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Krondor: Tear of the Gods
Raymond E. Feist
Third in the massively successful new Krondor series inspired by Feist’s global bestselling computer game Return to Krondor.A DROP IN THE OCEAN?A raid upon the high seas signals an attack of unprecedented magnitude by the forces of darkness. For the holiest of holies, the Tear of the Gods has been lost to the Temple of Ishap. After a raid planned by Bear, one of the most brutal pirates to sail the Bitter Sea, goes dramatically wrong, the colossal gems sink below the waves.So begins a story of the Tear of the Gods, the most powerful artifact known to the Temples of Midkemia. For it allows the temples to speak with their gods. Without it, they are lost for a decade, until another gem is formed in the distant mountains.Squire James, William, and Jazhara, new court magician, must seek out the location of this gem, with Brother Solon, a warrior priest of Ishap, and Kendaric, the sole member of the Wreckers’ Guild with the power to raise the ship. They are opposed by the minions of Sidi, servant of the Dark God, who seeks to possess the Tear for his own ends, or to destroy it, denying it to the forces of light.This third tale in The Riftwar Legacy is a breathless race for a priceless treasure. It’s a race against time, against the myriad sinister and competing evil forces desperate for the all-powerful prize, and ultimately against the fundamentals of nature, which in Midkemia can be as formidable as the Gods themselves







Copyright (#u178fbd43-b163-545f-a499-7fd2059d4765)
HarperVoyager
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2000
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: 9780008311278
Ebook Edition © January 2018 ISBN: 9780007352449
Version: 2018-11-13

Dedication (#u178fbd43-b163-545f-a499-7fd2059d4765)
For Bob Ezrin,
who else?
Contents
Cover (#u3b085036-66a4-5489-9793-8f71cb66b0c4)
Title Page (#udd2dcefd-13ed-5724-bcbe-80e12c4534eb)
Copyright
Dedication
Map
Prologue: Attack
Chapter One: Arrival
Chapter Two: Schemes
Chapter Three: Vow
Chapter Four: Secrets
Chapter Five: Monsters
Chapter Six: Intrigues
Chapter Seven: Conspiracy
Chapter Eight: Kendaric
Chapter Nine: Diversion
Chapter Ten: Goblins
Chapter Eleven: Haldon Head
Chapter Twelve: Dark Magic
Chapter Thirteen: Misdirection
Chapter Fourteen: Vampire
Chapter Fifteen: Two Fangs
Chapter Sixteen: Temple
Chapter Seventeen: Black Pearl
Chapter Eighteen: Tear of the Gods (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue: Challenge
Acknowledgements
About the Author
By the same author
About the Publisher

Map (#u178fbd43-b163-545f-a499-7fd2059d4765)



• PROLOGUE • (#u178fbd43-b163-545f-a499-7fd2059d4765)
Attack (#u178fbd43-b163-545f-a499-7fd2059d4765)
THE WEATHER WORSENED.
Dark clouds roiled overhead as angry lightning flashed, piercing the night’s blackness on all quarters. The lookout atop the highest mast of the ship Ishap’s Dawn thought he saw a flicker of movement in the distance and squinted against the murk. He tried to use his hand to shield his eyes as the salt spray and biting cold wind filled them with tears. He blinked them away and whatever movement he thought he had seen was gone.
Night and the threat of storms had forced the lookout to spend a miserable watch aloft, against the unlikely chance the captain had drifted off course. It was hardly possible, considered the lookout, as the captain was a knowledgeable seaman, chosen for his skill at avoiding danger as much as any other quality. And he knew as well as any man how hazardous this passage was. The Temple held the cargo’s value second to none, and rumours of possible raiders along the Quegan coast had dictated a hazardous tack near Widow’s Point, a rocky area best avoided if possible. But Ishap’s Dawn was crewed by experienced sailors, who were now closely attentive to the captain’s orders, and each was quick to respond, for every man aloft knew that, once upon the rocks at Widow’s Point, no ship survived. Each man feared for his own life – that was only natural – but these men were chosen not only for their seamanship, but also for fealty to the Temple. And they all knew how precious their cargo was to the Temple.
In the hold below, eight monks of the Temple of Ishap in Krondor stood around a most holy artifact, the Tear of the Gods. A jewel of astonishing size, easily as long as a large man’s arm and twice as thick, it was illuminated from within by a mystic light. Once every ten years a new Tear was formed in a hidden monastery in a tiny secret valley in the Grey Tower Mountains. When it was ready and most holy rites completed, a heavily armed caravan transported it to the nearest port in the Free Cities of Natal. There it was placed upon a ship and carried to Krondor. From there, the Tear and an escort of warrior monks, priests, and servants would continue on, eventually reaching Salador to then be taken by ship and transported to the mother Temple in Rillanon where it replaced the previous Tear, as its power waned.
The true nature and purpose of the sacred gem was known only to the highest ranking among those serving within the Temple, and the sailor high atop the main mast asked no questions. He trusted in the power of the gods and knew that he served a greater good. And he was being handsomely paid not to ask questions as much as to stand his watch.
But after two weeks of battling contrary winds and difficult seas, even the most pious man found the blue-white light which shone every night from below, and the monks’ incessant chanting, nerve-wracking. The duration of the unseasonable winds and unexpected storms had some of the crew muttering about sorcery and dark magic. The lookout offered a silent prayer of thanks to Killian, Goddess of Nature and Sailors (and then added a short one to Eortis, who some said was the true God of the Sea) that come dawn they would reach their destination: Krondor. The Tear and its escort would quickly leave the city for the east, but the sailor would remain in Krondor, with his family. What he was being paid would allow him a long visit home.
The sailor above thought of his wife and two children, and he smiled briefly. His daughter was now old enough to help her mother around the kitchen and with her baby brother, and a third child was due soon. As he had a hundred times before, the sailor vowed he’d find other work near home, so he could spend more time with his family.
He was pulled from his reverie by another flicker of movement towards shore. Light from the ship painted the storm-tossed combers and he could sense the rhythm of the sea. Something had just broken the rhythm. He peered through the murk, trying to pierce the gloom by strength of will, to see if they might be drifting too close to the rocks.
Knute said, ‘The blue light coming from that ship gives me a bad feeling, Captain.’
The man Knute addressed towered over him as he looked down. At six foot eight inches tall he dwarfed those around him. His massive shoulders and arms lay exposed by the black leather cuirass he favoured, though he had added a pair of shoulder pads studded with steel spikes – a prize taken off the corpse of one of Queg’s more renowned gladiators. The exposed skin displayed dozens of reminders of battles fought, traces of old wounds intersecting one another. A scar that ran from forehead to jawbone through his right eye, which was milky white, marked his face. But his left seemed to glow with an evil red light from within and Knute knew that eye missed little.
Save for the spikes on his shoulders, his armour was plain and serviceable, well oiled and cared for, but displaying patches and repairs. An amulet hung around his neck, bronze but darkened by more than time and neglect, stained by ancient and black arts. The red gem set in its middle pulsed with a faint inner light of its own as Bear said, ‘Worry about keeping us off the rocks, pilot. It’s the only reason I keep you alive.’ Turning to the rear of the ship, he spoke softly, but his voice carried to the stern. ‘Now!’
A sailor at the rear spoke down to those in the hold below, ‘Forward!’ and the hortator raised one hand, and then brought its heel down on the drum between his knees.
At the sound of the first beat, the slaves chained to their seats raised their oars and on the second beat they lowered them and pulled as one. The word had been passed, but the Master of Slaves who walked between the banks of oars repeated it. ‘Silently, my darlings! I’ll kill the first of you who makes a sound above a whisper!’
The ship, a Quegan patrol galley seized in a raid the year before, inched forward, picking up speed. At the prow, Knute crouched, intently scanning the water before him. He had positioned the ship so it would come straight at the target, but there was one turn that still needed to be made to port – not difficult if one reckoned the timing correctly, but dangerous nevertheless. Suddenly Knute turned and said, ‘Now, hard to port!’
Bear turned and relayed the order and the helmsman turned the ship. A moment later Knute ordered the rudder amidships, and the galley began to cut through the water.
Knute’s gaze lingered on Bear for a moment, and then he returned his attention to the ship they were about to take. Knute had never been so frightened in his life. He was a born pirate, a dock-rat from Port Natal who had worked his way up from being an ordinary seaman to being one of the best pilots in the Bitter Sea. He knew every rock, shoal, reef, and tide pool between Ylith and Krondor, and westward to the Straits of Darkness, and along the coast of the Free Cities. And it was that knowledge that had kept him alive more than forty years while braver, stronger, and more intelligent men had died.
Knute felt Bear standing behind him. He had worked for the enormous pirate before, once taking Quegan prize ships as they returned from raids along the Keshian coast. Another time he had served with Bear as a privateer, under marque from the Governor of Durbin, plundering Kingdom ships.
For the last four years Knute had run his own gang, scavengers picking over wrecks drawn upon the rocks by false lights here at Widow’s Point. It had been the knowledge of the rocks and how to negotiate them that had brought him back into Bear’s service. The odd trader named Sidi, who came to the Widow’s Point area every year or so, had asked him to find a ruthless man, one who would not shirk from a dangerous mission and who had no aversion to killing. Knute had spent a year tracking down Bear and had sent him word that there was a job of great risk and greater reward waiting. Bear had answered and had come to meet with Sidi. Knute had figured he’d either take a fee for putting the two men in touch, or he might work a split with Bear in exchange for use of his men and his ship. But from that point where Knute had brought Bear to meet with Sidi, on the beach at Widow’s Point, everything had changed. Instead of working for himself, Knute was now again working as Bear’s galley-pilot and first mate – Knute’s own ship, a nimble little coaster, had been sunk to drive home Bear’s terms: riches to Knute and his men if they joined him. If they refused, the alternative was simple: death.
Knute glanced at the strange blue light dancing upon the water as they drew down upon the Ishapian ship. The little man’s heart beat with enough force to make him fear it would somehow break loose from within. He gripped the wooden rail tightly as he called for a meaningless course correction; the need to shout diverted into a sharp command.
Knute knew he was likely to die tonight. Since Bear had expropriated Knute’s crew, it had simply been a matter of time. The man Knute had known along the Keshian coast had been bad enough, but something had changed Bear, made him far blacker a soul than before. He had always been a man of few scruples, but there had been an economy in his business, a reluctance to waste time with needless killing and destruction, even if he was otherwise unfazed by it. Now Bear seemed to relish it. Two men in Knute’s crew had died lingering, painful deaths for minor transgressions. Bear had watched until they had died. The gem in his amulet had shone brightly then, and Bear’s one good eye seemed alight with the same fire.
Bear had made one thing clear above all else: this mission’s goal was to take a holy relic from the Ishapians and any man who interfered with that mission would die. But he had also promised that the crew could keep all the rest of the Ishapian treasure for themselves.
When he heard that, Knute had begun to make a plan.
Knute had insisted upon several practice sorties, claiming that the tides and rocks here were treacherous enough in the daylight – at night a thousand calamities could befall the unprepared. Bear had grudgingly acquiesced to the plea. What Knute had hoped would happen did: the crew learned to take orders from him once Bear gave over command of the ship. Bear’s crew was made up of thugs, bullies, and murderers, including one cannibal, but they weren’t terribly intelligent.
Knute’s was a daring plan, and dangerous, and he needed more than a little luck. He glanced back and saw Bear’s eyes fixed on the blue light of the Ishapian ship as they bore down on it. One quick glance from face to face of his own six men was all Knute could afford, and then he turned back to the Ishapian ship.
He gauged his distance and the motion, then turned and shouted past Bear, ‘One point to port! Ramming speed!’
Bear echoed the command, ‘Ramming speed!’ Then he shouted, ‘Catapults! Ready!’
Flames appeared as torches were quickly lit, and then those torches were put to large bundles of skins full of Quegan Fire oil. They burst into flame and the catapult officer shouted, ‘Ready, Captain!’
Bear’s deep voice rumbled as he gave the order: ‘Fire!’
The lookout squinted against the wind-driven salt spray. He was certain he saw something shoreward. Suddenly a flame appeared. Then a second. For a moment size and distance were difficult to judge, but the sailor quickly realized with a surge of fear that two large balls of fire sped towards the ship.
Angry orange-red flames sizzled and cracked as the first missile arced overhead, missing the lookout by mere yards. As the fireball shot past, he could feel the searing heat.
‘Attack!’ he shouted at the top of his lungs. He knew full well the entire night watch had seen the fiery missiles; nonetheless it was his task to alert the crew.
The second fireball struck mid-decks, hitting the companionway that ran from below to the foredeck, and an unfortunate priest of Ishap was consumed in the sticky flames. He screamed in agony and confusion as he died.
The sailor knew that if they were being boarded, staying aloft was not a good idea. He swung from the crow’s nest and slid down a stay sheet to the deck below as another ball of flame appeared in the sky, arcing down to strike the foredeck.
As his bare feet touched the wooden planks, another sailor who shouted, ‘Quegan raiders!’ handed him a sword and buckler shield.
The thudding of a hortator’s drum echoed across the waves. Suddenly the night came alive with noise and cries.
From out of the gloom a ship reared, lifted high by a huge swell, and the two sailors could see the massive serrated iron ram extending from the galley’s prow. Once it slammed into its victim’s hull, its teeth would hold the rammed ship close, until the signal was given for the galley slaves to reverse their stroke. By backing water, the galley would tear a massive hole in Ishap’s Dawn’s side, quickly sending her to the bottom.
For an instant the lookout feared he would never see his children or wife again, and hastily uttered a prayer to whatever gods listened that his family be cared for. Then he resolved to fight, for if the sailors could hold the raiders at the gunwale until the priests emerged from below, their magic might drive off the attackers.
The ship heaved and the sound of tearing wood and shrieking men filled the night as the raider crashed into the Ishapian ship. The lookout and his companions were thrown to the deck.
As the lookout rolled away from the spreading fire, he saw two hands gripping the ship’s gunwale. The lookout gained his feet as a dark-skinned pirate cleared the side of the ship, and boarded with a leap to the deck, others following.
The first pirate carried a huge sword, curved and weighted, and he grinned like a man possessed. The lookout hurried towards him, his sword and shield at the ready. The pirate’s hair hung in oiled locks that glistened in the light from the flames. His wide eyes reflected the orange firelight, which gave him a demonic cast. Then he smiled and the lookout faltered, as the filed pointed teeth revealed the man to be a cannibal from the Shaskahan Islands.
Then the lookout’s eyes widened as he saw another figure rear up behind the first.
It was the last thing the lookout saw, as the first pirate swung his sword and impaled the hapless man, who stood rooted in terror at the sight before him. With his dying breath, he gasped, ‘Bear.’
Bear glanced around the deck. Massive hands flexed in anticipation as he spoke. His voice seemed to rumble from deep within as he said, ‘You know what I’m after; everything else is yours for the taking!’
Knute leaped from the raider’s craft to stand at Bear’s side. ‘We hit ’em hard, so you don’t have much time!’ he shouted to the crew. As Knute had hoped, Bear’s men rushed to kill the Ishapian sailors, while Knute signalled to the handful from his old crew, who headed towards the hatches and the cargo nets.
An Ishapian monk, climbing up the aft companionway to answer the alarm, saw the pirates spreading out in a half-circle around him. His brothers followed after. For a moment, both sides stood motionless, as they measured one another.
Bear stepped forward and in a voice like grinding stones said to the first monk, ‘You there! Bring me the Tear and I’ll kill you quickly.’
The monk’s hands came up and moved rapidly in a mystic pattern while enchanting a prayer to summon magic. The other monks took up fighting stances behind him.
A bolt of white energy flashed at Bear, but vanished harmlessly just inches before him as the ship heeled over and started to dip at the bow. With a scornful laugh, Bear said, ‘Your magic means nothing to me!’
With surprising speed for a man his size, Bear lashed out with his sword. The monk, still recovering from the shock of his magic’s impotence, stood helpless as Bear ran him through as if cutting a melon with a kitchen knife. The pirates let loose a roar of triumph and fell upon the other monks.
The monks, though empty-handed and outnumbered, were all trained in the art of open-handed fighting. In the end they could not stand up to pole weapons and swords, knives and crossbows, but they delayed the pirates long enough that the forecastle was already underwater before Bear could reach the companionway leading below decks.
Like a rat through a sewer grating, Knute was past Bear and down the companionway. Bear came second, the others behind.
‘We’ve got no time!’ shouted Knute, looking around the aft crew quarters; from the abundant religious items in view, he judged this area had been given over to the monks for their personal use. Knute could hear water rushing into the hole below the forecastle. Knute knew ships; eventually a bulkhead between the forecastle and the main cargo hold would give way and then the ship would go down like a rock.
A small wooden chest sitting in the corner caught his eye and he made straight for it, while Bear moved to a large door that led back to the captain’s cabin. Movement was becoming more difficult as the deck was now tilting, and walking up its slick surface was tricky. More than one pirate fell, landing hard upon the wooden planks.
Knute opened the small chest, revealing enough gems to keep him in luxury for the rest of his life. Like moths to a flame, several raiders turned towards the booty. Knute motioned to two other pirates close by and said, ‘If you want a copper for all this slaughter, get up on deck, help open the hatch, and lower the cargo net!’
Both men hesitated, then looked to where Bear struggled to open the door. They glanced at one another, then did as Knute instructed. Knute knew they would find two of his men already at the hatch and would fall in to help. If Knute’s plan were to work, everyone would have to do his part without realizing that the order of things on the ship had changed.
Knute unlatched a trapdoor in the middle of the deck, and let it swing open, revealing the companionway leading down into the cargo hold. As he stepped through the opening towards the treasure below, the ship started to take on water, and he knew she was fated to go down quickly by the bow. He and his men would have to move fast.
Bear was smashing himself uphill against a door that obviously had some sort of mystic lock upon it, for it hardly moved under his tremendous bulk. Knute cast a quick glance backwards and saw the wood near the hinges splintering. As he lowered himself into the hold, Knute looked down. He knew that there was enough treasure below to make every man aboard a king, for the odd man named Sidi who had told Bear about this ship had said that ten years’ worth of Temple wealth from the Far Coast and Free Cities would accompany the magic item Bear was to bring him.
Knute regretted having met Sidi; when he had first met him, he had no idea the so-called trader trafficked in the magic arts. Once he had discovered the truth, it was too late. And Knute was certain there was far more to Sidi than was obvious; Sidi had given Bear his magic amulet, the one that he refused to remove, day or night. Knute had always stayed away from magic, temple, wizard, or witch. He had a nose for it and it made him fearful, and no man in his experience reeked of it like Sidi, and there was nothing tender about that reek.
The cargo hatch above moved, and a voice shouted downward, ‘Knute?’
‘Lower away!’ commanded the little thief.
The cargo net descended and Knute quickly released it. ‘Get down here!’ he shouted as he spread the large net across the centre of the deck. ‘We’re taking on water fast!’
Four sailors slid down ropes and started moving the heavy cargo chests to the centre of the net. ‘Get the small one first!’ instructed Knute. ‘They’ll be gems. Worth more than gold, pound for pound.’
The sailors were driven by two goals: greed and fear of Bear. The massive captain was smashing through the door above with inhuman strength, and everyone in the crew knew as well as Knute that Bear was becoming more violent by the day. Even his own crew now feared to be noticed by Bear.
One of the men paused to listen to the fiendish shout as Bear finally smashed through the door. A half-dozen pirates, finished with butchering the ship’s crew, descended the ropes from the deck above and looked questioningly at the pilot. Knute said, ‘The captain said everything else was ours for the taking if he got that damn stone the priests were guarding. You going to let all this sink?’
They shook their heads and set to, working in pairs to move the larger chests and sacks into the nets, although Knute could see the doubt on their faces. But they hurried and got most of the booty in the net and tied it off.
‘Haul away!’ Knute shouted to the men above.
Pirates grabbed small chests and sacks and attempted to get back to the forward ladder. The ship was now heading down by the bow, picking up speed and rocking slightly from side to side. ‘Tell them to back water!’ shouted Knute, as he negotiated the ladder to the upper deck, clutching the small wooden chest as a mother would a baby. He saw a brilliant light coming through the captain’s cabin door and his eyes widened. Bear stood outlined against the glare, obviously struggling through the water as if engaged with a foe of some kind. ‘Get out!’ shouted Knute. ‘You’re going to drown!’ Not that Knute would shed a tear if that happened, but if Bear somehow came to his senses and made good his escape, Knute wanted to appear convincing in his role as loyal and concerned pilot.
Knute hurried to the gunwale and nimbly leaped atop it. Glancing at those behind him who were sliding across the deck, trying for the boat below, he called, ‘Hurry!’ The galley was backing away, and water rushed quickly into the hull of the Ishapian ship. Knute knew that, had he not given the order to back the galley, the weight of the dying ship might have pulled its bow under the waves.
A longboat bobbed on the water a few yards below and he muttered, ‘By the gods, I’ve gotta get out of this business.’
He glanced upward and saw the cargo boom with the net loaded with treasure being lowered to the deck of the galley. With a quick prayer to every god he could remember, Knute leaped from the sinking ship, hitting the water while he clutched the small chest with all his might. Weight pulled him downward and he struggled, and finally his head broke the surface as voices echoed across the water. With his free arm he struck out for the longboat, reaching it quickly. Strong hands reached over the side and pulled him aboard.
‘The ship sinks!’ men yelled as they leaped from the deck into the foam.
‘Leave the rest!’ shouted a man holding what appeared to be a large sack of gold coins. He hit the water, and after a minute his head broke the surface. He struggled mightily to get the sack aboard Knute’s boat.
‘No! Noooo!’ came Bear’s anguished cry from the bowels of the sinking ship as Knute helped the pirate aboard the boat.
‘Sounds like the boss is having a problem,’ said the drenched pirate.
‘Row,’ instructed Knute. The sailor complied and Knute looked over his shoulder. ‘Whatever the boss’s problems, they’re no longer ours.’
‘You going to leave him?’ said one of Knute’s men.
‘Let’s see if that cursed amulet keeps him alive on the bottom of the sea.’
One of the pirates grinned. Like the rest of his brethren he had been obedient out of fear as much as any loyalty to Bear. ‘If it does, he’s going to kill you, Knute.’
‘He’s got to find me first,’ said the wily pilot. ‘I’ve sailed with that murdering lunatic three times, which is two too many. You’ve been his slaves long enough. Now it’s our turn to live the high life!’
The pirates rowed. One of Bear’s crew said, ‘If he does make it out alive, he’ll find others to follow him, you know that? Why shouldn’t I cut your throat now and gain his favour?’
‘Because you’re greedy, like me. If you cut my throat, you’ll never get that galley safely out of these rocks. Besides, even if Bear lives, it’ll be too late,’ said Knute. ‘We’ll all be safely gone.’
They reached the galley and quickly climbed aboard, other longboats and a few swimmers reaching the ship at the same time. The ship creaked as the longboats were hoisted aboard. Men scrambled up ropes while others lowered nets to haul the riches taken from the Ishapian ship. The crew moved with an efficiency rarely seen, spurred on by equal shares of avarice and the fear that Bear would suddenly appear. Finally they lashed the cargo to the centre deck and Knute said, ‘Get underway!’
‘Where are we going?’ asked one of the pirates who had rowed Knute to the galley.
‘To a rendezvous down the coast. I’ve got some men waiting for us who will offload this cargo, then we row this galley out to sea and sink it.’
‘Why?’ asked another man as the crew gathered around Knute.
‘Why?’ echoed Knute. ‘I’ll tell you why, fool. That ship we took was the property of the Temple of Ishap. In a few days the entire world is going to be looking for the men who sank it. Bear’s got that ward against priests, but we don’t. We’ll divide up our shares and go our separate ways, tonight!’
‘Sounds good,’ said one of the sailors.
‘Then get to the oars! The slaves are half dead and I want us split up and every man on his own by sunrise!’ shouted Knute.
Just then, Bear’s voice cut through the storm. ‘It’s mine!! I had it in my hands!’
All eyes turned to the sinking ship, and against a lightning flash they could see Bear standing at the rail. Slowly, he climbed atop it, shook his fist as the retreating galley, and leaped into the water.
Like a spur to a horse, the sight of Bear plunging into the water as if to swim after them caused the sailors to spring to action. Below, the hortator’s drum began to sound as slaves were unchained and pushed aside by frantic pirates. Knute paused a moment to look where Bear had stood outlined against the lightning flashes. For an instant Knute could have sworn Bear’s eye had been glowing red.
Knute shuddered and turned his mind away from Bear. The man was terrible in his anger and his strength was unmatched, but even Bear wouldn’t be able to storm into the Prince’s city and find Knute.
Knute smiled. The men waiting for him were expecting a ship full of riches and a dead crew. Poisoned wine and ale waited below, and Knute would pass it out minutes before reaching the rendezvous. By the time the cargo was offloaded and aboard the wagons, every pirate and slave below would be a corpse. His own men would also be departed, but that was an unfortunate circumstance he couldn’t avoid. Besides, it meant more for him and those driving the wagons.
All his life he had waited for an opportunity like this and he was going to be ruthless in taking advantage of it. None of these men would lift a finger to help Knute, he knew, if his life was at risk, so what did he owe them? Honour among thieves might exist with the Mockers, where the Upright Man’s bashers ensured honourable behaviour, but on a ship like Bear’s, the rule was strictly survival by strength, or by wits.
Knute shouted orders and the ship heeled over as it turned against the waves, striking for a safer course away from the rocks of Widow’s Point. Soon the ship was clear of the last of the underwater rocks, and the rowers struck a steady pace. The little pilot moved to the stern of the galley and looked over the fantail. In a brief flash, for an instant, he thought he saw something in the water. It was a swimmer, following after the ship with a powerful stroke.
Knute’s eyes strained as he peered through the darkness, but nothing more was glimpsed of the swimmer. He rubbed his eyes. It must be the excitement, he thought, the chance to at last be rich and out from under the heel of men like Bear.
Turning his mind to the future, he again grinned. He had made deals before. He would pay off the wagoners, have them killed if necessary, and by the time he reached Krondor, every silver coin, every golden chain, every sparkling gem would be his.
‘Where are we going?’ asked a pirate.
‘Captain,’ said Knute.
‘What?’
‘Where are we going, Captain,’ Knute repeated, coolly.
The pirate shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, and said, ‘Where are we going, Captain? How far down the coast are your men?’
Knute grinned, knowing that this man – like every other man in the crew – would happily let him play at command up to the minute they’d cut his throat if they thought he would make them rich. He played along. ‘We’re meeting a gang at the beach north of Fishtown, outside of Krondor.’
‘Fishtown it is!’ said the man, quickly adding, ‘Captain!’
Throughout the night the crew rowed, and when dawn was less than two hours away, Knute called one of his most trusted crewmen over. ‘How are things?’
‘Bear’s men are nervous, but they’re not smart enough to plan anything if they think they might lose out on what we’ve taken. But they’re still jumpy. You don’t cross someone like Bear and sleep soundly.’
Knute nodded, then said, ‘If everything’s secure, there’s some wine and ale below. Break it out.’
‘Aye, Captain,’ said the man, his grin widening. ‘A celebration, eh? That will take the edge off.’
Knute returned the grin, but said nothing.
Within minutes the noise of celebration emanated from below. For hours all Knute had heard was an ominous silence punctuated by the sound of rhythmic rowing, oars groaning in their oarlocks, wood creaking as the hull flexed, and the rattle of tackle and blocks in the rigging. Now the murmur of voices arose, some joking, others surprised, as men made the rounds of the rowing benches with casks and cups.
One of the pirates looked at Knute across the deck and Knute shouted, ‘See that those aloft go below for a quick drink! I’ll take the helm!’
The pirate nodded, then shouted aloft as Knute made his way to the stern of the ship. He said to the helmsman, ‘Go get something to drink. I’ll take her in.’
‘Going to beach her, Captain?’
Knute nodded. ‘We’re coming in a bit after low tide. She’s heavy as a pregnant sow with all this booty. Once we offload, when high tide comes in, she’ll lift right off the beach and we can back her out.’
The man nodded. He was familiar with the area near Fishtown; the beaches were gentle and Knute’s plan made sense.
Knute had chosen a slow-acting poison. As he took the helm, he calculated that he’d be coming into the beach by the time the first men began to pass out. With luck, those still alive would assume their companions were insensible from drink. With even more luck, the wagoners he had hired out of Krondor wouldn’t have to cut any throats. They were teamsters working for a flat fee, not bully boys.
Knute had piled one lie atop another. The wagoners thought he was working for the Upright Man of Krondor, the leader of the Guild of Thieves. Knute knew that without that lie he would never control them once they saw the wealth he was bringing into the city. If the teamsters didn’t believe a dread power stood behind Knute, he’d be as dead as the rest of the crew come morning.
The sound of the water changed, and in the distance Knute could hear breakers rolling into the beach. He hardly needed to look to know where he was.
One of the pirates came staggering up the companionway from below and spoke. His speech was slurred. ‘Captain, what’s in this ale? The boys are passin’ …’ Knute smiled at the seaman, a young thug of perhaps eighteen years. The lad pitched forward. A few voices from below shouted up to the deck, but their words were muffled, and quiet soon descended.
The oars had fallen silent and now came the most dangerous part of Knute’s plan. He lashed down his tiller, sprang to the ratlines and climbed aloft. Alone he lowered one small sail, shimmied down a sheet, and tied off. That little sail was all he had to keep him from turning broad to the waves and being smashed upon the beach.
As he reached the tiller, a hand descended upon Knute’s shoulder, spinning him around. He was confronted by a leering grin of sharpened teeth as dark eyes studied him. ‘Shaskahan don’t drink ale, little man.’
Knute froze. He let his hand slip to a dagger in his belt but waited to see what the cannibal would do next. The man was motionless. ‘Don’t drink ale,’ he repeated.
‘I’ll give you half the gold,’ Knute whispered.
‘I take all of it,’ said the cannibal, as he drew out his large belt knife. ‘And then I eat you.’
Knute leaped backward and drew his own knife. He knew that he was no match for the veteran killer, but he was fighting for his life and the biggest trove of riches he would ever see. He waited, praying for a few more moments.
The cannibal said again, ‘Shaskahan don’t drink ale.’ Knute saw the man’s legs begin to shake as he took a step forward. Suddenly the man was on his knees, his eyes going blank. Then he fell face forward. Knute cautiously knelt next to the man and examined him. He sheathed his knife as he leaned close to the cannibal’s face, sniffed once, then stood.
‘You don’t drink ale, you murdering whore’s son, but you do drink brandy.’
With a laugh Knute unlashed the tiller as the ship swept forward into breakers. He pointed it like an arrow at a long, flat run of beach and as the ship ploughed prow first into the sand, he saw the three large wagons sitting atop the bluffs. Six men who’d been sitting on the shore leapt to their feet as the ship ground to a halt in the sand. Knute had ordered the wagons not be brought down to the cove, for once loaded they’d be sunk to their hubs in sand. The teamsters would have to cart all the gold up the small bluff to the wagons. It would be hard, sweaty work.
No sooner had the ship stopped moving than Knute was shouting orders. The six wagoners hurried forward, while Knute pulled his knife. He was going to ensure no one below recovered from too little poison, then he was going to get that treasure to Krondor.
There was one man in the world he knew he could trust and that man would help him hide all these riches. Then Knute would celebrate, get drunk, pick a fight, and get himself thrown into jail. Let Bear come for him, thought Knute, if by some miracle he had survived. Let the crazed animal of a pirate try to reach him in the bowels of the city’s stoutest jail, surrounded by the city watch. That would never happen – at the very least Bear would be captured by the city guards; more likely he’d be killed. Once Knute knew for certain Bear’s fate, he could bargain for his own life. For he was the only man who knew where the Ishapian ship had gone down. He could lead the Prince’s men and a representative of the Wreckers’ Guild to the site, where the Wreckers’ Guild’s mage could raise the ship and they could offload whatever trinket it was that Bear had been after. Then he’d be a free man while Bear rotted in the Prince’s dungeon or hung from the gibbet or rested at the bottom of the sea. And let everyone think the rest of the treasure went down with the pirate ship in the deep water trench just a mile offshore.
Knute congratulated himself on his masterful plan, and set about his grisly work, as the wagoners from Krondor climbed aboard to offload ‘the Upright Man’s treasure.’
Miles away as the dawn broke, a solitary figured emerged from the breakers. His massive frame hung with clothing tattered and soaked from hours in the brine. He had tossed aside his weapons to lighten himself for a long swim. One good eye surveyed the rocks and he calculated where he had come ashore. With dry sand under his now bare feet, the huge pirate let out a scream of primal rage.
‘Knute!’ he shouted at the sky. ‘By the dark god I’ll hunt you down and have your liver on a stick. But first you’ll tell me where the Tear of the Gods is!’
Knowing that he had to find weapons and a new pair of boots, Bear turned northward, towards the secret temple at Widow’s Peak and the village of Haldon’s Head. There he would find some men to serve him and with their help they would track down Knute and the others. Every member of his crew who had betrayed him would die a slow, agonizing death. Again Bear let out a bellow of rage. As the echoes died against the windswept rocks, he squared his shoulders and began walking.

• CHAPTER ONE • (#u178fbd43-b163-545f-a499-7fd2059d4765)
Arrival (#u178fbd43-b163-545f-a499-7fd2059d4765)
JAMES HURRIED THROUGH THE NIGHT.
As he moved purposefully across the courtyard of the Prince’s palace in Krondor, he still felt the odd ache and twinge, reminders of his recent beating at the hands of the Nighthawks while he had been their captive. For the most part he was nearly back to his usual state of fitness. Despite that, he still felt the need for more sleep than usual, so of course, he had only just settled into a deep slumber when a page came knocking upon his door and informed James that the overdue caravan from Kesh had been sighted approaching the city. James had gotten up and dressed despite every fibre of his being demanding that he roll over in his warm bed and return to slumber.
Silently cursing the need to meet the arriving magician, he reached the outer gate where two guards stood their stations.
‘Evening, gentlemen. All’s well?’
The senior of the two guards, an old veteran named Crewson, saluted. ‘Quiet as the grave, Squire. Where’re you bound at this ungodly hour?’ He motioned for the other guard to open the gate so that James could leave the precinct of the palace.
Stifling a yawn, James said, ‘The Prince’s new mage has arrived from Stardock, and I’ve the dubious honour of meeting her at the North Gate.’
The younger guard smiled in mock sympathy. ‘Ah, you’ve all the luck, Squire.’ He swung the gate wide to allow James to depart.
With a wry smile, James passed through the opening. ‘I’d rather have a good night’s sleep, but duty calls. Fare you well, gentlemen.’
James picked up his pace, as he knew the caravan would disband quickly upon arrival. He wasn’t worried about the magician’s safety, as the city guard would be augmented by caravan guards coming off duty, but he was concerned over the possible lapse in protocol should he not be there to greet her. While she might be only a distant relative of the Ambassador from Great Kesh to the Western Court, she was still a noble by rank, and relations between the Kingdom of the Isles and Great Kesh had never been what one might call tranquil. A good year was one in which there were three or fewer border skirmishes.
James decided to take a shortcut from the palace district to the North Gate, one that would require he pass through a warehouse district behind the Merchants’ Quarter. He knew the city as well as any living man, and had no concerns about getting lost, but when two figures detached themselves from the shadows as he rounded a corner, he cursed himself for a fool. The out-of-the-way route was unlikely to be host to many citizens abroad on lawful business at this time of night. And these two looked nothing like lawful citizens.
One carried a large billy club and had a long belt knife, while the other rested his hand easily upon a sword. The first wore a red leather vest while his companion wore a simple tunic and trousers. Both had sturdy boots on, and James instantly recognized them for what they were: common street thugs. They were almost certainly freebooters, men not associated with the Mockers, the Guild of Thieves.
James pushed aside his self-recriminations for taking this shortcut, for the matter was now beyond changing.
The first man said, ‘Ah, what’s the city coming to?’
The second nodded, moving to flank James should he try to run. ‘It’s a sad state of affairs. Gentlemen of means, wanderin’ the streets after midnight. What can they be thinking?’
Red-vest pointed his billy club at James and said, ‘He must be thinkin’ his purse is just too heavy and be hopin’ for a helpful pair like us to relieve him of it.’
James let out a slow breath and calmly said, ‘Actually, I was thinking about the foolishness of men who don’t recognize a dangerous mark when they see one.’ He drew his rapier slowly and moved the point to halfway between the two men, so that he would be able to parry an attack from either man.
‘The only danger here is tryin’ to cross us,’ said the second thug, drawing his sword and lashing out at James.
‘I really don’t have time for this,’ James said. He parried the blow easily and riposted. The swordsman barely pulled back in time to avoid being skewered like a holiday pig.
Red-vest pulled out his belt knife and swung his billy club, but James ducked aside and kicked out with his right leg, propelling the man into his companion. ‘You still have time to run away, my friends.’
Red-vest grunted, recovered his balance, and rushed James, threatening with the billy club while holding his knife in position to do the real damage. James recognized the man’s outrage – this was no longer a simple mugging; these two men now meant to kill him. He ignored the billy club, dodging towards it rather than away, and sliced at the man’s left wrist. The knife fell to the stones with a clatter.
While Red-vest howled in pain and fell back, his companion came rushing in, his sword cocked back over his shoulder. James danced backward for two steps, and as the man let fly with his wide swing – designed to decapitate the young squire – James leaned forward in a move he had learned from the Prince, his left hand touching the stones to aid his balance and his right hand extending out. The attacker’s sword passed harmlessly over James’s head and he ran onto the point of James’s rapier. The man’s eyes widened in shock and he came to an abrupt halt, looked down in disbelief, then collapsed to his knees. James pulled his sword point free and the man toppled over.
The other brigand caught James by surprise coming over the shoulder of his collapsing friend, and James barely ducked away from a thrust that would have certainly split his head. He took a glancing blow on his left shoulder, still sore from the beating he had taken at the hands of the Nighthawks, and gasped at the unexpected pain. The hilt of the knife had struck, so there was no blood – his tunic wasn’t even ripped – but damn it, he thought, it hurt!
James’s training and battle-honed reflexes took over, and he turned with the attacker, his sword lashing out again as the man went by, and stood behind him as he too went down to his knees, then toppled over. James didn’t even have to look to know his sword had cut Red-vest’s throat in a single motion.
James wiped his sword off on the shirt of the first man he had killed and returned it to its sheath. Rubbing his sore left shoulder, he shook his head and muttered, ‘Idiots,’ quietly under his breath. Resuming his journey he marvelled, not for the first time, at humanity’s capacity for stupidity. For every gifted, brilliant man like Prince Arutha, there seemed to be a hundred – no, make that a thousand – stupid men.
Better than most men in the Prince’s court, James understood the petty motives and narrow appetites of most citizens. As he turned his back on the two dead men, he acknowledged to himself that most of the population were decent people, people who were tainted by only a little larceny, a small lie about taxes owed, a little shorting of a measure, but in the main they were good.
But he had seen the worst and best of the rest, and had gone from a fraternity of men bent on trivial gain by any means, including murder, to a fellowship of men who would sacrifice even their own lives for the greater good.
His ambition was to be like them, to be noble by strength of purpose and clarity of vision rather than by accident of birth. He wanted one day to be remembered as a great defender of the Kingdom.
Ironically, he considered how unlikely it was that that would ever happen, given his current circumstance. He was now commissioned to create a company of spies, intelligence men who were to act on behalf of the Crown. He doubted Prince Arutha would appreciate him telling the ladies and gentleman of the court about it.
Still, he reminded himself as he turned another corner – glancing automatically into the shadows to see if anyone lurked there – the deed was the thing, not the praise.
Absently rubbing his right shoulder with his left hand, he noted how it had been overstrained by the swordplay. The little exercise with the two brigands was reminding him he wasn’t fully healed from his recent ordeal in the desert at the hands of the Nighthawks – a band of fanatic assassins. He had been up and around within days of returning to Krondor, but he was still feeling not quite right after three weeks. And two sore shoulders would continue to remind him of it all for a couple of days, at least.
Sighing aloud, James muttered to himself: ‘Not as spry as I once was, I fear.’
He cut through another alley that brought him around the corner to the street leading to the North Gate. He found himself passing the door of a new orphanage, recently opened by the Order of Dala, the goddess known as ‘Shield to the Weak.’ The sign above the door featured a yellow shield with the Order’s mark upon it. Princess Anita had been instrumental in helping to secure the title to the building and funding it for the Order. James wondered absently how different his life might have been had he found his way to such a place when his mother had died, rather than ending up in the Guild of Thieves.
In the distance he could see two guardsmen speaking with a solitary young woman. He left off his musings and quickened his pace.
As he approached, he studied the young woman. Several facts were immediately manifest. He had expected a noblewoman of Kesh, bedecked in fine silks and jewellery, with a complement of servants and guards at her disposal. Instead he beheld a solitary figure, wearing clothing far more appropriate for rigorous travel than for court ceremony. She was dark-skinned, not as dark as those who lived farther south in Great Kesh, but darker than was common in Krondor, and in the gloom of night, her dark hair, tied back in a single braid, reflected the flickering torchlight with a gleam like a raven’s wing. Her eyes, when they turned upon James, were also dark, almost black in the faint light.
Her bearing and the set of her eyes communicated an intensity that James often admired in others, if it was leavened with intelligence. There could be no doubt of intelligence, else Pug would never have recommended her for the post as Arutha’s magical advisor.
She carried a heavy staff of either oak or yew, shod at both ends in iron. It was a weapon of choice among many travellers, especially those who by inclination or lack of time couldn’t train in blades and bows. James knew from experience it was not a weapon to be taken lightly; against any but the most heavily-armoured foe a staff could break bones, disarm or render an opponent unconscious. And this woman appeared to have the muscle to wield it effectively. Unlike the ladies of Arutha’s court, her bare arms showed the effects of strenuous labour or hours spent in the weapons yard.
As he neared, James summed up his first impression of the new court magician: a striking woman, not pretty but very attractive in an unusual way. Now James understood his friend William’s distress at the news of her appointment to the Prince’s court. If she had been his first lover, as James suspected, William would not easily put her behind him, not for many years. Given his young friend’s recent infatuation with Talia, the daughter of a local innkeeper, James chuckled to himself as he surmised that William’s personal life was about to get very interesting. James didn’t envy him the discomfort, but knew it would no doubt prove entertaining to witness. He smiled to himself as he closed upon the group.
One of the two guards conversing with the young woman noticed James and greeted him. ‘Well met, Squire. We’ve been expectin’ you.’
James nodded and replied, ‘Gentlemen. My thanks for keeping an eye on our guest.’
The second guard chimed in. ‘We felt bad, I mean, her bein’ a noble and all, and havin’ to wait so long, but we didn’t have enough men to send with her to the palace.’ He indicated the other pair at the far end of the gate.
James appreciated their dilemma. If any of them had left his post, for whatever reason, without permission, the guard captain would have had their ears. ‘Not to worry. You’ve done your duty.’
Turning to the young woman, James bowed and said, ‘Your pardon, milady, for making you wait. I am Squire James of Krondor.’
The young magician smiled and suddenly James reevaluated his appraisal. She was very pretty, if in an unusual fashion for the women of the Western Kingdom. She said, ‘It is I who should apologize for arriving at this unseemly hour, but our caravan was delayed. I am Jazhara, most recently of Stardock.’
Glancing around, James said, ‘A pleasure to meet you, Jazhara. Where is your entourage?’
‘At my father’s estates on the edge of the Jal-Pur desert. I had no servants at Stardock and requested none to travel here. I find that the use of servants tends to weaken the will. Since I began studying the mystic arts, I have always travelled alone.’
James found the availability of servants one of the key attractions of the Prince’s court; always having someone around to send on errands or fetch things was very useful. He was also now embarrassed to discover he should have ordered a squad of soldiers to escort Jazhara and himself back to the palace; her rank required such, but he had assumed she’d have her own bodyguards in place. Still, if she didn’t bring it up, neither would he. He merely said, ‘I quite understand. If you are willing, however, we can leave your baggage under the watch of the guards, and I will arrange to have it brought to the palace in the morning.’
‘That will be fine. Shall we go?’
He decided to avoid shortcuts and keep to the broader thoroughfares. It would take a bit longer to reach the palace, but would afford them safer travel. He suspected that in addition to knowing how to use that staff to good effect, Jazhara probably had several nasty magician’s tricks at her disposal, but the risk of an international incident to save a few minutes’ walk wasn’t worth it.
Deciding that being direct was his best course, James asked, ‘What does your great-uncle think of this appointment?’
Jazhara smiled. ‘I do not know, but I suspect he is less than happy. Since he was already unhappy that I chose to study at Stardock – over my father’s objections – rather than marry a “suitable young lord,” I fear I’ve likely put him in a dark mood.’
James smiled. ‘Having met your great-uncle on a few occasions, I should think you’d want to stay on his good side.’
With a slight twist of her lips, Jazhara said, ‘To the world he is the mighty Lord Hazara-Khan, a man to be dreaded by those who put their own interests ahead of the Empire’s. To me he is Uncle Rachman – “Raka” I called him because I couldn’t manage his name when I was little – and he can deny me little. He wanted to marry me off to a minor prince of the Imperial House, a distant cousin to the Empress, but when I threatened to run away if he sent me south, he relented.’
James chuckled. They rounded a corner and headed down a large boulevard that would eventually lead them back to the palace.
After only a few minutes, James found himself enjoying the company of this young woman from Kesh. She was quick, observant, keen-eyed, and witty. Her banter was clever and entertaining without the acerbic, nasty edge one found so often among the nobles of the Prince’s court.
Unfortunately, she was too entertaining: James suddenly realized he had turned a corner a few streets back without thinking and now they were in the area he had planned on avoiding.
‘What is it?’ Jazhara asked.
James turned and grinned at her, a grin that could barely be seen in the faint glow of a distant lantern hanging outside an inn. ‘You’re very perceptive, milady.’
‘It’s part of the trade, sir,’ she replied, her voice a mix of playfulness and caution. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘I just got caught up in our discourse and without thought turned us into a part of the city it might be best to avoid at this hour.’
James noticed a very slight shift in the way she held her staff, but her voice remained calm. ‘Are we in danger?’
‘Most probably not, but one never knows in Krondor. Best to be alert. We shall be at the palace in a few minutes.’
Without comment, they both picked up the pace slightly, and hurried along, each watching the side of the street for possible assailants in the gloom, James taking the left, Jazhara the right.
They had rounded the corner that put them in sight of the palace district when a sound echoed off to James’s left. He turned and as he did so he recognized the trap: a pebble being tossed from the right.
As he turned back towards Jazhara, a small figure darted from the shadows. Jazhara had also spun to look in the same direction as James and was slow to recover.
The assailant darted close, a blade flashed, and suddenly a child was running down the street clutching Jazhara’s purse.
James had been prepared for an attack, so it took an instant for him to realize that a street urchin had robbed Jazhara. ‘Hey! Stop! Come back here!’ he shouted after the fleeing child.
‘We have to stop him,’ said Jazhara. ‘Besides a few coins, my purse has items which could prove fatal to a child.’
James didn’t hesitate.
He knew the city as well as any man, and after a moment’s pursuit, he slowed. ‘What is it?’ asked Jazhara.
‘If memory serves, he just ducked into a dead end.’
They turned into the alley after the cutpurse and saw no sign of him.
‘He’s gone!’ Jazhara exclaimed.
James laughed. ‘Not quite.’
He moved to what looked to be some heavy crates, and reached around behind them, pulling away a piece of cloth tacked to the back. With a quick motion, in case the young thief was inclined to use the blade to defend himself, James snatched a thin arm.
‘Let me go!’ shouted a young girl who looked no older than ten, dressed in rags. She dropped her blade and Jazhara’s purse on the cobbles.
James knew it was a ruse to get him to release her arm and pick up the purse, so he held firm. ‘If you’re going to be a thief, you must learn who to mark and who to leave be.’
He turned to block her path if she tried to run and held her arm loosely. Kneeling so that he was at eye level with her, he asked, ‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’
Quickly sensing that this man and woman weren’t trying to harm her, the girl relaxed slightly. ‘Nita,’ she said with a tiny hint of defiance. ‘Mommy called me that after Prince ’Rutha’s wife, ’Nita.’
James couldn’t help but smile. He knew Princess Anita would be flattered to hear of that tiny honour. ‘I’m Squire James, and this is Jazhara, the court mage.’
The girl seemed less than reassured at being confronted by two members of the court. ‘Are you going to take me to jail?’
‘James,’ said Jazhara, ‘you’re not going to put this child in jail, are you?’
With mock seriousness, James said, ‘By rights I should. A dangerous criminal like this preying on innocent people at night!’
The child’s eyes widened slightly, but she stood unafraid and didn’t flinch. James softened his tone. ‘No, child. We’ll not put you in jail. There’s a place we could take you, if you like. It’s called the Sign of the Yellow Shield. They take care of children like you.’
The reaction was instantaneous. ‘No! No! You’re just like the other men. You’re just like the bad men!’ She struck at James’s face with her free hand, and tried to pull away.
James hung on. ‘Hold on! Hold it! Stop hitting me for a minute.’
The girl ceased hitting him, but still kept tugging. James slowly let go of her arm and held up his hands, palms out, showing that he was not going to grab her again. ‘Look, Nita, if you want to stay here that’s fine. We’re not going to hurt you,’ he said softly.
Jazhara asked, ‘Who were you talking about, Nita? Who were the bad men?’
The girl looked up at the mage and said, ‘They say they’re like the Yellow Shield, and all good children go with them, but they hurt me!’ Her eyes started to fill with tears, but her voice was firm.
James asked, ‘How did they hurt you?’
Nita looked at the former boy-thief and said, ‘They took me to the big house, and they locked me in a cage, like all the other children. Then they told me to dye cloth for Yusuf, or else they’d beat me, and some of the other children, the bad children, they took and they never came back and there were rats and squirmy things in our food and—’
‘This is horrible,’ said Jazhara. ‘We must act on this “Yusuf,” but first we must care for Nita.’
‘Well, I suppose we could take her to the palace,’ began James, turning to look at Jazhara.
It was the chance the girl had waited for. As soon as James looked away from her, she was off, sprinting down the alley towards the street.
James stood and watched her turn the corner, knowing that he could probably chase her down, but deciding not to. Jazhara stared at James with an unspoken question in her eyes. James said, ‘I told her she could stay with us if she wanted to.’
Jazhara nodded. ‘Then you will do something about this?’
James leaned down to pick up Jazhara’s purse. He dusted it off and as he handed it to her he said, ‘Of course I will. I grew up on these streets. This isn’t about duty; it’s personal.’
Jazhara turned away from the palace and started walking back the way they had come.
‘Hey!’ said James, hurrying to catch up. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Unless this Yusuf lives in the palace, we need to go deeper into this poor section of the city, I am guessing.’
‘Good guess,’ said James. ‘There’s a dyer named Yusuf up in what’s called “Stink Town,” to the north – it’s where all the tanners, slaughterhouses, and other aromatic businesses are housed. But now?’
Looking at James with a resolute expression, Jazhara said, ‘We can’t start any sooner, can we?’
‘Apparently not,’ replied James. Then he grinned.
James kept his eyes moving, peering into every shadow, while Jazhara gazed resolutely forward, as if fixed upon a goal. As they walked purposefully through the Poor Quarter of Krondor, Jazhara said, ‘Do you expect trouble?’
‘Constantly,’ answered James, glancing down a side-street they were passing.
The rising stench in the air told them they were close to their destination, the area of the Poor Quarter given over to those businesses best kept downwind. ‘Where do you think this Yusuf resides?’
James said, ‘The cloth-makers are all located at the end of this street, and along two others nearby.’ Turning to look at Jazhara, he said, ‘You realize, of course, that the place will almost certainly be closed for the night?’
Jazhara smiled. ‘Which will give us an opportunity to look around unnoticed, correct?’
James smiled back. ‘I like the way you think, Jazhara.’
Several times along the way they passed individuals hurrying by; the city was never truly asleep. Those who passed cast appraising glances at the pair, either as potential threats – or as possible victims.
They reached an intersection and glanced in both directions. Off to the left, all was quiet, but to James’s surprise down the street to the right a few places were still obviously open for business. ‘The dyers’ trade must be very profitable for these establishments to be conducting business all night.’
‘Or they’re paying nothing for their labour,’ said Jazhara as they passed one such open establishment. The door was ajar and a quick glance inside indicated there was nothing suspicious taking place; a dyer and others – obviously members of his family – were busy preparing a large shipment of cloth. Most likely it was to be delivered at dawn to tailors who had ordered the material.
They moved along the dimly-lit street until they reached a large, two-storey building, before which stood a large man with a sword at his belt. He watched with a neutral expression as James and Jazhara approached.
James asked, ‘What is this place?’
The guard answered, ‘This is the shop of the honourable Yusuf ben Ali, the illustrious cloth merchant.’
Jazhara asked, ‘Is he in?’
‘No. Now, if that’s all, you’ll excuse me.’ Since the guard showed no sign of leaving, it was clear that he expected James and Jazhara to move along.
James said, ‘I find it odd to believe your master is out at this late hour, and you are merely standing here guarding a workshop in which no one is working.’ He moved to stand before the man. ‘I am Prince Arutha’s squire.’
Jazhara added, ‘And I his newly-appointed court mage.’
At this the guard’s eyes flickered over to her for an instant, then he said, ‘My master is indeed within. He is working late on a shipment that must leave tomorrow on a caravan and wishes not to be disturbed by any but the most important guest. I will see if he considers you to be important enough.’ He turned his back on them, saying, ‘Follow me to my master’s office, but touch nothing.’
They entered the building and discovered a brightly-lit display area, showing finely-woven cloth dyed in the most marvellous colours. A bolt of crimson silk was allowed to spill from a rack, the best to show off its scintillating colour. Surrounding them was indigo and bright yellow linen, cotton of every hue, all waiting for potential buyers. A door to the rear of the showroom was closed, and a narrow stairway ran up along the left wall to a single door. A large chandelier ablaze with a dozen candles hung from the ceiling.
Beyond the viewing area, huge vats of dye stood, while large drying racks held freshly dyed cloth. James saw two children, no older than ten years, moving a rack aside to make way for another being pushed by another pair of children. The youngsters were dirty, and a few appeared to shiver beneath their thin ragged clothing. Jazhara noticed one little girl, who looked to be about seven years old, yawn, struggling to keep her eyes open as she pushed the heavy drying rack. Two guards stood watching the children.
The guard who had accompanied them inside said, ‘Wait here. I will fetch my master.’
James asked, ‘Isn’t it late for the children to be working?’
The man said, ‘They are lazy. This order must be ready by noon tomorrow. Had they finished at dusk, they would be asleep in their beds now. They know this. Do not talk to them; it will only slow them down. I will return with my master.’
The man hurried across the large room and disappeared through the rear door. A few minutes later, he and another man returned. The newcomer was obviously a merchant, yet he carried a curved desert sword – a scimitar. He wore Kingdom tunic and trousers, but elected a traditional desert man’s head cover, a black cloth wound as a turban, its length allowed to drape below the chin, from right to left, the end thrown across the left shoulder. He had a dark beard and the swarthy looks of Jazhara’s countrymen, a fact confirmed as he reached them and said, ‘Peace be upon you,’ the traditional greeting of the people of the Jal-Pur.
Jazhara replied, ‘And upon you be peace.’
‘Welcome to my workhouse, my friends. My name is Yusuf ben Ali. How may I serve?’
James glanced back at the labouring children. ‘We’ve heard how you work around here. This place is being shut down.’
If the man was surprised at this pronouncement, he didn’t show it. He merely smiled. ‘Oh, you’ve heard, have you? And what exactly did you hear?’
Jazhara said, ‘We’ve heard about your working conditions and how you treat children.’
Yusuf nodded. ‘And let me guess, you heard it from a young girl, perhaps less than a decade in age? Or was it a young boy this time?’
‘What do you mean?’ James asked.
‘My dear sir, it was all a lie. My competitors have taken to paying children to accost guardsmen and other worthy citizens. They ply them with stories of the “horrors of Yusuf’s shop.” And then they vanish. My shop is then closed down for a few days while the Prince’s magistrate investigates, and my competitors flourish.’
Jazhara said, ‘But we’ve seen the working conditions inside.’
Ben Ali glanced over at the ragged youngsters and shook his head slightly. ‘My dear countrywoman, I may be unable to provide for the children as I would like, but even I have a heart. They have a roof over their heads, and hot meals, and clothes. It may not be the extravagance that you would be used to, but, as the wise men taught us, poverty is food to a righteous man, while luxury can be a slow poison.’ He inclined his head towards the children. ‘We work late tonight. This is not unusual in my trade, but I assure you most nights these children would be safely asleep. When this shipment is done, I shall send them to their beds and they will be free tomorrow to sleep; then, when they awake they shall have a day of rest and play. What would else you have me do? Put them back on the streets?’
Children working to support their families was nothing new in the Kingdom. But this smacked of something close to slavery and James wasn’t convinced this man Yusef was what he seemed. ‘What about up there?’ he asked, pointing at the stairs.
‘Ah, the second floor is under construction – we make improvements. It is not safe at present to see, but when it is done it will expand our capacities, and will include better quarters for the children.’
James was about to speak, when Jazhara said, ‘James, may I have a moment alone with this gentleman?’
James was surprised. ‘Why?’
‘Please.’
James glanced from Jazhara to Yusuf, then said, ‘I’ll be outside.’
When he was gone from the building, Jazhara lowered her voice and said, ‘You work for my great-uncle?’
Yusuf bowed slightly. ‘Yes, kin of Hazara-Khan, I do. And I wished to speak to you alone. You did well sending our young friend away. A Kingdom nobleman is a complication. Does he know your great-uncle’s position?’
Jazhara smiled. ‘As Governor of the Jal-Pur, or as head of Keshian Intelligence in the north?’
‘The latter, of course.’
‘He may suspect, but what he knows is not the issue. This place is what matters. Is what the young girl said true?’
‘The Imperial treasury hardly provides enough support for this operation,’ said Yusuf. ‘I must supplement my means; this shop is very successful, primarily because the labour is almost free.’ He looked at her disapproving expression and said, ‘I’m surprised at you. I expected a great-niece of Hazara-Khan to value practicality over misguided morality. Deceit, after all, is the first tool of our trade. What I do here aids me in my work.’
‘Then what the girl said was true. Does my great-uncle know about this?’
‘I have never bothered to inform him of the details of my operation, no. But he appreciates my results. And now that you are here, they will be greater than ever!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It is well known of your falling out with your family and your choice to study magic at Stardock. Only your great-uncle’s power has shielded you from those in the Imperial Court who think you a potential risk. It is time for you to grow up and face your responsibilities. You are a child of the Empire, a citizen of Great Kesh. Your loyalties must lie with them.’
‘My loyalties also lie with this court, and the Prince. I am the court mage, the first to be appointed to this position.’
Yusuf studied the young woman’s face. ‘Sometimes the ties of blood must be held above the ties of hollow words.’
‘I am not a spy!’
‘But you could be,’ insisted ben Ali. ‘Work for me; grant me secrets from the lips of Krondor’s courtiers and make your family proud!’ His expression darkened. ‘Or disgrace your country, your family, and continue as you are. Your great-uncle can provide only limited protection if you swear that oath to Arutha.’ He paused, then added, ‘These are harsh choices, Jazhara. But you are now an adult, and the choice, as ever, must be yours. But know that from this point forward, whatever choice you make will change you forever.’
Jazhara was silent for a long moment, as if considering the merchant’s words. Finally she said, ‘Your words are harsh, Yusuf, but your actions have shown me where my loyalties lie.’
‘Then you will help me?’
‘Yes. I will honour his teachings and the ideals of my nation.’
‘Excellent! You’d best leave now, before your friend becomes suspicious. Return again when you’re settled into the prince’s court and we shall begin.’
She nodded and walked towards the door. She passed the still-labouring children, one of who looked up at her with eyes dulled from lack of sleep. In those eyes, Jazhara noted a flicker of fear. When she reached the door, she glanced over her shoulder at the smiling spy and the three guards who stood nearby.
James waited at the end of the alleyway. ‘Well?’ he asked as she approached.
‘Yusuf is a spy for my great-uncle.’
James could barely conceal his surprise. ‘I don’t know which I find more astonishing; that he is what you say, or that you’ve told me.’
‘When I left my father’s court and trained at Stardock, I set aside my loyalty to Great Kesh. What my great-uncle does, he does for the betterment of the Empire.’ With a nod of her head to the entrance to Yusuf’s shop, she added with a steely edge to her voice, ‘But this one seeks to line his pockets with gold from the suffering of children, and his service to the Empire is of secondary concern, I am certain. Even were I in service to Kesh, I would not long abide his continued existence.’ She gripped her staff and James saw her knuckles go white. Although he’d known the court mage for but a few hours, he had no doubt she was not making an idle threat; no matter where Jazhara’s loyalties might lie, she would see Yusef pay for his crimes against the children.
‘What do you propose?’ he asked.
‘There are but three guards. You are, I assume, a competent swordsman?’
‘I am—’ began James.
‘As I am a competent magician,’ interrupted Jazhara. ‘Let’s go.’
As they strode back towards the dyer’s shop, James felt the hair on his arms stand up, a sure sign magic was being gathered. He had never liked the feeling, even when he knew someone on his side was employing it. Jazhara said, ‘I will distract them. Try to take Yusuf alive.’
James pulled out his rapier and muttered, ‘Four to one and you want me to try to keep one of them alive? Wonderful.’
Jazhara entered the shop ahead of James, and Yusuf turned as she did so. ‘What—?’ he began.
Jazhara’s pointed her staff at him and a loud keening sound filled the air as a ball of blue energy exploded off the tip of the staff. It struck the merchant, doubling him over in pain.
James rushed past the magician, quickly scanning the room for a sign of the children. They were gone. The three armed guards hesitated for a moment, then sprang into action. James was about to strike the guard on his right when the energy ball caromed off Yusuf and struck the guard to James’s right. James quickly switched his attack to the center assailant.
James had fought multiple opponents before, and knew there were certain advantages. The most important thing he had found was that if his opponents hadn’t practised as a unit they tended to get in one another’s way.
He lunged and took the centre assailant under his guard, running him through. As he withdrew his blade, he leapt to his right and as he had hoped, the man on James’s left stumbled into the dying man in the middle.
Yusuf’s sword suddenly slashed the air near James’s head. He had recovered from the magic Jazhara had thrown at him and was now on James’s right, his scimitar expertly slicing the air.
‘Great,’ James muttered. ‘The spy has to be a master swordsman.’
The two remaining thugs had regained their feet and were a danger, but Yusuf was the true threat. ‘Jazhara! Keep those two off me, if you please.’
Jazhara advanced and another burst of energy shot across the room, this time a red blast of lightning that caused the air to crackle as it struck the floor between James and the two guards. They quickly retreated as smoke began to rise from the wooden floor.
James didn’t have time to appreciate the display, for Yusuf was proving a formidable opponent. It looked as if there would be almost no chance of keeping the Keshian spy alive, unless he got lucky. And given a choice, he’d rather keep himself alive than spare Yusuf and die in the process.
James used every trick he knew, a lethal inventory of combinations and feints. Twice he came close to cutting the Keshian, but twice in turn Yusuf came close to ending the struggle, too.
James circled and the turn brought Jazhara and the other two thugs into view. One had left the magician and was coming to help his master finish off James, while the other approached the magician warily, as Jazhara stood ready with her iron-shod staff before her.
James didn’t hesitate. He feigned a blow to Yusuf’s right hand, and as the Keshian moved to block, James spun to his own right, taking him away from the Keshian spy. Before Yusuf could recover, James was standing at his exposed left side, and all the merchant could manage was to fall away, avoiding a killing blow. This brought James right into the reach of the approaching guard, who lashed out high with his sword, a blow designed to decapitate the squire.
James ducked and thrust, running the man through. He then leapt to his right, knowing full well that Yusuf would be coming hard on his blind side. James hit the floor and rolled, feeling the scimitar slice the air above him. As he had hoped, Yusuf was momentarily slowed as he tried to avoid tripping over the falling corpse of his guard, and that afforded James enough time to regain his feet.
Off to one side, James could make out Jazhara and the other guard locked in combat. She wheeled the staff like an expert, taking his sword blows on hardened oak and lashing back with the iron tips. One good crack to the skull and the fight would be over, and both James and Jazhara’s opponent knew that.
Yusuf came in with his sword point low, circling to his right. James glimpsed bales of cloth and display racks to his own right and moved to counter Yusuf. The spy wanted James’s back to possible obstructions, so he might cause the squire to trip.
James knew it was now just a matter of who made the first mistake. He had been in struggles like this before, and knew fear and fatigue were the enemies most to be avoided. Yusuf’s face was a study in concentration: he was probably thinking the same thoughts.
James paused as if weighing which way to move, inviting Yusuf into committing himself to an attack. Yusuf declined. He waited. Both men were breathing heavily.
James resisted the urge to glance to where Jazhara struggled to finish off her opponent, knowing that to do so would invite an attack. The two men stood poised, each ready for an opening, each waiting for the other to commit.
Then James had an inspiration. He intentionally glanced to the left, at Jazhara, seeing her block a blow from the guard; she took the tip of the staff inside the man’s guard, and James saw her deliver a punching blow with the iron end of the staff to the man’s middle. He heard the man’s breath explode out of his lungs, but didn’t see it, for at that precise moment, James spun blindly away to his left.
As he had expected, Yusuf had acted the moment James’s eyes wandered, and as he had also suspected, the attack came off a combination of blade movements. A feint to the heart, which should have caused James’s sword to lash up and out, to block the scimitar, followed by a looping drop of the tip of the scimitar to a low, inside stab, designed to impale James in the lower belly.
But James wasn’t there. Rather than parry, he had spun to the left, and again found himself on Yusuf’s right hand. And rather than dance away, James closed. Yusuf hesitated for an instant, recognizing he was over-extended and needed to come back into a defensive posture. That was all James needed.
His rapier struck out and the point took Yusuf in the right side of his neck. With a sickening gurgling sound, the spy stiffened. Then his eyes rolled up and his knees gave way and he fell to the floor.
James pulled out his sword and turned to see Jazhara break the skull of the last guard.
The man went down and Jazhara retreated, glancing around to see if any threats remained. Seeing only James standing upright, she rested on her staff as she tried to catch her breath.
James walked to her and said, ‘You all right?’
She nodded. ‘I’m fine.’
James then looked around the room. Bolts of cloth were overturned and had been sent every which way, and many were now stained with crimson.
Letting out a long breath, James said, ‘What a mess.’

• CHAPTER TWO • (#u178fbd43-b163-545f-a499-7fd2059d4765)
Schemes (#u178fbd43-b163-545f-a499-7fd2059d4765)
JAMES SHEATHED HIS SWORD.
‘Where did the children go?’
Jazhara looked around, then glanced up the stairs. ‘I’ll look up there. You see if they are hiding in that office,’ she instructed, and pointed to the door at the rear of the shop.
James nodded, with a half-smile. No point in making an issue out of who was in charge, he thought, turning to comply with her instructions. She was, after all, a princess by birth. Then as he reached the door he wondered, does a court magician outrank a squire?
He opened the door, sword at the ready, in case someone else lurked within. He entered a small office at the centre of which stood a writing table. Two burning lamps lighted the room, and a large chest stood against the far wall. The chest was apparently unlocked, its hasp hanging open, but James had received too many harsh lessons about trusting appearances, and so he approached the chest with caution. He glanced first at the papers spread across the writing table and saw several in a Keshian script he recognized. Most of these were orders for dyed cloth. Other letters in the King’s Tongue were also business-related. Then he spied two documents in a script he did not know.
He was examining the chest for traps when Jazhara appeared in the doorway. Through clenched teeth she said, ‘The dog had the children caged.’
James turned and looked through the door and saw a dozen frightened children, ranging in age from five to ten, standing mute behind the magician. They were dressed in filthy rags, their faces streaked with grime. James let out a slow sigh. Poor children in Krondor were nothing unusual; he had been an ‘urchin’ himself before becoming a thief. But systematic abuse of children was not part of normal Kingdom practices. ‘What do we do with them?’
‘What was that place you spoke of earlier?’
‘The Sign of the Yellow Shield. It’s an orphanage established by the Princess and the Order of Dala.’
One of the children drew back at mention of the place, and James remembered Nita’s reaction. James called into the main room, ‘You, boy, why does that frighten you?’
The lad just shook his head, fear written across his face.
Jazhara put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s all right. No one will hurt you. Why are you frightened?’
A girl behind the boy said, ‘These men said they were from the Yellow Shield and if we came here they’d feed us.’
James rose, left the office, pushed past Jazhara to where the nearest thug lay in a pool of blood. To an older boy he said, ‘Run outside and find a city watchman. You should find one two streets over by the Inn of the Five Stars. Tell him Squire James requires two men here as soon as possible. Can you remember that?’
The boy nodded and ran off, leaving the street door open behind him. James glanced after him and said, ‘Well, if he doesn’t head straight for a hideout somewhere, help should be here in a few minutes.’
Jazhara watched as James turned the dead Keshian over and looted his purse. ‘What are you looking for?’ she asked.
James held up a ring. ‘This.’ He rose and handed it to her to examine.
She turned the ring over in her hand. It was a simple iron ring with a small painted yellow iron shield fastened to it. ‘Those who serve the Order of Dala wear a ring similar to this. I suspect these men showed this to the children to lure them here, claiming they were taking them to the orphanage.’
Jazhara glanced towards the children, several of whom nodded. ‘That would explain why Nita was so adamant about not going there,’ she said.
James returned to the office and looked again at the closed chest. He hesitated, then opened it. Inside were more documents. He removed a few and asked, ‘Jazhara, can you read these? They appear to be in a form of Keshian I don’t understand.’
Jazhara took the proffered documents and glanced at the topmost. ‘I can read them, but it’s a desert script, from the area around Durbin, and not from the interior of Kesh.’
James nodded. He could only read formal court Keshian. Jazhara’s eyes widened. ‘Filthy traitor! Yusuf has been using my great-uncle and his resources, setting Kesh against your Prince, and your Prince against Kesh!’
James looked perplexed. Finding out that Yusuf was a Keshian agent was hardly a shock. Discovering he was also betraying his master was. ‘Why?’
Jazhara held out a single page. ‘To serve someone named “the Crawler.’’
James rolled his eyes heavenward, but stayed silent. The Crawler had been a thorn in the side of both the Prince and the Mockers for months now and James was no closer to establishing his identity than he had been the day he had first heard his name. Hoping for some clue, he asked, ‘What else does it say?’
Jazhara finished reading the document, then looked at the next. ‘This Crawler is someone of note, someone who rewarded Yusuf handsomely for his betrayal. There are references to payments already made of large amounts of gold and other considerations.’
She hurried through several other documents, then came to one that caused her to stop and go pale. ‘This cannot be …’ she whispered.
‘What?’ asked James.
‘It is a warrant for my death should I choose not to serve Yusuf. It bears my great-uncle’s signature and seal.’
She held it out with a shaking hand and James took it. He examined the paper closely then said, ‘It isn’t.’
‘Isn’t?’ she asked softly.
‘You said it cannot be and I’m saying you’re right. It isn’t real. It’s a forgery.’
‘How can you be certain?’ she asked. ‘I’ve seen my great-uncle’s script and seal many times and this appears to be from his hand and ring.’
James grinned. ‘It’s too flawless. I doubt that even your great-uncle could order the death of his favourite niece without some noticeable trembling in his hand. The letters are too perfect. I can’t read the words, but I can see the handwriting and it’s a clever forgery. Besides, even if the handwriting displayed that slight agitation I’d expect, there are two other reasons.’
‘Which are?’ she asked as the sound of approaching footsteps reached them.
‘Your great-uncle would never be stupid enough to sign his own name to a death warrant on any Keshian noble, especially one in his own family. More to the point, we’ve seen a fair number of documents bearing his seal in the palace over the years and there’s a tiny imperfection in his signet.’ James pointed. ‘Look here. Where the long point of the star touches the bottom of the seal there should be a fine crack, as if the ring has a tiny fracture. This seal doesn’t have it. The ring wasn’t his.’
‘Then why?’ asked Jazhara. As she spoke, a small company of the city watch appeared outside the door.
‘Because,’ said James, striding towards the door, ‘if the new court mage in Krondor dies and someone in the Imperial Court starts casting around for someone to blame, who better than the head of the Keshian Intelligence Corps? Someone in the Empress’s Palace might wish to see him removed and replaced with his own man.’
‘The Crawler?’ asked Jazhara.
James turned and nodded.
‘Then he is someone of importance,’ she said. ‘To threaten my great-uncle is to risk much. Only a man with his own power base within Kesh would dare this.’
At the door, a guard of the watch said, ‘One of these children came to us and we hurried here as quickly as we could, Squire. What can we do to help?’
James replied, ‘There are some bodies inside that need to be removed, but otherwise everything’s under control.’ He glanced at the children who hovered around them in a circle, as if ready to bolt should the alarm go up. ‘You’d better take charge of this lot before they scatter.’
‘Where shall we take them?’
James said, ‘To the Shield of Dala Orphanage the Princess helped found, over by the Sea Gate. Last I heard they had plenty of beds and hot food.’
Several children started to inch away, as if getting ready to flee. Jazhara crouched and reached out as if to gather the fearful children to her. She said, ‘They are not like the men who have hurt you. There you will truly find food and warm beds.’
Confronted otherwise with the prospect of a cold night with only stones to sleep upon and an empty belly, the children remained. The guard looked around. ‘Well, then, if you’re all right getting back to the palace without a guard, Squire, we’ll get this bunch moving. Come along, children,’ he said, trying not to sound too gruff.
The children left with two of the guards while the remaining pair peered into the building. ‘We’ll have these bodies gone by morning. What about the building?’ one of them asked.
James replied, ‘It’ll be looted five minutes after you leave, so I’m going to poke around a little more and take anything important to the prince. Once we’re gone, get rid of the bodies and let whoever wanders by take what he wants. If the previous owner has any heirs, I would welcome them coming to the palace to complain.’
The watchman saluted and James and Jazhara reentered the dyer’s shop. Jazhara thoroughly examined every paper in the chest and James inspected every likely spot that might harbour a secret hiding place. After an hour, James announced, ‘I don’t think there’s anything else.’
Jazhara had been carefully reading the papers found in Yusuf’s office. ‘There’s enough here to warrant a full investigation from my great-uncle’s end,’ she said. ‘This attempt to have my death placed at his feet in order to discredit him … it would have created a virtual civil war in the north of the Empire, for the desert tribes would know it to be a false accusation.’
‘But the Empress and her council in the City of Kesh might believe it.’
Jazhara nodded. ‘Whoever this Crawler is, he seeks to benefit from confrontation between our peoples, James. Who would gain from such chaos?’
James said, ‘It’s a long list. I’ll tell you sometime. Right now, we should get to the palace. You have barely enough time to take a short nap, change into clean clothing, eat, then be presented to Prince Arutha.’
Jazhara took a final long look around the room, as if searching for something or trying to impress details on her memory, then without comment she lifted her staff and moved purposefully towards the door.
James hesitated for a half-step, then overtook her. ‘You’ll send word to your great-uncle?’ he asked when he caught up with her.
‘Certainly. This Crawler may be Keshian and what occurs here in Krondor may be but a part of a larger scheme, but it’s clear that my great-uncle is at risk.’
James said, ‘Well, there’s the matter of the Prince.’
‘Oh.’ Jazhara stared at James. ‘Do you think he would begrudge my great-uncle a warning?’
James touched her shoulder lightly. ‘It’s not that. It’s only …’
‘Matters of politics,’ she finished.
‘Something like that,’ James said. They turned a corner. ‘It may be there’s no problem in communicating this discovery to your great-uncle, but Arutha may request you leave out certain facts, such as how you got the information.’
Jazhara smiled slightly. ‘As in not revealing we know Yusuf was ostensibly an agent working on behalf of Great Kesh?’
James grinned. ‘Something like that,’ he repeated.
As they continued to walk, she added after a while, ‘Perhaps we could simply say that while dealing with an illegal slavery ring, we discovered a plot to murder me and pin the blame upon my great-uncle, to the purpose of having him removed from his position as Governor of the Jal-Pur.’
‘My thinking exactly.’
Jazhara laughed. ‘Do not worry, my friend. Politics are second nature to Keshian nobles not born of the True Blood.’
James frowned. ‘I’ve heard that term once or twice before, but must confess I’m vague as to what it means.’
Jazhara turned a corner, putting them on a direct path back to the palace. ‘Then you must visit the City of Kesh and visit the Empress’s court. There are things I can tell you about Kesh that will not make sense until you have seen them with your own eyes. The True Blood Keshians, those whose ancestors first hunted lions on the grasslands around the Overn Deep, are such. Words would not do them justice.’
A hint of irony – or bitterness – tinged her words, and James couldn’t tell which, but James decided not to pursue the matter. They crossed out of the Merchants’ Quarter and entered the palace district.
As they approached the palace gates, Jazhara glanced over to the large building opposite and noticed the solitary guardsman there. ‘An Ishapian enclave?’
James studied the sturdy man who stood impassively at his post, a lethal-looking warhammer at his belt. ‘Yes, though I have no idea of its purpose.’
Jazhara looked at James with a wry smile and a twinkling eye and said, ‘There’s something occurring in Krondor about which you’re ignorant?’
James returned her smile. ‘What I should have said is that I have no idea what its purpose is – yet.’
The guards came to attention as James and Jazhara reached the gates and the senior guard said, ‘Welcome back, Squire. You’ve found her, then?’
James nodded. ‘Gentlemen, may I present Jazhara, court mage of Krondor.’
At this, one of the other guards began to stare at Jazhara. ‘By the gods!’ he exclaimed suddenly.
‘You’ve something to say?’ James inquired.
The guard flushed. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, Squire, but a Keshian? So close to our Prince?’
Jazhara looked from one to the other, then said, ‘Set your minds at rest, gentlemen. I have taken oath and I will swear fealty to Arutha. Your prince is my lord, and like you, I shall defend him unto death.’
The senior guard threw a look at the outspoken soldier that clearly communicated they would be talking about his outburst later. Then he said, ‘Your pardon, milady. We are honoured to have you in Krondor.’
‘My thanks to you, sir,’ replied Jazhara as the gates were opened.
James followed, and as the gates were closed behind them he said, ‘You’ll have to excuse them. They’re naturally wary of strangers.’
‘You mean, wary of Keshians. Think nothing of it. We would be equally suspicious of a Kingdom magician in the court of the Empress, She Who Is Kesh. When Master Pug entrusted me to this position, he was very clear that my appointment is not to be political.’
James grinned. Nothing in the court was not political, but he appreciated the sentiment. He regarded the young woman again. The more he knew her, the better he liked her. Mustering up his best courtier’s tone, he said, ‘A woman of your beauty and intelligence should have no trouble with that. I myself am already feeling a great sense of trust.’
She laughed. Fixing him with a sceptical expression, she said, ‘Your compliment is appreciated, Squire, but do not presume too much, too quickly. I’m sure your Prince would be upset were I forced to turn you into a toad.’
James returned the laugh. ‘Not half as upset as I’d be. Forgive my impertinence, Jazhara, and welcome to Krondor.’
They paused at the main entrance to the palace, where a page waited. ‘This boy will escort you to your quarters and see to whatever you need.’ Glancing at the sky, James added, ‘We have two hours until dawn, and I will attend the Prince an hour after he breaks fast with his family. I’ll have someone come fetch you to court for the presentation.’
‘Thank you, Squire,’ said Jazhara. She turned and mounted the steps to the palace doors. James watched her go, appreciating just how nice her retreating figure looked in her travel clothes. As he took off in the direction of his own quarters, he muttered to himself, ‘William’s got good taste in women, that’s for sure. Between Talia and this one, he’s got his hands full.’
By the time he reached a small gate near the palace wall, on the path leading to the rear servant’s entrance, his mind had already turned from exotic beauties from distant lands and was wrestling with mysteries more deadly, such as who this Crawler was and why was he trying so hard to plunge the Kingdom into war.
Arutha, Prince of Krondor and the Western Realm, second most powerful man in the Kingdom of the Isles, looked at his squire and said, ‘Well, what do you think of her?’
‘Even if Duke Pug hadn’t vouched for her, I’d be inclined to trust her, to take her oath of fealty as heartfelt and genuine.’
Arutha sat back in his chair, behind the desk he used when conducting the more mundane daily routines of ruling the Western Realm. It was his habit to take a few minutes there to ready himself for morning court, before the conduct of his office was taken out of his hands by de Lacy, his Master of Ceremonies.
After a moment of reflection, Arutha said, ‘You must be tired. If loyalty were even a remote issue, Jazhara would not be here. I mean, what do you think of her as a person?’
James sighed. ‘We had … an adventure, last night.’
Arutha pointed to the documents upon his desk. ‘Something to do with a dead cloth-dyer of Keshian ancestry who appears to be working for Lord Hazara-Khan, no doubt.’
James nodded. ‘Yes, sire. She’s … remarkable. As much as I’ve been around magic in the last ten years, I still know little about it. But she seems … I don’t know if powerful is the correct word … adept, perhaps. She acted without hesitation when the need arose and she seems capable of doing considerable damage should that be required.’
‘What else?’
James thought. ‘I think she’s able to be very analytical “at a full gallop” as they say. I can’t imagine her being rash or foolhardy.’
Arutha nodded for James to continue.
‘We can deduce she’s educated. Despite the accent, her command of the King’s Tongue is flawless. She reads more languages than I do, apparently, and being court-born will know all the protocols, ceremonies, and matters of rank.’
‘Nothing you’ve said is at variance with Pug’s message to me concerning this choice.’ Arutha indicated another piece of parchment on his desk. ‘You have a nose for smelling out things even a magician of Pug’s puissance might not recognize.’
‘In that, Highness, she’s what you require in an advisor on things magical, I would wager.’
‘Good.’ Arutha rose and said, ‘Let us go and meet her, then.’
James hurried to reach the door and open it for his prince. While no longer Senior Squire of the Court of Krondor, he was still Arutha’s personal squire and usually attended him when he wasn’t off on some mission or another for Arutha. James opened the door.
On the other side, Brion, the newly-appointed Senior Squire, awaited Arutha’s appearance. Brion was the son of the Baron of Hawk’s Hallow in the eastern mountains of the Duchy of Yabon. A tall, rangy, blond-headed lad, he was a hard-working, no-nonsense sort, the perfect choice for the tedious work of Senior Squire, work James had to admit he had never fully embraced with enthusiasm. Master of Ceremonies de Lacy and his assistant, Housecarl Jerome, were thrilled with the change in assignments, as they had both been forced to compensate for James’s absences when he was out and about on Arutha’s behalf. James glanced at Brion as he followed Arutha, leaving James with the other squires awaiting the duties of the day. When Arutha was seated, Brion nodded to Jerome, who moved to the large doors that would admit today’s court to the Prince’s presence. With a dignity James still found impressive, the old Master of Ceremonies moved to the middle of the entrance, so that as Jerome and a page opened the doors, those outside would first see de Lacy.
With a voice still powerful, the Master of Ceremonies said, ‘Come forth and attend! The Prince of Krondor is upon his throne and will hear his subjects!’
He turned and walked towards the dais, while pages led members of the court to their assigned places. Most of those in attendance were regular members of Arutha’s court and knew exactly where they should stand, but a few newcomers always needed a boy nearby to instruct them quietly in matters of court protocol. And Brian de Lacy was a stickler for protocol.
James saw several officers and nobles of Arutha’s staff enter and take their customary positions while petitioners who had convinced someone on the palace staff they needed to speak personally with the Prince followed. Jazhara was first among those, since she would soon make the transition from newcomer to member of the court.
James was impressed. Gone was the dusty, efficient travel garb, and now she wore the traditional formal raiment of her people. From head to foot she was dressed in a deep indigo silk, and James had to acknowledge that the colour suited her. She wore far less jewellery than was customary for a woman of her rank; but the pieces she did wear – a brooch which held her veil pinned to her shoulder, which in her homeland would be worn across her lower face in the presence of strangers; and a single large bracelet of gold embedded with emeralds – were of the highest quality. The former thief suppressed a smile as he considered what they’d fetch if sold to some of the less reputable gem dealers in Krondor.
Master de Lacy intoned, ‘Highness, the court is assembled.’
With a slight inclination of his head, Arutha signalled for court to commence.
James glanced around to see if William was present. As a junior officer of the Prince’s guard he had no particular reason to be here, but given his history with Jazhara, James thought it possible he might put in an appearance.
De Lacy spoke: ‘Highness, we have the honour to present to you Jazhara, newly come to Krondor from Stardock, recommended to your favour by Duke Pug.’
Arutha nodded for her to come close and Jazhara approached with the calm, effortless poise of one born to the court. James had seen more than one previously confident petitioner stumble while under the Prince’s gaze, but Jazhara reached the appropriate spot and bowed, a low, sweeping gesture, which she executed gracefully.
‘Welcome to Krondor, Jazhara,’ said Arutha. ‘Duke Pug commends you to our service. Are you willing to undertake such?’
‘With my heart and mind, Highness,’ answered the young desert woman.
De Lacy came to stand halfway between Jazhara and the Prince and began the oath of service. It was short and to the point, to James’s relief; there were far more tedious rites that he’d been forced to endure in his years of service to the crown.
Jazhara finished with, ‘And to this I pledge my life and honour, Highness.’
Father Belson, a priest of the Order of Prandur, and Arutha’s current advisor on issues concerning the various temples in the Kingdom, approached and intoned, ‘Prandur, Cleanser by Fire, Lord of the Flame, sanctifies this oath. As it is given, in fealty and service, so shall it be bound, in protection and succour. Let all know that this woman, Jazhara of the House of Hazara-Khan, is now Prince Arutha’s good and loyal servant.’
Belson conducted Jazhara to her appointed place in the court, next to his own, where both would be available should Arutha need their opinion on some issue concerning magic or faith. James glanced at the remaining company and realized court would be blessedly short this morning. There were only two petitioners and most of the regular court staff appeared anxious to be elsewhere. Arutha was a ruler who, to everyone’s relief except perhaps de Lacy’s, preferred efficiency to pomp. He left grand ceremony, such as the monthly galas and other festive occasions, to be overseen by his wife.
Jazhara caught James’s eye and gave him a slight smile, which he returned. Not for the first time, James wondered if there might be something more in this than merely a collegial gesture, and then he mentally kicked himself. James’s view of women was quite outside the norm for men his age in the Kingdom: he liked them and wasn’t afraid of them, though he had been from time to time confused by them. Still, while he enjoyed intimacy with a woman as much as the next man, he avoided complicating liaisons. And a relationship with one of the Prince’s advisors was only slightly less complicating than one with a member of his family; so he shunted aside such thoughts. With a slightly regretful inward sigh he told himself, it’s just that she’s exotic.
When court was over and the company dismissed, Arutha rose from his throne and turned to Jazhara. ‘Are you settled in?’
‘Yes, Highness,’ she answered. ‘My baggage was delivered to the palace this morning and all is well.’
‘Are your quarters adequate?’
She smiled. ‘Very, Highness. Master Kulgan told me what to expect, and I believe he was having some fun with me, as they are far more commodious than I had expected.’
Arutha smiled slightly. ‘Kulgan always possessed a dry sense of humour.’ Motioning for James, he said, ‘Squire James will conduct your tour of Krondor today, and should you need anything, he will ensure you get it.’
‘Thank you, Highness.’ With a grin, James said, ‘As you know, we had a bit of a tour last night, Highness.’
Arutha said, ‘I saw the documents this morning.’ To Jazhara and James he said, ‘But first, you two, in my office, please.’
Brion hurried to open the door and Arutha led Jazhara and James into his private office. As he was about to step through, Arutha said, ‘Squire Brion, see what Master de Lacy has for the squires this morning.’
‘Sire.’ Brion bowed and departed.
Arutha sat. ‘Jazhara, allow me to begin by saying that had I a moment’s concern regarding your loyalty to our court, you would not be standing here.’
Jazhara inclined her head and said, ‘Understood, Highness.’
‘James, as soon as possible, please familiarize our young magician with everything we know so far about the Crawler. That will require, I suspect, a fair amount of personal history, since his confrontation with the Mockers is significant in understanding his motives. Be frank. I have the impression this young lady doesn’t shock easily.’
Jazhara smiled.
Arutha fixed a solemn gaze on both of them. ‘This Crawler has had his hand in no small amount of mischief over the last year or so. He was indirectly involved in one of the more threatening attacks on our sovereignty and created a situation that put a great strain on our relationships with a neighbouring nation to the east. The more difficult he is to find, the more I worry about him.’ Addressing James he said, ‘Be thorough. You needn’t return to the palace, unless I send for you, until you feel Jazhara has seen all she needs to see.’
James bowed. ‘I will be thorough, Highness.’
Jazhara bowed as well and followed James out of the Prince’s office into a side corridor, where James asked, ‘Where to first, my lady?’
Jazhara said, ‘My quarters. I’m not traipsing around Krondor in this gown. And I feel only partially dressed if I don’t have my staff in my hand.’
James smiled. ‘Your quarters it is.’
As they walked through the palace, Jazhara said, ‘I haven’t seen William yet. Is he avoiding me?’
James looked at her. Frank, indeed, he thought. He said, ‘Probably not. While he’s a royal cousin, he’s also a junior officer and has many duties. If we don’t run into him during our travels, I know where we’ll be able to find him this evening.’
Jazhara said, ‘Good. We need to talk, and I’d rather that occurred sooner than later.’
James noticed she was no longer smiling.

• CHAPTER THREE • (#ulink_0e3efe70-dd77-5947-a7c4-0497b30cbdcd)
Vow (#ulink_0e3efe70-dd77-5947-a7c4-0497b30cbdcd)
THE WATCHMAN SALUTED.
James returned the acknowledgement, while Jazhara took in the sights of Krondor. She was wearing her travel garb once more. She carried her iron-shod staff, and her hair was tied back. She looked … businesslike. James found it interesting to contrast how she looked now, and how she had appeared at court earlier that morning. Two very different women …
They had begun early in the day, visiting the shops and markets of what people commonly referred to as the ‘Rich Quarter’ of the city, a place in which shops displayed items of great beauty and price to buyers of means. Jazhara had lingered at several shops, much to James’s chagrin, for he had never enjoyed the pastime of looking at goods he had no interest in buying. He had several times been assigned to the Princess’s shopping expeditions, mostly to keep Elena out from under her mother’s feet as much as to guard Arutha’s wife. It was perhaps the only time in his life when he hadn’t particularly enjoyed the Princess’s company.
James had then taken Jazhara through the so-called ‘Merchants’ Quarter,’ where the traders and captains of commerce had their places of business. The centre of this district was dominated by a coffeehouse. They had paused to enjoy a cup of the Keshian brew, which Jazhara pronounced as fine as any she had tasted at home. This had brought a smile from their server, a young man named Timothy Barret, the youngest son of the owner. Businessmen flocked to Barret’s to conduct business, mainly the underwriting of cargo ships and caravans.
After leaving the Merchants’ Quarter, they had visited one working-class district after another. It was now past sundown and the evening watch was making its rounds. ‘Perhaps we should return to the palace?’ James suggested.
‘There’s still a great deal of the city to be seen, yes?’
James nodded. ‘But I’m not certain you’d care to spend time there after dark.’
‘The Poor Quarter?’
‘Yes, and the docks and Fishtown. They can be pretty rough even during the day.’
‘I think I have shown I am capable of taking care of myself, James.’
‘Agreed, but I find it best to keep the opportunity for trouble to a minimum; it has a habit of finding me anyway.’
She laughed. ‘Perhaps more tomorrow, then. But what about William? You said he would likely be off-duty this evening.’
James pointed to a side street. ‘Let’s cut down there. William is almost certainly at the Rainbow Parrot.’
‘A soldiers’ tavern?’
James shrugged. ‘Not particularly, though many of Lucas’s patrons are old friends who served with him in the Riftwar. No, it’s just the place William prefers to frequent.’
Jazhara glanced sidelong at James. ‘A girl?’
James felt himself flush and decided a simple, direct answer was appropriate. ‘Yes. William has been seeing Talia, Lucas’s daughter, for several weeks now.’
‘Good,’ said Jazhara. ‘I feared he was still …’
As she paused, James supplied, ‘In love with you?’
Without looking at James she said, ‘Infatuated, I think, is a better word. I made a mistake and …’
‘Look, it’s none of my business,’ James said. ‘So if you don’t want to talk about it, fine.’
‘No, I want you to know something.’ She stopped and he turned to look at her. ‘Because you’re his friend, I think.’
‘I am,’ said James. James had been something of a mentor to William since he had arrived at Krondor.
‘And I would like for us to be friends, as well.’
James nodded. ‘I would like that too.’
‘So, you know, then, that William was a boy who followed me around for years once he was old enough to become interested in women. I was a few years older and to me he seemed an eager puppy, nothing more.’ She paused and stared down at the street, as if recalling something difficult to recount. James, too, stood still. ‘I became involved with an older man, one of my teachers. It was not a wise thing to do. He was Keshian, as I was, and he shared many of the beliefs I do on magic and its uses. We drifted into a relationship without too much effort.
‘Our affair became … awkward, for my family would not have approved of any such liaison, and rather than dictate to me, my great-uncle got word to my lover that he was to cease his involvement with me.’ She began to walk slowly again, as if it helped her form her thoughts. James accompanied her. ‘He rejected me, and left Stardock, returning to the Empire.’
‘And to a small reward, I’m sure.’
‘At the least. Perhaps it was nothing more than wanting to spare me a confrontation with my own father or perhaps he was afraid – my great-uncle’s reach can be very long, even into a place such as Stardock.’
‘And?’ James prompted.
‘William was there. I was hurt and frightened and alone and William was there.’ She looked at James. ‘He’s a lovely young man, honourable and kind, strong and passionate, and I felt abandoned. He helped me.’ Her voice trailed off.
James shrugged. ‘But what?’
‘But after a while I realized it was as wrong for me to be his lover as it had been for my teacher to be mine. William was the son of the duke, and had another destiny before him and I was … using him.’
James suppressed the quip that almost sprang to his lips about it not being a bad way to be used, and said instead, ‘Well, he wanted … I mean …’
‘Yes, but I was older and should have seen the problems to come. So I broke off our affair. I fear I may have tipped the balance in his decision to leave Stardock and come to Krondor.’
They turned into a street and headed towards an inn displaying a large parrot with rainbow-coloured feathers on a sign over the door. ‘Well, I’ve known Will for a bit now, and I think you can put aside that concern,’ James said at last. ‘He was set on becoming a soldier, one way or another, all his life, from what he’s told me.’
Jazhara was about to reply, but before she knew it, James was drawing his sword and saying, ‘Guard yourself!’
She brought her staff to the ready and hurried after him. She saw that the door to the inn was partially open and that there was a dead soldier lying before it; and now she could hear the sound of fighting coming from within.
James kicked the door wide and leapt through, Jazhara behind him, staff at the ready. A scene of carnage greeted them. Two armed men lay dead on the ground, mercenaries judging by their dress. Several bar patrons also lay dead amidst the broken furniture. A young woman lay near the fireplace, blood pooling about her head.
In the corner William conDoin, cousin by adoption to the Royal House of Krondor and Lieutenant in the Prince’s Household Guard, stood ready with his large sword held two-handed before him. Three men advanced on him.
William, seeing the newcomers, ‘James! Jazhara! Help me! Talia’s been hurt!’
One of the men turned to engage the squire. The other two attacked William, who barely had room to deflect both strikes with his larger sword. A devastating weapon in the field, the hand-and-a-half or ‘bastard’ sword was a liability at close quarters.
Jazhara lifted her hand and a nimbus of crimson light erupted around it. She cast it at the closest of William’s opponents and watched as the light harmlessly struck the ground near his feet. ‘Damn,’ she muttered. She hefted her staff and stepped forward, levelling a jab with the iron base at the side of the man’s head.
The intruder sensed or saw with his peripheral vision the attack and ducked aside. Whirling to face his new foe, he made a wicked slashing attack at Jazhara, causing her to fall back.
But she had freed William to concentrate on one foe only, and he quickly killed his man. James also dispatched his opponent, then used his sword hilt to strike Jazhara’s attacker at the base of the skull. Rather than stun the man, it served only to distract him, and he turned as Jazhara lashed out again with her staff. The sound of breaking bones was unmistakable as the iron heel of the staff crushed the back of the man’s head.
James looked around the room and said, ‘What black murder is this?’
William had thrown down his sword and was kneeling beside Talia, cradling her head in his lap. The girl’s face was pale and her life flowed out by the second. ‘Oh, William …’ she whispered, ‘Help me.’
William looked down despairingly. He glanced at James, who shook his head slightly, regret clearly showing in his expression. William then looked at Jazhara and entreated, ‘You were one of my father’s finest students. Can you perform a healing?’
Jazhara knelt beside the young soldier and whispered, ‘I’m sorry, William. Her wounds are too severe. Even if we were to send for a priest … it would be too late.’
James knelt on the other side of the girl. ‘Talia, who did this?’
Talia looked up at James. ‘They were after Father. I don’t know who they were. The leader was a huge bear of a man.’ She coughed and blood trickled from her mouth, staining her lips. ‘He hurt me, William. He really hurt me.’
Tears streamed down William’s cheeks. ‘Oh, Talia, I’m sorry …’
Suddenly the girl’s distress seemed to ease. James had seen this before in those on the verge of death. For a moment their eyes brightened, as if the pain had vanished, as if the dying stood upon the threshold of entering Lims-Kragma’s Hall. At this moment, they saw clearly in both worlds. Talia whispered, ‘Don’t worry, William. I swear by Kahooli, I will have my vengeance!’
Then her head lolled to one side.
‘No … Talia!’ William sobbed. For a moment he held her, and then slowly he placed her on the floor, and gently closed her eyes. At last, he rose and declared, ‘They must pay for this, James. I’m going after them.’
James looked towards the doorway of the inn. If the intruders had been seeking Talia’s father Lucas, that was the way the old man would have bolted. He said, ‘Wait, William. The Prince will have my head if I let you go off alone. You’ll have your revenge and we’ll be there beside you. Now, tell us what happened.’
William hesitated a moment then said, ‘Right. Martin and I had just ended our shift. We headed over here for a drink, just like always, and that’s when we saw them run out of the building. Half a dozen of them, with that big bastard leading them. Martin tried to halt them, and they attacked us without so much as a word. If you hadn’t come along, I’d no doubt be lying alongside Martin.’ He gestured towards the dead soldier.
James inspected the carnage. In addition to Talia, they had slaughtered everyone else in the inn. The other barmaid, Susan de Bennet, lay sprawled on the floor in the corner, her head severed completely from her body with what looked to have been a single blow. Her red tresses fanned out around her head, which lay a foot away from her body, her blue eyes still wide in shocked amazement. The other patrons were likewise hacked to pieces.
‘Why?’ asked James. ‘Why charge in and kill everyone in sight?’ He looked at William. ‘Did the big man go after Lucas?’
‘No. Some other men went out through the back. Once those five murderers backed me inside the inn, the big bastard and some others fled down the street.’
‘Do you have any idea where they were heading?’ asked James.
Before William could answer, the building seemed to rock as the night was torn by the sound of a thunderous explosion. James was first out the door, with William and Jazhara close behind him. To the west, a fountain of green flames rose into the night as rocks shot up into the air. As the sound of the explosion diminished, the rocks began to rain down. James and his companions ducked beneath the overhanging roof eaves, and waited.
When it was clear that the last of the rocks had fallen, William said, ‘Listen!’
In the distance they could hear the clash of arms and the shouts of men. They hurried towards the noise, and turned the corner that led to the city jail. As they ran towards the jail, another explosion ripped through the night and they were thrown to the ground. A tower of green fire again reached into the darkness, and James shouted, ‘Get under cover!’
Again they hugged the walls of a building as more stones rained down upon them. William shouted, ‘What is that? Quegan Fire?’
James shook his head, ‘No Quegan Fire I’ve ever seen was green.’
Jazhara said, ‘I think I know what it was.’
‘Care to share that intelligence with us?’ asked James.
‘No,’ she answered. ‘Not yet.’
As the clatter of falling stones quieted, James leapt up and they continued running towards the jail. They reached a junction with two other streets, and sprinted left. A short distance further on they came to another intersection, and it was there they saw what was left of the jail. A gaping hole in the wall stood where the wooden door had once been, a few flames could be seen inside, and smoke rose from the maw. Nearby, an overturned wagon served as cover for two guardsmen and Captain Garruth, commander of the city watch. James, William, and Jazhara approached the wagon in a running crouch, keeping the wagon between them and the opening, for crossbow bolts and arrows were flying from the hole at those behind the wagon.
Glancing back, Captain Garruth motioned for them to stay low. When James came alongside, the captain said, ‘Astalon rot their black hearts.’ He nodded to the two young men he knew and said, ‘William. Squire James.’ Without waiting for an introduction to Jazhara, the guard captain continued. ‘As you can see, we’ve a bit of a problem.’
‘What happened?’ asked James.
‘Bloody brigands! They’ve blown out the back of the jail, and cut down half my squad.’
‘Who are they?’ asked William.
‘Your guess is as good as mine, lad. The leader’s a giant of a man, bald, with a thick beard. He was wearing some sort of bone amulet, and he swung a mean sword.’
William said, ‘That’s the one, James.’
‘Which one, boy?’ asked the captain as another arrow slammed into the underside of the wagon.
James glanced at William. ‘The one that killed Talia, the barmaid at the Rainbow Parrot.’
Garruth let out a slow breath then said heavily, ‘Lucas’s girl. She is … was … such a sweet thing.’ He glanced at William. ‘My sympathies, Will.’
With cold anger, William replied, ‘I’ll have his heart, Captain. I swear I will.’
Garruth said, ‘Well, now’s your chance, lad. They’ve got us pinned down, but maybe the two of you can creep back down the way you came and circle behind the jail.’
‘Where’s the sheriff?’ asked James.
Garruth inclined his head towards the jail. ‘In there, I expect. I was due to meet with him when everything went to hell.’
James shook his head. He had little affection for Sheriff Wilfred Means, but he was a good and loyal servant of the Prince and his son Jonathan was one of James’s agents. He would discover if the younger Means was still alive later, he supposed.
‘If the sheriff and his men were inside when the bastards blew up the jail, we won’t see help here from the palace for another ten or fifteen minutes,’ said James.
Garruth said, ‘Aye, and that gives them time for whatever bloody work they’ve got in mind. Never seen anyone try to break into a jail before, so there must be something in there they want.’
James said, ‘No, there’s someone they want.’
William said, ‘You think Lucas went to the jail?’
‘Maybe,’ said James. ‘But we won’t know until we get inside.’
Garruth said, ‘You’d best leave the woman here until the palace guards arrive.’
Jazhara said, in a dry tone, ‘I appreciate your concern, but I can handle myself.’
The captain shrugged. ‘As you will.’
They crouched low and returned the way they had come, until they reached the big intersection, safely out of firing range of the jail. All three stood and began to run.
They quickly reached the rear wall of the jail, in which another gaping hole could be seen. ‘The second explosion?’ asked William.
‘The first,’ said Jazhara. ‘They blew this one out to catch men eating and sleeping there’ – she pointed through the hole to a table and overturned bunks – ‘then when those in the front of the jail ran back to aid their comrades, they set off the explosion on the other side, through which they almost certainly attacked, catching whoever was inside from the rear.’
James said, ‘We’ll not find the answer out here.’
He ducked low and ran towards the hole leading into the guardroom, expecting a volley of arrows at any moment. Instead he found only two men looting the corpses on the ground. One died before he could draw his sword and the other turned on James, only to be struck from behind by William. James held up his hand for silence.
From the entrance come the sound of arrows and quarrels being fired, but all was still in the guardroom. James motioned for William to take the left side of the door into the front room, and for Jazhara to stand a few feet behind James. Then he moved to the partially opened door. He glanced through. A half-dozen men, four with bows and two with crossbows, were spread in flank formation, patiently shooting at anything that moved outside the hole in the wall. It was clear they were merely holding Garruth and his men at bay so someone inside could accomplish his mission.
James glanced at William and Jazhara, and then towards an opening in the floor with stone stairs leading down to the underground cells. He knew there was a staircase in the front room leading to offices and the sheriff’s apartment above. Which way had the big man gone? Up or down? James decided that either way they’d need Garruth and his half-dozen guardsmen to deal with the big man and his crew. So the six bowmen ahead must first be neutralized.
James held up three fingers, and Jazhara shook her head emphatically. She tapped her chest, indicating that she wished to make the first move. James glanced at William, who shrugged, so he looked back at Jazhara and nodded.
She stepped forward, raising her right hand high above her head, while grasping her staff in the left. Again the hair on James’s arms stood on end as magic was gathered. A golden light enveloped the woman, accompanied by a faint sizzling sound, then the light coalesced into a sphere in the palm of her hand. She threw it as if it was a large ball and it arced into the room, landing between the centre pair of bowmen. Instantly they dropped their weapons and twitched in wild spasms. The two next to them on either side were also afflicted, but held on to their weapons and managed to regain control of their movements almost immediately. The two crossbowmen – one of either side of the flank – were unaffected. Fortunately for William, the man he charged had just fired a bolt and was moving to reload his weapon.
The other man turned and fired wildly, the bolt striking the wall high above James’s head. Suddenly the balance shifted. The archers dropped their bows and drew daggers, for the projectile weapons were useless at close range. James had one man wounded and down before his neighbour had freed his dagger from his belt. William’s large sword was menacing enough that one of the mercenaries threw down his crossbow and attempted to leap over the desk and dash through the gaping hole in the wall.
Seeing the man attempting to flee from within, Captain Garruth and his men sprang forward and the man was down in moments. Inside, the others threw up their hands and knelt, the mercenary’s universal sign of surrender.
Garruth indicated that two of his six men were to guard the prisoners. To James he said, ‘There are more of them than these six. I’ll take my men to the basement, if you three will check upstairs.’
James nodded. ‘Who’s supposed to be up there?’
‘Just the lads sleeping until their mid-watch shift, and a scribe named Dennison. The sheriff and his men sleep up there.’ Glancing at the hacked bodies, he said, ‘I doubt any of them are alive.’ He scratched his beard. ‘It was a perfect raid. They knew exactly when to hit. The company was at its lowest complement and least able to defend itself, and reinforcements were unlikely to get here quickly.’ He started towards the stairs leading down to the cells, and two of his men followed cautiously.
James motioned to William and Jazhara to accompany him and they made their way to the stairs leading to the upper floor of the jail. As they reached the steps, they ducked reflexively as another explosion came from above.
While smoke and stone dust poured down the steps, Captain Garruth shouted, ‘He’s heading for the North Gate!’
James didn’t hesitate. ‘Come on!’ he bellowed, and ran through the gaping hole just a few feet away.
Looking down the crowded street leading to the North Gate, James could see the head and shoulders of a large man towering above the throng, shoving his way through the curious onlookers who had gathered to see what the commotion at the jail was. James, William, and Jazhara raced after him.
As they neared the crowd, James glanced back and saw that Garruth’s men were engaged in a struggle with about a half-dozen mercenaries. To William and Jazhara, he shouted, ‘We’re on our own!’
People who had been shoved aside by the big man found themselves being pushed aside once more, this time by James and his companions. ‘Out of the way! Prince’s business!’ he shouted.
In the din of voices he could barely be heard and finally James let William, who was stockier and stronger than James, take the lead. People jumped aside as they recognized the garb of the prince’s personal household guards, when he bellowed, ‘Stand aside in the name of the Prince!’
Still, precious moments had been lost, and the big man was out of sight. As they neared the intersection with the road that emptied out through the North Gate, another mighty explosion could be heard, followed instantly by screams and shouts.
They reached the corner and saw a large, two-storey building in flames. Smoke billowed from the lower windows as flames climbed the outside wall.
‘Gods,’ said James. ‘He’s fired the orphanage.’
From the main door four women and a man were ushering out children, many of whom looked stunned and disoriented, coughing from the heavy smoke. James ran to the door.
The man turned, saw William’s garb and shouted, ‘Someone’s burned the orphanage! They threw a bomb through that window.’ He pointed with a shaking finger. ‘Flames erupted and we barely got out alive.’
Jazhara said, ‘Are all the children out?’
A scream from upstairs answered her.
The man coughed and said, ‘I tried to go upstairs, but the fire near the stairs is too intense.’
‘How many are up there?’ asked William.
‘Three,’ said one of the women, who was crying. ‘I called the children for supper, but they were taking their time coming down …’
‘I may be able to help,’ said Jazhara.
‘How?’ asked James.
‘I have a spell which will protect you from the heat unless you touch the flame itself. But it lasts only a short time.’
The man said, ‘Then weave it quickly, woman. Their lives are at stake.’
William started to strip off his armour, but James said, ‘No, I’m faster than you.’ He also had no armour to doff. He handed his sword to William and said, ‘Ready.’
Jazhara said, ‘The spell will protect you from the heat, but you must be careful not to breathe the smoke too deeply as it will kill as fast as a flame.’ She pulled a handkerchief from the hands of one of the nearby women and handed it to James. ‘Hold this over your mouth and nose.’
She closed her eyes, putting her right hand on James’s arm and the back of her left hand to her forehead. She made a short incantation and finally said, ‘There. It is done. Now hurry, for it will last but a short time’
James said, ‘I didn’t feel anything.’
‘It’s done,’ she repeated.
‘I usually feel magic when it’s—’
‘Go!’ she said, pushing him towards the door. ‘Time is short!’
‘But—’
‘Go!’ she repeated with a strong push.
James tumbled head-first through the door, and ducked at the sight of flames licking the ceiling above. To his surprise, he felt no heat.
The smoke, however, caused his eyes to water and he blinked furiously to clear them. He wished he had thought to wet the cloth he held over his nose and mouth. He made for a stairway, following a serpentine route around flaming tables and burning tapestries.
He quickly reached the top of the stairs and did not have to ask if the children were still alive. Three tiny voices split the air with their screams and coughs. James shouted, ‘Stay where you are, children! I’m coming to get you!’
He hurried towards the shouts at the other end of the room, a barracks of sorts where the children obviously slept. Bedding was smouldering and flames climbed the walls, but he found a straight path to the children.
Two boys and a girl huddled in the corner, terrified to the point of immobility. James quickly decided that trying to guide them through the flames was pointless. The older of the two boys appeared to be about seven or eight years of age. The other boy and girl he guessed as being closer to four.
He knelt and said, ‘Come here.’
The children stood up and he gathered the two smaller children up, one under each arm, then said to the older boy, ‘Climb on my back!’
The boy did, clamping his arm over James’s throat. James put down the other two children, almost gagging. ‘Not so hard!’ he said, prying the boy’s arm from across his windpipe. ‘Here,’ he said, placing the boy’s arms across his chest. ‘Like this!’
Then he scooped up the other children and hurried back to the stairs. He moved quickly down the steps and saw the flames had closed around the landing. ‘Damn!’ he muttered.
There was nothing for it but to run. He leapt as far as he could through the flames and instantly understood Jazhara’s warning. The heat itself hadn’t been noticeable, but the second the flames touched him he could certainly feel it. ‘Oooh!’ he shouted, as he landed in a relatively clear patch of wooden floor, while the planks on all sides smouldered and burned.
The roof above was making alarming sounds, creaks and groans, that told James the support timbers were weakening. Soon the upper floor would collapse on him and the children if he didn’t move. The smoke was making the children cough and James’s eyes were tearing to the point of being unable to see through the smoke. Taking in a lungful that caused him to cough, he shouted, ‘Jazhara! William!’
William’s booming voice answered from slightly to his left. ‘This way!’
James didn’t hesitate. He leapt forward, trying as well as he could to avoid the flames, but by the time he came spilling out the door with a child under each arm and one across his back, he was burned on both legs and arms. The children were crying from their burns, but they were alive. He collapsed onto the cobblestones, coughing.
Two women took charge of the burned and frightened children, while Jazhara knelt and examined James’s burns. ‘Not serious,’ she judged.
James looked at her through watering eyes and said, ‘Easy for you to say. They hurt like the blazes!’
Jazhara took a small jar out of her belt pouch and said, ‘This will make them stop hurting until we can get you to a healer or priest.’
She applied a salve gently to the burns and, true to her words, the pain vanished. James said, ‘What is that?’
‘It is made from a desert plant found in the Jal-Pur. My people use this salve on burns and cuts. It will keep wounds from festering for a while, enabling them to heal.’
James stood up and looked towards the gate. ‘He’s got away?’
William said, ‘I expect so. Look.’ He pointed to the other side of the street where members of the city watch were moving citizens back from the fire so that a chain of men with buckets could start wetting down the nearby buildings. It was clear that the orphanage was doomed, but the rest of the quarter might be saved. William sounded defeated. ‘Those men are from the gate watch, so I suspect the murderer got out of the city just by walking through.’
Jazhara said, ‘What sort of monster would set fire to an orphanage to create a diversion?’
James said, ‘The same sort who would break into a jail at sunset.’ He coughed one more time, then said, ‘Let’s go back and see if we can find out who he was after.’ He started walking back towards the jail.
Soldiers from the palace had arrived to augment the surviving city guards at the jail. James had just learned that Sheriff Wilfred Means and all but six of his men had been killed. The sheriff’s son, Jonathan, stood in the main room surveying the damage. James had recently recruited the young man to work secretly for him in the Prince’s burgeoning intelligence network. The squire put his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder and said, ‘I’m sorry for your loss. Your father and I were never what could be called friends, but I respected him as an honest man who was unstinting in his loyalty and duty.’
Jonathan looked pale and could only nod. Finally he controlled his emotions and said, ‘Thank you.’
James nodded. ‘For the time being, you and the other deputies report to Captain Garruth. Arutha will need time to name a new sheriff and you’ll be undermanned for a while.’
Jonathan said, ‘I need to go home if that’s all right. I must tell my mother.’
James said, ‘Yes, of course. Go to your mother,’ and sent the young man on his way. Jonathan was an able man, despite his youth, but he doubted Arutha would willingly elevate him to his father’s office. Besides, having Jonathan tied to a desk wouldn’t help James’s plans. He put aside those thoughts and went looking for Garruth.
The captain was directing workers and soldiers as they started making repairs on the jail. ‘Didn’t catch him?’ he said when he saw James and the others.

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