of an eastern noble headed our way for an unexpected visit. So we must be ready to entertain as well. And murder in the streets does so take the joy out of things, don’t you agree?’ he added dryly.
‘Yes, Highness.’
James opened the door and admitted Gardan, who nodded a greeting. After Gardan entered the room, James left, closing the door behind him.
The court was nearly empty. In a few moments, de Lacy and Jerome would admit nobles, merchants, and other petitioners to the great hall. With a nod of courtesy to the two men, James hurried out of another side door and started back towards his quarters. He might not look forward to another of Princess Anita’s galas, but he did hear his bed singing a siren call to him right now. The last few weeks in the north, especially almost a week-long horseback ride abetted by mystical herbs to ward off fatigue, had taken its toll.
As he reached the corner of two halls, he found a page and instructed the youth to awaken him one hour before the supper bell rang. James reached his room, went inside, and within minutes was fast asleep.
The musicians struck up a tune and Arutha turned to his wife and bowed. Less formal than the royal court in Rillanon, the Prince’s court in Krondor was no less bound by traditions. One such was that no one began dancing before the Prince and Princess.
Arutha was an adept dancer. That didn’t surprise James. No one could be as nimble when wheeling a sword as the Prince of Krondor and not have a superb sense of balance and exquisite timing. And the dances were simple. James had heard that the court dances in Rillanon were complex, very formal things, while here in the far more rustic west the court dances were similar to those performed by farmers and townspeople throughout the Western Realm, just executed with a bit more restraint and less noise.
James watched Arutha and Anita nod as one to the music master. He held up his bow and nodded to his musicians, a collection of stringed instruments, a pair of percussionists, and three men playing flutes of various sizes. A sprightly tune was struck up and Anita stepped away from Arutha, while holding his hand, and executed a twirling turn, which caused her ornate gown to flare out. She ducked skillfully under his arm, and James thought it was a good thing those silly large white hats the ladies wore this season were considered daywear only. He considered it improbable she could have got under Arutha’s arm without knocking it off.
The thought struck him as amusing and he smiled. Jerome, standing nearby said, ‘Something funny, James?’
James’s smile vanished. He had never liked Jerome, that distaste going back to their first encounter when James had arrived in court. After Jerome’s first – and last – attempt to bully him, James had knocked down the older boy, informing him pointedly that he was Prince Arutha’s personal squire and not about to be bullied by anyone. James had emphasized the message with the point of a dagger – Jerome’s own – deftly picked off his belt without Jerome noticing, and the message had never needed to be repeated.
Jerome had remained wary of James from that day on, though he had occasionally tried to bully the younger squires. Since becoming de Lacy’s apprentice, and in all likelihood the next Master of Ceremonies, Jerome had outgrown his bullying behaviour, and a polite truce had arisen between himself and James. James still considered him a fussy prig, but judged him far less obnoxious than he had been as a boy. And at times he was even useful.
James said, ‘Just an odd thought about fashion.’
Jerome let a slight smile show itself before turning sombre once more. He did not pursue the remark, but his slight change of expression indicated he appreciated James’s observation.
The court was at its lavish best, with every guest adorned in the height of Krondorian fashion. James found these annual shifts in taste odd and occasionally ridiculous, but bore up under them stoically. This year the guards’ uniforms had been changed, at the Princess’s request, as the old grey tabards were now considered too dull.
The honour guard along the walls wore light brown tunics – somewhere between copper and gold – marked with a black eagle soaring over the peak of a mountain. James wasn’t sure he liked the break with tradition, but noticed the Prince’s scarlet mantle of office still bore the old crest.
Another group of guests arrived and filtered into the ballroom. Leaning towards Jerome, James quietly asked, ‘The usual guests?’
Jerome nodded. ‘Local nobles, rich merchants, a few soldiers of rank who have earned our Prince’s favour.’
‘Any Keshians?’ asked James.
‘A few,’ said Jerome. ‘Traders.’ He glanced over at James and asked, ‘Or did you have some particular Keshians in mind?’
James shook his head a little as the dance came to a close. ‘No, but I wish I did.’
If Jerome was curious about the remark, he didn’t show it. James had come to admire his reticence, as a great deal of a Master of Ceremony’s time was spent dealing with idiots, many of them powerful and rich. The ability not to hear things convincingly was a skill James felt he lacked and needed to cultivate.
A bit of a bustle at the far end of the hall began as the first dance ended. Arutha bowed to Anita and offered his hand, which she took, to escort her back to the dais.
From the opposite end of the hall came the booming crack of de Lacy’s staff of office striking the floor heralding the arrival of someone of note. De Lacy’s old, but still strong, voice carried the hall, as he intoned, ‘Your Highnesses, Lord Radswil, Duke of Olasko!’
James said, ‘Radswil of Olasko?’
Jerome whispered, ‘Pronounced Rads-vil, you ignoramus. One of the Eastern Kingdoms – a duchy, actually.’ Looking with mock disdain at James he said, ‘Study the map, my friend. The man’s the younger brother of the Grand Duke Vaclav, and uncle to the Prince of Aranor.’ Dropping his voice even lower, Jerome said, ‘Which means he’s a cousin to the King of Roldem.’
A stir spread through the room as those who had occupied the dance floor parted to allow a large man and his retinue to cross to where Arutha and Anita were just sitting down. James studied the man and didn’t like what he saw.
The duke was a bruiser, James could tell, despite his fine raiment. A large velvet hat of dark maroon, looking like an oversized beret, dropped off to one shoulder, a large silver brooch with a long white feather sweeping back from it. His black jacket was tailored to fit snugly, and James could see the massive shoulders were not padded, but merely reinforced his impression that Lord Radswil could easily hold his own in the rougher inns of the city. Black leggings and stockings finished the ensemble, all of the finest make. The sword at his side was a rapier, much like the one Arutha wore, often used and a serious weapon. The only difference was that Radswil’s had a silver-and-gold-decorated bellguard.
At his left hand walked a young girl, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, wearing a dress to rival the Princess’s, though cut as daringly low as modesty permitted. James studied her face. She was pretty in a predatory way, with the eyes of a hunter. For a brief moment he gave thanks that Locklear was gone from the court. Since they were boys, James had joked that girls would get Locklear killed some day, and this one looked about as dangerous as any James had seen, despite her youth.
Then James felt eyes upon him and glanced across. At Radswil’s right hand walked two young men, about James’s own age from what he could tell. The one closest to the duke looked like a younger version of Radswil, heavy set, powerful of stature and full of confidence. The one farthest from the duke bore enough of a resemblance to be a younger brother, but he was leaner and his eyes had a menacing cast as he fixed them upon James. He was studying James as James had been studying the party, and intuitively James knew what that young man was doing; he was picking out potential enemies in court. James felt a chill run down his back as the duke bowed before Arutha.
Jerome, now acting the part of his office as assistant to the Master of Ceremonies, stepped forward and said, ‘Your Highnesses, may I present Radswil, Lord Steznichia, Duke of Olasko.’
Arutha said, ‘Welcome to our court, my lord. Your arrival catches us somewhat unprepared. We thought you would arrive later in the week.’
The duke bowed. ‘Apologies, Your Highness,’ he said in a deep voice, his speech only slightly accented. ‘We caught favourable winds from Opardum and arrived in Salador a week before we were scheduled. Rather than linger, we pressed on. I trust we have caused Your Highnesses no undue inconvenience?’
Arutha shook his head. ‘Not at all. We just lack a fitting welcome, that is all.’
The duke smiled and James felt no warmth from that expression. The man was polished and his education was obvious, but at heart there was that brawler James had recognized at once. ‘I’m sorry, Highness, I assumed the gala tonight was to welcome us.’
Anita’s face froze for a moment, then the duke turned to her and said, ‘Highness, I jest. The matter is one of scant importance. We call only out of courtesy to your office and your husband’s. We are bound for the Keshian port of Durbin. From there we will venture into the Trollhome Mountains, where we understand the hunting is both plentiful and exotic. Any small gesture of hospitality on your part is a boon beyond our expectation.’
James saw Jerome go slightly rigid. The fussy ex-squire was a stickler for protocol and the duke had managed to brush aside an apology from Arutha and return an insult, without making it obvious. This man obviously felt no timorousness being in the presence of a Prince.
Anita had been court bred and knew the intricacies of court manners. She knew that anything she said in response to the slight would only worsen her situation socially. She merely inclined her head and said, ‘I suspect the subtleties of the east are lost upon us here in the west. Would you present your companions?’
The duke bowed and turned to the younger of the two men. ‘Your Highness, may I present my nephew, His Highness, Vladic, son of my brother the Archduke, heir to the throne and Crown Prince of Olasko, Prince of the House of Roldem by blood.’ On cue the young man stepped forward and bowed in greeting to the Prince and Princess of Krondor. Then the duke said, ‘And this is Kazamir, my son and heir to my house, also Prince of the House of Roldem by blood.’ The other son bowed effortlessly, with exactly the proper deference for one of his rank before Prince Arutha. Smoothly, the duke turned and said, ‘And this is my daughter, Paulina, Princess of the House of Roldem by blood.’
Arutha nodded greeting. ‘You are all welcome in Krondor.’ He made a small gesture to Jerome, who hurried off to ready guest apartments for the duke and his entourage. James was again forced to concede that Jerome was good at what he did. He had no doubt the rooms would be aired, with wine and other refreshments on hand, and a squad of pages ready to do the duke’s bidding.
Arutha said, ‘We are celebrating a safe return from troubles to the north. You are most welcome to remain for the gala.’
The duke smiled. ‘My thanks. From the reports and gossip we heard along the way from Salador to Krondor, I suspect the troubles were not trivial. A gala is most appropriate to celebrate a Prince’s safe return.
‘I am tired from the journey, however, and will beg your forgiveness and retire. The children, perhaps, might enjoy some music and revelry after our long journey.’
James realized this was not an option, but an instruction. The two youngsters turned to their father and bowed, while the Crown Prince merely looked on for a moment, then inclined his head. Radswil bowed to the Prince and withdrew before Arutha had time to do more than wave agreement. Master de Lacy intercepted the duke and his retainers at the door and escorted them to the guest quarters.
Arutha turned to James and said, ‘Squire James, would you please see that our guests are refreshed?’
James bowed and stepped down the dais and presented himself to the duke’s children with a courtly bow. Keenly aware the introduction of the three youngsters revealed the Olaskans’ formality in matters of rank, James said, ‘Prince Vladic, Princess, Prince, may I offer you refreshments?’
Vladic studied James a moment, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, then he nodded.
With as deft a movement as James had seen, he found himself with the Princess Paulina’s arm through his, before he had even had the chance to offer his hand, a far more courteous gesture. The familiarity almost caught him off guard. ‘Tell me, squire,’ said Paulina, as they moved towards the large table where refreshments were offered, ‘how do you come to serve the Prince, personally?’
James was struck by two things at once. There was something about her, a scent, perhaps an exotic perfume, that caused his blood to race. He suddenly experienced a fierce desire. And that in turn caused what James had long called his ‘bump of trouble’ to start bothering him. Paulina was a pretty enough girl – many would even say beautiful – and easily one of the most attractive at the gala, but James was long used to the wiles of women and she was not so extraordinarily attractive that he should find himself being so irresistibly drawn to her.
He glared at the two young men, saw what he took to be a slight sense of amusement in Kazamir’s expression, and a mask of neutrality in Vladic.
Forcing his attention back to her question, he replied, ‘I was granted my office for service to the crown.’
Ever so slightly she drew away. ‘Oh?’ she said. If a single word could convey volumes of meaning, hers did.
James smiled his most charming smile and said, ‘Yes. You wouldn’t know, of course, being from so distant a land. Before coming to the Prince’s service, I was a thief.’
It took a massive application of will power on the Princess’s part not to push herself away from James. Her frozen smile looked almost painful as she said, ‘Really?’ while behind her, Kazamir suppressed a laugh. Even Vladic betrayed a slight upturn of his mouth, the hint of a smile.
Just then James spied William, who had been stationed by the table of refreshments, and said, ‘Allow me to introduce someone to you, Highnesses.’ He signalled for the young cadet to approach and when William did, James said, ‘Highnesses, I have the honour of presenting William conDoin, son of the duke of Stardock and cousin to our Prince. He’s about to be commissioned Knight-Lieutenant in the Prince’s army.’ He quickly named his companions in order of rank.
Instantly the Princess’s manner changed once more and again she was the vivacious charmer. William’s colour rose and now James was convinced there was something more to this Princess than her more obvious physical gifts. ‘Perhaps the cadet could show me some of the palace, while you entertain my brother and cousin, Squire James?’
James glanced at Swordmaster McWirth, who stood near the dais and with a nod of his head communicated the need for William to act as host to the visiting nobility. The old swordmaster’s expression turned slightly sour, but he nodded and James said, ‘William, I’m sure the Princess would love to see the tapestry gallery and Princess Anita’s gardens.’
As smoothly as an eel slipping through water, the Princess disengaged herself from James’s arm and attached herself to William. ‘And what shall I call you, young knight?’ asked the Princess.
‘Will, Your Highness. My friends call me Will.’
As William led the Princess off towards the tapestry hall, James indicated the food and wine to Prince Vladic, then Prince Kazamir. The Crown Prince took a goblet of wine and sipped it. ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Darkmoor?’
James nodded. ‘I believe so. Most of our best wines come from there.’
‘You’re not having any?’
James smiled. ‘I’m on duty.’
Kazamir nodded. ‘I understand. By the way, you handled that very deftly. Not many young men would give up my sister’s company so easily.’
‘I can well believe it,’ said James. ‘There’s something about her …’
Vladic studied James a moment, again appraising him, and James could not help but feel again that he was being sized up as a possible opponent. Vladic said, ‘You’re perceptive, squire. My cousin has a need to be admired by a great many men. She employs additional supplements to augment her natural appeal.’
‘Ah,’ said James. ‘Magic. A charm or a potion?’
‘Her left hand. A ring purchased from a woman who dabbles in such trinkets in our homeland. I fear this need for male attention that drives Paulina will eventually create difficulties for her future husband.’
‘Then she should either marry a man with great skills as a swordsman, or one with great patience.’
Vladic nodded, as he slipped his wine. He then took a small slice of melon from a platter and nibbled at it, his expression every so slightly indicating satisfaction with the fruit. ‘The court here in the west is a refreshing change from some of the environments we’ve discovered east of Salador.’
James nodded. ‘I have no doubt. West of Malac’s Cross things are very different. I’ve not spent much time in the east, but it is …’
‘More civilized?’ provided Kazamir.
James smiled. ‘I was about to say older, but if you prefer civilized, I’ll concede the point.’
Vladic smiled, and for the first time since they met James sensed the young man was letting his guard down a tiny bit. ‘Well, it’s a function of perspective, I warrant. Our nations are very old, while this Western Realm is relatively young. In Olasko, we haven’t seen an elf or goblin in centuries. There are six other states of some size between the far northern lands and Olasko.’
‘Elves are interesting,’ replied James. ‘And I’ve seen enough goblins to last me a lifetime.’
‘I hear they’re not terribly bright, but that they make good hunting,’ ventured Kazamir.
‘Well, if you’re interested in hunting something that carries a sword or bow, I guess.’ James shrugged. ‘I’m city bred and have little experience with hunting. I don’t understand the appeal of the sport.’
‘It livens up an otherwise dull life,’ said Vladic.
James grinned. ‘I’ve never found life to be dull, so I suppose that’s why.’
‘You’re a lucky man, then,’ said Kazamir. ‘We have our wars, often enough, but other than that, there’s little to occupy a man who craves excitement.’
Vladic said, ‘My cousin is like most of our nobles, and seeks glory in overt fashion. But the skills of arms, the sword and bow, the challenge of the hunt, those are secondary in importance to that.’ He pointed to where Arutha was listening to something being whispered into his ear by one of the local nobles. ‘He seeks office, or a suitable husband for a daughter or an ally against an enemy, or something from your monarch. Intrigue is a way of life in my father’s court.’
James laughed. ‘That’s Squire Randolph of Silverstown. I think he’s trying to convince the Prince to get one of his pesky neighbours to move his cattle off Silverstown’s meadows.’
Kazamir barked a rough sounding laugh. ‘A very small intrigue, then, cousin.’
Vladic looked slightly nettled to be mocked so, but said nothing.
‘Are you staying long in Krondor?’ asked James.
Kazamir shrugged. ‘Father has planned this as a tour of the west, so I expect we’ll stay a few days before moving on. He wishes to hunt the Trollhomes, where it is rumoured great boars reside, as well as wild trolls and even, if true, dragons.’
James could barely contain his amusement. ‘Having spied a dragon myself, may I suggest that only a madman would go looking for one?’
Kazamir’s expression darkened. ‘A madman?’
James quickly spread his hands in an apologetic gesture. ‘A jest, and obviously a poor one. It is just that dragons are everything you’ve heard of and more. If you hunt one, take an army with you.’
Kazamir’s expression softened slightly, but James couldn’t be certain the offence had been mitigated. He continued, ‘Even trolls are to be avoided unless you absolutely must face one. The lowland trolls may be barely more than wild animals, but they are more dangerous than any lion or bear you might hunt, for they are more cunning, and they hunt in groups of two or more. Their mountain kin have language and use weapons. You go hunting them, be assured they’ll be hunting you right back.’
‘Interesting,’ was all that Vladic said. Then he added, ‘How is the hunting in this region?’
‘Yes,’ said Kazamir with sudden interest. ‘Lions, perhaps?’
James shrugged. ‘If you go north, up into the foothills of the Calastius Mountains, you’ll find a good population of game. Closer to the King’s Highway it’s scarce, but once you get high into the hills there’s ample deer, elk, bear, and big leopards. Occasionally a wyvern comes down from the northern mountains and that’s as much dragon as I’d be willing to face.’
‘If we stay for more than a few days, would you be able to arrange a trip into those mountains?’ asked Vladic.
James nodded. ‘I’ll speak to the housecarl; he can arrange with the huntmaster and swordmaster to provide guides and men-at-arms. You could travel out for a day and reach some very rough terrain, where game is still plentiful.’
Vladic looked pleased, as did his cousin. ‘Good. I will speak with my uncle tomorrow and, depending on his plans, perhaps I will prevail upon him to depart the day after on such a journey.’
Kazamir’s smile broadened a bit. ‘I suspect, however, you’d better also contrive some distraction for my sister while we’re gone.’
James’s frown brought forth a laugh from Kazamir. The squire said, ‘I think I will prevail upon Princess Anita to fashion that distraction. I suspect most of the young men in the court might be faced with some difficulties given the duty to attend your sister.’
‘Yet you felt no difficulty in turning her over to that young cadet,’ observed Kazamir in a guarded tone.
James leaned over and lowered his voice in a conspiratorial fashion. ‘Young Will lacks … experience. No matter how attractive your sister, she would have to initiate anything … beyond an awkward flirtation, I think. And if I’m any judge of such things, I doubt she will.’
Kazamir slapped James on the shoulder and laughed. ‘You may be rural, James, but your grasp of certain subtleties is not. Yes, my sister is out seeking a well-connected husband. She will not lessen her chances of such by any idle dalliance. Her husband will expect her unsullied on their wedding night, and she will be. But she will make some young men very unhappy until that time comes.’
Given James’s background, his view of such issues was far less critical; he had known too many women while a boy, and as a man who enjoyed the pleasures of the bed, to think much of the notion that men had different standards from women. Still, he had met enough men, noble and common, who felt differently that he appreciated the prevalence of that attitude.
‘Given her use of … enhancements to her charms, doesn’t this make things difficult back home?’
‘Most men in Olasko are terrified of her father,’ said Vladic, putting down his now empty goblet of wine and refusing a refill by one of the servants. ‘In my homeland few would dare his wrath.’
James shrugged and nodded his head in agreement. ‘Seems a wise course were I a citizen of your nation; the duke appears a most formidable man.’
Kazamir’s smile vanished. ‘As all would do well to note, James.’ James was certain that remark was more directed at Vladic than at himself. Then Kazamir’s smile returned. ‘Still, it is tempting for men of my nation to pursue a prize like my sister.’
James blinked in confusion. ‘Prize?’
‘As I’ve mentioned, we are adventuresome, in Olasko. Hunting women ranks as high as hunting cave bears.’
‘An interesting way to put it,’ said James as neutrally as possible. ‘I think my friend Locklear would fit right in.’
‘He pursues women?’
‘Incessantly,’ said James.
‘Then I would suggest he be a well-practised swordsman,’ offered Vladic.
‘That he is, but why?’
Kazamir answered. ‘Because in my homeland a young man is expected to have as many women as he might, while it is also his duty to defend the honour of his sister with his blade should another man offend her.’
James grinned. ‘So you have a lot of duels in Olasko.’
Vladic returned the grin with a nod. ‘Constantly.’
James said, ‘Fortunately, my friend Locklear is on his way north to serve along the border for quite some time. We will be spared the spectacle of you having to skewer him early one chilly morning. I prefer to sleep in, given the chance.’
‘As do I,’ said the Crown Prince. ‘Given the length of the journey—’ he glanced around the room ‘—and the unlikelihood that I have time until the end of the gala to meet a receptive woman of rank, I think I shall retire.’
Kazamir glanced around the room, and then said, ‘I concur. I think a warm bed is more welcome than drink and dalliance tonight.’
Instantly James motioned for a page and when the youth approached, he instructed him to escort Princes Vladic and Kazamir to the guest apartments. He bid them both good night and then returned to the dais.
The musicians played on. As soon as he was again at Arutha’s side, James heard the Prince’s voice under the music. ‘What do you think about this visit?’
James spoke in tones just loud enough for the Prince to hear. ‘I think it’s odd. On the surface, it appears that the duke is looking for a suitable marriage of state for his daughter while indulging himself in some local hunting.’
‘On the surface,’ repeated Arutha, his gaze still on the dancers.
‘As there are few sons of suitable rank in this part of the Kingdom – well, none over the age of ten, anyway – that reason barely holds up under scrutiny.’
‘What other reason do you imagine?’
‘Well, the son says they want to hunt dragons and trolls out in the Trollhome, but I find that a bit difficult to fathom. We fought trolls near Romney just a few weeks ago, and I’m sure we left enough of them behind to entertain the duke and his companions for a lifetime. As for hunting dragons, even the dwarves don’t go looking for them. They wait until they show up, then turn the entire community out to fight them. No, the duke may be crazy enough to really want to hunt dragons and trolls, but that’s not his reason for coming west. I suspect the real reason for this journey will be found in Durbin.’
‘What could he want in Durbin? There are twenty major Keshian ports he could reach in the east.’
James shrugged. ‘If we knew what it was he was seeking in Durbin, we would know why he’s lying.’
Arutha glanced over at James. ‘You suspect something.’ He turned his attention back towards the dance floor.
James nodded. ‘But nothing I can give voice to. Just a vague sense that this all ties together, these murders, the disappearance of citizens, the arrival of this outland noble.’
‘If you discover the whole of the parts, let me know.’
James said, ‘You’ll be the first.’
‘Did you sleep?’
‘Earlier? Yes,’ said James, knowing what was coming next.
Arutha said, ‘Good, then you know what to do.’
James nodded, bowed to the Prince, crossed to bow to the Princess, then removed himself from the hall. As he left, he signalled for a page to follow. The young man fell into step behind him.
James hurried towards the tapestry room and found it empty. He quickly moved on to the Princess’s garden and found a very flushed William standing next to the Princess Paulina, obviously reduced to little more than a near babbling fool as the girl held tightly to his arm, chatting about the flowers.
‘Ahem,’ said James.
The relief on William’s face was abundantly clear as James bowed to the Princess. ‘Highness, this page will escort you to your quarters. Your father and brother have turned in for the night.’
‘But it’s early,’ said the girl with a pout.
‘If you prefer, he’ll escort you back to the gala. But Cadet William’s presence is required elsewhere.’ She seemed about to object, but James said, ‘By the Prince’s orders.’
She frowned, then forced herself to smile as she turned and said to William, ‘Thank you for being my guide. It is a pity things ended prematurely. Perhaps we’ll have time to continue later during our visit?’
‘M-m’lady,’ William stuttered.
James was seized by a rush of desire as the girl passed close to him while he bowed. As she retreated, the feeling faded.
James turned to find William blinking, obviously confused, and asked, ‘Are you all right, Willy?’
‘I don’t know,’ he replied, still blinking. ‘While we were together, I … I don’t know how to explain what I felt. But now that she’s gone …’
‘Magic,’ said James.
‘Magic?’
‘She employs magic, according to her brother,’ said James. ‘To heighten her charms.’
‘I find that difficult to believe,’ said William.
‘What an odd thing for someone raised on an island of magicians to say,’ observed James as William blushed. ‘Believe it.’ He put his hand on the young soldier’s arm. ‘I’ve got to take care of some business for Arutha, and you look like you could use a drink.’
‘I think I could,’ said William, ‘but I have to return to the Cadets’ Quarters.’
‘Not if you come with me,’ said James.
‘How does Arutha’s business involve me getting an ale?’
James grinned. ‘I have to poke around a few places, and the cover story of being out with a friend jumping from tavern to inn is just the thing.’
Sighing in resignation and trying hard not to imagine Swordmaster McWirth’s reaction to whatever plan James had in mind, William fell in beside his friend and they left the garden.
• CHAPTER FOUR • (#ulink_8af91b78-3556-5a1d-b278-5c6d6227680d)
Surprises (#ulink_8af91b78-3556-5a1d-b278-5c6d6227680d)
WILLIAM KEPT HIS EYES FORWARD.
He knew his every movement was being closely scrutinized by Swordmaster McWirth. The old soldier had always paid slightly more attention to William’s progress over the last year than with the other cadets, but with his commission set for the end of this week, it seemed lately that every single gesture and word was being evaluated.
William tried to attribute it to his having been an exceptional student, perhaps the best swordsman with the long two-handed sword in the garrison, as well as a proficient student of tactics and strategy. He also considered that his odd situation of being a royal cousin by adoption might have contributed to his being a ‘special project’ of the swordmaster’s. But no matter how he tried to please the old teacher these last few days, there was always something lacking in his efforts. Either a thrust was a hair’s breadth too low during sword practice, or his decision to reinforce a position in field training was a bit premature. William wondered briefly if the swordmaster had something against him personally, but then pushed aside the thought as McWirth came to stand before him. In a friendly tone, the old soldier said, ‘Late night, cadet?’
William still felt sand in his eyes from too little sleep, but he tried to will aside any shred of fatigue that clung to his bones. ‘Sir! Late enough, swordmaster!’ he said as briskly as he could.
‘Tired, cadet?’
‘No, swordmaster!’
‘Good,’ said McWirth, raising his voice so that the company of cadets could hear him, ‘because today we’re going on an exercise. Some very bad men have surrounded the village of Tratadon and we must ride very fast and rescue the daughters of Tratadon from the clutches of these evil men.’ Again, he looked at William and added, ‘Of course these particular bad men are garrison regulars who would love to embarrass a bunch of fuzzy-cheeked cadets, so just make sure they’re disappointed.’
As one, the cadets shouted, ‘Yes, swordmaster!’
‘Swords and saddles in fifteen minutes!’ cried the swordmaster.
William was off at a run with his companions and stole a quick glance up to the palace wing where he suspected his friend James was still sleeping. He was on the verge of a silent curse when he remembered that James hadn’t forced him to stay at the Rainbow Parrot, and that the girl, Talia, was very attractive. He really liked the way she smiled at him.
The thought was fleeting; for once he reached the armoury to collect his armour and weapons, he got too busy to think of anything but the coming exercise.
James glanced down at the courtyard where the cadets were scurrying towards the armoury to be fitted out for the day’s exercise. He had forced himself to remain awake while reading the day’s schedule and knew that William and the others had a gruelling day ahead of them. Tratadon was a ten-hour forced march and the squad sent out to play the part of bandits the night before would be well and firmly dug in. McWirth was making sure his lads knew exactly the sort of trouble they were most likely to encounter in their work.
‘Squire?’ came a soft voice, gently preventing James’s reverie from slipping into a fatigued doze.
‘Yes?’ James replied to the young page, forcing himself to wakefulness.
‘His Highness waits in his private office.’
James nodded, forcing aside the warm fatigue that made him feel like sleeping every time he stopped moving. As they reached the side door to Arutha’s office, another page opened the door so that James could march in without slowing his pace.
Arutha sat at his desk. He indicated two mugs and a large pot and said, ‘Please.’
James poured and was greeted by the aroma of dark, Keshian coffee. As he added a single spoonful of honey to the Prince’s mug, he said, ‘To think I couldn’t stand coffee a few years ago. Now I wonder how one gets through the morning without it.’
Arutha nodded as he took the offered mug. ‘Or chocha.’
James shrugged at mention of the Tsurani morning beverage. ‘Never developed a taste for it. Too bitter and spicy.’
Arutha waved James to a chair and said, ‘I’ve got court in fifteen minutes, but you’re not attending today. I need you to do two things, one trivial, one not so.’
James nodded but said nothing.
Arutha continued. ‘Duke Radswil and his family wish to hunt. You will instruct our huntmaster to ready a party to accompany the Prince of Olasko to the mountains for a day’s hunting the day after tomorrow.’
‘That’s the trivial,’ suggested James.
Arutha nodded. ‘Find your missing agents if possible, and see if you can discover the source of all this mayhem in our city. That will involve a rather delicate sort of diplomacy on your part, for you must first begin at the city jail with a social call on Sheriff Means.’
‘Now do I get to find out why he was waiting for us when we got back to Krondor?’
Arutha regarded his young friend with an appraising look. ‘You haven’t ferreted out that gossip by now?’
James stifled a yawn. ‘I’ve been too busy.’
Arutha drained his mug and stood. James stood as well. ‘We have some problems between the City Watch and the sheriff’s men. The sheriff was here complaining in part about Guard Captain Guruth’s soldiers, especially the squad over in the poor quarter.’
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Raymond E. Feist
The second instalment of The Riftwar Legacy, Assassins reveals Feist at his storytelling best. There is intrigue, humour and breakneck action aplenty here from the undisputed master of epic fantasy.Fresh back from the front, another foe defeated, Prince Arutha arrives to find all is not well in Krondor. A series of apparently random murders has brought an eerie quiet to the city. Where normally the streets are bustling with merchants and tricksters, good life and night life, now there seems to be a self-imposed curfew at sundown.Mutilated bodies have been turning up in the sewers, the Mockers’ demense. The Thieves’ Guild has been decimated – men, women, children, it matters not. The head of the Mockers is missing, presumed dead. Those few who survived the terrible attacks are lying low. Very low.The Crawler, it seems, is back in town. And he’s being helped by others, more ruthless than he. Can it be the Nighthawks again? The Prince enlists his loyal Squire James to find out. If anyone can unravel what’s happening in the bowels of Krondor, he can. He knows the sewers like the back of his hand. Afterall, as Jimmy the Hand, he grew up there.Meanwhile, the retinue of the Duke of Olasko has arrived suddenly at the palace, a week ahead of schedule but with no apologies and many demands. They say they are here to hunt. But to hunt what. Pug’s son William, on his first posting as a knight-lieutenant, must escort them into the wilds. It should have been a straightforward mission…
Copyright (#ud4ffa4e7-5bee-53ca-b279-b6e391eb9bad)
HarperVoyager
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1999
Copyright © Raymond E. Feist
Cover design by Dominic Forbes © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Raymond E. Feist asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008311261
Ebook Edition © January 2018 ISBN: 9780007352456
Version: 2018-11-13
Dedication (#ud4ffa4e7-5bee-53ca-b279-b6e391eb9bad)
This book is dedicated to all the editors who have put up with, inspired, corrected, and aided me, to the ends of improving the work and making me look good: Adrian Zackheim, Nick Austin, Pat LoBrutto, Janna Silverstein, Malcolm Edwards, and my current guides: Jennifer Brehl and Jane Johnson.
Also, to Peter Schneider, who has done far more on my behalf than he realizes.
My deepest thanks to them all.
Raymond E. Feist
Rancho Santa Fe, CA
May, 1999
Contents
Cover (#u3441d1db-0770-5370-9853-30f28b0e8d3d)
Title Page (#u6332ebf0-a683-5757-91a4-632f36f6a22c)
Copyright
Dedication
Map
Prologue: Departures (#u3cbc9d03-d536-5da4-b57f-b08cbdbe2914)
Chapter One: Escape (#u6442809c-85ed-56e0-86d0-11dfd1f9e27a)
Chapter Two: Krondor (#uc7c26e50-ed30-5ac4-9b92-cbd694d6720f)
Chapter Three: Reception (#u5ab5b198-2088-56ef-89de-4585ea319409)
Chapter Four: Surprises (#ub8c38563-c880-57b9-be28-3a42487b8c70)
Chapter Five: Secrets (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six: Confusion (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven: Ambush (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight: Attack (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine: Decisions (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten: Revelation (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven: Stealth (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve: Improvisation (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen: Concealment (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen: Murders (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen: Desperation (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen: Discovery (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen: Misdirection (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen: Unmasking (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue: Encounters (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
By the same author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Map (#ud4ffa4e7-5bee-53ca-b279-b6e391eb9bad)
• PROLOGUE • (#ulink_d96d5c89-4761-5b89-80ed-327ca24f5f41)
Departures (#ulink_d96d5c89-4761-5b89-80ed-327ca24f5f41)
LINES OF SOLDIERS MARCHED ALONG THE RIDGE.
The baggage train had been broken into two segments, the first of which was now departing with the wounded and the dead who would be cremated with honours back in Krondor. Clouds of dust rose from the trail as wheels rolled and boots tramped towards home, the fine powder mixing with the acrid smoke from campfires as they were extinguished. The rising sun streamed through the haze, orange and pale gold, lances of colour in an otherwise grey morning. In the distance birds sang, ignoring the aftermath of battle.
Arutha, Prince of Krondor and ruler of the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles, sat on his horse, taking a moment to enjoy the majesty of the sunrise and the serenade of the birds as he watched his men heading home. The fighting had been blessedly short but bloody, and while casualties were lighter than anticipated, he still hated to lose even one solider under his command. He let the beauty of the vista before him soothe his frustration and regret for a few moments.
Arutha still resembled the youthful man who had come to the throne of Krondor ten years before, though lines around his eyes and a small scattering of grey through his otherwise black hair revealed the toll rulership had taken on him. For those who knew him well, he was still much the same man, a competent administrator, military genius, and fiercely duty-bound man who would surrender his own life without question to save the lowest soldier under his command.
His gaze went from wagon to wagon, as if somehow willing himself to see the wounded men inside, as if he could communicate to them his sense of gratitude for a job well done. Those closest to Arutha knew he paid a silent price, pain kept within, for each injury done a man who served Krondor and the Kingdom.
Arutha pushed aside his regrets and considered the victory. The enemy had been in full retreat for two days, a relatively small force of dark elves. A much larger force had been prevented from reaching the Dimwood when a rift machine had been destroyed by Arutha’s two squires, James and Locklear. It had cost the life of a magician named Patrus, but his sacrifice had allowed the invaders to fall prey to their own internal conflicts. Delekhan, the would-be conqueror, had died beside Gorath, a moredhel chieftain who had proven as honourable and worthy a being as Arutha had ever met, while they struggled to seize control of the Lifestone. Arutha cursed the existence of that mysterious and ancient artifact under the abandoned city of Sethanon, and wondered if its mystery would ever be understood, its danger removed, in his lifetime.
Delekhan’s son Moraeulf had died from a dagger thrust home by Narab, once an ally of Delekhan. As agreed to by Narab, the retreating moredhel weren’t being harassed by Kingdom forces as long as they were heading straight north. Orders had been dispatched to allow the moredhel safe passage home as long as they kept moving.
The Kingdom forces in the Dimwood were now dispersing to their various garrisons, the majority returning to the west, and some heading back north to the border baronies. They would start moving later in the morning. The previously secret garrison north of Sethanon would be moved to another location and reprovisioned.
Sunlight began to bathe Arutha as the morning mist burned off, leaving only the smoke and dust to cloud the air. The day was already growing hot, and the cold of the previous winter was fading from memory. Arutha kept his distress deep inside as he considered the latest assault upon the tranquillity of his Kingdom.
Arutha had taken the Tsurani magicians at face value after the end of the Riftwar. For nearly ten years they had been free to come and go between worlds, via several magic rifts. And now he felt a profound sense of betrayal. He fully understood the rationale that had driven Makala, a Tsurani Great One, to attempt to seize the Lifestone at Sethanon, the belief that the Kingdom possessed a great weapon of destruction, some engine of power that would give predominance in war to whoever held it. Had he been in Makala’s place, with the same suspicions, he might have acted in the same way. But even so, he could not trust the Tsurani to be loose in the Kingdom, and that meant an end to almost a decade of trade and exchange. Arutha pushed aside worry as to how he would effect the changes he must make, but he knew that eventually he would have to sit down with his advisors and fashion a plan that would ensure future security for the Kingdom. And he knew almost no one would be pleased at the changes he would make.
Arutha glanced to his right and saw two very fatigued young men sitting astride their horses. He permitted himself one of his infrequent smiles, a bare upturning of the sides of his mouth, which served to soften the often sombre expression on his still-youthful face. ‘Tired, gentlemen?’ he asked.
James, senior squire to the Prince, returned his ruler’s gaze from eyes surrounded by dark circles. James, and his companion Squire Locklear, had ridden a punishing ride, abetted by magic herbs which had kept them awake and alert for days in the saddle. The after-effects of the prolonged use of the draught was to unleash all the pent-up fatigue and body-ache on the young men at once. Both had slept through the night, upon cushions in Arutha’s tent, but had awakened tired and bone-weary. Summoning up his usual brazen wit, James said, ‘No, sire, we always look like this when we wake. Usually you don’t see us until after our morning coffee.’
Arutha laughed. ‘I see none of your charms have faded, squire.’
A short man with dark hair and beard walked over to where the Prince and his companions sat astride their horses.
‘Good morning, Highness,’ said Pug, as he bowed.
Arutha returned a polite nod and said, ‘Pug, do you return to Krondor with us?’
Pug’s expression revealed concern. ‘Not straight away, Highness. There are matters I must investigate at Stardock. The activities of the Tsurani Great Ones involved with this last attempt at Sethanon cause me great concern. I need to ensure that they were the only magicians involved, and that those who still reside at my Academy are free of any guilt.’
Arutha looked at the retreating wagons again as he said, ‘We do need to talk about the role played by the Tsurani in your Academy, Pug. But not here.’
Pug nodded agreement. Even though everyone within earshot was privy to the secret of the Lifestone which sat beneath the city of Sethanon, it was wise to talk only in private. And Pug also knew that Arutha had grave concerns about the betrayal by the Tsurani magician Makala which had led to this last battle between the Prince’s army and an invading army of moredhel warriors. He expected that Arutha would insist on far more stringent controls over who and what came through the rift – the magic gateway – between Midkemia and the Tsurani homeworld of Kelewan.
‘We will, Highness. First, I must see to the safety of Katala and Gamina.’
‘I understand your concerns,’ said the Prince. Pug’s daughter Gamina had been abducted and transported by magic to a distant world in order to lure him away from Midkemia while the Tsurani magician attempted to seize the Lifestone.
Pug said, ‘I must make sure that I am never again made vulnerable because of a family member.’ He looked knowingly at the Prince. ‘There’s nothing I can do about William, but I can ensure that Gamina and Katala are safe at Stardock.’
‘William is a soldier, so by the nature of his craft he is at risk.’ Then Arutha smiled at Pug. ‘But he’s as safe as a soldier can be, surrounded by six companies of the Royal Krondorian Household Guard. Anyone attempting to blackmail you through William will find him difficult to reach.’
Pug’s expression showed he didn’t approve. ‘He could have been so much more.’ His look silently implored Arutha to do something. ‘He still can. It’s not too late for him to return to Stardock with me.’
Arutha regarded the magician. He understood Pug’s frustration and his parental desire to see his son back with his family. But his tone left no confusion as to his willingness to intercede on Pug’s behalf. ‘I know you two have had your differences about his choice, Pug, but I’ll leave it for you to work out at your own leisure. As I told you when you first objected to William coming into my service, he’s a royal cousin by adoption and a free man of age, so there was no reason for me to refuse his request.’ Before Pug could voice another objection, he raised his hand. ‘Not even as a favour to you.’ His tone softened. ‘Besides, he’s got the makings of a better than average soldier. Quite a knack, actually, according to my swordmaster.’ Arutha changed the subject. ‘Did Owyn return home?’ Owyn Belefote, youngest son of the Baron of Timons, had proven a valuable ally to James and Locklear in the recent struggle.
‘At first light. He said he must mend fences with his father.’
Arutha motioned towards Locklear, though he kept his eyes on Pug. ‘I have something for you.’ When Locklear failed to respond to the gesture, Arutha shifted his gaze to Locklear. ‘Squire, the document?’
Locklear had been on the verge of falling asleep in the saddle but he snapped to attention as the Prince’s voice penetrated his muzzy thoughts. He moved his horse to where Pug stood and handed a parchment down to him.
Arutha said, ‘Over my signature and seal, this names you the final authority over all issues of magic as they affect the Western Realm.’ He smiled slightly. ‘I should have no trouble convincing His Majesty to ratify this for the entire Kingdom. You’ve had our ear in this area for years, Pug, but this gives you authority if you ever find yourself having to deal with another noble or King’s officer without me at your shoulder. It names you official magician of the court of Krondor.’
‘My thanks, Highness,’ said Pug. He seemed about to speak, but hesitated.
Arutha cocked his head to one side. ‘There’s a but here, isn’t there?’
‘But I need remain at Stardock with my family. There’s much work to be done and my attention there precludes me from serving in Krondor, Arutha.’
Arutha sighed slightly. ‘Understood. But that still leaves me without a magician in court, if you’re unwilling to take residency in the palace.’
‘I could send Kulgan back to nag at you,’ said Pug with a smile.
‘No, my former teacher is too quick to forget rank and scold me in front of my court. It’s bad for morale.’
‘Whose?’ asked Jimmy under his breath.
Arutha didn’t look at the squire, but said, ‘Mine, of course.’ To Pug he said, ‘Seriously, the betrayal of Makala shows me the wisdom my father employed by having an advisor on matters of magic close to hand. Kulgan’s earned his retirement. So, if not you or young Owyn, who then?’
Pug thought for a moment and said, ‘I have one student who might be just the person to advise you in the future. There is one problem.’
‘What would that be?’ asked Arutha.
‘She’s Keshian.’
Arutha said, ‘That’s two problems.’
Pug smiled. ‘Knowing your sister and wife, I would have thought a woman’s advice wouldn’t be alien to His Highness.’
Arutha nodded. ‘It’s not. But many in my court would find it … difficult.’
Pug said, ‘I’ve never noticed you to be overly concerned with the opinions of others when your mind was set, Arutha.’
The Prince said, ‘Times change, Pug. And men get older.’ He was silent for a minute as he watched another contingent of his army break camp and start to move out. Then he turned to face Pug, one eyebrow raised in question. ‘But Keshian?’
‘No one will accuse her of allying herself with this or that faction in court,’ said Pug.
Arutha chuckled. ‘I hope you’re joking.’
‘No, I’m not. She’s unusually gifted despite her youth; she’s cultured and educated, reads and writes several languages, and has a remarkable grasp of magic, which is exactly what you need in an advisor. Most importantly, she’s the only one among my students who can understand the consequences of magic in a political context, as she’s had court training in Kesh. She’s from the Jal-Pur and understands how things stand in the west, as well.’
Arutha seemed to consider this for a long moment, then said, ‘Come to Krondor when you can and tell me more. I’m not saying I will not finally agree to your choice, but I need more convincing before I do.’ Arutha smiled his half-smile and turned his horse around. ‘Still, the expression on the faces of the nobles in court when a woman from Kesh walks in might be worth whatever risk she brings.’
‘I will vouch for her; I give my word on it,’ said Pug.
Arutha looked back over his shoulder. ‘You’re very serious about this, aren’t you?’
‘Very. Jazhara is someone I would entrust my family’s lives to. She is only a few years older than William and has been with us at Stardock for almost seven years, so I’ve known her a third of her life. She can be trusted.’
Arutha said, ‘That counts for much. A great deal actually. So, come to Krondor when you will, and we will discuss this at length.’ He bade Pug good-bye, then turned to James and Locklear. ‘Gentlemen, we have a long ride ahead.’
Locklear could barely conceal his pain at the thought of more time in the saddle, albeit at a less furious pace than a few days earlier.
‘A moment, if Your Highness permits. I would speak to Duke Pug,’ said James.
Arutha waved his permission as he and Locklear rode forward.
When the Prince was out of earshot, Pug said, ‘What is it, Jimmy?’
‘When are you going to tell him?’
‘What?’ asked Pug.
Despite his crushing fatigue, James managed one of his familiar grins. ‘That the girl you’re sending is the great-niece of Lord Hazara-Khan of the Jal-Pur.’
Pug suppressed a chuckle. ‘I thought I’d save that for a more propitious moment.’ Then his expression changed to one of curiosity. ‘How did you know that?’
‘I have my own sources. Arutha suspects that Lord Hazara-Khan is involved with Keshian intelligence in the west – which he almost certainly is, from what I can find out. Anyway, Arutha is considering how to counter Keshian intelligence with an organization of his own – but you didn’t hear that from me.’
Pug nodded. ‘Understood.’
‘And as I have ambitions, I count it a wise thing to keep current on these matters.’
‘So you were snooping?’
‘Something like that,’ said James with a shrug. ‘And there just can’t be that many noble-born Keshian women from the Jal-Pur named Jazhara.’
Pug laughed. ‘You will go far, Jimmy, if someone doesn’t hang you first.’
James seemed to shed his fatigue as he returned the laugh. ‘You’re not the first to say that, Pug.’
‘I will get around to mentioning the relationship, in the future.’ Waving to Arutha and Locklear, Pug said, ‘You’d better catch up.’
Nodding as he turned his horse, James said, ‘You’re right. Good day, my lord duke.’
‘Good day, squire.’
James put heels to his horse’s sides and the animal cantered after Arutha and Locklear. He overtook Locklear as Arutha moved to confer with Knight-Marshal Gardan about the ongoing dispersal of the army.
As James rode up next to him, Locklear asked, ‘What was that about?’
‘Just a question for Duke Pug.’
Locklear yawned and said, ‘I could sleep for a week.’
Arutha overhead the remark as he rejoined them and said, ‘You can rest for a full night in Krondor when we get back, squire. Then you leave for the north.’
‘North, sire?’
‘You came back from Tyr-Sog without leave, although I grant your reasons were good ones. Now the risk has subsided, you must return to Baron Moyiet’s court and fulfill the terms of your service there.’
Locklear closed his eyes as if in pain. Then he opened them and said, ‘I thought …’
‘… you’d wormed your way out of that banishment,’ supplied James under his breath.
Arutha, taking pity on the exhausted youth, said, ‘Serve Moyiet well, and I may order you back to Krondor early. If you stay out of trouble.’
Locklear nodded without comment, as Arutha put heels to his horse and rode ahead.
James said, ‘Well, you can sleep in a warm bed in the palace for a night before you leave.’
‘What about you?’ asked Locklear. ‘Don’t you have some unfinished business in Krondor?’
James closed his eyes for a moment as if thinking made him tired, then said, ‘Yes, there’s a bit of trouble with the Guild of Thieves. But nothing for you to be bothered with. Nothing I can’t handle by myself.’
Locklear snorted and said nothing. He was too tired to think of a jibe.
James said, ‘Yes, after this nasty business with the Tsurani and moredhel, my business with the thieves in Krondor will seem dull by comparison.’
Locklear looked at his friend and saw that James’s mind was already turning to whatever problems were caused by the Mockers – the Guild of Thieves. And with a chilling certainty, Locklear knew that his friend was making light of something serious, for James had the death mark on him for leaving the Guild to serve the Prince.
And, he sensed, there was something more. Then Locklear realized, with James, there was always something more.
• CHAPTER ONE • (#ulink_ac5d27df-2fcd-569c-959e-cdffb49f85e6)
Escape (#ulink_ac5d27df-2fcd-569c-959e-cdffb49f85e6)
THE SOUNDS OF PURSUIT ECHOED THROUGH THE DARK TUNNELS.
Limm was nearly out of breath from attempting to evade those determined to kill him. The young thief prayed to Ban-ath, God of Thieves, that those who followed were not as knowledgeable about the sewers of Krondor as he was. He knew he could not outrun them or fight them; his only hope was to outwit them.
The boy knew that panic was the enemy, and he struggled against the terrible fear that threatened to reduce him to a frightened child, clinging to anything that might provide warm comfort while he huddled in the shadows, waiting for the men who would kill him. He paused for a moment at an intersection of two large channels and then took off to the left, feeling his way through the gloom of the deep sewers, his only illumination a small, shuttered lantern. He kept the sliding window closed to the narrowest setting, for he needed only the slightest light to know which way to go. There were sections of the sewer in which light filtered down from above, through culverts, gratings, broken street stones, and other interstices. A little light went a long way to guide him through the stinking byways under the city. But there were also areas of total darkness, where he would be as blind as one born without eyes.
He reached a narrowing of the sewer, where the circumference of the circular tunnel grew smaller, serving to slow the flow of sewage through this area. Limm thought of it as a ‘dam’, of sorts. He ducked to avoid hitting his head on the smaller opening, his bare feet splashing through the filthy water which collected at the end of the larger sewer until the level rose up enough to funnel down the rough and rusty narrow pipe.
Spreading his legs, Limm moved in a rocking motion, his feet high up on the side of the circular passage, for he knew that in less than ten feet a nasty outfall sent waste to a huge channel twenty feet below. Hard calluses kept the jagged build-up of sediment on the stonework from slicing open his soles. The boy shuttered the lantern as he intersected a tunnel with long lines of sight; he knew exactly where he was and was fearful of even the smallest light being seen by his pursuers. He moved by touch around a corner and entered the next passage. It was hundreds of feet long, and even the faintest spark would be visible from one end to the other.
Hurrying as best he could in this awkward fashion, he felt the tug of air as the water fell below him from a hole in the pipe he was in, splashing noisily. Several other nearby outfalls also emptied in this area, known as ‘the Well’ to the local thieves. The sound of all the splashing water echoed in the small pipe, making its exact source difficult to locate, so he proceeded slowly. This was a place in which a six-inch misjudgment could send him falling to his death.
Reaching a point another ten feet further, Limm encountered a grate, almost bumping into it, so focused was he on the sound of those who came behind. He crouched, making himself as small a target as possible, in case a mirrored light was shone into the tunnel.
Within moments he heard voices, at first only the sound of indistinguishable words. Then he heard a man say, ‘—can’t have gone too far. He’s just a kid.’
‘He’s seen us,’ said the leader, and the boy knew full well who the speaker was. He had the image of that man and those who served him etched in his memory, though he had only glimpsed them for a few seconds before turning and fleeing. He didn’t know the man’s name, but he knew his nature. The boy had lived among such men all his life, though he had known only a few who might be this dangerous.
Limm had no illusions about his own abilities; he knew he could never confront such men. He was often full of bravado, but it was a false courage designed to convince those who were stronger that he was just a little more trouble to dispose of than he was in actuality. His willingness to look death in the eye had saved the boy’s neck on more than one occasion; but he was also nobody’s fool: Limm knew that these men wouldn’t give him the time to even try a bluff. They would kill him without hesitation, because he could link them to a horrible crime.
Looking around, the young fugitive saw a trickle of water coming from above. Risking detection, he briefly shone the barest light he could manage above him. The top of the grating didn’t reach the roof of the tunnel, and just the other side of the grate was a passageway running upward.
Without hesitation the youth climbed up on the grate and pushed his free arm through, experience showing him how likely it was that he might pass through such a tiny passage. Praying to Ban-ath that he hadn’t grown too much since the last time he had tried such a stunt, Limm pushed upward and turned. His head went first. Twisting it slightly, he thrust his face forward between the top bar and the stones above. Practice had taught him that his ears would suffer less if not bent backwards as he tried to pull his head through. A rising sense of urgency battled the pain he felt, as he sensed his pursuers closing in. Yet the pain from his cheeks as he slowly pressed through the gap grew more intense. He tasted the salty, iron tang of blood and sweat and he continued to wiggle his head through the gap. Tears flowed freely, yet he held his silence as he cruelly scraped both ears, one against stone and the other against filthy iron. For an instant panic threatened to rise up and overwhelm him as images of him hanging helpless in the grate while his pursuers raced to seize him played vividly in his imagination.
Then his head was past the top bar. He easily snaked his arm through, and he moved his shoulder. Hoping he wouldn’t have to dislocate his joints to get through, the young thief continued. He got his shoulders through and, by exhaling, his chest followed. He held the lantern in his trailing arm and realized it wouldn’t fit through the gap.
Taking a deep breath, the boy let it fall as he twisted the rest of his body through. He was now on the other side of the grate, clinging to it like a ladder as the lantern clattered onto the stones.
‘He’s in there!’ came a shout from close by and a light shone into the tunnel.
Limm held himself poised for a moment, and looked up. The hole above him was barely visible in the faint light hurrying towards him. He shoved upward, slapping his palms against the tunnel walls, keeping his feet firmly on the grate. He pressed hard with both hands on the sides of the vertical shaft. He needed solid hand-holds before he pushed off the grate. He felt around and got his fingers into a deep seam between two stones on one side and had just found another when he felt something touch his bare foot.
Instantly he pushed off with his feet, and heard a voice cursing. ‘Damn all sewer rats!’
Another voice said, ‘We can’t get through there!’
‘But my blade can!’
Summoning all his strength the young thief pulled himself up into the shaft, and in a dangerous move, released his hold on the top of the grate, dropped his hands to his side, and pushed upward. He slapped his palms backwards and braced his back against the wall of the chimney, and pulled his feet up, jamming them acrobatically against the far wall. He heard the scrape of steel on iron as someone shoved a sword through the grating. Limm knew that had he hesitated, he would have been impaled on the point of that long blade.
A voice swore and said, ‘He vanished up that chimney!’
Another voice said, ‘He’s got to come out somewhere on the level above!’
For an instant Limm could feel the shirt on his back move as the material slipped against the wall and his bare feet skidded on the slimy stones. He pressed harder with his feet and prayed he could hold his position. After an instant of downward movement, he stopped.
‘He’s gone!’ shouted one of the men who had been chasing him. ‘If he was going to fall, he’d have been out of there by now!’
The boy recognized the voice of the leader. ‘Head back up to the next level and spread out! There’s a bonus for whoever kills him! I want that rat dead before morning!’
Limm moved upward, one hand, one foot, another hand, another foot, by inches, slipping down an inch for every two he gained. It was slow going and his muscles cried out for a pause, but he pressed on. A cool whiff of air from above told him he was close to the next level of the sewers. He prayed it was a large enough pipe to navigate, as he had no desire to attempt another passage downward and back through that grate.
Reaching the lip of the shaft, he paused, took a deep breath and turned, snatching at the edge. One hand slipped on something thick and sticky, but the other hand held firm. Never one for bathing, nevertheless he looked forward to scrubbing this muck off and finding clean clothing.
Hanging in the silence, the boy waited. He knew it was possible that the men who had pursued him might appear in a few moments. He listened.
Impulsive by nature, the boy had come to learn the dangers of acting rashly in dangerous situations. Seven boys had come to Mother’s, the Mockers’ safe haven, at roughly the same time, within a few weeks of one another. The other six were now dead. Two had died by accident: falling from the rooftops. Three had been hanged as common thieves during crack-downs by the Prince’s magistrates. The last boy had died the previous night, at the hands of the men who now sought Limm, and it was his murder the young thief had witnessed.
The boy let his racing heart calm and his straining lungs recover. He pulled himself up and into the large pipe, and moved off in the darkness, a hand on the right wall. He knew he could negotiate most of the tunnels hereabout blindfolded, but he also knew it only took one wrong turn or missing a side tunnel in passing to become completely lost. There was a central cistern in this quarter of the city, and knowing where he was in relationship to it provided Limm with a navigational aid as good as any map, but only if he kept his wits about him and concentrated.
He inched along, listening to the distant sound of gurgling water, turning his head this way and that to ensure he was hearing the sound coming down the sewer and not a false echo bouncing off nearby stones. While he moved blindly, he thought about the madness that had come to the city in recent weeks.
At first it had seemed like a minor problem: a new rival gang, like others that had shown up from time to time. Usually a visit from the Mockers’ bashers, or a tip to the sheriff’s men, and the problem went away.
This time, it had been different.
A new gang showed up on the docks, a large number of Keshian thugs among them. That alone wasn’t worth notice; Krondor was a major port of trade with Kesh. What made this group unusual was their indifference to the threat posed by the Mockers. They acted in a provocative fashion, openly moving cargo into and out of the city, bribing officials and daring the Mockers to interfere with them. They seemed to be inviting a confrontation.
At last the Mockers had acted, and it had been a disaster. Eleven of the most feared bashers – the enforcers among the Guild of Thieves – had been lured into a warehouse at the end of a semi-deserted dock. They had been trapped inside and the building set afire, killing all eleven. From that moment on, warfare had erupted deep in Krondor’s underworld.
The Mockers had been driven to ground, and the invaders, working for someone known only as the Crawler, had also suffered, as the Prince of Krondor had acted to restore order to his city.
Rumour had it some men dressed as Nighthawks – members of the Guild of Assassins – had been seen weeks before in the sewer, bait to bring the Prince’s army in after them, with the final destruction of the Mockers as the apparent goal. It was a foregone conclusion that had the Prince’s guard entered the sewers in sufficient numbers, everyone found down below the streets – assassins, false Nighthawks, or Mockers – all would be routed out or captured. It was a clever plan, but it had come to naught.
Squire James, once Jimmy the Hand of the Mockers, had foiled that ruse, before vanishing into the night on a mission for the Prince. Then the Prince had mustered his army and moved out – and again the Crawler had struck.
Since then, the two sides had stayed holed up, the Mockers at Mother’s, their well-disguised headquarters, and the Crawler’s men at an unknown hideout in the north docks area. Those sent to pinpoint the exact location of the Crawler’s headquarters failed to return.
The sewers had become a no-man’s land, with few daring to come and go unless driven by the greatest need. Limm would now be lying low, safe at Mother’s, save for two things: a terrible rumour, and a message from an old friend. Either the rumour or the message alone would have made Limm huddle in a corner at the Mockers’ hideout, but the combination of the two had forced him to act.
Mockers had few friends; the loyalty between thieves was rarely engendered by affection or comity, but from a greater distrust of those outside the Guild and fear of one another. Strength or wit earned one a place in the Brotherhood of Thieves.
But occasionally a friendship was struck, a bond deeper than common need, and those few friends were worth a bit more risk. Limm counted fewer than a handful of people for whom he would take any risk, let alone at such a high price should he be caught, but two of them were in need now, and had to be told of the rumour.
Something moved in the darkness ahead and Limm froze. He waited, listening for anything out of the ordinary. The sewer was far from silent, with a constant background noise made up of the distant rumble of water rushing through the large culvert below that took the city’s refuse out past the harbour mouth, a thousand drips, the scrabble of rats and other vermin and their squeaky challenges.
Wishing he had a light of any sort, Limm waited. Patience in one his age was rare outside the Mockers, but a rash thief was a dead thief. Limm earned his keep in the Mockers by being among the most adroit pickpockets in Krondor, and his ability to calmly move among the throng in the market or down the busy streets without attracting attention had set him high in the leadership’s estimation. Most boys his age were still working the streets in packs, urchins who provided distraction while other Mockers lifted goods from carts, or deflected attention from a fleeing thief.
Limm’s patience was rewarded, as the faint echo of a boot moving on stone reached him. A short distance ahead, two large culverts joined in a wade. He would have to cross through the slowly-flowing sewage to reach the other side.
It was a good place to wait, thought the boy thief. The sound of him moving through the water would alert anyone nearby and they’d be on him like hounds on a hare.
Limm considered his options. There was no way around that intersection. He could return the way he came, but that would cost him hours of moving through the dangerous sewers under the city. He could avoid crossing the transverse sewer by skirting around the corner, hugging the wall to avoid being seen, and moving down that passage to his right. He would have to trust that darkness would shelter him and he could remain silent enough to avoid detection. Once away from the intersection, he could be safely on his way.
Limm crept along, gingerly placing one foot ahead of the other, so as to not dislodge anything or step on an object that might betray his whereabouts. Fighting the impulse to hurry, he kept his breathing under control and willed himself to keep moving.
Step by step he approached the intersection of the two passages, and as he reached the corner at which he would turn, he heard another sound. A small scrape of metal against stone, as if a scabbard or sword blade had ever-so-lightly touched a wall. He froze.
Even in the dark, Limm kept his eyes closed. He didn’t know why, but shutting his eyes helped his other senses. He had wondered at this in the past, and finally stopped trying to figure out why it was so. He just knew that if he spent any energy trying to see, even in the pitch black, his hearing and sense of touch suffered.
After a long, silent, motionless period, Limm heard a rush of water heading towards him. Someone, a shopkeeper or city worker, must have purged a cistern or opened one of the smaller sluices that fed the sewer. The slight noise was the only mask he needed to resume moving, and he was quickly around the corner.
Limm hurried, still cautious but now feeling the need to put some distance between himself and whoever guarded the intersection behind him. He silently counted his steps and when one hundred had passed he opened his eyes.
As he expected, ahead was a faint dot of light, which he knew was a reflection coming down from an open grating in the West Market Square. There wasn’t enough light by which to see well, but it was a point of reference and confirmed what he already knew about his whereabouts.
He moved quickly and reached the crossway that ran parallel to the one he had been travelling before encountering the silent guard. He eased into the foul sewage and crossed the now-moving stream of refuse, reaching the opposite walkway without making much sound.
Limm was quickly up and on his way again. He knew where his friends were holed up and knew that it was a relatively safe place, but given the time and circumstances, nothing was truly safe any more. What had once been called the other Thieves’ Highway, the rooftops of Krondor, was now as much an open war zone as the sewers. The citizens of the city of Krondor might be blissfully ignorant of this silent warfare above their heads and below their feet, but Limm knew that if he didn’t encounter the Crawler’s men along the way, he risked the Prince’s soldiers, or murderers posing as Nighthawks. No man unknown to him was trustworthy, and a few whom he knew by name could be trusted only so far these days.
Limm stopped and felt the wall to his left. Despite moving by his own silent count, he discovered with satisfaction that he had been less than a foot off estimating the whereabouts of the iron rungs in the wall. He started to climb. Still blind, he felt himself enter a stone chimney, and quickly knew he was at the floor of a cellar. He reached up and felt the latch. An experimental tug showed it to be bolted from the other side.
He knocked: twice rapidly, then a pause, then twice again, another pause and a final, single knock. He waited, counting to ten, then repeated the pattern in reverse order, one knock, pause, two knocks, pause, and two again. The bolt slid open.
The trap swung upward, but the room above was as dark as the sewer below. Whoever was waiting preferred to wait unseen.
As Limm cleared the floor of the room, rough hands hauled him through, the trap shutting quickly behind him. A feminine voice whispered, ‘What are you doing here?’
Limm sat down heavily upon the stone floor, fatigue sweeping over him. ‘Running for my life,’ he said softly. Catching his breath, he continued. ‘I saw Sweet Jackie killed last night. Ugly basher working for the Crawler.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Cracked his neck like you’d break a chicken’s, while his mates stood watching. Didn’t even give Jackie a chance to beg or say a prayer, nothing. Just put him out of the way like a cockroach.’ He was close to weeping as he told them – and as relief at being relatively safe for the first time in hours washed over him. ‘But that’s not the worst of it.’
A lantern was lit by a large man with a grey beard. His narrow gaze communicated volumes: Limm had better have compelling reasons for violating a trust and coming to this hideout. ‘What else?’ he asked.
‘The Upright Man is dead.’
Ethan Graves, one-time leader of the Mockers’ bashers, for a time a brother of the Order of Ishap, and now fugitive from every court of justice in the Kingdom, took a moment to accept the news.
The woman, named Kat, was half her companion’s age, and an old friend to Limm. She asked, ‘How?’
‘Murdered, is the rumour,’ said Limm. ‘No one is saying for certain, but it’s held without doubt he’s dead.’
Graves sat down at a small table, testing the construction of the small wooden chair with his large frame. ‘How would anyone know?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘No one knows who he is … was.’
Limm said, ‘Here’s what I know. The Daymaster was still working when I came to Mother’s last night, and he was holed up in the back with Mick Giffen, Reg deVrise, and Phil the Fingers.’
Graves and Kat exchanged glances. Those named were the most senior thieves in the Mockers. Giffen had succeeded Graves as leader of the bashers, deVrise oversaw those who burgled and fenced goods, and Phil was in charge of pickpockets, smash-and-grab gangs, and the urchins who ran the streets of Krondor.
Limm continued. ‘The Nightmaster never showed. Word went out and we started looking for him. Just before dawn, we heard they found the Nightmaster floating in the sewers near the dock. His head was all bashed in.’
Kat almost gasped. ‘No one would dare touch him.’
Graves said, ‘No one in the know. But someone who didn’t care about the Mockers’ wrath would.’
‘Here’s the dicey part,’ said Limm. ‘The Daymaster says the Nightmaster was supposed to meet with the Upright Man. Now, as I understand things, if the Upright Man is supposed to meet with you, and you don’t show, he’s got ways of sending word to the Daymaster or Nightmaster. Well, no word was heard. So the Daymaster sends one of the boys, Timmy Bascolm, if you remember him—’ they nodded ‘—and Timmy turns up dead an hour later.
‘So the Daymaster heads out with a bunch of bashers and an hour later they come running back to Mother’s and hole up. Nobody’s saying anything, but word spreads: the Upright Man’s gone.’
Graves was silent for a minute, then said, ‘He must be dead. There’s no other explanation for this.’
‘And there are bully boys to make a strong man faint chasing through the sewers, last night, so Jackie and I figure the hunt is on and our best bet is to lie low somewhere. We got run to ground last night near Five Points—’ both Kat and Graves knew the region of the city sewers by that name ‘—so after they killed Jackie, I figured my best bet was to get here, with you.’
Graves said, ‘You want to leave Krondor?’
The boy said, ‘If you’ll take me. There’s a war on, for truth, and I’m the last of my band alive. If the Upright Man is dead, all bets are off. You know the rules. If the Upright Man isn’t here, it’s every man for himself and make what deal you can.’
Graves nodded. ‘I know the rules.’ His voice lacked the rough, commanding edge Limm had come to know as a boy in the Mockers, when Graves was first among the bashers. Still, Graves had saved Limm several times, from freebooting thugs and the Prince’s men alike. Limm would do whatever Graves said.
After a moment of reflection, Graves spoke. ‘You stay here, boy. No one in the Guild knows you’ve helped Kat and me, and the truth is, I’m fond of you. You were always a good lad, as far as that goes. Too full of yourself, but what boy isn’t at times?’ He shook his head in regret. ‘Out there it’ll be every hand against us – Mockers, Prince’s men, or the Crawler’s. I’ve got a few friends left, but if the blood is running in the sewers, who knows how long I can count on them?’
‘But everyone else thinks you’ve escaped!’ objected Limm. ‘Just me and Jackie knew, ’cause you told us so we could fetch you food. Those notes you sent out, to the Temple, and some of your friends, to that magician you travelled with …’ He waved his hand as if trying to recall the name.
‘Owyn,’ Graves supplied.
‘Owyn,’ repeated Limm. ‘Word spread through the city you’d fled to Kesh. I know at least a dozen bashers were sent outside the walls to track you down.’
Graves nodded. ‘And an equal number of monks from the Temple, too, I warrant.’ He sighed. ‘That was the plan. Lie low here while they looked for us out there.’
Kat, who had remained silent throughout, said, ‘It was a good plan, Graves.’
Limm nodded.
Graves said, ‘I figured another week or ten days, and they’d come back, each thinking some other had just missed sight of us, then we’d walk down to the docks one night, get on a ship, and sail off to Durbin, just another merchant and his daughter.’
‘Wife!’ said Kat, angrily.
Limm grinned.
Graves shrugged and spread his hands in a sign of surrender. ‘Young wife,’ he said.
She put her arms around his neck and said, ‘Wife,’ softly.
Limm said, ‘Well, you play the parts well enough, but right now getting to the docks is no small order.’ He glanced around the cellar. ‘What about just going out the door, up there?’ He pointed to the ceiling.
Graves said, ‘Sealed off. That’s why I built this place as a hideout. The building upstairs is abandoned, roof beams collapsed. The man who owned it died, so it belongs to the Prince for back taxes. Fixing up old buildings is not very high on the Prince’s list of things to do, it seems.’
Limm nodded in approval of the scheme. ‘Well, how long do you think we should stay?’
‘You,’ said Graves, rising, ‘are staying in the Kingdom. You’re young enough to make something of yourself, boy. Get off the dodgy path and find a master. Apprentice in a craft or become a serving man.’
‘Honest work?’ said Limm, as he jumped to his feet. ‘When did a Mocker seek honest work?’
Graves pointed a finger at him. ‘Jimmy did.’
‘Jimmy the Hand,’ agreed Kat. ‘He found honest work.’
‘He saved the Prince’s life!’ objected Limm. ‘He was made a member of the court. And there’s a death mark on his head! He couldn’t return to the Mockers if he begged.’
Graves said, ‘If the Upright Man is dead, that mark is erased.’
Softly Limm asked, ‘What should I do?’
Graves said, ‘Lie low for a while, until things get quiet, then leave the city. There’s a man named Tuscobar, once a trader from Rodez. He has a shop in a town called Biscart, two days’ fast walk up the coast. He owes me a favour. He also has no sons, so there is no one to apprentice for him. Go there and ask him to take you to service. If he objects, just tell him “Graves clears all debts if you do this.” He’ll understand what it means.’
‘What does he do?’ asked Limm.
‘He sells cloth. He makes a good living, as he sells to nobles for their daughters.’
Limm’s expression showed he was less than taken with the notion. ‘I’d rather go to Durbin and take my chances with you. What are you going to do there?’
‘Turn honest,’ said Graves. ‘I have some gold. Kat and I are going to open an inn.’
‘An inn,’ said Limm, his eyes alight. ‘I like inns.’ He got down on his knees in an overly dramatic pleading. ‘Let me come! Please! I can do many things in an inn. I can tend fires, and show customers to their rooms. I can haul water and I can mark the best purses for cutting.’
‘An honest inn,’ said Graves.
Some of the enthusiasm left Limm’s expression. ‘In Durbin? Well, if you say so.’
Kat said, ‘We’re going to have a baby. We want him to grow up honest.’
Limm was speechless. He sat in wide-eyed astonishment. Finally, he said, ‘A baby? Are you daft?’
Graves exhibited a wry smile and Kat’s brown eyes narrowed as she said, ‘What’s daft about a baby?’
Limm said, ‘Nothing, I guess, if you’re a farmer or a baker or someone who can expect a fair chance at living to old age. But for a Mocker …’ He let the thought go unfinished.
Graves said, ‘What’s the clock? We’ve been cut off from sunlight so long I have no sense of it.’
‘It’s nearly midnight,’ said Limm. ‘Why?’
‘With the Upright Man dead, or even just the rumour of it, things will be happening. Ships that would otherwise have stayed in Krondor will be leaving the docks before the morning tide.’
Limm fixed Graves with a questioning look. ‘You know something?’
Graves stood up from the small chair and said, ‘I know lots of things, boy.’
Limm jumped to his feet. ‘Please take me with you. You’re the only friends I’ve got, and if the Upright Man’s dead, who knows who’ll come to rule in his place. If it’s that Crawler, most of us are dead anyway, and even if it’s one of our own, who’s to say what my life is worth?’
Graves and Kat understood. The peace within the Mockers was imposed from the top down, and it would never be mistaken for friendship. Old grudges would surface and old scores would be settled. More than one Mocker would die not knowing for which past transgression he was paying the ultimate penalty. Graves sighed in resignation. ‘Very well. Not much for you here, I’ll grant, and another pair of eyes and nimble fingers might prove worthwhile.’ He glanced at Kat, who nodded silently.
‘What’s the plan?’
‘We need to be at the docks before the dawn. There’s a ship there, a Quegan trader, the Stella Maris. The captain is an old business acquaintance of mine. He was lying low, claiming a refit was needed, against the time when we could smuggle ourselves out of here. He’ll sail for Durbin as soon as we board.’
Kat said, ‘Lots of ships will be leaving on the morning tide, so another won’t cause too much notice.’
Limm look excited. ‘When do we head to the docks?’
‘An hour before dawn. It’ll still be dark enough for us to stay in shadows, but enough of the town will be awake and about so we won’t attract much attention.’
Kat smiled. ‘We’ll be a family.’
Limm’s narrow young face took on a sour expression. ‘Mother?’
Kat was barely ten years older than Limm, so she said, ‘Big sister.’
Limm said, ‘We have one problem, though.’
Graves nodded. ‘Getting to the street.’
Limm sat back, for he knew that there could be no plan, ruse, or providential miracle that would get them safely to the docks. They would simply have to leave this hideout and risk a short walk through a dark tunnel which might house a dozen murderers or sewer rats. And they wouldn’t know which until they left. Limm was suddenly tired and said, ‘I think I’ll sleep for a bit.’
‘Good idea,’ agreed Graves. ‘There’s a pallet over there you can use. We’ll wake you when it’s time to go.’
Limm moved to the indicated corner and lay down. Kat whispered, ‘What are the odds?’
‘Bad,’ admitted her lover. ‘We’ve got to get the boy some clothing. Dirty boys are nothing unusual at the dock. But not that dirty.’ Trying to muster some optimism, he said, ‘Still, if the Upright Man is dead, there may be enough chaos in the city that we can slip out without attracting notice.’
‘Any other choice?’
‘Only one,’ admitted Graves, ‘but I won’t use it unless we’re caught.’
‘What is it?’
Graves looked at the young girl for whom he had thrown away everything and said, ‘I have one friend left, who gains nothing from my fall. If I must, I’ll send Limm to him begging for help.’
‘Who?’ whispered Kat.
Graves closed his eyes as if admitting he might seek help was hard for one as self-reliant as himself. ‘The only thief who can beg the Prince of Krondor for my life.’
‘Jimmy?’
Graves nodded. ‘Jimmy the Hand.’
• CHAPTER TWO • (#ulink_0691e3a5-0241-5532-a8ca-c2d9f8924876)
Krondor (#ulink_0691e3a5-0241-5532-a8ca-c2d9f8924876)
THE COLUMN RODE TOWARDS THE CITY.
Krondor was backlit by a late afternoon sun, dark towers rising against a lemon-yellow sky. In the east, distant clouds turned rose and orange against a blue that seemed to shimmer. The column behind the Prince’s vanguard tightened up as they entered the southernmost city gate, the one closest to the palace and barracks. Traffic in the area was normal for this time of day: a few traders drove wagons into the city, while farmers who’d visited the city for the day were leaving, starting their homeward journey.
James pointed. ‘Not much of a welcome, is it?’
Locklear saw that a few curious onlookers were turning to watch the approaching company that was escorting Arutha through the palace district. Otherwise they were ignored by the citizenry, as they had been since entering the outer reaches of Krondor. ‘I guess Arutha didn’t send word we would arrive today.’
‘No, there’s something else,’ said James, his days of fatigue washing away as curiosity took hold of him.
Locklear looked at the faces of those on the street who stood aside to let the Prince’s company ride past, and saw anxiety. ‘You’re right, James.’
The capital city of the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles was never silent. Even at the darkest hours before sunrise, sounds could be heard from all quarters. There was a pulse to any city, and Krondor had one that was as well known to James as his own heartbeat. He could listen to its rhythm and understand what it was saying: Something’s wrong. It was less than an hour before sundown, yet the city was far more subdued than it should be.
Locklear listened and knew what it was James was hearing, a muted quality, as if everyone was speaking a little more softly than usual. A shout from a teamster to his mules was cut slightly short, lest it hang too long in the air and attract notice. A mother’s command for a child to come home was short and sharp, followed by a low threatening warning rather than a top-of-the-voice shriek.
‘What do you think is going on?’ asked Locklear.
Just ahead, Arutha spoke quietly to the two squires without looking back. ‘We should find out in a moment.’
The young men looked past their ruler and saw a committee waiting for them at the palace gate. In the forefront was Princess Anita, her smile edged with relief at seeing her husband unharmed before her. Still youthful despite ten years of marriage and motherhood, her red hair was gathered up under a wide white hat, looking more like a sailing ship set atop her head, thought James, than anything else. But it was the current fashion, and one did not make jests at the expense of the Princess, especially not when her second smile was directed at you.
James returned the Princess’s welcoming smile and basked for a moment in its warmth. His boyhood infatuation with Anita had matured into a deep, abiding affection, and while she was too young to be viewed as his surrogate mother, she served as surrogate older sister with ease and humour. And it was clear to all who knew them that she viewed James as the younger brother she never had. It went so far as the Princess’s children calling James ‘Uncle Jimmy’.
At Anita’s right stood twin boys, the Princes Borric and Erland, jostling with one another, as if it were impossible for the two nine-year-olds to remain at rest even for a moment. The red-headed lads were intelligent, James knew, and undisciplined. Some day they would number among the most powerful nobles in the Kingdom, but at present they were simply fractious boys bored with having to act the part of Princes and anxious to be off about whatever mischief they could find. Directly before her mother stood the Princess Elena, four years younger than the boys. Her features were as fine as her mother’s, but her colouring was her father’s, dark and intense. She beamed at the sight of her father riding at the head of his Household Guard. Succumbing to impulse, she pointed and said, ‘There’s Daddy!’
Arutha held up his hand and ordered a halt. Without waiting for official greetings from the Master of Ceremonies, he jumped from his mount and hurried to his family. Embracing his wife, he then turned his attention to his sons and daughter.
James motioned with this chin towards the welcoming guards and whispered to Locklear, ‘Willie’s on duty.’
William, Pug’s son, was a cadet, a young soon-to-be officer who presently was learning his trade. He exchanged glances with James, giving the squire a tiny nod.
The order was given for the company to fall out, and James and Locklear dismounted. Grooms hurried over and took away the tired mounts.
Their duty required the squires to wait upon their Prince’s need, so they moved to stand at Arutha’s right hand.
Anita gifted the young men with a warm greeting, then turned her attention to Arutha. ‘I know I shouldn’t worry. I know you’ll always come back to me.’
Arutha’s smile was both happy and tired. ‘Always.’
A small knot of court officials stood silently behind the royal family, and Arutha nodded greetings. He saw by their expressions that he would be needed in council before he would be permitted the pleasure of a long visit with his family. He noticed the Sheriff of Krondor in attendance, and sighed. That could only mean grave problems in Krondor, for the sheriff, while an important officer in the city, wasn’t properly a member of Arutha’s court. Glancing at Gardan, he said, ‘Marshal, see what the sheriff and the others want, and meet me in my private council chamber in a half hour. I will have this road-dirt off before I sit down to another meeting.’ He smiled at Anita. ‘And I’ll steal a few minutes to speak with my wife and children.’ He leaned over and kissed Anita on the cheek and said, ‘Take the children to our apartment. I’ll be along in a minute, dearest.’
Anita herded the children away, and Arutha motioned to James and Locklear. ‘No rest for the wicked, boys.’ Looking over at the palace guard, he added, ‘Young William looks as if he’s going to pop with news to share, so go find out what’s on his mind. I’m sure I’ll be hearing a different version of the same tale from my officers in council. If something warrants some snooping around in the city, do it, and be back no later than the end of the evening meal.’ Then he looked James in the eyes and said, You know what you must do.’
James nodded. As he led Locklear away, Locklear said, ‘What does that mean?’
‘What?’
‘“You know what you must do?”’
‘Just something Arutha and I have been working on since you were sent north to Tyr-Sog for …’
‘I know why I was banished to Tyr-Sog,’ Locklear said in a tired voice. ‘Too well,’ he added, considering his imminent return to that cold and lonely town on the northern frontier.
James signalled to the guardsman in charge of the trainees, who stood to attention as he shouted, ‘Members of the court!’
The cadets were already at attention, but they seemed to stiffen a bit more as the two squires approached.
James nodded greeting to Swordmaster McWirth. ‘How are the cadets this afternoon, swordmaster?’
‘A worthless lot, squire, but one or two of them may survive to actually be allowed to serve as an officer in my army!’
James smiled wryly at the pointed remark, given that he and the swordmaster had little affection for one another. As a member of Arutha’s court, the young man was not technically part of the army, and trained with weapons with the Prince; in fact, James was Arutha’s favourite duelling partner as he was one of the few in the city as fast as Arutha with a blade. As a squire, he also carried some rank, which meant that often he was put in charge of soldiers who had trained under the swordmaster, and it galled the old soldier.
Still, thought James, McWirth was thorough in his job and the officers he turned out, especially those who were chosen for the élite Royal Household Guards, were fine soldiers, to a man. In his travels, James had seen the worst of the army as well as the best, and he had no doubt these were the among the best in the Western Realm.
‘I need to speak to the Prince’s cousin when you’re done with him, swordmaster.’
The dour old soldier fixed James with a baleful gaze for an instant, and one more time James was thankful he never had to endure the swordmaster’s supervision. McWirth turned and shouted, ‘Dismissed! Cadet William, over here!’
William came to stand before the swordmaster, while the other cadets headed back towards their quarters, and said, ‘Sir!’
‘Member of the court desires your company, it seems.’ He smiled at James and Locklear and said, ‘Good day to you, squires.’
The other cadets hurried off to their duties and McWirth said, ‘And when you’re done, I expect you to catch up with the rest of the cadets, else you’ll be tending your equipment during mess, is that clear?’
‘Sir!’ replied William with a salute. The old swordmaster stalked off and William approached Locklear and James.
James asked, ‘What’s the news?’
‘Lots,’ said William. He was a short man, though taller than his father, with dark brown hair and eyes. The boyish cast to his features had faded in the months since he had come to serve in the Prince’s army and his shoulders had broadened. He was lethally effective with the two-handed sword, a difficult weapon for most soldiers to master, and his horsemanship was considered exceptional. ‘I’m to be commissioned next week!’
‘Congratulations,’ said Locklear. ‘I’m to be exiled.’
William’s eyes narrowed. ‘Again?’
James laughed. ‘Still. Arutha appreciated his reasons for returning without leave, but decided it didn’t warrant an early reprieve from the icy north.’
Frowning, Locklear said, ‘I depart for Tyr-Sog again, tomorrow.’
James said, ‘Something’s funny in the city. What do you hear, Willie?’
Only Arutha’s family, James, and Locklear called William by that nickname, a familiarity he allowed no one else. William said, ‘Odd things. They keep us cadets busy and we don’t get to mix much with the others in the garrison when we’re not training, but you do hear this and that. Seems like an unusually high number of people in the city have been turning up dead this last week.’
James nodded. ‘That would explain the sheriff waiting for the Prince.’
Locklear said, ‘He doesn’t usually do that sort of thing, now that you mention it.’
James was lost in thought a moment. He had crossed paths with Sheriff Wilfred Means on more than one occasion when James had plied his trade as a thief. A few times he had come close to being the sheriff’s guest in the Old Town Jail. The sheriff acknowledged James as the Prince’s squire and treated him with the respect due his office; their relationship was a cold one at best. James suddenly was visited with the image of a younger Wilfred Means glaring up at James as he bolted over the rooftops of the city, the then constable’s ginger-coloured moustache almost quivering with rage at the boy’s escape.
But the sheriff was stalwart in his duty, and tried to keep crime in Krondor as much under control as possible. The city was an orderly one by most any measure James could imagine, and unlike others who held the office before him, Wilfred Means was not a man to take a bribe or barter a favour.
For him to be waiting in person to speak to Arutha as soon as he returned meant something grave had occurred, something the sheriff judged required the Prince’s immediate attention.
‘You get back to your duties,’ said James absently to William. ‘Locky and I had better catch up with Arutha.’
William said, ‘Well, Locky, I will bid you farewell, again, if you’re off for the north in the morning.’
Locklear rolled his eyes theatrically, but took the proffered hand and shook it. ‘Take care of this rascal, William. I would hate to see him get killed when I wasn’t around to watch.’
‘Sorry you’re going to miss the commissioning,’ said William.
James grinned. ‘Don’t worry, Willie. I’ll find you a celebration, and even without this knave’s vaunted reputation as a lodestone for the girls, we’ll find us some pretty faces to look upon you in awe as you sport your new badge of rank.’
William couldn’t help blushing at that. ‘Take care, Locky,’ he said.
Locklear bid him farewell, and as William ran off to his duties Locklear said, ‘Did you see that blush? I warrant the lad’s never been with a woman.’
James elbowed his friend in the side. ‘Not everyone is as precocious as you were, Locky.’
‘But he’s nearly twenty!’ said Locklear in mock astonishment.
‘He’s a bright lad and fair to look at. I suspect things will have changed by the time you return,’ said James.
‘You think?’
‘Certainly,’ said James as they entered the palace. ‘I’m sure I can find him an agreeable girl to bed him in the next five years.’
Locklear’s grin vanished. ‘Five years!’ With wide eyes he said, ‘You don’t think Arutha’s going to keep me up there for five years, do you?’
James laughed at his friend’s distress. As the two young men hurried along to their Prince’s chambers, Locklear threw an elbow at James – which James adroitly dodged – and for an instant they were boys again.
James and Locklear reached Arutha’s private council room just as the Prince was approaching after his brief visit with his wife and children. He moved purposefully down the small hallway that connected his family’s private apartments with the council chamber and the formal court. James hurried to fall in behind his liege lord, with Locklear one step after. A pair of court pages flanked the council chamber door, and one quickly opened it so that Arutha might enter.
Arutha arrived to greetings from Master of Ceremonies Brian de Lacy. Standing at his right hand was his assistant, Housecarl Jerome. Jerome and his supervisor bowed as one to the Prince; the housecarl gave a fleeting nod of greeting to the two squires. Jerome had been a member of the company of squires with James and Locklear as boys, and James had been the first one to stand up to the older boy, who had been the resident bully. Now Jerome was studying to succeed de Lacy as the man in charge of the daily business of the court, and serving as the chief administrator of the palace while doing so, and James was forced to admit his fussy attention to detail made him ideally suited for the job.
Arutha said, ‘I am very tired and would like to join my family for an early supper; let’s save as much as we may for formal court tomorrow. What can’t wait?’
De Lacy nodded and then looked up. He noticed who was in the room and said, ‘Shall we wait for the Knight-Marshal?’
Just then Gardan entered. ‘Apologies, Highness. I wanted to make sure the men were taking care of their mounts and weapons before I joined you.’
Arutha’s brow furrowed and his mouth turned up in a familiar half-smile. ‘You’re not a sergeant any more, Gardan. You’re the Knight-Marshal of Krondor. You have others to ensure that the men and animals are properly billeted.’
Gardan nodded in reply, then said, ‘That’s something I wish to discuss with you.’ He glanced at the nobles in the Prince’s private offices and added, ‘But it will wait until after this evening’s business. Highness?’ Arutha indicated his agreement.
De Lacy said, ‘Two communiqués from Great Kesh via courier arrived during your absence, Highness, informing the crown of matters of small urgency, yet they do require a formal response.’
Arutha waved them over to James. ‘Leave them. I’ll read them tonight and compose a reply first thing in the morning.’
De Lacy handed them to James who tucked them under his arm without looking at them.
The Master of Ceremonies looked at the sheriff, who stepped forward and bowed. ‘Highness, I fear I must report a rash of black murders have been done in your city during the time you’ve been away.’
The Prince was silent for a moment as he considered these words, then he said, ‘You speak then of something warranting my personal attention? Murder is not uncommon in our city.’
‘I do, Highness. Several men of prominence have been slain in their beds at night, throats cut while their wives slept undisturbed beside them.’
Arutha glanced at James and nodded slightly. James knew what the Prince was thinking: Nighthawks.
For nearly ten years the city had been untroubled by the Guild of Death. The assassins who had been employed by Murmandamus’s agents had vanished at the end of the Riftwar. A few months ago rumours about their return had begun to circulate. Then they had suddenly reappeared in the Kingdom. James himself had killed their current leader, but was under no illusion that the Nighthawks would just go away. If there was another cell of them here in Krondor, they already knew of the death of one called Navon du Sandau, an erstwhile merchant from Kenting Rush. Exposing his true identity had almost got James killed in a duel, and it was only by dint of hours spent practising the sword with Arutha that James had prevailed.
Looking troubled, Arutha asked the sheriff, ‘What have your men uncovered?’
‘Nothing, Highness. Of some of the victims, what you’d expect: men with enemies due to their prominence in their trade. But others were men of little significance except to their families. There is nothing of sense about these murders. They seem … random.’
Arutha sat back and weighed what he had been told. His mind turned furiously as he considered, then discarded options. Finally he said, ‘Random? It may be we simply do not understand what is behind the selection of victims. Have your men return in the morning and question the families of the victims, those who worked with them, their neighbours and anyone who may have seen them prior to their deaths. There may be some vital bit of information we are not seeing because we do not know it is important. Send a scribe with your men to record the conversations. In all of this we may discover some connection between those murdered.’ He sighed, fatigue evident in his features. ‘Return to your post, sheriff. Join me after morning court tomorrow and we’ll discuss this business at length. I’ll want your men’s reports by tomorrow evening.’ The sheriff bowed and withdrew.
Arutha turned to de Lacy. ‘What else?’
‘Nothing that cannot wait, Highness.’
Arutha rose. ‘Court is dismissed until the tenth hour of the day tomorrow.’ De Lacy and Jerome left the chamber, and Arutha turned to Gardan and the squires. ‘Now, Gardan, what is it you wished to speak with me about?’
‘Highness, I’ve served your house since I was a boy. I’ve been a soldier and sergeant to your father, and a captain and marshal to you. It’s time I returned home to Crydee. I wish to retire.’
Arutha nodded. ‘I see. Can we speak of this over supper?’
The Knight-Marshal said, ‘If you wish.’
‘I do.’ Turning to the squires, Arutha said, ‘Locklear, you’d best be getting ready for your journey tomorrow morning. I’ll have travel warrants and orders sent to your quarters. Leave with the dawn patrol to Sarth. If I fail to see you before then, have a safe journey to Tyr-Sog.’
Locklear tried to keep his expression neutral as he answered, ‘Thank you, Your Highness.’
Arutha turned to James and said again, ‘You know what to do.’
Arutha and Gardan turned towards the royal apartments as the two squires moved in the other direction. When they were out of hearing distance, Locklear mimicked the Prince: ‘“You know what to do.” All right: what is this all about?’
James sighed and said, ‘It means I don’t get any sleep tonight.’
Locklear said, ‘Is this your way of telling me it’s none of my business?’
‘Yes,’ James answered. He said nothing more as they moved to the wing of the palace which housed their quarters. Reaching the door to Locklear’s room, James said, ‘I probably won’t see you before you leave, also, so take care not to get yourself killed.’
Locklear shook hands, then embraced his best friend. ‘I’ll try not to.’
James grinned. ‘Good, then with luck we’ll see you at Midsummer’s Festival, assuming you don’t do anything to cause Arutha to keep you up there longer than that.’
Locklear said, ‘I’ll be good.’
‘See that you are,’ instructed James.
He left his friend and hurried to his own quarters. Being a member of the Prince’s court merited James a room of his own, but since he was only a squire, it was a modest one; a bed, a table for writing or eating a solitary meal, and a double door wooden wardrobe. James closed the door to his room, locking it behind him, and undressed. He was wearing travel clothing, but it was still too conspicuous for what he needed to do. Opening his wardrobe, he moved aside a bundle of shirts in need of laundry, and beneath those he found what he was looking for. A dark grey tunic and dark blue trousers, patched and mended and looking far dirtier than they actually were. He dressed in those, pulled on his oldest boots and slipped a well-made but plain-looking dagger into his boot-sheath. Then once again looking like a creature of the streets, he slipped out through the door of his quarters, avoiding servants and guards as he made his way down into the palace cellar.
Soon he was moving through a secret passage that connected the palace with the city sewers, and as night fell on Krondor Jimmy the Hand once more moved along the Thieves’ Highway.
The sun had set by the time James reached the transition point between the sewer under the palace and the city sewer system. The sky above might still be light for a while, but beneath the streets it was as dark as night. During the day there were places in the sewer where illumination filtered down from above, tunnels close to the surface where culverts had broken through, others below streets where missing stones or open drains admitted daylight.
But after sundown, the entire system was pitch-black, save for a few locations with light sources of their own, and only an expert could move through the maze of passages safely. From the moment he left the palace, James knew exactly where he was.
While a member of the Guild of Thieves, the Mockers, James had learned every trick of survival that harsh circumstance, opportunity, and keen native intelligence had presented to him. He moved silently to a stash he had prepared and moved a false stone. It was fashioned from cloth, wood, and paint, and in light far brighter than any likely to ever be present here, it would withstand inspection. He set the false stone down and retrieved a shuttered lantern from the stash. The hidey-hole held an extra set of picks, as well as a number of items unlikely to be welcome inside the palace proper: some caustic agents, climbing equipment, and a few non-standard weapons. Old habits died hard.
James lit the lantern. He had never considered keeping a lantern in the palace, for fear someone might observe him making the transition between the palace sewer and the one under the city. Guarding the secret of how the palace could be reached through the sewers was paramount. Every drawing on file in the palace, from the original keep through the latest expansion, showed the two systems as entirely separate, just as the city’s sewer was divided from the one outside the city walls. But smugglers and thieves had quickly rendered royal plans inaccurate, by creating passages in and out of the city.
James trimmed the wick, lit it, and closed the shutters until only a tiny sliver of light shone, but it was enough for him to navigate his way safely through the sewer. He could do it with no light, he knew, but it would slow him down to a painful near-crawl to have to feel his way along the walls the entire way, and he had a good distance to travel this night.
James did a quick check to ensure he had left nothing exposed for anyone to chance across. He considered the never-ending need for security which created this odd paradox: the Royal Engineers spent a lot of time and gold repairing the city’s sewers – and just as quickly the Mockers and others damaged them to have a furtive passage free of royal oversight. James often was the one responsible for identifying a new breach. Occasionally he was guilty of hiding one, if it suited his purposes more than it compromised the palace’s security.
Thinking that there was a great deal more to being a responsible member of the Prince’s court than he had imagined when he had first been put in the company of squires, the former thief hurried on towards his first appointment.
It was almost dawn when James started looking for his last contact. The squire was having trouble keeping his concerns in check. The first three informants he had sought were missing. The docks were unnaturally silent, devoid of even the boisterous noise usually marking the area’s inns and taverns. The poor quarter was clearly a no man’s land, with many of the Mockers’ usual bolt-holes and accesses blocked off and sealed.
Of the Mockers, James had seen nothing. That alone was not completely unusual. He wasn’t the only one adroit at travelling through the sewers and streets unnoticed. But there was something different about this night. There were others who used the sewers. Beggars who weren’t Mockers had places where they could sleep unmolested. Smugglers moved cargo short distances from secret landings built into the larger outflows into the harbour to basements farther in the city. With such activities came noises: small, unnoticed unless one was trained to recognize them for what they were, but usually they were there. Tonight everything was silent. Only the murmur of water, the scurrying of rats and the occasional rattle of distant machinery, waterwheels, pumps, and sluice gates echoed through the tunnels.
Anyone in the sewers was lying low, James knew. And that meant trouble. Historically, in times of trouble, the Mockers would seal off sections of the sewers, especially near the poor quarter, barring the passages to Mockers’ Rest, the place called ‘Mother’s’ by members of the Guild of Thieves. Armed bashers would take up station and wait for the crisis to pass. Others not belonging to the guild would also hole up until the trouble passed. Outside those enclaves and safe areas, anyone in the tunnels was fair game. The last time James had remembered such a condition had been during the year following the end of the Riftwar, when Princess Anita had been injured and Arutha had declared martial law.
The more he had travelled through the sewers below and the streets above, the more James was convinced something equally dire had occurred while he had been out of the city on the Prince’s business. James looked around to see that he was unwatched and moved to the rear of the alley.
A pair of old wooden crates had been turned towards a brick wall to offer some shelter against the elements. Inside that crate lay a still form. A swarm of flies took off as James moved the crate slightly. Before he touched the man’s leg, James knew he wasn’t sleeping. Gingerly he turned over the still form of Old Edwin, a one-time sailor whose love of drink had cost him his livelihood, family, and any shred of dignity. But, James thought, even a gutter-rat like Edwin deserved better than having his throat cut like a calf at slaughter.
The thick, nearly-dried blood told James he had been murdered earlier, probably around dawn the day before. He was certain that his other missing contacts had met a similar fate. Either whoever was behind the troubles in the city was killing indiscriminately – and James’s informants had been exceedingly unfortunate – or someone was methodically murdering off James’s agents in Krondor. Logic dictated the latter as the most likely explanation.
James stood and looked skyward. The night was fading, as a grey light from the east heralded the dawn’s approach. There was only one place left he might find answers without risking confronting the Mockers.
James knew that some agreement between the Prince and Mockers had been reached years before when he had joined Arutha’s service, but he never knew the details. An understanding of sorts had arisen between James and the Mockers. He stayed out of their way and they avoided him. He came and went as he pleased in the sewers and across the roofs of the city when he needed, and they looked the other way. But at no time had he any illusion that he would be warmly welcomed should he attempt to return to Mockers’ Rest. You were either a Mocker or you weren’t, he knew, and for nearly fourteen years he had not been a Mocker.
James put aside concerns about braving a visit to Mother’s and turned towards the one other place he might find some news.
James returned to the sewer and made his way quickly to a spot below a particular inn. It sat on the border between the poorest quarter of the city and a slightly more respectable district, one inhabited by workmen and their families. A rank covering of slime hid a secret release, and once it was tripped, James felt a slight grinding as a section of stone swung aside.
The ‘stone’ was made of plaster over heavy canvas, covering a narrow entryway to a short tunnel. Once inside the tunnel, with the secret door closed behind him, James opened the shutters of the lantern. He was almost certain he knew of every trap along the short passage, but as the key word was ‘almost’ he took great caution as he traversed the tunnel.
At the far end he found a thick oaken door, on the other side of which he knew rose a short flight of stairs leading to a cellar below an inn. He inspected the lock and when he was satisfied nothing had changed, he picked it adroitly. When it clicked open, he pushed it gingerly aside against the possibility of a new trap on the other side of the door. Nothing happened and he quickly mounted the stairs.
At the top of the stairs, he entered the dark cellar, thick with barrels and sacks. He moved through the maze of stores and climbed the wooden steps up to the main floor of the building, opening into a pantry, behind the kitchen. He opened the door.
A young woman’s scream split the air and a moment later a crossbow bolt flew through the space James had occupied the instant before. The young man rolled on the floor as the bolt splintered the wooden door and James came to his feet with his hands held palm out as he said, ‘Easy, Lucas! It’s me!’
The innkeeper, a former soldier in his youth, was halfway around the kitchen, the crossbow set aside as he was drawing his sword. He had grabbed the crossbow and fired through the door, across the kitchen, upon hearing the scream. He hesitated a moment, then returned his sword to its scabbard as he continued moving towards James.
He circled around a butcher’s block. ‘You idiot!’ he hissed, as if afraid to raise his voice. ‘You trying to get yourself killed?’
‘Honestly, no,’ said James as he stood up.
‘Dressed like that, sneaking at my cellar door, how’d I know it was you? You should have sent word you were coming that way, or waited an hour and come in the front door like an honest man.’
‘Well, I am an honest man,’ said James, moving from the kitchen, past the bar and into the empty common room. He glanced around, then sat down in a chair. ‘More or less.’
Lucas gave him a half-smile. ‘More than some. What brings you crawling around like a cat in the gutter?’
James glanced over at the young girl who had followed him and Lucas into the commons. She had regained her composure as the intruder was revealed to be a friend of the innkeeper. ‘Sorry to startle you.’
She took a breath and said, ‘Well, you did a good job of it.’ She stood upright, and her high colour from the fright put her fair complexion in contrast to her dark hair. She appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties.
James asked, ‘The new barmaid?’
‘My daughter, Talia.’
James sat back. ‘Lucas, you don’t have a daughter.’
The proprietor of The Rainbow Parrot sat down opposite James and said, ‘Run to the kitchen and see nothing’s burning, Talia.’
‘Yes, father,’ she said, leaving.
‘I have a daughter,’ Lucas said to James. ‘When her mother died I sent her to live with my brother on his farm near Tannerbrook.’
James smiled. ‘Didn’t want her to grow up in this place?’
Lucas sighed. ‘No. It gets rough in here.’
Feigning innocence, James said, ‘Why, Lucas. I never noticed.’
Pointing an accusatory finger in his direction, Lucas said, ‘Far less savoury characters than you have graced that chair, Jimmy the Hand.’
James held up his hands as if surrendering. ‘I’ll concede as much.’ He glanced towards the kitchen door as if somehow seeing through it. ‘But she doesn’t sound like any farm girl I’ve heard before, Lucas.’
Lucas sat back, ran his bony hand through his grey-shot hair. His angular face showed irritation at having to explain. ‘She studied with a sisterhood in a nearby abbey for more hours than she milked cows. She can read, write, and do sums. She’s a smart lass.’
James nodded in appreciation. ‘Laudable. Though I doubt your average customer will appreciate those qualities as much as … the more obvious ones.’
Lucas’s expression darkened. ‘She’s a good girl, James. She’s going to marry a proper man, not some scruffy … well, you know the type. I’ll have a dowry set by and …’ He dropped his voice so as not to be heard in the kitchen. ‘James, you’re the only one I know who knows some proper lads, being in the palace and all. At least since Laurie ran off and got himself named duke in Salador. Can you arrange for my girl to meet the right kind of boy? She’s been back in the city only a few days and already I feel as green as a raw recruit on his first day of training. With her brothers dead in the war, she’s all I’ve got.’ He glanced around the well-tended but rough common room and said, ‘I want her to have more than this.’
James grinned. ‘I know. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll bring a couple of the more likely fellows down for a drink and let nature take its course.’
‘But not Locklear!’ said Lucas. ‘You keep him away.’
James laughed. ‘No worries. He’s probably riding out the gate this very minute, heading for a long tour of duty in Tyr-Sog.’
Talia came back into the room and said, ‘Everything is ready, father.’
‘That’s a good lass,’ he replied. ‘Open the door, then, and let anyone in who’s waiting for breakfast.’
As she moved off, Lucas said to James, ‘All right then. You didn’t get yourself almost killed sneaking in from the sewers to gossip about my girl and the boys in court. What brings you here before sunrise?’
James’s face lost any hint of humour. ‘There’s a war underway in the sewers, Lucas. And someone’s killed some friends of mine. What’s going on?’
Lucas sat back and nodded. ‘I knew you’d come asking one of these days. I thought it would be sooner.’
‘I just got back into the city last night. I was off with the Prince … doing some things.’
Lucas said, ‘Well, Arutha would do well to look closer to home for trouble, for he has heaps of it here free for the asking. I don’t know the truth of it, but according to the rumours men are killing freely in the sewers and along the waterfront. Citizens and Mockers alike are dying. I hear of Keshians setting up shops in buildings once owned by Kingdom merchants, and new bully gangs working along the docks. No one knows what’s going on, save the Mockers who have gone to ground and are hiding out. I’ve not seen one in a week. Most of my regulars come later and leave earlier, wanting to be home safe before dark.’
‘Who’s behind it, Lucas?’ asked James.
Lucas looked around, as if afraid some invisible agency might overhear him. Softly he said, ‘Someone calling himself the Crawler.’
James sat back. ‘Why am I not surprised?’ he muttered.
• CHAPTER THREE • (#ulink_9c183ff7-54bb-542e-8826-9167958f2969)
Reception (#ulink_9c183ff7-54bb-542e-8826-9167958f2969)
JAMES WAITED.
A court page knocked upon the door, his youthful expression neutral as befitted a lad of twelve stationed just outside the royal apartments. An answering voice bid James enter, and he waited as two pages pushed open the ornate wooden doors. Inside, the Prince took breakfast with his family, the fractious twins poking at one another while attempting to avoid parental notice. A scolding look from their mother indicated their failure and they went back to a pretence of model behaviour. The little Princess was happily singing a song of her own making while she purposefully put spoon to a bowl of hot breakfast mush.
Princess Anita smiled at James as he presented himself to the family and bowed. ‘Our squire finally appears,’ said Arutha dryly. ‘I trust we’re not inconveniencing you this morning?’
James smiled back at the Princess as he straightened, then turned to the Prince and said, ‘I was dressed in a quite inappropriate fashion for a meal with the royal family, Highness. I am sorry to be so tardy.’
Arutha indicated for James to stand at his right hand, where he was expected to wait on his ruler’s pleasure unless out on some errand or another. James did so and took a moment to rest in the glow of the only thing in his life that felt like family to him.
The Prince of Krondor and his squire enjoyed a relationship that was eccentric and unique. At times they were comrades as much as master and servant, while at other times their bond was almost brotherly. Yet there was always this one thing between them: James never forgot that Arutha was his Prince and he was Arutha’s loyal servant.
‘You look tired,’ observed the Prince.
‘It’s been a long time since I enjoyed the comfort of a warm bed and a good night’s sleep, sir,’ James replied. ‘Last night included.’
‘Well, was it worth it?’
James said, ‘In one way, very much. In another, no.’
Glancing at his wife and children, Arutha looked at James and softly said, ‘Do we need to speak in private?’
James said, ‘I judge it inappropriate table conversation, if that’s the answer you seek, Highness.’
Arutha said, ‘Retire to my private office and wait. I will join you in a few minutes.’
James did as he was told and walked the short distance to Arutha’s private office. Inside he found it as it always was, ordered and clean. He eased his fatigued body into a chair near the Prince’s writing desk and sat back.
James lurched awake as Arutha entered a short while later. ‘Sleeping?’ asked the Prince with amusement as James came to his feet.
‘It was a very long and tiring ride home, Highness, followed by another night without sleep.’
Arutha waved James back into his chair and said, ‘Relax a bit while you talk, but don’t nod off again.’
‘Sire,’ said James as he sat. ‘Three of my informants have gone missing.’
Arutha nodded. ‘From what the good sheriff tells me, we have a rash of killings here in Krondor again, and this time it looks as if there’s no pattern. But the disappearance of your informants tells us someone knows more about us than we do about him, and doesn’t want us improving our knowledge.’
James said, ‘I don’t see any pattern either.’
‘Not yet,’ said the Prince. There was a knock at the door, and Arutha called out, ‘A moment.’ To James he said, ‘That would be Gardan with his retirement documents.’
‘He is leaving, then?’ asked James.
Arutha nodded. ‘I’m sorry to see him go, but he’s earned his rest. He’ll go home to Crydee and spend his last years with his grandchildren, and I can’t think of a better fate for any man. And I suspect he’s correct in his accusation that I don’t leave him much to do, really. He suggests I appoint someone with administrative talents to the post rather than a military man as long as I insist on personally supervising the army. And this conversation stays in this room.’
James nodded silently.
Pointing to the door, Arutha said, ‘Let Gardan in on your way out. Then go to your room and get some sleep. You’re excused from court duty this morning. You have a busy evening ahead of you.’
‘More scouting the city?’ asked James.
Arutha said, ‘No, my wife’s arranged a homecoming ball, and you must attend.’
James rolled his eyes heavenward. ‘Couldn’t I go crawl around in the sewers some more?’
Arutha laughed. ‘No. You’ll stand and look interested as rich merchants impress you with tales of their fiscal heroics, and their vapid daughters try to entice you with their marginal charms. That’s a royal command.’ He fingered a document upon his desk. ‘And we have word of an eastern noble headed our way for an unexpected visit. So we must be ready to entertain as well. And murder in the streets does so take the joy out of things, don’t you agree?’ he added dryly.
‘Yes, Highness.’
James opened the door and admitted Gardan, who nodded a greeting. After Gardan entered the room, James left, closing the door behind him.
The court was nearly empty. In a few moments, de Lacy and Jerome would admit nobles, merchants, and other petitioners to the great hall. With a nod of courtesy to the two men, James hurried out of another side door and started back towards his quarters. He might not look forward to another of Princess Anita’s galas, but he did hear his bed singing a siren call to him right now. The last few weeks in the north, especially almost a week-long horseback ride abetted by mystical herbs to ward off fatigue, had taken its toll.
As he reached the corner of two halls, he found a page and instructed the youth to awaken him one hour before the supper bell rang. James reached his room, went inside, and within minutes was fast asleep.
The musicians struck up a tune and Arutha turned to his wife and bowed. Less formal than the royal court in Rillanon, the Prince’s court in Krondor was no less bound by traditions. One such was that no one began dancing before the Prince and Princess.
Arutha was an adept dancer. That didn’t surprise James. No one could be as nimble when wheeling a sword as the Prince of Krondor and not have a superb sense of balance and exquisite timing. And the dances were simple. James had heard that the court dances in Rillanon were complex, very formal things, while here in the far more rustic west the court dances were similar to those performed by farmers and townspeople throughout the Western Realm, just executed with a bit more restraint and less noise.
James watched Arutha and Anita nod as one to the music master. He held up his bow and nodded to his musicians, a collection of stringed instruments, a pair of percussionists, and three men playing flutes of various sizes. A sprightly tune was struck up and Anita stepped away from Arutha, while holding his hand, and executed a twirling turn, which caused her ornate gown to flare out. She ducked skillfully under his arm, and James thought it was a good thing those silly large white hats the ladies wore this season were considered daywear only. He considered it improbable she could have got under Arutha’s arm without knocking it off.
The thought struck him as amusing and he smiled. Jerome, standing nearby said, ‘Something funny, James?’
James’s smile vanished. He had never liked Jerome, that distaste going back to their first encounter when James had arrived in court. After Jerome’s first – and last – attempt to bully him, James had knocked down the older boy, informing him pointedly that he was Prince Arutha’s personal squire and not about to be bullied by anyone. James had emphasized the message with the point of a dagger – Jerome’s own – deftly picked off his belt without Jerome noticing, and the message had never needed to be repeated.
Jerome had remained wary of James from that day on, though he had occasionally tried to bully the younger squires. Since becoming de Lacy’s apprentice, and in all likelihood the next Master of Ceremonies, Jerome had outgrown his bullying behaviour, and a polite truce had arisen between himself and James. James still considered him a fussy prig, but judged him far less obnoxious than he had been as a boy. And at times he was even useful.
James said, ‘Just an odd thought about fashion.’
Jerome let a slight smile show itself before turning sombre once more. He did not pursue the remark, but his slight change of expression indicated he appreciated James’s observation.
The court was at its lavish best, with every guest adorned in the height of Krondorian fashion. James found these annual shifts in taste odd and occasionally ridiculous, but bore up under them stoically. This year the guards’ uniforms had been changed, at the Princess’s request, as the old grey tabards were now considered too dull.
The honour guard along the walls wore light brown tunics – somewhere between copper and gold – marked with a black eagle soaring over the peak of a mountain. James wasn’t sure he liked the break with tradition, but noticed the Prince’s scarlet mantle of office still bore the old crest.
Another group of guests arrived and filtered into the ballroom. Leaning towards Jerome, James quietly asked, ‘The usual guests?’
Jerome nodded. ‘Local nobles, rich merchants, a few soldiers of rank who have earned our Prince’s favour.’
‘Any Keshians?’ asked James.
‘A few,’ said Jerome. ‘Traders.’ He glanced over at James and asked, ‘Or did you have some particular Keshians in mind?’
James shook his head a little as the dance came to a close. ‘No, but I wish I did.’
If Jerome was curious about the remark, he didn’t show it. James had come to admire his reticence, as a great deal of a Master of Ceremony’s time was spent dealing with idiots, many of them powerful and rich. The ability not to hear things convincingly was a skill James felt he lacked and needed to cultivate.
A bit of a bustle at the far end of the hall began as the first dance ended. Arutha bowed to Anita and offered his hand, which she took, to escort her back to the dais.
From the opposite end of the hall came the booming crack of de Lacy’s staff of office striking the floor heralding the arrival of someone of note. De Lacy’s old, but still strong, voice carried the hall, as he intoned, ‘Your Highnesses, Lord Radswil, Duke of Olasko!’
James said, ‘Radswil of Olasko?’
Jerome whispered, ‘Pronounced Rads-vil, you ignoramus. One of the Eastern Kingdoms – a duchy, actually.’ Looking with mock disdain at James he said, ‘Study the map, my friend. The man’s the younger brother of the Grand Duke Vaclav, and uncle to the Prince of Aranor.’ Dropping his voice even lower, Jerome said, ‘Which means he’s a cousin to the King of Roldem.’
A stir spread through the room as those who had occupied the dance floor parted to allow a large man and his retinue to cross to where Arutha and Anita were just sitting down. James studied the man and didn’t like what he saw.
The duke was a bruiser, James could tell, despite his fine raiment. A large velvet hat of dark maroon, looking like an oversized beret, dropped off to one shoulder, a large silver brooch with a long white feather sweeping back from it. His black jacket was tailored to fit snugly, and James could see the massive shoulders were not padded, but merely reinforced his impression that Lord Radswil could easily hold his own in the rougher inns of the city. Black leggings and stockings finished the ensemble, all of the finest make. The sword at his side was a rapier, much like the one Arutha wore, often used and a serious weapon. The only difference was that Radswil’s had a silver-and-gold-decorated bellguard.
At his left hand walked a young girl, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, wearing a dress to rival the Princess’s, though cut as daringly low as modesty permitted. James studied her face. She was pretty in a predatory way, with the eyes of a hunter. For a brief moment he gave thanks that Locklear was gone from the court. Since they were boys, James had joked that girls would get Locklear killed some day, and this one looked about as dangerous as any James had seen, despite her youth.
Then James felt eyes upon him and glanced across. At Radswil’s right hand walked two young men, about James’s own age from what he could tell. The one closest to the duke looked like a younger version of Radswil, heavy set, powerful of stature and full of confidence. The one farthest from the duke bore enough of a resemblance to be a younger brother, but he was leaner and his eyes had a menacing cast as he fixed them upon James. He was studying James as James had been studying the party, and intuitively James knew what that young man was doing; he was picking out potential enemies in court. James felt a chill run down his back as the duke bowed before Arutha.
Jerome, now acting the part of his office as assistant to the Master of Ceremonies, stepped forward and said, ‘Your Highnesses, may I present Radswil, Lord Steznichia, Duke of Olasko.’
Arutha said, ‘Welcome to our court, my lord. Your arrival catches us somewhat unprepared. We thought you would arrive later in the week.’
The duke bowed. ‘Apologies, Your Highness,’ he said in a deep voice, his speech only slightly accented. ‘We caught favourable winds from Opardum and arrived in Salador a week before we were scheduled. Rather than linger, we pressed on. I trust we have caused Your Highnesses no undue inconvenience?’
Arutha shook his head. ‘Not at all. We just lack a fitting welcome, that is all.’
The duke smiled and James felt no warmth from that expression. The man was polished and his education was obvious, but at heart there was that brawler James had recognized at once. ‘I’m sorry, Highness, I assumed the gala tonight was to welcome us.’
Anita’s face froze for a moment, then the duke turned to her and said, ‘Highness, I jest. The matter is one of scant importance. We call only out of courtesy to your office and your husband’s. We are bound for the Keshian port of Durbin. From there we will venture into the Trollhome Mountains, where we understand the hunting is both plentiful and exotic. Any small gesture of hospitality on your part is a boon beyond our expectation.’
James saw Jerome go slightly rigid. The fussy ex-squire was a stickler for protocol and the duke had managed to brush aside an apology from Arutha and return an insult, without making it obvious. This man obviously felt no timorousness being in the presence of a Prince.
Anita had been court bred and knew the intricacies of court manners. She knew that anything she said in response to the slight would only worsen her situation socially. She merely inclined her head and said, ‘I suspect the subtleties of the east are lost upon us here in the west. Would you present your companions?’
The duke bowed and turned to the younger of the two men. ‘Your Highness, may I present my nephew, His Highness, Vladic, son of my brother the Archduke, heir to the throne and Crown Prince of Olasko, Prince of the House of Roldem by blood.’ On cue the young man stepped forward and bowed in greeting to the Prince and Princess of Krondor. Then the duke said, ‘And this is Kazamir, my son and heir to my house, also Prince of the House of Roldem by blood.’ The other son bowed effortlessly, with exactly the proper deference for one of his rank before Prince Arutha. Smoothly, the duke turned and said, ‘And this is my daughter, Paulina, Princess of the House of Roldem by blood.’
Arutha nodded greeting. ‘You are all welcome in Krondor.’ He made a small gesture to Jerome, who hurried off to ready guest apartments for the duke and his entourage. James was again forced to concede that Jerome was good at what he did. He had no doubt the rooms would be aired, with wine and other refreshments on hand, and a squad of pages ready to do the duke’s bidding.
Arutha said, ‘We are celebrating a safe return from troubles to the north. You are most welcome to remain for the gala.’
The duke smiled. ‘My thanks. From the reports and gossip we heard along the way from Salador to Krondor, I suspect the troubles were not trivial. A gala is most appropriate to celebrate a Prince’s safe return.
‘I am tired from the journey, however, and will beg your forgiveness and retire. The children, perhaps, might enjoy some music and revelry after our long journey.’
James realized this was not an option, but an instruction. The two youngsters turned to their father and bowed, while the Crown Prince merely looked on for a moment, then inclined his head. Radswil bowed to the Prince and withdrew before Arutha had time to do more than wave agreement. Master de Lacy intercepted the duke and his retainers at the door and escorted them to the guest quarters.
Arutha turned to James and said, ‘Squire James, would you please see that our guests are refreshed?’
James bowed and stepped down the dais and presented himself to the duke’s children with a courtly bow. Keenly aware the introduction of the three youngsters revealed the Olaskans’ formality in matters of rank, James said, ‘Prince Vladic, Princess, Prince, may I offer you refreshments?’
Vladic studied James a moment, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, then he nodded.
With as deft a movement as James had seen, he found himself with the Princess Paulina’s arm through his, before he had even had the chance to offer his hand, a far more courteous gesture. The familiarity almost caught him off guard. ‘Tell me, squire,’ said Paulina, as they moved towards the large table where refreshments were offered, ‘how do you come to serve the Prince, personally?’
James was struck by two things at once. There was something about her, a scent, perhaps an exotic perfume, that caused his blood to race. He suddenly experienced a fierce desire. And that in turn caused what James had long called his ‘bump of trouble’ to start bothering him. Paulina was a pretty enough girl – many would even say beautiful – and easily one of the most attractive at the gala, but James was long used to the wiles of women and she was not so extraordinarily attractive that he should find himself being so irresistibly drawn to her.
He glared at the two young men, saw what he took to be a slight sense of amusement in Kazamir’s expression, and a mask of neutrality in Vladic.
Forcing his attention back to her question, he replied, ‘I was granted my office for service to the crown.’
Ever so slightly she drew away. ‘Oh?’ she said. If a single word could convey volumes of meaning, hers did.
James smiled his most charming smile and said, ‘Yes. You wouldn’t know, of course, being from so distant a land. Before coming to the Prince’s service, I was a thief.’
It took a massive application of will power on the Princess’s part not to push herself away from James. Her frozen smile looked almost painful as she said, ‘Really?’ while behind her, Kazamir suppressed a laugh. Even Vladic betrayed a slight upturn of his mouth, the hint of a smile.
Just then James spied William, who had been stationed by the table of refreshments, and said, ‘Allow me to introduce someone to you, Highnesses.’ He signalled for the young cadet to approach and when William did, James said, ‘Highnesses, I have the honour of presenting William conDoin, son of the duke of Stardock and cousin to our Prince. He’s about to be commissioned Knight-Lieutenant in the Prince’s army.’ He quickly named his companions in order of rank.
Instantly the Princess’s manner changed once more and again she was the vivacious charmer. William’s colour rose and now James was convinced there was something more to this Princess than her more obvious physical gifts. ‘Perhaps the cadet could show me some of the palace, while you entertain my brother and cousin, Squire James?’
James glanced at Swordmaster McWirth, who stood near the dais and with a nod of his head communicated the need for William to act as host to the visiting nobility. The old swordmaster’s expression turned slightly sour, but he nodded and James said, ‘William, I’m sure the Princess would love to see the tapestry gallery and Princess Anita’s gardens.’
As smoothly as an eel slipping through water, the Princess disengaged herself from James’s arm and attached herself to William. ‘And what shall I call you, young knight?’ asked the Princess.
‘Will, Your Highness. My friends call me Will.’
As William led the Princess off towards the tapestry hall, James indicated the food and wine to Prince Vladic, then Prince Kazamir. The Crown Prince took a goblet of wine and sipped it. ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Darkmoor?’
James nodded. ‘I believe so. Most of our best wines come from there.’
‘You’re not having any?’
James smiled. ‘I’m on duty.’
Kazamir nodded. ‘I understand. By the way, you handled that very deftly. Not many young men would give up my sister’s company so easily.’
‘I can well believe it,’ said James. ‘There’s something about her …’
Vladic studied James a moment, again appraising him, and James could not help but feel again that he was being sized up as a possible opponent. Vladic said, ‘You’re perceptive, squire. My cousin has a need to be admired by a great many men. She employs additional supplements to augment her natural appeal.’
‘Ah,’ said James. ‘Magic. A charm or a potion?’
‘Her left hand. A ring purchased from a woman who dabbles in such trinkets in our homeland. I fear this need for male attention that drives Paulina will eventually create difficulties for her future husband.’
‘Then she should either marry a man with great skills as a swordsman, or one with great patience.’
Vladic nodded, as he slipped his wine. He then took a small slice of melon from a platter and nibbled at it, his expression every so slightly indicating satisfaction with the fruit. ‘The court here in the west is a refreshing change from some of the environments we’ve discovered east of Salador.’
James nodded. ‘I have no doubt. West of Malac’s Cross things are very different. I’ve not spent much time in the east, but it is …’
‘More civilized?’ provided Kazamir.
James smiled. ‘I was about to say older, but if you prefer civilized, I’ll concede the point.’
Vladic smiled, and for the first time since they met James sensed the young man was letting his guard down a tiny bit. ‘Well, it’s a function of perspective, I warrant. Our nations are very old, while this Western Realm is relatively young. In Olasko, we haven’t seen an elf or goblin in centuries. There are six other states of some size between the far northern lands and Olasko.’
‘Elves are interesting,’ replied James. ‘And I’ve seen enough goblins to last me a lifetime.’
‘I hear they’re not terribly bright, but that they make good hunting,’ ventured Kazamir.
‘Well, if you’re interested in hunting something that carries a sword or bow, I guess.’ James shrugged. ‘I’m city bred and have little experience with hunting. I don’t understand the appeal of the sport.’
‘It livens up an otherwise dull life,’ said Vladic.
James grinned. ‘I’ve never found life to be dull, so I suppose that’s why.’
‘You’re a lucky man, then,’ said Kazamir. ‘We have our wars, often enough, but other than that, there’s little to occupy a man who craves excitement.’
Vladic said, ‘My cousin is like most of our nobles, and seeks glory in overt fashion. But the skills of arms, the sword and bow, the challenge of the hunt, those are secondary in importance to that.’ He pointed to where Arutha was listening to something being whispered into his ear by one of the local nobles. ‘He seeks office, or a suitable husband for a daughter or an ally against an enemy, or something from your monarch. Intrigue is a way of life in my father’s court.’
James laughed. ‘That’s Squire Randolph of Silverstown. I think he’s trying to convince the Prince to get one of his pesky neighbours to move his cattle off Silverstown’s meadows.’
Kazamir barked a rough sounding laugh. ‘A very small intrigue, then, cousin.’
Vladic looked slightly nettled to be mocked so, but said nothing.
‘Are you staying long in Krondor?’ asked James.
Kazamir shrugged. ‘Father has planned this as a tour of the west, so I expect we’ll stay a few days before moving on. He wishes to hunt the Trollhomes, where it is rumoured great boars reside, as well as wild trolls and even, if true, dragons.’
James could barely contain his amusement. ‘Having spied a dragon myself, may I suggest that only a madman would go looking for one?’
Kazamir’s expression darkened. ‘A madman?’
James quickly spread his hands in an apologetic gesture. ‘A jest, and obviously a poor one. It is just that dragons are everything you’ve heard of and more. If you hunt one, take an army with you.’
Kazamir’s expression softened slightly, but James couldn’t be certain the offence had been mitigated. He continued, ‘Even trolls are to be avoided unless you absolutely must face one. The lowland trolls may be barely more than wild animals, but they are more dangerous than any lion or bear you might hunt, for they are more cunning, and they hunt in groups of two or more. Their mountain kin have language and use weapons. You go hunting them, be assured they’ll be hunting you right back.’
‘Interesting,’ was all that Vladic said. Then he added, ‘How is the hunting in this region?’
‘Yes,’ said Kazamir with sudden interest. ‘Lions, perhaps?’
James shrugged. ‘If you go north, up into the foothills of the Calastius Mountains, you’ll find a good population of game. Closer to the King’s Highway it’s scarce, but once you get high into the hills there’s ample deer, elk, bear, and big leopards. Occasionally a wyvern comes down from the northern mountains and that’s as much dragon as I’d be willing to face.’
‘If we stay for more than a few days, would you be able to arrange a trip into those mountains?’ asked Vladic.
James nodded. ‘I’ll speak to the housecarl; he can arrange with the huntmaster and swordmaster to provide guides and men-at-arms. You could travel out for a day and reach some very rough terrain, where game is still plentiful.’
Vladic looked pleased, as did his cousin. ‘Good. I will speak with my uncle tomorrow and, depending on his plans, perhaps I will prevail upon him to depart the day after on such a journey.’
Kazamir’s smile broadened a bit. ‘I suspect, however, you’d better also contrive some distraction for my sister while we’re gone.’
James’s frown brought forth a laugh from Kazamir. The squire said, ‘I think I will prevail upon Princess Anita to fashion that distraction. I suspect most of the young men in the court might be faced with some difficulties given the duty to attend your sister.’
‘Yet you felt no difficulty in turning her over to that young cadet,’ observed Kazamir in a guarded tone.
James leaned over and lowered his voice in a conspiratorial fashion. ‘Young Will lacks … experience. No matter how attractive your sister, she would have to initiate anything … beyond an awkward flirtation, I think. And if I’m any judge of such things, I doubt she will.’
Kazamir slapped James on the shoulder and laughed. ‘You may be rural, James, but your grasp of certain subtleties is not. Yes, my sister is out seeking a well-connected husband. She will not lessen her chances of such by any idle dalliance. Her husband will expect her unsullied on their wedding night, and she will be. But she will make some young men very unhappy until that time comes.’
Given James’s background, his view of such issues was far less critical; he had known too many women while a boy, and as a man who enjoyed the pleasures of the bed, to think much of the notion that men had different standards from women. Still, he had met enough men, noble and common, who felt differently that he appreciated the prevalence of that attitude.
‘Given her use of … enhancements to her charms, doesn’t this make things difficult back home?’
‘Most men in Olasko are terrified of her father,’ said Vladic, putting down his now empty goblet of wine and refusing a refill by one of the servants. ‘In my homeland few would dare his wrath.’
James shrugged and nodded his head in agreement. ‘Seems a wise course were I a citizen of your nation; the duke appears a most formidable man.’
Kazamir’s smile vanished. ‘As all would do well to note, James.’ James was certain that remark was more directed at Vladic than at himself. Then Kazamir’s smile returned. ‘Still, it is tempting for men of my nation to pursue a prize like my sister.’
James blinked in confusion. ‘Prize?’
‘As I’ve mentioned, we are adventuresome, in Olasko. Hunting women ranks as high as hunting cave bears.’
‘An interesting way to put it,’ said James as neutrally as possible. ‘I think my friend Locklear would fit right in.’
‘He pursues women?’
‘Incessantly,’ said James.
‘Then I would suggest he be a well-practised swordsman,’ offered Vladic.
‘That he is, but why?’
Kazamir answered. ‘Because in my homeland a young man is expected to have as many women as he might, while it is also his duty to defend the honour of his sister with his blade should another man offend her.’
James grinned. ‘So you have a lot of duels in Olasko.’
Vladic returned the grin with a nod. ‘Constantly.’
James said, ‘Fortunately, my friend Locklear is on his way north to serve along the border for quite some time. We will be spared the spectacle of you having to skewer him early one chilly morning. I prefer to sleep in, given the chance.’
‘As do I,’ said the Crown Prince. ‘Given the length of the journey—’ he glanced around the room ‘—and the unlikelihood that I have time until the end of the gala to meet a receptive woman of rank, I think I shall retire.’
Kazamir glanced around the room, and then said, ‘I concur. I think a warm bed is more welcome than drink and dalliance tonight.’
Instantly James motioned for a page and when the youth approached, he instructed him to escort Princes Vladic and Kazamir to the guest apartments. He bid them both good night and then returned to the dais.
The musicians played on. As soon as he was again at Arutha’s side, James heard the Prince’s voice under the music. ‘What do you think about this visit?’
James spoke in tones just loud enough for the Prince to hear. ‘I think it’s odd. On the surface, it appears that the duke is looking for a suitable marriage of state for his daughter while indulging himself in some local hunting.’
‘On the surface,’ repeated Arutha, his gaze still on the dancers.
‘As there are few sons of suitable rank in this part of the Kingdom – well, none over the age of ten, anyway – that reason barely holds up under scrutiny.’
‘What other reason do you imagine?’
‘Well, the son says they want to hunt dragons and trolls out in the Trollhome, but I find that a bit difficult to fathom. We fought trolls near Romney just a few weeks ago, and I’m sure we left enough of them behind to entertain the duke and his companions for a lifetime. As for hunting dragons, even the dwarves don’t go looking for them. They wait until they show up, then turn the entire community out to fight them. No, the duke may be crazy enough to really want to hunt dragons and trolls, but that’s not his reason for coming west. I suspect the real reason for this journey will be found in Durbin.’
‘What could he want in Durbin? There are twenty major Keshian ports he could reach in the east.’
James shrugged. ‘If we knew what it was he was seeking in Durbin, we would know why he’s lying.’
Arutha glanced over at James. ‘You suspect something.’ He turned his attention back towards the dance floor.
James nodded. ‘But nothing I can give voice to. Just a vague sense that this all ties together, these murders, the disappearance of citizens, the arrival of this outland noble.’
‘If you discover the whole of the parts, let me know.’
James said, ‘You’ll be the first.’
‘Did you sleep?’
‘Earlier? Yes,’ said James, knowing what was coming next.
Arutha said, ‘Good, then you know what to do.’
James nodded, bowed to the Prince, crossed to bow to the Princess, then removed himself from the hall. As he left, he signalled for a page to follow. The young man fell into step behind him.
James hurried towards the tapestry room and found it empty. He quickly moved on to the Princess’s garden and found a very flushed William standing next to the Princess Paulina, obviously reduced to little more than a near babbling fool as the girl held tightly to his arm, chatting about the flowers.
‘Ahem,’ said James.
The relief on William’s face was abundantly clear as James bowed to the Princess. ‘Highness, this page will escort you to your quarters. Your father and brother have turned in for the night.’
‘But it’s early,’ said the girl with a pout.
‘If you prefer, he’ll escort you back to the gala. But Cadet William’s presence is required elsewhere.’ She seemed about to object, but James said, ‘By the Prince’s orders.’
She frowned, then forced herself to smile as she turned and said to William, ‘Thank you for being my guide. It is a pity things ended prematurely. Perhaps we’ll have time to continue later during our visit?’
‘M-m’lady,’ William stuttered.
James was seized by a rush of desire as the girl passed close to him while he bowed. As she retreated, the feeling faded.
James turned to find William blinking, obviously confused, and asked, ‘Are you all right, Willy?’
‘I don’t know,’ he replied, still blinking. ‘While we were together, I … I don’t know how to explain what I felt. But now that she’s gone …’
‘Magic,’ said James.
‘Magic?’
‘She employs magic, according to her brother,’ said James. ‘To heighten her charms.’
‘I find that difficult to believe,’ said William.
‘What an odd thing for someone raised on an island of magicians to say,’ observed James as William blushed. ‘Believe it.’ He put his hand on the young soldier’s arm. ‘I’ve got to take care of some business for Arutha, and you look like you could use a drink.’
‘I think I could,’ said William, ‘but I have to return to the Cadets’ Quarters.’
‘Not if you come with me,’ said James.
‘How does Arutha’s business involve me getting an ale?’
James grinned. ‘I have to poke around a few places, and the cover story of being out with a friend jumping from tavern to inn is just the thing.’
Sighing in resignation and trying hard not to imagine Swordmaster McWirth’s reaction to whatever plan James had in mind, William fell in beside his friend and they left the garden.
• CHAPTER FOUR • (#ulink_8af91b78-3556-5a1d-b278-5c6d6227680d)
Surprises (#ulink_8af91b78-3556-5a1d-b278-5c6d6227680d)
WILLIAM KEPT HIS EYES FORWARD.
He knew his every movement was being closely scrutinized by Swordmaster McWirth. The old soldier had always paid slightly more attention to William’s progress over the last year than with the other cadets, but with his commission set for the end of this week, it seemed lately that every single gesture and word was being evaluated.
William tried to attribute it to his having been an exceptional student, perhaps the best swordsman with the long two-handed sword in the garrison, as well as a proficient student of tactics and strategy. He also considered that his odd situation of being a royal cousin by adoption might have contributed to his being a ‘special project’ of the swordmaster’s. But no matter how he tried to please the old teacher these last few days, there was always something lacking in his efforts. Either a thrust was a hair’s breadth too low during sword practice, or his decision to reinforce a position in field training was a bit premature. William wondered briefly if the swordmaster had something against him personally, but then pushed aside the thought as McWirth came to stand before him. In a friendly tone, the old soldier said, ‘Late night, cadet?’
William still felt sand in his eyes from too little sleep, but he tried to will aside any shred of fatigue that clung to his bones. ‘Sir! Late enough, swordmaster!’ he said as briskly as he could.
‘Tired, cadet?’
‘No, swordmaster!’
‘Good,’ said McWirth, raising his voice so that the company of cadets could hear him, ‘because today we’re going on an exercise. Some very bad men have surrounded the village of Tratadon and we must ride very fast and rescue the daughters of Tratadon from the clutches of these evil men.’ Again, he looked at William and added, ‘Of course these particular bad men are garrison regulars who would love to embarrass a bunch of fuzzy-cheeked cadets, so just make sure they’re disappointed.’
As one, the cadets shouted, ‘Yes, swordmaster!’
‘Swords and saddles in fifteen minutes!’ cried the swordmaster.
William was off at a run with his companions and stole a quick glance up to the palace wing where he suspected his friend James was still sleeping. He was on the verge of a silent curse when he remembered that James hadn’t forced him to stay at the Rainbow Parrot, and that the girl, Talia, was very attractive. He really liked the way she smiled at him.
The thought was fleeting; for once he reached the armoury to collect his armour and weapons, he got too busy to think of anything but the coming exercise.
James glanced down at the courtyard where the cadets were scurrying towards the armoury to be fitted out for the day’s exercise. He had forced himself to remain awake while reading the day’s schedule and knew that William and the others had a gruelling day ahead of them. Tratadon was a ten-hour forced march and the squad sent out to play the part of bandits the night before would be well and firmly dug in. McWirth was making sure his lads knew exactly the sort of trouble they were most likely to encounter in their work.
‘Squire?’ came a soft voice, gently preventing James’s reverie from slipping into a fatigued doze.
‘Yes?’ James replied to the young page, forcing himself to wakefulness.
‘His Highness waits in his private office.’
James nodded, forcing aside the warm fatigue that made him feel like sleeping every time he stopped moving. As they reached the side door to Arutha’s office, another page opened the door so that James could march in without slowing his pace.
Arutha sat at his desk. He indicated two mugs and a large pot and said, ‘Please.’
James poured and was greeted by the aroma of dark, Keshian coffee. As he added a single spoonful of honey to the Prince’s mug, he said, ‘To think I couldn’t stand coffee a few years ago. Now I wonder how one gets through the morning without it.’
Arutha nodded as he took the offered mug. ‘Or chocha.’
James shrugged at mention of the Tsurani morning beverage. ‘Never developed a taste for it. Too bitter and spicy.’
Arutha waved James to a chair and said, ‘I’ve got court in fifteen minutes, but you’re not attending today. I need you to do two things, one trivial, one not so.’
James nodded but said nothing.
Arutha continued. ‘Duke Radswil and his family wish to hunt. You will instruct our huntmaster to ready a party to accompany the Prince of Olasko to the mountains for a day’s hunting the day after tomorrow.’
‘That’s the trivial,’ suggested James.
Arutha nodded. ‘Find your missing agents if possible, and see if you can discover the source of all this mayhem in our city. That will involve a rather delicate sort of diplomacy on your part, for you must first begin at the city jail with a social call on Sheriff Means.’
‘Now do I get to find out why he was waiting for us when we got back to Krondor?’
Arutha regarded his young friend with an appraising look. ‘You haven’t ferreted out that gossip by now?’
James stifled a yawn. ‘I’ve been too busy.’
Arutha drained his mug and stood. James stood as well. ‘We have some problems between the City Watch and the sheriff’s men. The sheriff was here complaining in part about Guard Captain Guruth’s soldiers, especially the squad over in the poor quarter.’
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Raymond E. Feist
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Зарубежное фэнтези
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: The second instalment of The Riftwar Legacy, Assassins reveals Feist at his storytelling best. There is intrigue, humour and breakneck action aplenty here from the undisputed master of epic fantasy.Fresh back from the front, another foe defeated, Prince Arutha arrives to find all is not well in Krondor. A series of apparently random murders has brought an eerie quiet to the city. Where normally the streets are bustling with merchants and tricksters, good life and night life, now there seems to be a self-imposed curfew at sundown.Mutilated bodies have been turning up in the sewers, the Mockers’ demense. The Thieves’ Guild has been decimated – men, women, children, it matters not. The head of the Mockers is missing, presumed dead. Those few who survived the terrible attacks are lying low. Very low.The Crawler, it seems, is back in town. And he’s being helped by others, more ruthless than he. Can it be the Nighthawks again? The Prince enlists his loyal Squire James to find out. If anyone can unravel what’s happening in the bowels of Krondor, he can. He knows the sewers like the back of his hand. Afterall, as Jimmy the Hand, he grew up there.Meanwhile, the retinue of the Duke of Olasko has arrived suddenly at the palace, a week ahead of schedule but with no apologies and many demands. They say they are here to hunt. But to hunt what. Pug’s son William, on his first posting as a knight-lieutenant, must escort them into the wilds. It should have been a straightforward mission…