Read the book: «A Darkness at Sethanon»
RAYMOND E. FEIST
A Darkness at Sethanon
Copyright
HarperVoyager
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpervoyagerbooks.co.uk
First Published in Great Britain By Grafton Books 1986
Copyright © Raymond E. Feist 1986
Raymond E. Feist asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2013. Cover photograph © Nik Keevil
FIRST EDITION
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Source ISBN: 9780007517305
Ebook Edition © 2013 ISBN: 9780007370184
Version: 2018-05-23
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Map
Synopsis
Book IV
Prologue
Chapter One: Festival
Chapter Two: Discovery
Chapter Three: Murder
Chapter Four: Embarkation
Chapter Five: Crydee
Chapter Six: Leavetaking
Chapter Seven: Mysteries
Chapter Eight: Yabon
Chapter Nine: Captives
Chapter Ten: Accommodation
Chapter Eleven: Discovery
Chapter Twelve: Messengers
Chapter Thirteen: First Blood
Chapter Fourteen: Destruction
Chapter Fifteen: Flight
Chapter Sixteen: Creation
Chapter Seventeen: Withdrawal
Chapter Eighteen: Homeward
Chapter Nineteen: Sethanon
Chapter Twenty: Aftermath
About the Author
By the Same Author
About the Publisher
This book is dedicated to my mother,
Barbara A. Feist,
who never doubted for a moment
Acknowledgements
As this book marks the end of The Riftwar Saga, the three-book cycle begun with Magician and continued through Silverthorn, I feel it necessary to again offer heartfelt thanks to those people who in one way or another contributed to whatever quality and success my books have achieved:
The original architects of Midkemia: April and Stephen Abrams; Steve Barrett; Anita and Jon Everson; Dave Guinasso; Conan LaMotte; Tim LaSelle; Ethan Munson; Bob Potter; Rich Spahl; Alan Springer; Lori and Jeff Velten.
Those many others who joined us on Fridays over the years, adding their own touches to the marvellous thing which is the world of Midkemia.
My friends at Grafton Books, past and current.
Harold Matson, my agent, who gave me my first break.
Abner Stein, my agent in Great Britain.
And Janny Wurts, a gifted writer and artist, for showing me how to get more out of my characters when I thought I already knew all there was to know about them.
Each has contributed in his or her own unique way to the three novels that make up The Riftwar Saga. The books would have been much poorer by the absence of even one of them.
RAYMOND E. FEIST
San Diego, California
• SYNOPSIS •
Our Story So Far …
A FTER THE RIFTWAR AGAINST THE TSURANI, ALIEN INVADERS FROM the world ofs Kelewan, peace reigned in the Kingdom of the Isles for nearly a year. King Lyam and his brothers, Prince Arutha and Duke Martin, toured the eastern cities and neighbouring kingdoms, then returned to Lyam’s capital at Rillanon. The Princess Carline, their sister, gave an ultimatum to her lover, Laurie the minstrel: wed her or leave the palace. Arutha and Princess Anita became engaged, and plans were made for their wedding in Krondor, Arutha’s city.
When Arutha finally returned to Krondor, late one night, Jimmy the Hand, a boy thief, stumbled across and foiled a Nighthawk, an assassin, whose target was Arutha. It was a standing order among the Mockers that all news of the Nighthawks be reported at once. Jimmy became confused about where his loyalty lay, with the Mockers – the Guild of Thieves – or with Arutha, whom he had known the year before. Before he could decide, Jimmy was set up for murder by Laughing Jack, an officer in the Mockers, proof Jack was in league with the Nighthawks. During the ambush, Jimmy was wounded and Laughing Jack killed. Jimmy then decided to warn Arutha.
Warned of the plot, Arutha, Laurie and Jimmy trapped two assassins and imprisoned them in the palace. Arutha discovered the Nighthawks were somehow connected to the temple of the Death Goddess, Lims-Kragma. He ordered the High Priestess to attend him, but by the time she arrived one of the assassins had died and the other was dying. She sought to discover how her temple had been infiltrated by the Nighthawks. Upon dying, one of the captured Nighthawks was revealed as a magically disguised moredhel, a dark elf. The now dead creature rose up, called upon his master, Murmandamus, and attacked the High Priestess and Arutha. Only the magic intervention of Arutha’s adviser Father Nathan balked the otherwise unkillable creature.
When the High Priestess and Father Nathan recovered from their ordeal, they warned Arutha that dark and alien powers sought his death. Arutha was troubled over the safety of his brother the King and the others who would be attending Arutha’s forthcoming wedding, especially his beloved Anita. Deciding upon a quick solution rather than further magic investigation, Arutha empowered Jimmy to arrange a meeting for him with the Upright Man, the mysterious head of the Mockers.
In darkness, Arutha met one who claimed to speak with the voice of the Upright Man, though it was never made clear to the Prince if the speaker was himself the leader of the thieves. They came to an understanding on the need to rid the city of the Nighthawks and, in the bargain, Jimmy was given into Arutha’s service as a squire of the Prince’s court. Jimmy had broken oath with the Mockers and his career as a thief was over.
Later the Upright Man sent word of the location of the Nighthawks. Arutha and a company of trusted soldiers raided the Nighthawks’ headquarters, the basement of the most expensive brothel in the city. Every assassin was killed or committed suicide. The finding of the body of Golden Dase, a thief and false friend to Jimmy, revealed that the Nighthawks had indeed infiltrated the Mockers. Then the dead assassins rose up, again by some dark power, and only by burning the entire building were they destroyed.
At the palace, Arutha decided the immediate danger was over, and life returned to a semblance of normalcy. The King, the Ambassador from Great Kesh, and other dignitaries arrived at the palace, and Jimmy caught a glimpse of Laughing Jack in the crowd. Jimmy was shocked, for he had been certain the false thief had died.
Arutha alerted his most trusted advisers of the danger and learned strange things were occurring in the north. It was decided there was a connection between those events and the assassins. Jimmy arrived with the news that the palace was honeycombed with secret passages and his fear that he had seen Jack. Arutha decided upon a course of caution, taking care to guard the palace, but determined to proceed with the wedding.
The wedding became a gathering point for all those who had been sepa rated since the Riftwar: in addition to the royal party, Pug the magician came from Stardock, site of the Academy of Magicians. He was a onetime resident of Crydee, home to the King and his family. Kulgan, his old teacher, attended along with Vandros, Duke of Yabon, and Kasumi, the former Tsurani commander, now Earl of LaMut. With King Lyam came Father Tully, another of Arutha’s boyhood teachers, now an adviser to the King.
Just before the wedding, Jimmy discovered that a window had been tampered with and Laughing Jack was secreted in a cupola overlooking the hall. Jack overpowered the boy and bound him. When the wedding started, Jimmy managed to foil Jack’s attempt at killing Arutha by wiggling forward and kicking Jack. They both fell, but were saved by Pug’s magic. But after he had been cut loose, Jimmy discovered Jack’s crossbow bolt had struck Anita.
After examining the wounded Anita, Father Nathan, in conference with Father Tully, announced that the bolt had been poisoned and the Princess was dying. Jack was questioned and revealed the truth behind the Nighthawks. He had been saved from death by a strange power named Murmandamus, in return for attempting to kill Arutha. All he knew of the poison was that it was called Silverthorn. With that he died. As Anita neared death, Kulgan the magician remembered that a large library existed at the Ishapian abbey at Sarth, a town up the coast of the Bitter Sea. Pug and Father Nathan used their magic to suspend Anita in time until a cure could be found.
Arutha vowed to travel to Sarth, and after an elaborate ruse to confuse possible spies, Arutha, Laurie, Jimmy, Martin and Gardan, Captain of the Prince’s Royal Household Guard, journeyed north. In the forest south of Sarth, they were attacked by black-armoured moredhel riders, under the command of a moredhel recognized by Laurie as a chieftain from the Yabon mountain clans. Pursuing Arutha’s party to the abbey at Sarth, the moredhel were repulsed by the magic of Brother Dominic, an Ishapian monk. The agents of Murmandamus attacked twice more at the Abbey, almost bringing about the death of Brother Micah, revealed to be the former Duke of Krondor, Lord Dulanic. Father John, the Abbot, explained to Arutha that there was a prophecy regarding the return to power of the moredhel, once the ‘Lord of the West’ was dead. One of Murmandamus’s agents had called Arutha that, so it seemed the moredhel believed that the prophecy might be approaching fruition. At Sarth, Arutha also discovered that ‘Silverthorn’ was a corruption of an elven word, so he decided to journey on to Elvandar and the court of the Elf Queen. Gardan and Dominic were ordered by Arutha and the Abbot to travel to Stardock, to carry the latest news to Pug and the other magicians there.
In Ylith, they encountered Roald, a mercenary and boyhood friend of Laurie, and Baru, a Hadati hillman from northern Yabon. Baru was seeking the strange moredhel chieftain, called Murad, wishing to avenge Murad’s destruction of Baru’s village. Both agreed to continue on with Arutha.
At Stardock, Dominic and Gardan were attacked by flying elemental creatures, servants of Murmandamus, and were saved by Pug. Dominic met the magician Kulgan and Katala, Pug’s wife, as well as William, Pug’s son, and Fantus the firedrake. Pug listened to what they reported and asked the other magic users at Stardock for help. A blind seer, Rogen, had a vision of some dread power behind Murmandamus, which then attacked the old man across time and against probability, in defiance of all Pug understood of magic. A mute girl, Gamina, Rogen’s ward, shared the vision, and her mental screaming overwhelmed Pug and his companions. Rogen survived the ordeal, and Gamina used her telepathic ability to recreate the vision for Pug and the others. They saw a city’s destruction, and the terrible thing in the vision spoke in an ancient Tsurani tongue. Pug and the others who spoke the language were stunned at hearing this nearly forgotten temple language of Kelewan.
In Elvandar, Arutha and his company met the gwali, gentle apelike creatures who were visiting the elves. The elves told of strange encounters with moredhel trackers near the northern borders of the elven forests. Arutha explained his mission and was told of Silverthorn by Tathar, adviser to Queen Aglaranna and Tomas, the Prince Consort and inheritor of the ancient power of the Valheru – the Dragon Lords. Silverthorn grew in one place, on the shores of the Black Lake, Moraelin, a place of dark powers. Tathar warned Arutha that it would be a dangerous journey, but Arutha vowed to continue.
At Stardock, Pug determined that what menaced the Kingdom was of Tsurani origin. Somehow Kelewan and Midkemia again seemed to have their fates intertwined. The only possible source of knowledge about this threat would be the Assembly of Magicians upon Kelewan, thought to be forever closed off to them. Pug revealed to Kulgan and the others that he had found a means of returning to Kelewan. Over their objections, he decided to go back to see what he might do to gain knowledge. Once it was decided, both Meecham the forester, Kulgan’s companion for years, and Dominic forced Pug to take them along. Pug established a rift between the two worlds and the three passed through. Back in the Empire of Tsuranuanni, Pug and his friends spoke first with Netoha, Pug’s old estate manager, then with Kamatsu, Lord of the Shinzawai, Kasumi’s father. The Empire was in turmoil, on the verge of an open break between Warlord and Emperor, but Kamatsu vowed to carry Pug’s warning of this alien terror to the High Council, for Pug was convinced that should Midkemia fall, Kelewan would follow. Pug was met by his old friend Hochopepa, a fellow magician, a Great One of the Empire. Hochopepa agreed to plead Pug’s cause before the Assembly, for Pug had been named traitor to the Empire and was under sentence of death. But before he could depart, they were assaulted magically and captured by the Warlord’s men.
Arutha and his party reached the Black Lake, Moraelin, avoiding a number of moredhel patrols and sentries. Galain the elf was sent by Tomas to carry news of another possible entrance to Moraelin. He told Arutha he would accompany them to the edge of the ‘Tracks of the Hopeless’, the canyon surrounding the plateau where Moraelin lay. Arutha and his company made their way to the Black Lake and discovered a strange black building, which they took to be a Valheru edifice. The search for Silverthorn was fruitless, and Arutha and the others spent the night in a cave below the surface of the plateau, where they decided they must enter the building.
Pug and his companions awoke in a cell and found their magic blocked by an enchantment. Pug was questioned by the Warlord and his two magician aides, the brothers Ergoran and Elgahar, about his purpose in returning to the Empire. The Warlord was convinced it had to do with political opposition to his plans to take control of the Empire from the Emperor. Neither he nor Ergoran believed Pug’s story of a strange power of Tsurani origin menacing Midkemia. Elgahar later came to Pug’s cell to discuss the matter further, and said he would consider Pug’s warning. Before he left, he whispered a speculation to Pug, which Pug agreed was possible. Hochopepa asked Pug what that speculation was, but Pug refused to discuss it. Later, Pug, Meecham, and Dominic were put to torture. After Dominic entered a trance to block the pain, and Meecham was rendered senseless, Pug was tortured. The pain and his resistance to the magic blocking his own caused Pug to succeed in using Magic of the Lesser Path, something thought impossible heretofore. He freed himself and his companions as the Emperor arrived with the Lord of the Shinzawai. The Warlord was executed for treason and Pug was granted permission to conduct research in the Assembly. Elgahar was instrumental in freeing Pug and, when asked why, revealed the speculation he shared with Pug. Both believed the Enemy, the ancient terror that drove the nations to Kelewan at the time of the Chaos Wars, had returned. At the Assembly, Pug discovered a reference to strange beings living in the polar ice, the Watchers. He parted company with his friends and left to seek the Watchers, while Hochopepa, Elgahar, Dominic and Meecham returned to Midkemia and the academy.
While hiding, Jimmy overheard some conversation between a moredhel and two human renegades, which gave him a clue something was not right about the black building. Jimmy convinced Arutha he should explore alone, as he was less likely to fall prey to any trap or ambush. Jimmy entered the strange black building and discovered what looked to be Silverthorn, but too many things about the place rang false. Jimmy returned to the cave with news that the building was one giant trap. Further exploration revealed the cave to be part of a large underground Valheru abode, nearly unrecognizable after ages of erosion. Jimmy then determined that Silverthorn must be under water, as the elves had stated it grew close to the edge of the water and the rainfall that year had been heavy. That night they found the plant and began their flight. Jimmy was injured and the party slowed. They eluded the moredhel sentries but were forced to kill one, alerting Murad, who led the force set to capture Arutha. Near the edge of the elven forests, the exhausted party was forced to halt. Galain ran ahead, seeking his kinsmen Calin and the other elven warriors. The first band of moredhel overtook Arutha and was beaten back, but then Murad arrived with his larger force, including Black Slayers. Baru challenged Murad to single combat, and the strange honour code of the moredhel forced him to accept. Baru killed Murad, cutting his heart out to end the risk of his returning from the dead. Baru was cut down by a moredhel before he could return to his companions, and the battle was rejoined. As the Prince’s party was nearly overwhelmed, the elves arrived and drove off the moredhel. Baru was found to be barely alive, and the elves carried the Prince and his party to the safety of Elvandar. The dead Black Slayers returned to life and pursued the elves to the edge of Elvandar, where Tomas arrived with the Spellweavers and destroyed the Black Slayers. At a celebration that night, Arutha learned that Baru would live after a long convalescence. Arutha and Martin considered the end of their quest, both knowing the battle was only a part of a larger conflict, whose final outcome had not been decided.
Pug reached the northern edges of the Empire and, leaving his Tsurani guards, set off across the Th u - n-held tundra. The strange centaur-like creatures, who called themselves the Lasura, sent an old warrior to converse with Pug. The creature revealed the existence of dwellers in the ice and ran off declaring Pug mad. Pug at last reached the glacier, where he was met by a cowled being. The Watcher who greeted Pug took him down below the icecap to where a fabulous, magic forest existed. It was called Elvardein and was twin to Elvandar. Pug discovered the Watchers to be elves, the long-vanished eldar, or elder elves. Pug was to stay with them a year and learn arts beyond those he already had at his command.
Arutha reached Krondor safely with the cure for Anita. She was revived, and plans were made to finish the wedding. Carline insisted Laurie and she also get married at once, and for the time being, the palace at Krondor was the scene of joy and happiness.
Peace returned to the Kingdom of the Isles, for almost a year …
BOOK IV
Macros Redux
Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city.
POE, The City in the Sea, st 1
• PROLOGUE •
Darkwind
THE WIND CAME FROM NOWHERE.
Ringing into existence with the reverberation of a hammer striking doom, it carried the heat of a forge that fashioned hot war and searing death. It came into being in the heart of a lost land, emerging from some strange place between that which is and that which seeks to be. It blew from the south, when snakes walked upright and spoke ancient words. Angry, it stank of ancient evil, echoing with long forgotten prophecies. In a frenzy the wind spun, swirling out of the void, as if seeking a course, then it seemed to pause, then it blew northward.
The old nurse hummed a simple tune, one handed down from mother to daughter for generations, while she sewed. She paused to glance up from her needlework. Her two small charges lay sleeping, tiny faces serene while they dreamed their tiny dreams. Occasionally fingers would flex or lips would purse in sucking motions, then one or the other would return to quiescence. They were beautiful babies and would grow to be handsome lads, of this the nurse was certain. As men they would have only vague memories of the woman who sat with them this night, but for now they belonged as much to her as their mother, who sat with her husband presiding over a state dinner. Then through the window a strange wind came, chilling her despite its heat. It carried a hint of alien and distorted dissonance in its sound, an evil tune barely perceived. The nurse shivered and looked toward the boys. They became restless, as if ready to wake crying. The nurse hurried to the window and closed the shutters, blocking out the strange and disquieting night air. For a moment it seemed all time held its breath, then, as if with a slight sigh, the breeze died away and the night was calm again. The nurse tightened her shawl about her shoulders and the babies stirred fitfully for another moment, before lapsing into a deep and quiet sleep.
In another room nearby, a young man worked over a list, struggling to put aside personal likes and dislikes as he decided who was to serve at a minor function the next day. It was a task he hated, but he did it well. Then the wind made the window curtains blow inward. Without thinking, the youngster was half out of his chair in a crouch, a dirk seeming to fly from his boot top to his hand, as a street-born sense of wariness signalled danger. Poised to fight, he stood with heart pounding for a long moment, as certain of a death struggle as he had ever been in his conflict-torn life. Seeing no one there, the young man slowly relaxed. The moment was lost. He shook his head in perplexity. An odd disquiet settled in the pit of his stomach as he slowly crossed to the window. For long, slowly passing minutes he gazed toward the north, into the night, where he knew the great mountains lay, and beyond, where an enemy of dark aspect waited. The young man’s eyes narrowed as he stared into the gloom, as if seeking to catch a glimpse of some danger lurking out there. Then as the last of the rage and fear fled, he returned to his task. But throughout the balance of the night he occasionally turned to look out the window.
Out in the city a group of revellers made their way through the streets, seeking another inn and more merry companions. The wind blew past them and they halted a moment, exchanging glances. One, a seasoned mercenary, began to walk again, then halted, considering something. With a sudden loss of interest in celebration, he bade his companions good night and returned to the palace where he had guested for almost a year.
The wind blew out to sea where a ship raced toward its home port after a long patrol. The captain, a tall old man with a scarred face and a white eye, paused as he was touched by the freshening wind. He was about to call for the sheets to be shortened when a strange chill passed through him. He looked over to his first mate, a pock-faced man who had been at his side for years. They exchanged glances, then the wind passed. The captain paused, gave the order to send men aloft, and, after another silent moment, shouted for extra lanterns to be lit against the suddenly oppressive gloom.
Farther to the north, the wind blew through the streets of a city, creating angry little dust swirls that danced a mad caper across the cobbles, skittering along like demented jesters. Within this city men from another world lived beside men born there. In the soldiers’ commons of the garrison, a man from that other world wrestled one raised within a mile of where the match was taking place, with heavy wagering among those who watched. Each man had taken one fall and the third would decide the winner. The wind suddenly struck and the two opponents paused, looking about. Dust stung eyes and several seasoned veterans suppressed shudders. Without words the two opponents quit the match, and those who had placed wagers picked up their bets without protest. Silently those in the commons returned to their quarters, the festive mood of the contest having fled before the bitter wind.
The wind swept northward until it struck a forest where little apelike beings, gentle and shy, huddled in the branches, seeking a warmth that only close physical contact can provide. Below, on the floor of the forest, a man sat in meditative pose. His legs were crossed and he rested the backs of his wrists upon his knees, thumbs and forefingers forming circles that represent the Wheel of Life to which all creatures are bound. His eyes snapped open at the first caress of the darkling wind and he regarded the being who sat facing him. An old elf, showing but the faint signs of age native to his race, contemplated the human for a moment, seeing the unspoken question. He nodded his head slightly. The human picked up the two weapons that lay at his side. The long sword and half-sword he placed in his belt sash, and with only a gesture of farewell he was off, moving through the trees of the forest as he began his journey to the sea. There he would seek out another man, one who was also counted friend to the elves, and prepare for the final confrontation that would soon begin. As the warrior made his way toward the ocean the leaves rustled in the branches over his head.
In another forest, leaves also trembled, in sympathy with those troubled by the passing darkwind. Across an enormous gulf of stars, around a greenish yellow sun spun a hot planet. Upon that world, below the cap of ice at the north pole, lay a forest twin to that left behind by the travelling warrior. Deep within that second forest sat a circle of beings steeped in timeless lore. They wove magic. A soft, warm glow of light formed a sphere about them, as each sat upon the bare earth, richly coloured robes unblemished by stain of soil. All eyes were closed, but each saw what he or she needed to see. One, ancient beyond the memory of the others, sat above the circle, suspended in the air by the strength of the spell they all wove together. His white hair hung below his shoulders, held back by a simple wire of copper set with a single jade stone upon his forehead. His palms were held up and forward, and his eyes were fixed upon another, a black-robed human, who floated opposite him. That other rode the currents of arcane energy forming a matrix about him, sending his consciousness along those lines, mastering this alien magic. The black-robed one sat in mirror pose, his hands held palm out, but his eyes were closed as he learned. He mentally caressed the fabric of this ancient elven sorcery and felt the intertwined energies of every living thing in this forest, taken and lightly turned, never forced, toward the needs of the community. Thus the Spellweavers used their powers: gently, but persistently, spinning the fibre of these ever present natural energies into a thread of magic that could be used. He touched the magic with his mind and he knew. He knew his powers were growing beyond human understanding, becoming godlike in comparison to what he had once thought were the limits of his talents. He had mastered much in the passing year, yet he knew there was much more to learn. Still, with his tutoring he now had the means to find other sources of knowledge. The secrets known to few but the greatest masters – to pass between worlds by strength of will, to move through time, and even to cheat death – he now understood were possible. And with that understanding, he knew he would someday discover the means of mastering those secrets. If he was granted enough time. And time was at a premium. The leaves of the trees echoed the rustle of the distant darkwind. The man in black set dark eyes upon the ancient being floating before him, as both withdrew their minds from the matrix. Speaking by strength of mind, the man in black said, So soon, Acaila?
The other smiled, and pale blue eyes shone forth with a light of their own, a light which when first seen had startled the man in black. Now he knew that light came from a deep power beyond any he had known in any mortal save one. But this was a different power, not the astonishing might of that other but the soothing, healing power of life, love, and serenity. This being was truly one with all around him. To gaze into the glowing eyes was to be made whole, and his smile was a comfort to see. But the thoughts that crossed the distance between the two as they gently floated earthward were troubled. It has been a year. It would have served us all had we more time, but time passes as it will, and it may be that you are ready. Then with a texture of thought the black-robed man had come to understand was humour, he added aloud, ‘But ready or unready, it is time.’
The others rose as one and for a silent moment the black-clad one felt their minds join with his, in a final farewell. They were sending him back to where a struggle was under way, a struggle in which he was to play a vital part. But they were sending him with much more than he had possessed when he had come to them. He felt the last contact, and said, ‘Thank you. I will return to where I can travel quickly home.’ Without further words he closed his eyes and vanished. Those in the circle were silent a moment, then each turned to undertake whatever task awaited him or her. In the branches the leaves remained restless and the echo of the darkwind was slow in fading.
The darkwind blew until it reached a ridge trail above a distant vale, where a band of men crouched in hiding. For a brief moment they faced the south, as if seeking the source of this oddly disquieting wind, then they returned to observing the plains below. The two closest to the edge had ridden long and hard in response to a report by an out-riding patrol. Below, an army gathered under banners of ill-aspect. The leader, a greying tall man with a black patch over his right eye hunkered down below the ridge. ‘It’s as bad as we feared,’ he said in hushed tones.
The other man, not as tall but stouter, scratched at a grey-shot black beard as he squatted beside his companion. ‘No, it’s worse,’ he whispered. ‘By the number of campfires, there’s one hell of a storm brewing down there.’
The man with the eye-patch sat silently for a long moment, then said, ‘Well, we’ve somehow gained a year. I expected them to hit us last summer. It is well we prepared, for now they’ll surely come.’ He moved in a crouch as he returned to where a tall, blond man held his horse. ‘Are you coming?’
The second man said, ‘No, I think I’ll watch for a while. By seeing how many arrive and at what rate, I may hazard a good guess at how many he’s bringing.’
The first man mounted. The blond man said, ‘What matter? When he comes, he’ll bring all he has.’
‘I just don’t like surprises, I suppose.’
‘How long?’ asked the leader.
‘Two, three days at most, then it will get too crowded hereabouts.’
‘They’re certain to have patrols out. Two days at the most.’ With a grim smile, he said, ‘You’re not much as company goes, but after two years I’ve grown used to having you around. Be careful.’
The second man flashed a broad grin. ‘That cuts two ways. You’ve stung them enough for the last two years they’d love to throw a net over you. It wouldn’t do to have them show up at the city gates with your head on a battle pike.’
The blond man said, ‘That will not happen.’ His open smile was in contrast to his tone, one of determination the other two knew well.
‘Well, just see it doesn’t. Now, get along.’
The company moved out, with one rider staying behind to accompany the stout man in his watch. After a long minute of observing he muttered softly, ‘What are you up to this time, you misbegotten son of a motherless whoremonger? Just what are you going to throw at us this summer, Murmandamus?’
• CHAPTER ONE •
Festival
JIMMY RACED DOWN THE HALL.
The last few months had been a time of growth for Jimmy. He would be counted sixteen years old the next Midsummer’s Day, though no one knew his real age. Sixteen seemed a likely guess, although he might be closer to seventeen or even eighteen years old. Always athletic, he had begun to broaden in the shoulders and had gained nearly a head of height since coming to court. He now looked more the man than the boy.
But some things never changed, and Jimmy’s sense of responsibility remained one of them. While he could be counted upon for important tasks, his disregard of the trivial once again threatened to turn the Prince of Kondor’s Court into chaos. Duty prescribed that he, as Senior Squire of the Prince’s court, be first at assembly, and as usual, he was likely to be last. Somehow punctuality seemed to elude him. He arrived either late or early, but rarely on time.
Squire Locklear stood at the door to the minor hall used as the squires’ assembly point, waving frantically for Jimmy to hurry. Of all the squires, only Locklear had become a friend to the Prince’s squire since Jimmy returned with Arutha from the quest for Silverthorn. Despite Jimmy’s first, accurate judgment that Locklear was a child in many ways, the youngest son of the Baron of Land’s End had displayed a certain taste for the reckless that had both surprised and pleased his friend. No matter how chancy a scheme Jimmy plotted, Locklear usually agreed. When delivered up to trouble as a result of Jimmy’s gambles with the patience of the court officials, Locklear took his punishment with good grace, counting it the fair price of being caught.
Jimmy sped into the room, sliding across the smooth marble floor as he sought to halt himself. Two dozen green-and-brown-clad squires formed a neat pair of lines in the hall. He looked around, noting everyone was where they were supposed to be. He assumed his own appointed place at the instant that Master of Ceremonies Brian deLacy entered.
When given the rank of Senior Squire, Jimmy had thought it would be all privilege and no responsibility. He had been quickly disabused of that notion. An integral part of the court, albeit a minor one, he was, when he failed his duty, confronted by the single most important fact known to all bureaucrats of any nation or epoch: those above were not interested in excuses, only in results. Jimmy lived and died with every mistake made by the squires. So far, it had not been a good year for Jimmy.
With measured steps and rustling red and black robes of office, the tall, dignified Master of Ceremonies crossed to stand behind Jimmy, technically his first assistant after the Steward of the Royal Household, but most often his biggest problem. Flanking Master deLacy were two purple-and-yellow-uniformed court pages, commoners’ sons who would grow up to be servants in the palace, unlike the squires who would some day be among the rulers of the Western Realm. Master deLacy absently tapped his iron-shod staff of office on the floor and said, ‘Just beat me in again, did you, Squire James?’
Keeping a straight face, despite the stifled laughter coming from some of the boys in the back ranks, Jimmy said, ‘Everyone is accounted for, Master deLacy. Squire Jerome is in his quarters, excused for injury.’
With weary resignation in his voice, deLacy said, ‘Yes, I heard of your little disagreement on the playing field yesterday. I think we’ll not dwell on your constant difficulties with Jerome. I’ve had another note from his father. I think in future I’ll simply pass these notes to you.’ Jimmy tried to look innocent and failed. ‘Now, before I go over the day’s assignments, I feel it appropriate to point out one fact: you are expected, at all times, to behave as young gentlemen. Toward this cause, I think it also appropriate to discourage a newly emerging trend, namely, wagering upon the outcome of barrel-ball matches played on Sixthday. Do I make myself clear?’ The question seemed to be addressed to the assembled squires, but deLacy’s hand fell upon Jimmy’s shoulder at that moment. ‘From this day forward, no more wagering, unless it’s something honourable, such as horses, of course. Make no mistake, that is an order.’
All the squires muttered acknowledgement. Jimmy nodded solemnly, secretly relieved he had already placed the bet on that afternoon’s match. So much interest among the staff and minor nobility had arisen over this game that Jimmy had been frantically trying to discover a way he could charge admission. There might be a high price to pay should Master deLacy discover Jimmy had already bet on the match, but Jimmy felt honour had been satisfied. DeLacy had said nothing about existing wagers.
Master deLacy quickly went over the schedule prepared the night before by Jimmy. Whatever complaint the Master of Ceremonies might have with his Senior Squire, he had none with the boy’s work. Whatever task Jimmy undertook he did well; getting him to undertake the task was usually the problem. When the morning duty was assigned, deLacy said, ‘At fifteen minutes before the second hour after noon, assemble on the palace steps, for at two hours after noon, Prince Arutha and his court will arrive for the Presentation. As soon as the ceremony is complete you are excused duty for the rest of the day, so those of you with families here will be free to stay with them. However, two of you will be required to stand ready with the Prince’s family and guests. I’ve selected Squires Locklear and James to serve that duty. You two will go at once to Earl Volney’s office and put yourselves at his disposal. That will be all.’
Jimmy stood frozen in chagrined silence for a long moment while deLacy left and the company of Squires broke up. Locklear ambled over to stand before Jimmy and said with a shrug, ‘Well, aren’t we the lucky ones? Everyone else gets to run around and eat, drink, and’ – he threw a sidelong glance at Jimmy and grinned – ‘kiss girls. And we’ve got to stick close to Their Highnesses.’
‘I’ll kill him,’ said Jimmy, venting his displeasure.
Locklear shook his head. ‘Jerome?’
‘Who else?’ Jimmy motioned for his friend to fall in as he walked away from the hall. ‘He told deLacy about the betting. He’s paying me back for that black eye I gave him yesterday.’
Locklear sighed in resignation. ‘We don’t stand a chance of beating Thom and Jason and the other apprentices today, with us both not playing.’ Locklear and Jimmy were the two best athletes in the company of squires. Nearly as quick as Jimmy, Locklear was second only to him among the squires in swordsmanship. Together they were the two best ball handlers in the palace, and with both out of the match, it was a near certain victory for the apprentices. ‘How much did you bet?’
‘All of it,’ answered Jimmy. Locklear winced. The squires had been pooling their silver and gold for months in anticipation of this match. ‘Well, how was I to know deLacy would pull this business? Besides, with all those losses we’ve had, I got five-to-two odds in favour of the apprentices.’ He had spent months developing a losing trend in the squires’ game, setting up this big wager. He considered. ‘We may not be out of it yet. I’ll think of something.’
Changing the subject, Locklear said, ‘You just cut it a little fine today. What held you up this time?’
Jimmy grinned, his features losing their dark aspect. ‘I was talking to Marianna.’ Then his features returned to an expression of disgust. ‘She was going to meet me after the game, but now we’ll be with the Prince and Princess.’ Accompanying his growth since last summer, another change in Jimmy had been his discovery of girls. Suddenly their company and good opinion of him were vital. Given his upbringing and knowledge, especially compared to those of the other squires in court, Jimmy was worldly beyond his years. The former thief had been making his presence known among the younger serving girls of the palace for several months. Marianna was simply the most recent to catch his fancy and be swept off her feet by the clever, witty and handsome young squire. Jimmy’s curly brown hair, ready grin, and flashing dark eyes had caused him to become an object of concern for more than one girl’s parents among the palace staff.
Locklear attempted to look uninterested, a pose that was quickly eroding as he himself became more often the focus of the palace girls’ attention. He was getting taller by the week, it seemed, almost as tall as Jimmy now. His wavy, blond-streaked brown hair and cornflower-blue eyes framed by almost feminine lashes, his handsome smile, and his friendly, easy manner had all made him popular with the younger girls of the palace. He hadn’t grown quite comfortable with the idea of girls yet, as at home he had only brothers, but being around Jimmy had already convinced him there was more to girls than he had thought back at Land’s End. ‘Well,’ Locklear said, picking up the pace of their walking, ‘if deLacy doesn’t find a reason to chuck you out of service, or Jerome doesn’t have you beaten by town roughs, some jealous kitchen boy or angry father’s likely to comb your hair with a cleaver. But none of them will have a prayer if we’re late to the chancery – because Earl Volney will have our heads on pikes. Come on.’
With a laugh and an elbow to the ribs, Locklear was off, with Jimmy a step behind as they ran down the halls. One old servant looked up from his dusting to watch the boys racing along and for a moment reflected on the magic of youth. Then, resigned to the effects of time’s passage, he returned to the duties at hand.
The crowd cheered as the heralds began their march down the steps of the palace. They cheered, in part, because they would now be addressed by their Prince who, while somewhat aloof, was well respected and counted evenhanded with justice. They cheered, in part, because they would see the Princess whom they loved. She was a symbol of continuation of an old line, a link from the past to the future. But most of all they cheered because they were among the lucky citizens not of the nobility who would be allowed to eat from the Prince’s larder and to drink from his wine cellar.
The Festival of Presentation was conducted thirty days following the birth of any member of the royal family. How it began remained a mystery, but it was commonly held that the ancient rulers of the city-state of Rillanon were required to show the people, of every rank and station, that the heirs to the throne were born without flaw. Now it was a welcome holiday to the people, for it was as if an extra Midsummer’s festival had been granted.
Those guilty of misdemeanours were pardoned; matters of honour were considered resolved and duelling was forbidden for a week and a day following the Presentation; all debts owing since the last Presentation – Princess Anita’s nineteen years ago – were forgiven; and for the afternoon and evening, rank was put aside as commoner and noble ate from the same table.
As Jimmy took his place behind the heralds, he realized that someone always had to work. Someone had to prepare all the food being served today, and someone had to clean up tonight. And he had to stand ready to serve Arutha and Anita should they require it. Sighing to himself, he considered again the responsibilities that seemed to find him no matter where he hid.
Locklear hummed softly to himself while the heralds continued to take up position, followed by members of Arutha’s Household Guard. The arrival of Gardan, Knight-Marshal of Krondor, and Earl Volney, acting Principate Chancellor, indicated the ceremonies were about to begin.
The grey-haired soldier, his black face set in an amused expression, nodded to the portly Chancellor, then signalled to Master deLacy to begin. The Master of Ceremonies’ staff struck the ground and the trumpeters and drummers sounded ruffles and flourishes. The crowd hushed as the Master of Ceremonies struck the ground again, and a herald cried, ‘Hearken to me! Hearken to me! His Highness, Arutha conDoin, Prince of Krondor, Lord of the Western Realm, Heir to the throne of Rillanon.’ The crowd cheered, though it was more for form than out of any genuine enthusiasm. Arutha was the sort of man who inspired deep respect and admiration, not affection, in the populace.
A tall, rangy, dark-haired man entered, dressed in muted brown clothing of fine weave, his shoulders covered with the red mantle of his office. He paused, his brown eyes narrow, while the herald announced the Princess. When the slender, red-headed Princess of Krondor joined her husband, the merry glint in her green eyes caused him to smile, and the crowd began to cheer in earnest. Here was their beloved Anita, daughter of Arutha’s predecessor, Erland.
While the actual ceremony would be quickly over, the introduction of nobles took a great deal longer. A cadre of palace nobles and guests was entitled to public presentation. The first pair of these was announced. ‘Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Salador.’
A handsome, blond man offered his arm to a dark-haired woman. Laurie, former minstrel and traveller, now Duke of Salador and husband to Princess Carline, escorted his beautiful wife to her brother’s side. They had arrived in Krondor a week before, to see their nephews, and would stay another week.
On and on droned the herald as other members of the nobility were introduced and, finally, visiting dignitaries, including the Keshian Ambassador. Lord Hazara-Khan entered with only four bodyguards, forgoing the usual Keshian pomp. The Ambassador was dressed in the style of the desert men of the Jal-Pur: cloth head cover that left only the eyes exposed, long robe of indigo over white tunic and trousers tucked into calf-high black boots. The bodyguards were garbed from head to toe in black.
Then deLacy stepped forward and called, ‘Let the populace approach.’ Several hundred men and women of varying rank, from the poorest beggar to the richest commoner, gathered below the steps of the palace.
Arutha spoke the ritual words of the Presentation. ‘Today is the three hundred tenth day of the second year of the reign of our Lord King, Lyam the First. Today we present our sons.’
DeLacy struck his staff upon the ground and the herald cried out, ‘Their Royal Highnesses, the Princes Borric and Erland.’ The crowd erupted into a near-frenzy of shouts and cheers as the twin sons of Arutha and Anita, born a month before, were publicly presented for the first time. The nurse selected to care for the boys came forward and gave her charges over to their mother and father. Arutha took Borric, named for his father, while Anita took her own father’s namesake. Both babies endured the public showing with good grace, though Erland showed signs of becoming fussy. The crowd continued to cheer, even after Arutha and Anita had returned their sons to the care of the nurse. Arutha graced those gathered below the steps with another rare smile. ‘My sons are well and strong, they are born without flaw. They are fit to rule. Do you accept them as sons of the royal house?’ The crowd shouted its approbation. Anita reflected her husband’s smile. Arutha waved to the crowd. ‘Our thanks, good people. Until the feasting, I bid you all good day.’
The ceremony was over. Jimmy hurried to Arutha’s side, as was his duty, while Locklear moved to Anita’s side. Locklear was formally a junior squire, but he was so often given duty with the Princess that he was commonly considered her personal squire. Jimmy suspected deLacy of wanting to keep himself and Locklear together so watching them would be that much easier. The Prince threw Jimmy a distracted half-smile as he watched his wife and sister fuss over the twins. The Keshian Ambassador had removed his traditional face covering and was smiling at the sight. His four bodyguards hovered close.
‘Your Highnesses,’ said the Keshian, ‘are thrice blessed. Healthy babies are a gift of the gods. And they are sons. And two of them.’
Arutha basked in the glow of his wife, who looked radiant as she regarded her sons in the nurse’s arms. ‘I thank you, my Lord Hazara-Khan. It is an unexpected benefit having you with us this year.’
‘The weather in Durbin is beastly this year,’ he said absently as he began to make faces at little Borric. He suddenly remembered his station and more formally said, ‘Besides, your Highness, we have a minor matter to finish discussing regarding the new border here in the West.’
Arutha laughed. ‘With you, my dear Abdur, minor details become major concerns. I have little love for the prospect of facing you across the negotiating table again. Still, I’ll pass along any suggestions you make to His Majesty.’
The free sample has ended.
