# Prince of the Blood

Raymond E. Feist

The whole of the magnificent Riftwar Cycle by bestselling author Raymond E. Feist, master of magic and adventure, now available in ebookTwenty years have passed since the end of the Riftwar.Prince Borric conDoin and his twin brother Erland have been summoned back to their father’s court in Krondor. Prince Arutha has decided he needs to tame his spirited progeny and teach them statecraft and responsibility. Shortly after they arrive home, therefore, he orders them to Kesh, to represent the Isles at the Empress’ seventy-fifth jubilee. But before the new ambassadors depart, they are attacked.The foiled assassin’s suicide reawakens fears that the Nighthawks – a brotherhood of killers for hire – are active once more. But the truth is far more disturbing: the assassin was a member of the Royal House of Kesh…Despite the dangers, Borric and Erland’s mission continues, it being vital to sustaining the fragile peace between the two nations. But the brothers have little idea of the exotic world of Kesh, the strange players at this alien court, nor the hidden forces intent upon tearing the empire apart.

## RAYMOND E. FEIST. Prince of The Blood


This book is dedicated

with love to my wife

Kathlyn Starbuck

who makes everything make sense

## Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Map

Chapter One: Homecoming

Chapter Two: Accusation

Chapter Three: Stardock

Chapter Four: Concerns

Chapter Five: Southward

Chapter Six: Dilemma

Chapter Seven: Captive

Chapter Eight: Escape

Chapter Nine: Welcome

Chapter Ten: Companion

Chapter Eleven: Hunting

Chapter Twelve: Evasion

Chapter Thirteen: Jubilee

Chapter Fourteen: Bargain

Chapter Fifteen: Snares

Chapter Sixteen: Stalking

Chapter Seventeen: Traps

Chapter Eighteen: Triumph

Afterword

Acknowledgments

About the Author

By The Same Author

Copyright

About the Publisher

## Map


## • Chapter One • Homecoming

THE INN WAS QUIET.

Walls darkened by years of fireplace soot drank in the lantern light, reflecting dim illumination. The dying fire in the hearth offered scant warmth and, from the demeanour of those who chose to sit before it, less cheer. In contrast to the mood of most establishments of its ilk, this inn was nearly sombre. In murky corners, men spoke in hushed tones, discussing things best not overheard by the uninvolved. A grunt of agreement to a whispered proposal, or a bitter laugh from a woman of negotiable virtue, were the only sounds to intrude upon the silence. The majority of the denizens of the inn, called The Sleeping Dockman, were closely watching the game.

The game was pokiir; common to the Empire of Great Kesh to the south and now replacing lin-lan and pashawa as the gambler’s choice in the inns and taverns of the Western Realm of the Kingdom. One player held his five cards before him, his eyes narrowed in concentration. An off-duty soldier, he kept alert for any sign of trouble in the room, and trouble was rapidly approaching. He made a display of studying his cards, while discreetly inspecting the five men who played at the table with him.

The first two on his left were rough men. Both were sunburned and the hands holding their cards were heavily callused; faded linen shirts and cotton trousers hung loosely on lank but muscular frames. Neither wore boots or even sandals, barefoot despite the cool night air, a certain sign they were sailors waiting for a new berth. Usually such men quickly lost their pay and were bound again for sea, but from the way they had bet all night, the soldier was certain they were working for the man who sat to the soldier’s right.

That man sat patiently, waiting to see if the soldier would match his bet or fold his cards, forfeiting his chance to buy up to three new cards. The soldier had seen his sort many times before; a rich merchant’s son, or a younger son of a minor noble, with too much time on his hands and too little sense. He was fashionably attired in the latest rage among the young men of Krondor, a short pair of breeches tucked into hose, allowing the pants legs above the calf to balloon out. A simple white shirt was embroidered with pearls and semiprecious stones, and the jacket was the new cutaway design, a rather garish yellow, with white and silver brocade at the wrists and collar. He was a typical dandy. And – from the look of the Rodezian slamanca hanging from the loose baldric across his shoulder – a dangerous man. It was a sword used only by a master or someone seeking a quick death. In the hands of an expert it was a fearsome weapon; in the hands of the inexperienced it was suicide.

The man had probably lost large sums of money before and now sought to recoup his previous losses by cheating at cards. One or the other of the sailors would win an occasional hand, but the soldier was certain this was planned to keep suspicion from falling upon the young dandy. The soldier sighed, as if troubled by what choice to make. The other two players waited patiently for him to make his play.

They were twin brothers, over six feet tall and fit in appearance. Both came to the table armed with rapiers: the choice of experts or fools. Since Prince Arutha had come to the throne of Krondor twenty years before, rapiers had become the choice of men who wore weapons as a consideration of fashion rather than survival. But these two didn’t look the type to sport weapons as decorative baubles. They were dressed as common mercenaries, just in from caravan duty from the look of them. Dust still clung to their tunic and leather vest, while their red-brown hair was lightly matted. Both needed a shave. Yet while their clothing was common and dirty, there was nothing that looked neglected about their armour or arms; they might not pause to bathe after weeks on a caravan, but they would take an hour to oil their leather and polish their steel. They looked genuine in their part, save for a feeling of vague familiarity which caused the soldier slight discomfort: both spoke with none of the rough speech common to mercenaries, but rather with the educated crispness of those used to spending their days in court, not fighting bandits. And they were young, little more than boys.

The brothers had commenced the game with glee, ordering tankard after tankard of ale, letting losses delight them as much as wins, but now that the stakes of the game were rising, they had become sombre. They glanced at each other from time to time, and the soldier was certain they shared silent communication the way twins often did.

The soldier shook his head. ‘Not me.’ He threw down his cards, one of them flipping completely over for an instant before it came to rest upon the table. ‘I’ve got duty in an hour; I’d best be back to the barracks.’

What he really knew was that trouble was imminent and if he were still around when it arrived, he’d never make muster. And the duty sergeant was a man not given to receiving excuses kindly.

Now the dandy’s eyes turned to the first of the two brothers. ‘Play?’

As the soldier reached the door of the inn, he took note of two men standing quietly in the corner. They stood in great cloaks, faces obscured slightly by the shadows of their hoods, despite the inn being warm. Both made a show of quietly watching the game, but they were taking in every detail of the inn. They also looked familiar to the soldier, but he couldn’t place them. And there was something about the way they stood, as if ready to leap to action, that reaffirmed the soldier’s determination to reach the city barracks early. He opened the door to the inn and stepped through, closing it behind.

The man closest to the door turned to his companion, his face only partially illuminated by the light from the lantern above. ‘You’d better get outside. It’s about to break loose.’

His companion nodded. In the twenty years they’d been friends, he had learned never to second guess his companion’s ability to sense trouble in the city. He quickly stepped through the door after the soldier.

At the table, the betting reached the first of the two brothers. He made a face, as if perplexed by the play of the cards. The dandy said, ‘Are you staying or folding?’

‘Well,’ answered the young man, ‘this is something of a poser.’ He looked at his brother. ‘Erland, I would have sworn an oath to Astalon the Judge that I saw a Blue Lady flip when that soldier tossed in his hand.’

‘Why,’ answered his twin with a twisted smile, ‘does that pose a problem, Borric?’

‘Because I also have a Blue Lady in my hand.’

Men began to back away from the table as the tone of conversation shifted. Discussion of what cards one held was not the norm. ‘I still see no problem,’ observed Erland, ‘as there are two Blue Ladies in the deck.’

With a malicious grin, Borric said, ‘But you see, our friend over here,’ he indicated the dandy, ‘also has a Blue Lady tucked just not quite far enough back in his sleeve.’

Instantly the room erupted into motion as men put as much distance as possible between the combatants and themselves. Borric leaped from his seat, gripping the edge of the table and overturning it, forcing the dandy and his two henchmen back. Erland had his rapier and a long dirk out as the dandy drew his slamanca.

One of the two sailors lost his footing and fell forward. As he tried to rise, he found his chin met by the toe of Borric’s boot. He collapsed into a heap at the young mercenary’s feet. The dandy leaped forward, executing a vicious cut at Erland’s head. Erland deftly parried with his dirk and returned a vicious thrust his opponent barely dodged.

Both men knew they faced an opponent worthy of wariness. The innkeeper was circling the room, armed with a large cudgel, threatening anyone who sought to enlarge the fray. As he neared the door, the man in the hood stepped out with startling speed and gripped his wrist. He spoke briefly, and the innkeeper’s face drained of colour. The proprietor briskly nodded once and quickly slipped out the door.

Borric disposed of the second sailor with little trouble and turned to discover Erland in a close struggle with the dandy. ‘Erland! Could you use a hand?’

Erland shouted, ‘I think not. Besides, you always say I need the practice.’

‘True,’ answered his brother with a grin. ‘But don’t let him kill you. I’d have to avenge you.’

The dandy tried a combination attack, a high, low, then high series of chops, and Erland was forced to back away. In the night the sound of whistles could be heard.

‘Erland,’ said Borric.

The hard-pressed younger twin said, ‘What?’ as he dodged another masterfully executed combination attack.

‘The watch is coming. You’d better kill him quickly.’

‘I’m trying,’ said Erland, ‘but this fellow isn’t being very cooperative.’ As he spoke, his boot heel struck a pool of spilled ale and he lost his footing. Suddenly he was falling backward, his defence gone.

Borric was moving as the dandy lunged at his brother. Erland twisted upon the floor, but the dandy’s sword struck his side. Hot pain erupted along his ribs. And at the same instant the man had opened his left side to a counter thrust. Sitting upon the floor, Erland thrust upward with his rapier, catching the man in the stomach. The dandy stiffened and gasped as a red stain began to spread upon his yellow tunic. Then Borric struck him from behind, using the hilt of his sword to render the man unconscious.

From outside the sound of rushing men could be heard, and Borric said, ‘We’d best get clear of this mess,’ as he gave his brother a hand up. ‘Father’s going to be upset enough with us as it is without brawling.’

Wincing from his injury, Erland interrupted, ‘You didn’t have to hit him. I think I would have killed him in another moment.’

‘Or he you. And I’d not want to face Father had I let that happen. Besides, you really wouldn’t have killed him; you just don’t have the instinct. You’d have tried to disarm him or something equally noble—’ Borric observed, catching his breath in a gasp, ‘—and stupid. Now, let’s see about getting out of here.’

Erland gripped his wounded side as they headed toward the door. Several town toughs, seeing blood upon Erland’s side, moved to block the twin’s exit. Borric and Erland both levelled their sword points at the band of men. Borric said, ‘Keep your guard up a moment,’ picked up a chair, and threw it through the large bay window facing the boulevard. Glass and leading showered the street, and before the tinkle of shards upon stone had stopped, both brothers were leaping through what remained of the window. Erland stumbled and Borric had to grip his arm to keep him from falling.

As they straightened, they took in the fact that they were looking at horses. Two of the more bold thugs jumped through the window after the twins, and Borric smashed one in the side of the head with his sword hilt, while the other man pulled up short as three crossbows were levelled at him. Arrayed before the door was the small company of ten burly and heavily armed town watchmen commonly known as the Riot Squad. But what had the half-dozen denizens of the Sleeping Dockman standing in open-mouth amazement, was the sight of the thirty horsemen behind the Riot Squad. They wore the tabards of Krondor and the badge of the Prince of Krondor’s own Royal Household Guards. From within the inn someone overcame his stupefication and shouted, ‘Royal Guardsmen!’ and a general evacuation through the rear door of the tavern began, while the gaping faces at the window vanished.

The two brothers regarded the mounted men, all armed and ready in case trouble came. At their head rode a man well known to the two young mercenaries.

‘Ah … good evening, my lord,’ said Borric, a smile slowly spreading across his face. The leader of the Riot Squad, seeing no one else in sight, moved to take custody of the two young men.

The leader of the Royal Guard waved him off. ‘This doesn’t concern you, Watchman. You and your men may go.’ The watch commander bowed slightly and led his men back to their barracks in the heart of the Poor Quarter.

Erland winced a bit as he said, ‘Baron Locklear, what a pleasure.’

Baron Locklear, Knight-Marshal of Krondor, smiled an unamused smile. ‘I’m certain.’ Despite his rank, he looked barely a year or two older than the boys, though he was nearly sixteen years their senior. He had curly blond hair and large blue eyes, which were presently narrowed as he watched the twins in obvious disapproval.

Borric said, ‘And I expect that means that Baron James—’

Locklear pointed. ‘Is standing behind you.’

Both brothers turned to see the man in the great cloak framed in the doorway. He threw back his hood to reveal a face still somewhat youthful despite his thirty-seven years of age, his curly brown hair slightly dusted with grey. It was a face the brothers knew as well as any, for he had been one of their teachers since boyhood, and more, one of their closest friends. He regarded the two brothers with ill-disguised disapproval and said, ‘Your father ordered you directly home. I had reports of your whereabouts from the time you left Highcastle until you passed through the city gates … two days ago!’

The twins tried to hide their pleasure at being able to lose their royal escorts, but they failed. ‘Ignore for a moment the fact your father and mother had a formal court convened to welcome you home. Forget they stood waiting for three hours! Never mind your father’s insisting that Baron Locklear and I comb the entire city for two days seeking you out.’ He studied the two young men, ‘But I trust you’ll remember all those little details when your father has words with you after court tomorrow.’

Two horses were brought forward and a soldier deferentially held out the reins to each brother. Seeing the blood along Erland’s side, a Lieutenant of the Guard moved his horse nearby and said in mock sympathy, ‘Does His Highness require help?’

Erland negotiated the stirrup and heaved himself into the saddle without aid. In irritated tones, he answered, ‘Only when I see Father, Cousin Willy, and I don’t think you can do much for me then.’

Lieutenant William nodded and in unsympathetic tones, he whispered, ‘He did say come home at once, Erland.’

Erland nodded in resignation. ‘We just wanted to relax for a day or two before—’

William couldn’t resist laughing at his cousins’ predicament. He had often seen them bring disaster down upon themselves and he never could understand their appetite for such punishment. He said, ‘Maybe you could run for the border. I could get very stupid following you.’

Erland shook his head. ‘I think I’ll wish I had taken your offer, after tomorrow morning’s court.’

William laughed again. ‘Come along, this dressing down won’t be much worse than a dozen you’ve already had.’

Baron James, Chancellor of Krondor and first assistant to the Duke of Krondor, quickly mounted his own horse. ‘To the palace,’ he ordered, and the company turned to escort the twin princes, Borric and Erland, to the palace.

Arutha, Prince of Krondor, Knight-Marshal of the Western Realm, and Royal Heir to the throne of the Kingdom of the Isles, sat quietly attentive to the business of the court being conducted before him. A slender man in his youth, he had not gained the bulk commonly associated with middle age, but rather had become harder, more angular in features, losing what little softening effects youth had given his lanky appearance. His hair was still dark, though enough grey had come with the twenty years of ruling Krondor and the West to speckle it. His reflexes had slowed only slightly over the years, and he was still counted one of the finest swordsmen in the Kingdom, though he rarely had reason to exercise his skill with the rapier. His dark brown eyes were narrowed in concentration, a gaze that seemed to miss nothing, in the opinion of many who served the Prince. Thoughtful, even brooding at times, Arutha was a brilliant military leader. He had rightfully won his reputation during the nine years of the Riftwar which had ended the year before the twins’ birth after taking command of the garrison at Crydee, his family’s castle, when only a few months older than his sons were now.

He was counted a hard but fair ruler, quick to dispense justice when the crime warranted, though often given to acts of leniency at the request of his wife, the Princess Anita. And that relationship more than anything typified the adminstration of the Western Realm: hard, logical, even-handed justice, tempered with mercy. While few openly sang Arutha’s praises, he was well respected and honoured, and his wife was beloved by her subjects.

Anita sat quietly upon her throne, her green eyes looking off into space. Her royal manner masked her concern for her sons from all but those who knew her most intimately. That her husband had ordered the boys brought to the great hall for morning court, rather than to their parents’ private quarters last night, showed more than anything else his displeasure. Anita forced herself to be attentive to the speech being given by a member of the Guild of Weavers; it was her duty also to show those coming before her husband’s court the consideration of listening to every petition or request. The other members of the royal family were not normally required at morning court, but since the twins had returned from their service upon the border at Highcastle, it had become a family gathering.

Princess Elena stood at her mother’s side. She looked a fair compromise between her parents, having red-brown hair and fair skin from her mother but her father’s dark and intelligent eyes. Those who knew the royal family well often observed that if Borric and Erland resembled their uncle, the King, then Elena resembled her aunt, the Baroness Carline of Salador. And Arutha had observed on more than one occasion she had Carline’s renowned temper.

Prince Nicholas, Arutha and Anita’s youngest child, had avoided the need to stand next to his sister, by hiding from his father’s sight. He stood behind his mother’s throne, beyond his father’s gaze, on the first step off the dais. The door to the royal apartments was hidden from the eyes of those in the hall, down three steps, where, in years past, all four children had played the game of huddling on the first step, listening to their father conduct court, enjoying the delicious feeling of eavesdropping. Nicky waited for the arrival of his two brothers.

Anita glanced about with that sudden sense mothers have that one of their children is somewhere he shouldn’t be. She spied Nicholas waiting down by the door, and motioned him to stand close. Nicky had idolized Borric and Erland, despite them having little time for the boy and constantly teasing him. They just couldn’t find much in common with their youngest sibling, since he was twelve years younger.

Prince Nicholas hobbled up the three broad steps and moved to his mother’s side and, as it had every day since his birth, Anita’s heart broke. The boy had a deformed foot, and neither surgeon’s ministrations nor priest’s spell had any effect, save to enable him to walk. Unwilling to hold up the deformed baby to public scrutiny, Arutha had ignored custom and refused to show the boy at the Presentation, the holiday in honour of a royal child’s first public appearance, a tradition that may have died with Nicholas’s birth.

Nicky turned when he heard the door open, and Erland peered through. The youngest Prince grinned at his brothers as they gingerly slipped through the door. Nicky scrambled down the three steps with his canted gait to intercept them, and gave each a hug. Erland visibly winced and Borric bestowed an absent pat on the shoulder.

Nicky followed the twins as they slowly mounted the stairs behind the thrones, coming to stand behind their sister. She glanced over her shoulder long enough to stick out her tongue and cross her eyes, causing all three brothers to force themselves not to laugh. They knew no one else in court could see her fleeting pantomime. The twins had a long history of tormenting their little sister, who gave back as good as she got. She would think nothing of embarrassing them in the King’s own court.

Arutha, sensing some exchange between his children, glanced over and gifted his four offspring with a quick frown, enough to silence any potential mirth. His gaze lingered on his elder sons and showed his anger in full measure, though only those close to him would recognize it as such. Then his attention was back upon the matter before the court. A minor noble was being advanced into a new office, and while the four royal children might not find it worthy of much dignity, the man would count this among one of the high points of his life. Arutha had tried to impress such awareness upon them over the years but continuously failed.

Overseeing the Prince’s court was Lord Gardan, Duke of Krondor. The old soldier had served with Arutha, and his father before him, thirty years and more. His dark skin stood in stark contrast to his beard, almost white in colour, but he still had the alert eyes of one whose mind had lost none of its edge and a ready smile for the royal children. A commoner by birth, Gardan had risen on his ability, and despite an often expressed desire to retire and return to his home in Far Crydee, he had remained in Arutha’s service, first as Sergeant in the garrison at Crydee, then Captain of the Prince’s Royal Household, then Knight-Marshal of Krondor. When the previous Duke of Krondor, Lord Volney, had died unexpectedly after seven years’ loyal service in his office, Arutha had awarded the office to Gardan. Despite the old soldier’s protestations of not being suited to the nobility, he had proven an able administrator as well as a gifted soldier.

Gardan finished intoning the man’s new rank and privileges and Arutha preferred a terribly oversized parchment with ribbons and seals embossed upon it.

The man took his award of office and retired to the crowd, to the hushed congratulations of others in court.

Gardan nodded to the Master of Ceremonies, Jerome by name, and the thin man brought himself to his full height. Once a boyhood rival of Baron James, the office suited Jerome’s self-important nature. He was, by all accounts, a thorough bore and his preoccupation with trivia made him a natural for the post. His love of detail manifested itself in the exquisite stitching of his cloak of office and the pointed chin beard he spent hours in trimming. In pompous tones, he spoke: ‘If it pleases Your Highness, His Excellency, Lord Torum Sie, Ambassador from the Royal court of Great Kesh.’

The Ambassador, who had been standing off to one side, conferring with his advisors, approached the dais and bowed. By his attire, it was clear he was of the true Keshian people, for his head was shaved. His scarlet coat was cut away, revealing a pair of yellow pantaloons and white slippers. His chest was bare in the Keshian fashion, a large golden torque of office decorating his neck. Each item of clothing was delicately finished in almost imperceptible needlework, with tiny jewels and pearls decorating each seam. The effect was as if he was bathed in shimmering sparkles as he moved. He was easily the most splendid figure in court.

‘Highness,’ he said, his speech tinged by a slight singsong accent. ‘Our Mistress, Lakeisha, She Who Is Kesh, inquires as to the health of Their Highnesses.’

‘Convey our warmest regards to the Empress,’ responded Arutha, ‘and tell her we are well.’

‘With pleasure,’ the Ambassador answered. ‘Now, I must beg of His Highness an answer to the invitation sent by my mistress. The seventy-fifth anniversary of Her Magnificence’s birth is an event of unsurpassed joy to the Empire. We will host a Jubilee that will be celebrated for two months. Will Your Highnesses be joining us?’

Already the King had sent his apologies, as had the ruler of every neighbouring sovereignty from Queg to the Easter Kingdoms. While there had been peace between the Empire and her neighbours for an unusually long time – eleven years since the last major border clash – no ruler was foolish enough to come within the borders of the most feared nation upon Midkemia. Those rejections were considered proper. The invitation to the Prince and Princess of Krondor was another matter.

The Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles was almost a nation unto itself, with the responsibility for rulership given to the Prince of Krondor. Only the broadest policy came from the King’s court in Rillanon. And it was Arutha, as often as not, who had been the one to deal with Kesh’s Ambassadors, for the majority of potential conflict between Kesh and the Kingdom was along the Western Realm’s southern border.

Arutha looked at his wife, and then the Ambassador. ‘We regret that the press of official duty prevents us from undertaking so long a journey, Your Excellency.’

The Ambassador’s expression didn’t change, but a slight hardening around the eyes indicated the Keshian considered the rejection close to an insult. ‘That is regrettable, Highness. My mistress did so consider your presence vital – a gesture of friendship and goodwill.’

The odd comment was not lost upon Arutha. He nodded. ‘Still, we would consider ourselves remiss in our friendship and goodwill to our neighbours in the south if we did not send one who could represent the Royal House of the Isles.’ The Ambassador’s eyes at once fixed upon the twins. ‘Prince Borric, Heir Presumptive to the Throne of the Isles, shall be our representative at the Empress’s Jubilee, my lord.’ Borric, suddenly the focus of scrutiny, found himself standing more erect, and felt an unexpected need to tug at his tunic. ‘And his brother, Prince Erland, will accompany him.’

Borric and Erland exchanged startled glances. ‘Kesh!’ Erland whispered, astonishment barely contained.

The Keshian Ambassador inclined his head toward the Princes a moment in appreciation. ‘A fitting gesture of respect and friendship, Highness. My mistress will be pleased.’

Arutha’s gaze swept the room, and for an instant fixed upon a man at the rear of the room, then continued on. As the Keshian Ambassador withdrew, Arutha rose from his throne and said, ‘We have much business before us this day; court will resume tomorrow at the tenth hour of the watch.’ He offered his hand to his wife, who took it as she stood. Escorting the Princess from the dais, he whispered to Borric, ‘You and your brother: in my chambers in five minutes.’ All four royal children bowed formally as their father and mother passed, then fell into procession behind them.

Borric glanced at Erland and found his own curiosity mirrored in the face of his twin. The twins waited until they were out of the hall and Erland turned and grabbed Elena, spinning her roughly around in a bear hug. Borric gave her a solid whack on the backside, despite the softening effect of the folds of fabric of her gown. ‘Beasts!’ she exclaimed. Then she hugged each in turn. ‘I hate to say this, but I am glad to see you back. Things have been dreadfully dull since you left.’

Borric grinned. ‘Not as I hear it, little sister.’

Erland put his arm around his brother’s neck and whispered in mock conspiracy, ‘It has come to my attention that two of the Prince’s squires were caught brawling a month ago, and the reason seems to be which would escort our sister to the Festival of Banapis.’

Elena fixed both brothers with a narrow gaze. ‘I had nothing to do with those idiots brawling.’ Then she brightened. ‘Besides, I spent the day with Baron Lowery’s son, Thorn.’

Both brothers laughed. ‘Which is also what we heard,’ said Borric. ‘Your reputation is reaching even to the Border Barons, little sister! And you not yet sixteen!’

Elena hiked up her skirts and swept past her brothers. ‘Well, I’m almost the age Mother was when she first met Father, and speaking of Father, if you don’t get to his study, he’ll roast your livers for breakfast.’ She reached a point a dozen paces away, swirled in a flurry of silks, and again stuck her tongue out at her brothers.

Both laughed, then Erland noticed Nicky standing close by. ‘Well, then, what have we here?’

Borric made a show of glancing around, above Nicky’s head. ‘What do you mean? I see nothing.’

Nicky’s expression turned to one of distress. ‘Borric!’ he said, almost whining.

Borric glanced down. ‘Why, it’s …’ He turned to his brother. ‘What is it?’

Erland slowly walked around Nicky. ‘I’m not sure. It’s too small to be a goblin, yet too big to be a monkey – save perhaps a very tall monkey.’

‘Not broad enough in the shoulders to be a dwarf, and too finely tailored to be a beggar boy—’

Nicky’s face clouded over. Tears began to form in his eyes. ‘You promised!’ he said, his voice catching in his throat. He looked up at his brothers as they stood grinning down at him, then with tears upon his cheeks he kicked Borric in the shins, turned, and fled, his half-limping, rolling gait not slowing him as he scampered down the hall, the sound of his sobs following after.

Borric rubbed at the barked shin. ‘Ow. The boy can kick.’ He looked at Erland. ‘Promised?’

Erland rolled his eyes heavenward. ‘Not to tease him anymore.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘He’s sure to run to Mother and she’ll speak to Father and—’

Borric winced. ‘And we’ll get another round of lectures.’

Then as one they said, ‘Father!’ and hurried toward Arutha’s private quarters. The guard stationed at the door, seeing the approaching brothers, opened the doors for them.

Once inside, the twins found their father seated in his favourite chair, an old thing of wood and leather, but which he preferred to any of the dozen others in the large conference hall. Standing slightly to his left were Barons James and Locklear. Arutha said, ‘Come in, you two.’

The twins came to stand before their father, Erland moving with a slight awkwardness, as his injured side had stiffened overnight. ‘Something wrong?’ asked Arutha.

Both sons smiled weakly. Their father missed little. Borric said, ‘He tried a beat and counter-lunge when he should have parried in six. The fellow got inside his guard.’

Arutha’s voice was cold. ‘Brawling again. I should have expected it, as Baron James obviously did.’ To James he said, ‘Anyone killed?’

James said, ‘No, but it was a bit close with the son of one of the city’s more influential shippers.’

Arutha’s anger surfaced as he slowly rose from his chair. A man able to hold emotions in check, the sight of such a display was rare, and for those who knew him well, unwelcome. He came to stand before the twins and for a moment appeared on the verge of striking them. He stared into the eyes of each. He bit off each word as he sought to regain control. ‘What can you two possibly have been thinking of?’

Erland said, ‘It was self-defence, Father. The man was trying to skewer me.’

Borric chimed in, ‘The man was cheating. He had an extra Blue Lady up his sleeve.’

Arutha almost spat as he said, ‘I don’t care if he had an extra deck up his sleeve. You aren’t common soldiers, damn it! You are my sons!’

Arutha walked around them, as if inspecting horses or reviewing his guard. Both boys endured the close perusal, knowing their father’s mood brooked no insolence.

At last he threw up his hands in a gesture of resignation and said, ‘These aren’t my sons.’ He walked past the twins to stand next to the two Barons. ‘They’ve got to be Lyam’s,’ he said, invoking the King’s name. Arutha’s brother had been known for his temper and brawling as a youth. ‘Somehow Anita married me, but bore the King’s ruffian brats.’ James could only nod in agreement. ‘It must be some divine plan I don’t understand.’

Returning his attention to his boys, he said, ‘If your grandfather still lived, he’d have you over a barrel, a leather strap in his hand, no matter your size or age. You’ve acted like children, once again, and should be treated like children.’

His voice rose as he walked back before them, ‘I sent orders for you two to come home at once! But do you obey? No! Instead of coming straight away to the palace, you vanish into the Poor Quarter. Two days later, Baron James finds you brawling in a tavern.’ He paused, then in a near shout, he exclaimed, ‘You could have been killed!’

Borric began to quip, ‘Only if that parry—’

‘Enough!’ cried Arutha, his temper frayed beyond his ability to control it. He gripped Borric’s tunic and pulled his son forward, off-balance. ‘You will not end this with a joke and smile! You have defied me for the last time.’ He punctuated this with a shove that sent Borric half-stumbling into his brother. Arutha’s manner showed he had no patience for the flippancies from his son he usually ignored. ‘I didn’t call you back because the court missed your peculiar sort of chaos. I think that another year or two on the border might have settled you down a bit, but I have no alternative. You have princely duties and you are needed now!’

Borric and Erland exchanged glances. Arutha’s moods were old business to them, and they had endured his anger – which was usually justified – before, but this time something serious was occurring. Borric said, ‘We’re sorry, Father. We didn’t realize it was a matter of duty that called us home.’

‘Because you are not expected to realize anything, you are expected to obey!’ shot back their father. Obviously out of patience with the entire exchange, he said, ‘I am done with you for now. I must compose myself for the business of dealing in private with the Keshian Ambassador this afternoon. Baron James will continue this conversation on my behalf!’ At the door, he paused, and said to James, ‘Whatever you need do, do! But I want these miscreants impressed with the gravity of things when I speak to them this afternoon.’ He closed the door without waiting for a response.

James and Locklear moved to either side of the young Princes, and James said, ‘If Your Highnesses would be so kind as to follow us.’

Borric and Erland both glanced at their life-long tutors and ‘uncles’ and then at each other. Both had an inkling of what was to come. Their father had never laid strap nor hand upon any of his children, to the profound relief of his wife, but that still didn’t prevent regular bouts of ‘fighting practice,’ when the boys were unruly, which was most of the time.

Waiting outside, Lieutenant William quietly fell into step with the twins and the Barons as they moved down the hall. He hurried to open the door, which led to Prince Arutha’s gymnasium, a large room where the royal family could practise their skills with sword, dagger, or hand-to-hand combat.

Baron James led the procession down the hall. At the door to the gymnasium, William again moved to open the door, for while he was second cousin to the twins, he was still merely a soldier in the company of nobles. Borric entered the room first, followed by Erland and James, with Locklear and William behind.

Inside the room, Borric nimbly turned and walked backwards, his hands raised in a boxer’s pose, as he said, ‘We’re a lot older and bigger, now, Uncle Jimmy. And you’re not going to sucker punch me behind the ear like you did last time.’

Erland leaned to the left, clutching his side in exaggeration and suddenly developed a limp. ‘And faster, too. Uncle Locky.’ Without warning, he threw an elbow at Locklear’s head. The Baron, a seasoned soldier of almost twenty years, dodged aside, allowing Erland to overbalance. He then turned him in a circle by hauling on one arm, and pushed him into the centre of the gymnasium with the sole of his boot.

The two Barons stood away as both brothers stood poised for a fight, fists upraised. With a wry grin, James raised his hands palms out and said, ‘Oh, you’re too young and fast for us, all right.’ The tone of sarcasm was not lost on the boys. ‘But as we have to be clear headed over the next few days, we thought we’d forego the pleasure of seeing how far you’ve come in the last two years.’ He hiked his thumb behind him, indicating a far corner. ‘Personally, that is.’

Two soldiers, stripped to breeches only, stood in the corner. Each had massive arms crossed over impressively muscled chests. Baron James waved for them to approach. As they did, the boys glanced at one another.

The two men moved with the fluid motion of a thoroughbred war horse, supple, but with power waiting. Each looked as if he was carved from stone, and Borric whispered, ‘They’re not human!’ Erland grinned, for both men had large jaws, suggesting the protruding mandible of mountain trolls.

‘These gentlemen are from your Uncle Lyam’s garrison,’ said Locklear. ‘We had a demonstration of the Royal Fist-Boxing Champions last week and asked them to stay with us a few extra days.’ The two men began to move away from each other, circling the boys in opposite directions.

Jimmy said, ‘The blond-haired fellow is Sergeant Obregon, from the Rodez garrison—’

Locklear injected, ‘He’s champion of all men under two hundred pounds. Ah, Erland should be your student, Obregon; his side is injured. Be gentle with him.’

‘—and the other,’ continued Jimmy, ‘is Sergeant Palmer, from Bas-Tyra.’

Borric’s eyes narrowed as he studied the approaching soldier. ‘Let me guess: he’s the champion of all men over two hundred pounds.’

‘Yes,’ said Baron James, with an evil smile.

Instantly, Borric’s field of vision was filled by an oncoming fist. He quickly tried to move away from it, but abruptly discovered another had found the side of his head. Then he was considering who painted the frescos on the ceiling of the room his father had converted to a gymnasium. He really should ask someone.

Shaking his head as he slowly sat up, he could hear James saying, ‘Your Father wanted us to impress upon you the importance of what you face tomorrow.’

‘And what might that be,’ said Borric, allowing Sergeant Palmer to help him to his feet. But the Sergeant didn’t release Borric’s right hand, but rather held it tightly as he brought his own right hand hard up into Borric’s stomach. Lieutenant William visibly winced as Borric’s breath exploded from his lungs and his eyes crossed as he sank to the floor once more. Erland began warily moving away from the other fist-boxer, who now was stalking him across the floor.

‘If it has escaped your notice, your uncle the King has sired only daughters since young Prince Randolph died.’

Borric waved off the offered hand of Sergeant Palmer and said, ‘Thanks. I’ll get up by myself.’ As he came to one knee, he said, ‘I hardly dwell on the fact of our cousin’s death, but I’m aware of it.’ Then as he started to stand, he drove a vicious blow into Sergeant Palmer’s stomach.

The older, harder fighter stood rock steady, forced himself to take a breath, then smiled in appreciation and said, ‘That was a good one. Highness.’

Borric’s eyes rolled heavenward. ‘Thank you.’ Then another fist filled his vision and once more he considered the wonderful craftsmanship displayed upon the ceiling. Why hadn’t he ever taken the opportunity to notice it before? he mused to himself.

Erland attempted to keep distance between himself and the approaching Sergeant Obregon. Suddenly, the young man was not backing up, but striking out with a flurry of blows. The Sergeant, rather than back away, raised his arms before his face and let the younger man strike his arms and shoulders. ‘Our uncle’s lack of an heir is a fact not unknown to us, Uncle Jimmy,’ observed Erland as his own arms began to tire while he futilely pounded upon the muscular sergeant. Abruptly, the Sergeant stepped inside Erland’s reach, and drove another blow into the youngster’s side. Erland’s face drained of colour and his eyes crossed, then unfocused.

Seeing the reaction. Sergeant Obregon said, ‘Pardon, Highness, I’d meant to strike the uninjured side.’

Erland’s voice was a bare whisper as he gasped, ‘How very kind of you.’

Borric shook his head to clear his thoughts, then quickly rolled backwards and came to his feet, ready to fight. ‘So then, there’s a point to this iteration on our family’s lack of a Royal Prince?’

‘Actually, so,’ agreed James. ‘With no male issue, the Prince of Krondor still is Heir.’

Erland’s voice returned in a strangled gasp. ‘The Prince of Krondor is always Royal Heir.’

‘And your father is Prince of Krondor,’ interjected Locklear.

With a clever feint with his left, Borric drove his right into the jaw of Sergeant Palmer and momentarily staggered the older man. Another blow to the body and the boxer was retreating. Borric grew confident and stepped in to deliver a finishing blow, and abruptly the world turned upside down.

Borric’s vision turned yellow then red for a long while, and while he hung in space, the floor came up to strike him in the back of the head. Then blackness crowded in at the edge of his vision and he saw a ring of faces looking down a deep well at him. They seemed friendly faces, and he thought he might know who they were, but he didn’t feel any need to worry on it, as he was so very comfortable sinking into the cool, dark of the well. Staring past the faces, he absently wondered if any of them might know who the artists of the frescos above might be.

As his eyes rolled up into his head, William upended a small bucket over Borric’s face. The elder twin came back to consciousness sputtering and spitting water.

Baron James was upon one knee and helped the Prince sit upright. ‘Are you still with me?’

Borric shook his head and his eyes focused. ‘I think so,’ he managed to gasp.

‘Good. For if your father is still Heir to the throne, you royal infant,’ he slapped Borric on the back of the head to emphasize what came next, ‘then you are still Heir Presumptive.’

Borric turned to study James’s face. The point of James’s message was still lost on the young Prince. ‘So?’

‘So, ninny, as it is unlikely that our good King – your uncle – will father any sons at this stage in his life, given the Queen’s age, should Arutha survive him, he will become King.’ Reaching out to aid Borric to his feet, he added, ‘And as the Goddess of Luck would have it,’ he slapped Borric playfully on the side of the face, ‘you almost certainly will outlive your father, which means that someday, you shall be King.’

‘May heaven forefend,’ interjected Locklear.

Borric looked around the room. The two Sergeants had stepped back, as the pretence of a boxing lesson was forgotten. ‘King?’

‘Yes, you stone-crowned dolt,’ said Locklear. ‘If we’re still alive, we’ll have to kneel before you and pretend you know what you’re doing.’

‘So,’ continued James, ‘your father has decided that it’s time for you to stop behaving like the spoiled child of a rich cattle merchant and start acting like a future King of the Isles.’

Erland came to stand beside his brother, leaning upon him slightly. ‘So why not just simply—’ he winced as he moved the wrong way, straining his re-injured side ‘—tell us what’s going on?’

James said, ‘I convinced your father the lesson needed to be … emphasized.’ He studied the two Princes. ‘You’ve been educated, taught by the best instructors your father could employ. You speak … what … six, seven languages? You can calculate like engineers at a siege. You can discourse on the teachings of the ancients. You have music and painting skills, and you know the etiquette of the court. You are skilled swordsmen and,’ he glanced at the two boxers, ‘you are somewhat gifted students of fisticuffs.’ He stepped away. ‘But during the nineteen years since your birth you’ve never given any indication that you’re anything other than spoiled, self-indulgent children. Not Princes of the realm!’ His voice rose and his tone turned angry. ‘And when we’re done with you, you’ll be performing the role of a Crown Prince instead of a spoiled child.’

Borric stood crestfallen. ‘Spoiled child?’

Erland grinned at his brother’s discomfort. ‘Well, that’s it, then, isn’t it? Borric shall have to mend his ways, and you and Father will be happy.’

James’s wicked grin turned on Erland. ‘As will you, my lovely! For if this child of a foolish and capricious nature should go and get his throat cut by the angry husband of a Keshian court lady, it’s you who’ll wear the conDoin crown in Rillanon someday. And should he not, you’ll still be heir until the unlikely event of your brother becoming a father. Even then, you’ll most likely end up a duke somewhere.’ Letting his voice drop a bit, he said, ‘So both of you must begin to learn your office.’

Borric said, ‘Yes, I know. First thing tomorrow. Come, let’s get some rest.’ Borric looked down and discovered a restraining hand upon his chest.

‘Not so fast,’ said James. ‘You haven’t finished your lesson.’

‘Ah, Uncle Jimmy—’ began Erland.

‘You’ve made your point,’ said Borric, simmering anger in his voice.

‘I think not,’ answered the Baron. ‘You’re still a pair of rude sods.’ Turning to the two Sergeants, he said, ‘If you please, continue.’

Baron James signalled for Locklear to accompany him as he quickly left the two young Princes readying themselves for a professionally administered beating. As the two nobles left the court, James motioned to Lieutenant William. ‘When they’ve had enough, get them to their quarters. Let them rest and see they eat, then ensure that they are up and ready to see His Highness by midafternoon.’

William saluted and turned to watch as both Princes tumbled to the canvas mat again. He shook his head. This wasn’t going to be a pretty sight.

## • Chapter Two • Accusation

THE BOY CRIED OUT.

Borric and Erland watched from the window of their parents’ private chamber as Swordmaster Sheldon pressed his attack on young Prince Nicholas. The boy shouted again in eager excitement as he executed a clever parry and counterthrust. The Swordmaster retreated.

Borric scratched at his cheek as he observed, ‘The boy can scamper about, for certain.’ The angry bruise from the morning’s boxing practice was darkening.

Erland agreed. ‘He’s inherited Father’s skills with a blade. And he manages to do right well despite his bad leg.’

Borric and Erland both turned as the door opened and their mother entered. Anita waved her ladies in waiting to the far corner of the room, where they commenced to discuss quietly whichever current piece of gossip was judged most interesting. The Princess of Krondor came to stand between her sons and peered through the window as a joyous Nicholas was lured into an overbalanced extension and found himself suddenly disarmed.

‘No, Nicky! You should have seen it coming,’ shouted Erland, though the glass window prevented his words from reaching his younger brother.

Anita laughed. ‘He tries so hard.’

Borric shrugged as they turned away. ‘Still, he does well enough for a boy. Not much worse than when we were his age.’

Erland agreed. ‘The monkey.’

Suddenly his mother turned on him and slapped him hard across the face. Instantly, the women in the other corner of the room ceased their whispers and stared in wide-eyed amazement at their Princess. Borric looked at his brother whose astonishment matched his own. Not once in the nineteen years of their lives had their mother raised a hand to either boy. Erland was more stunned by the act than any pain from the slap. Anita’s green eyes revealed a mixture of anger and regret. ‘Never talk that way about your brother again.’ Her tone left no room for argument. ‘You have mocked him and caused him more pain than all the unkind whispers among the nobles together. He is a good boy and he loves you, and all you have for him is ridicule and torment. Your first day back in the palace and within five minutes of speaking with you he was in tears again.

‘Arutha was right. I’ve let you go unpunished for your trespasses too long.’ She turned as if to leave.

Borric, seeking to rescue his brother and himself from the embarrassment of the moment said, ‘Ah, Mother. You did send for us? Was there something else you wanted to discuss?’

Anita said, ‘I didn’t send for you.’

‘I did.’

The boys turned to see their father standing quietly at the small door that opened between his study and the family room, as Anita called his part of the royal apartment. The brothers glanced at one another and knew their father had been observing long enough to have witnessed the exchange between mother and sons.

After a long silence, Arutha said, ‘If you’ll excuse us, I would have a private word with our sons.’

Anita nodded and indicated to her ladies they should come with her. Quickly the room emptied, leaving Arutha with his sons. When the door was closed, Arutha said, ‘Are you all right?’

Erland made a display of stiff muscles and said, ‘Well, enough, Father, given the “instructions” we received this morning.’ He indicated his tender side was not further injured.

Arutha frowned and shook his head slightly. ‘I asked Jimmy not to tell me what he had in mind.’ He smiled a crooked smile. ‘I just requested he somehow impress upon you that there are serious consequences to not doing what is required of you.’

Erland nodded. Borric said, ‘Well, it is not entirely unexpected. You did order us directly home and we did stop to play a bit before coming to the palace.’

‘Play …’ Arutha said, his eyes searching his eldest son’s face. ‘I’m afraid there will be little time for play in the future.’

He motioned for the boys to approach and they came to him. He turned back into his study and they followed as he moved past his large writing table. Behind it was a special alcove, hidden by a clever locked stone, which he opened. He withdrew a parchment bearing the royal family crest and handed it to Borric. ‘Read the third paragraph.’

Borric read and his eyes widened. ‘This is sad news, indeed.’

Erland said, ‘What is it?’

‘A message from Lyam,’ Arutha said.

Borric handed it to his brother. ‘The royal chirurgeons and priests are certain the Queen will have no more children. There will not be a Royal Heir in Rillanon.’

Arutha moved to a door at the back of the royal chambers and said, ‘Come with me.’

He opened the door and moved up a flight of stairs. His sons followed quickly after, and soon all three stood on the top of an old tower, near the centre of the royal palace, overlooking the city of Krondor. Arutha spoke without looking to see if his sons had followed.

‘When I was about your age, I used to stand upon the parapets of the barbican of my father’s castle. I would look down over the town of Crydee and the harbour beyond. Such a small place, but so large in my memory.’

He glanced at Borric and Erland. ‘Your grandfather did much the same when he was a boy, or so our old swordmaster, Fannon, once told me.’ Arutha spent a moment lost in memory. ‘I was about your age when command of the garrison fell to me, boys.’ Both sons had heard tales of the Riftwar and their father’s part in it, but this wasn’t the same sort of old story they had heard swapped by their father and their uncle, Laurie, or Admiral Trask over dinner.

Arutha turned and sat in one of the merlons and said, ‘I never wanted to be Prince of Krondor, Borric.’ Erland moved to sit in the merlon next to his father, as he sensed that Arutha’s words were more for his older brother than himself. They had both heard often enough that their father had no wish to rule. ‘When I was a boy,’ Arutha continued, ‘I had no larger desire than to serve as a soldier, perhaps with the border lords.

‘It wasn’t until I met the old Baron Highcastle that I realized that boyhood dreams are often with us as adults. They are difficult to be shed of, and yet, to see things as they really are, we must lose that child’s eye view of things.’

He scanned the horizon. Their father had always been a direct man, given to direct speech and never at a loss for words to express himself. But he was obviously having difficulty saying what was on his mind. ‘Borric, when you were much younger, what did you think your life would be like now?’

Borric glanced over at Erland, then back at his father. A light breeze sprang up and his thick, ill-cut mane of reddish brown hair blew about his face. ‘I never gave it much thought. Father.’

Arutha sighed. ‘I think I have made a terrible mistake in the manner in which you were raised. When you were both very tiny you were very mischievous and upon one occasion you really upset me. It was a little thing, a spilled inkwell, but a long parchment was ruined and a scribe’s work for a day was lost. I swatted you upon the bottom, Borric.’ The elder brother grinned at the image. Arutha did not return the grin. ‘That day Anita made me promise that never again would I touch either one of you in anger. By doing so, I think I have coddled and ill-prepared you for the lives you are to lead.’

Erland couldn’t help feeling embarrassed. They’d been scolded often enough over the years, but rarely punished and, before this morning, never physically.

Arutha nodded. ‘You and I have little in common in the manner in which we were raised. Your uncle the King felt our father’s leather belt on more than one occasion when he was caught. I only took one beating as a boy. I quickly learned that when Father gave an order, he expected it to be obeyed without question.’ Arutha sighed, and in that sound both boys heard uncertainty from their father for the first time in their lives. ‘We all assumed Prince Randolph would be King someday. When he drowned, we assumed Lyam would have another son. Even as daughters arrived and the prospects for a Royal Heir in Rillanon lessened with the passing years, we still never considered that someday you—’ he put his finger on Borric’s chest ‘—would be ruler of this nation.’

He looked over at his other son and in an uncharacteristic gesture, reached out and placed his hand over Erland’s. ‘I am not given to speaking of strong feelings, but you are my sons and I love you both, though you try my patience to distraction.’

Both sons were suddenly uncomfortable with this atypical revelation. They loved their father but, like him, were discomforted by any attempt to express such feelings openly. ‘We understand,’ was all Borric could manage.

Looking Borric directly in the eyes, he said, ‘Do you? Do you really? Then understand that from this day forth you are no longer my sons alone, Borric. You are both now sons to the Kingdom. Each of you is a Royal. You are to be King someday, Borric. Wrap your mind around that fact, for it is so, and nothing this side of death will change that. And from this day on a father’s love of his son will no longer shield you from life’s harshness. To be a king is to hold men’s lives by a thread. A thoughtless gesture will end those lives as certainly as if you had chosen to tear the threads.’

To Erland, he said, ‘Twins pose a serious threat to peace in our Kingdom, for should old rivalries surface, you’ll find some claiming the birth order was reversed, some who will raise your cause without your consent, as an excuse to make war upon old foes.

‘You both have heard the story, of the First King Borric and how he was forced to slay his own brother, Jon the Pretender. And you have also heard, often enough, of how I stood with the King and our brother Martin in the hall of our ancestors, before the Congress of Lords, each of them with a just claim to the crown. By Martin’s signal act of nobility, Lyam wears his crown and no blood was shed.’ He held his thumb and forefinger a scant fraction of an inch apart. ‘Yet we were but this far from civil war that day.’

Borric said, ‘Father, why are you telling us this?’

Arutha stood, sighed, and put his hand upon his eldest son’s shoulder. ‘Because your boyhood is at an end, Borric. You are no longer the son of the Prince of Krondor. For I have decided that should I survive my brother, I will renounce my own claim upon the crown in favour of yours.’ Borric began to protest, but Arutha cut him off. ‘Lyam is a vigorous man. I may be an old one when he dies, if I don’t precede him. It is best if there is not a short rule between Lyam’s and your own. You will be the next King of the Isles.’

Glancing at Erland, he said, ‘And you will always stand in your brother’s shadow. You will forever be one step from the throne, yet never permitted to sit upon it. You will always be sought out for favour and position, but never your own; you will be seen as a stepping-stone to your brother. Can you accept such a fate?’

Erland shrugged. ‘It doesn’t seem too grave a fate, Father. I shall have estates and title, and responsibilities enough, I am certain.’

‘More, for you need stand with Borric in all things, even when you disagree with him in private. You will never have a public mind that you may call your own. It must be so. I cannot stress this enough. Never once in the future can you publicly oppose the King’s will.’ Moving a short way off, he turned and regarded them both. ‘You have never known anything but peace in our Kingdom. The raids along the border are trivial things.’

Erland said, ‘Not to those of us who fought those raiders! Men died, Father.’

Arutha said, ‘I speak of nations now, and dynasties, and the fate of generations. Yes, men died, so that this nation and its people may live in peace.

‘But there was a time when border skirmishes with Great Kesh and the Eastern Kingdoms were a monthly occurrence, when Quegan galleys took our ships at their leisure, and when invaders from the Tsurani world held part of your grandfather’s lands – for nine years!

‘You will be asked to give up many things, my sons. You will be asked to marry women who will most likely be strangers to you. You will be asked to relinquish many of the privileges lesser men know: the ability to enter a tavern and drink with strangers, to pick up and travel to another city, to marry for love and watch your children grow without fear of their being used for others’ designs.’ Gazing out over the city, he added, ‘To sit at day’s end with your wife and discuss the small matters of your life, to be at ease.’

Borric said, ‘I think I understand.’ His voice was subdued.

Erland only nodded.

Arutha said, ‘Good, for in a week you leave for Great Kesh, and from this moment forward you are the Kingdom’s future.’ He moved toward the stairs that led down into the palace and halted at them. ‘I wish I could spare you this, but I can’t.’ Then he was gone.

Both boys sat quietly for a time, then as one, turned to look out over the harbour. The afternoon sun beat down, yet the breeze from the Bitter Sea was cooling. In the harbour below, boats moved as punts and barges carried cargo and passengers back and forth between the docks and great sailing ships anchored in the bay. In the distance white dots signalled approaching ships, traders from the Far Coast, the Kingdom of Queg, the Free Cities of Yabon, or the Empire of Great Kesh.

Then Borric’s face relaxed as a smile spread. ‘Kesh!’

Erland laughed. ‘Yes, to the heart of Great Kesh!’

Both shared the laughter at the prospect of new cities and people, and travel to a land considered exotic and mysterious. And their father’s words vanished upon the wind to the east.

Some institutions linger for centuries, while others pass quickly. Some arrive quietly, others with fanfare. In years past it was considered a general practice to give apprentices and other servants the latter half of the sixth day of the week for themselves. Now the practice had come to include a general closing of businesses on sixthday at noon, with seventhday generally held to be a day of devotions and meditations.

But within the last twenty years another ‘tradition’ had arisen. From the first sixthday following the winter equinox, boys and young men, apprentices and servants, commoner and noble, began preparing. For upon the holiday of First Thaw, held six optimistic weeks after the equinox, often despite inclement weather, football season commenced.

Once called barrel ball, the game had been played for as long as boys had kicked balls of rags into barrels. Twenty years before, the young Prince Arutha had instructed his Master of Ceremonies to draw up a standard set of rules for the game, more for the protection of his young squires and apprentices, for then the game was rough in the extreme. Now the game had been institutionalized in the minds of the populace; come spring, football returned.

On all levels, from boys playing in open fields up to a City League, with teams fielded by guilds, trading associations, or rich nobles eager to be patrons, players could be seen racing up and down attempting to kick a ball into a net.

The crowd shouted its approval as the Blues’ swiftest forward broke away from the pack with the ball, speeding toward the open goal net. The Reds’ goalkeeper hunkered down, ready to leap between ball and net. With a clever feint, the Blues’ player caused the Reds’ to overbalance, then shot it past him on his off side. The goalkeeper stood with hands on hips, evidencing disgust at himself while the Blues’ players mobbed the scorer.

‘Ah, he should have seen it coming,’ commented Locklear. ‘It was so obvious. I could see it up here.’

James laughed. ‘Then why don’t you go down and play for him?’

Borric and Erland shared in James’s laughter. ‘Certainly, Uncle Locky. We’ve heard a hundred times how you and Uncle Jimmy invented this game.’

Locklear shook his head. ‘It was nothing like this.’ He glanced about the field at the stands erected by an enterprising merchant years before, stands that had been expanded upon and enlarged until as many as four thousand citizens could crowd together to watch a match. ‘We used to have a barrel at each end and you couldn’t stand before the mouth. This net business and goalkeepers and all the other rules your father devised …’

Borric and Erland finished for him in unison, ‘… It’s not sport anymore.’

Locklear said, ‘That’s the truth.’

Erland inserted, ‘Not enough bloodshed!’

‘No broken arms! No gouged eyes!’ laughed Borric.

James said, ‘Well, that’s for the better. There was one time—’

Both brothers grimaced as one, for they knew they were about to hear the story of the time Locklear was hit from behind by a piece of farrier’s steel an apprentice boy had concealed in his shirt. This would lead, then, to a debate between the two Barons on the general value of rules and which rules enhanced the game and which impeded.

But the lack of further comment from James caused Borric to turn. James had his eyes focused not on the game below which was drawing to a close, but upon a man down near the end of the row upon which the Baron sat, one row behind the Princes. Rank and a well-placed bribe had given the sons of the Prince of Krondor two of the best seats for the match, at the midfield line halfway up the stands.

James said, ‘Locky, is it cold?’

Wiping perspiration from his brow, Locklear said, ‘You’re joking, right? It’s a month after midsummer and I’m roasting.’

Hiking his thumb toward the end of the row, James said, ‘Then why does our friend over there feel the need to wear such a heavy robe?’

Locklear glanced past his companion and noticed a man sitting at the end of the bench, muffled in a large robe. ‘A priest perhaps?’

‘I know of no order that has members with an interest in football.’ James glanced away as the man turned toward him. ‘Watch him over my shoulder, but nod as if you’re listening to everything I’m saying. What’s he doing?’

‘Nothing presently.’ Then a horn was blown, signalling the end of the match. The Blues, a team sponsored by the Millers Guild and the Worshipful Association of Iron Mongers, had defeated the Reds, a team sponsored by a group of nobles. As such sponsorship was well-known among those in attendance, the result of the match met with general approval.

As the crowd began to depart, the man in the robe stood. Locklear’s eyes widened as he said, ‘He’s taking something out of his sleeve.’

James whirled about in time to see the man raise a tube to his lips and point it in the direction of the Princes. Without hesitation, James pushed hard, knocking the two young men into the row below. A strangled gasp sounded from a man standing just beyond where Erland had been, and the man raised a hand to his neck. It was a gesture never finished, for as his fingers neared the dart protruding from his throat, he collapsed.

Locklear was only an instant behind James to react. As James and the twins went sprawling below, accompanied by angry shouts as spectators were knocked about, Locklear had his sword out and was leaping toward the robed and cowled figure. ‘Guards!’ he shouted, as an honour guard was stationed just below the viewing stands.

The sounds of boots pounding upon wooden stairs answered his call almost instantly as soldiers of the Prince raced to intercept the fleeing figure. With little concern for bruises caused, the guardsmen roughly shoved innocent onlookers out of their way. With the silent understanding mobs possess, suddenly everyone knew that something was wrong in the viewing stands. While those nearby scampered to get away, those in other parts of the field turned to observe the cause of such turmoil.

Seeing guardsmen mere yards away, with only a few confused citizens blocking their approach, the robed man put one hand upon the rail of the stairs and vaulted over the side, falling a full dozen feet to the earth below. A heavy thud and an exclamation of pain could be heard by Locklear as he reached the railing.

Sprawled upon the ground, two stunned commoners sat inspecting the unmoving form that lay next to them. One man pushed himself back without standing while the other crawled. Locklear vaulted over the rail and landed upon his feet, sword point levelled at the robed figure. The form upon the ground stirred, then leaped at the young Baron.

Almost taken by surprise, Locklear let the man get inside his guard. The robed man had his arms around Locklear’s waist as he drove him back into the supports of the viewing stand.

Locklear’s breath burst from his lungs as he struck the heavy wooden beams, but he managed to strike the man behind the ear with his sword hilt. The man staggered away, obviously intent upon escape rather than combat, but shouting voices heralded the approach of more guardsmen. Turning, the man struck out at Locklear, who was struggling to regain his breath, and his fist found Locklear’s ear.

Pain and confusion overwhelmed Locklear as the assailant rushed into the darkness under the viewing stands. The Baron shook his head to clear it, then turned and hurried after.

In the sudden darkness under the stands, the man could be hiding anywhere. ‘In here!’ Locklear yelled, in reply to an inquiring shout, and within seconds a half-dozen guardsmen were standing behind him. ‘Spread out and be alert.’

The men did as they were bidden and slowly advanced beneath the viewing stands. The men closest to the front were forced to stoop, as the lowest risers of the stands were but four feet off the ground. One soldier walked along, poking his sword into the gloom, against the fugitive having crawled under the front-most stands to hide. Above them the sounds of citizens leaving the stands filled the gloom with a thunderous clatter of sandals and boots upon wood, but after a few minutes, the noise diminished.

Then the sounds of struggle came from before them. Locklear and his men hurried forward. In the dark, two figures held a third. Without seeing who was whom, Locklear drove his shoulder into the nearest body, knocking everyone to the ground. More guards piled on top of the fray, until at last the struggle at the bottom of the mass was ended by sheer weight. Then the guards were quickly unpiling and the combatants were pulled up. Locklear grinned as he saw that one of them was James and the other Borric. Looking down, he could see the still form of the man in robes. ‘Drag him out into the light,’ he ordered the guards. To James he said, ‘Is he dead?’

‘Not unless you broke his neck jumping on him that way. You damn near broke mine.’

‘Where’s Erland?’ asked Locklear.

‘Here,’ came an answering voice in the gloom. ‘I was covering the other side of the fray in case he got past these two,’ he indicated James and Borric.

‘Nursing your precious side, you mean,’ shot back Borric with a grin.

Erland shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

They all followed the guards, who were carrying the still form of the assailant, and when they were in the afternoon sunlight again, discovered a cordon had been thrown up by other guards.

Locklear bent over. ‘Let’s see what we have here.’ He pulled back the hood and a face stared blankly up at the sky. ‘He’s dead.’

James was instantly on his knees, forcing open the man’s mouth. He sniffed and said, ‘Poisoned himself.’

‘Who is he?’ said Borric.

‘And why was he trying to kill you, Uncle Jimmy?’ said Erland.

‘Not me, you idiot,’ snapped James. He pointed at Borric. ‘He was trying to kill your brother.’

A guard approached. ‘My Lord, the man struck by the dart is dead. He died within seconds of his wounding.’

Borric forced himself to a nervous grin. ‘Why would anyone wish to kill me?’

Erland joined in the strained humour. ‘An angry husband?’

James said, ‘Not you, Borric conDoin.’ He glanced around the crowd, as if seeking other assassins. ‘Someone tried to kill the future King of the Isles.’

Locklear opened the man’s robe, revealing a black tunic. ‘James, look here.’

Baron James peered down at the dead man. His skin was dark, even darker than Gardan’s, marking him as Keshian by ancestry, but those of Keshian ancestry were common in this part of the Kingdom. There were brown- and black-skinned people in every strata of Krondorian society. But this man wore odd clothing, a tunic of expensive black silk and soft slippers unlike anything the young Princes had seen before.

James inspected the dead man’s hands, and noticed a ring set with a dark gem, then looked for a necklace and found none.

‘What are you doing?’ Borric asked.

‘Old habits,’ was all Jimmy would answer. ‘He’s no Nighthawk,’ he observed, mentioning the legendary Guild of Assassins. ‘But this may be worse.’

‘How?’ asked Locklear, remembering all too well when the Nighthawks had sought to kill Arutha twenty years before.

‘He’s Keshian.’

Locklear leaned down and inspected the ring. Ashen-faced, he stood. ‘Worse. He’s a member of the Royal House of Kesh.’

The room was silent. Those who sat in the circle of chairs moved slightly, as discomfort over the attempt upon Borric manifested itself in the creaks of leather and wood, the rustle of cloth, and the clink of jewellery.

Duke Gardan rubbed at the bridge of his nose. ‘It’s preposterous. What would Kesh gain in killing a member of your family? Does the Empress wish war?’

Erland chimed in. ‘She’s worked as hard as anyone to preserve the peace, or at least all the reports say that. Why would she want Borric dead? Who—’

Borric interrupted his brother. ‘Whoever wants war between the Kingdom and the Empire.’

Locklear nodded. ‘It’s such a shallow lie; so transparent an attempt that it is not believable.’

‘Yet …’ Arutha mused aloud, ‘what if that assassin was chosen to fail? A dupe. What if I am supposed to withhold my envoy, keep my sons at home with me?’

Gardan nodded. ‘Thereby insulting the Royal House of Kesh.’

James, who leaned against the wall behind Arutha said, ‘We’ve managed a fair job already by dispatching a member of the Empress’s house. He was a very distant cousin, true, but a cousin, nevertheless.’

Garden returned to rubbing the bridge of his nose, a gesture of frustration more than fatigue. ‘And what was I supposed to say to the Keshian Ambassador? “Oh, we’ve found this young fellow, who seems to be a member of your Royal House. We had no idea he was in Krondor. And we’re sorry to tell you he’s dead. Oh, by the way, he tried to murder Prince Borric.”’

Arutha leaned back in his chair, his fingers forming a tent before his face, absently flexing in a gesture that all in the room had come to recognize over the years. He glanced at last at James.

‘We could dump the body,’ offered the young Baron.

Gardan said, ‘I beg your pardon?’

James stretched. ‘Take the body down to the bay and toss it in.’

Erland grinned. ‘Rough treatment for a member of the Royal House of Kesh, wouldn’t you say?’

Arutha said, ‘Why?’

James moved to sit on the edge of Arutha’s desk, as the Prince over the years had come to conduct very informal sessions with close advisors and family. ‘He’s not officially a guest in the city. We aren’t supposed to know he’s here. No one is supposed to know. The only Keshians who will know he’s here are those who know why he’s here. And I doubt any of them will inquire as to his well-being. He’s now the forgotten man, unless we call attention to his whereabouts.’

Drily, Borric added, ‘And his condition.’

‘We can claim he tried to kill Borric,’ James acknowledged, ‘but all we have is a Keshian corpse, a blowgun, and some poisoned darts.’

‘And a dead merchant,’ added Gardan.

‘Dead merchants are a frequent enough commodity on any given day in the Western Realm, my Lord Duke,’ observed James. ‘I say we strip him of his ring and toss him into the bay. Let the Keshians who sent him wonder for a while. Should anyone inquire, we might gain an opportunity to learn more of who’s behind him. At worst, we can show considerable distress at his demise, insisting that had we but known he was in the city we would have made every effort to ensure his safety, but if bored royal visitors slip into the city incognito, and insist on frequenting the seedier parts of the city …?’ He shrugged dramatically.

Arutha said nothing for a while, then gave one affirmative nod. James indicated with a jerk of his head that Locklear should use Royal Guardsmen for the job, and the other young Baron slipped through the door. After a short conference with Lieutenant William outside, Locklear returned to his seat.

Arutha sighed. Looking at James, he said, ‘Kesh. What else?’

James shrugged. ‘Hints, rumours. Their new Ambassador is … an odd choice. He’s what they call a “trueblood”, but not of the Royal House, the assassin would have been a more logical choice. The Ambassador is a purely political appointment. It’s rumoured that he may actually have stronger influence in Kesh’s court than many with royal blood. I can’t find any obvious reason why he should be given such an honour – save as a compromise, to appease different factions in court.’

Arutha nodded. ‘While none of this makes apparent sense, still, we must play according to the rules of such games.’ He was silent for a while, and no one spoke as the Prince gathered his thoughts. ‘Send word to our people in Kesh,’ he instructed James. Years earlier, he had allowed James to begin creating a network of agents, starting inside the Principality, and slowly spreading through the Western Realm. Now Prince Arutha had operatives in the Royal Courts of Kesh and Queg and close to the most powerful men in the Free Cities. ‘I want our agents hard at work before my sons arrive. If someone seeks to suck us into war with Kesh, striking at the King’s nephews would be a logical choice. You will accompany the Princes to Kesh. There is no one I trust more to swim through these murky waters.’

Baron Locklear said, ‘Highness?’

Looking at the other young Baron, Arutha said, ‘You will accompany Baron James, as Master of Ceremonies, Chief of Protocol, and the rest of that idiocy. The Imperial Court is dominated by women. We will at last find a use for that infamous Locklear charm. Instruct Captain Valdis he will act in your place as Knight-Marshal. And have Cousin William take over the Household Guard as acting Captain.’ Absently he added, ‘He’s overdue for promotion, anyway.’ Arutha drummed his fingers on the table as he reflected for a moment. ‘I want you,’ he said to James, ‘shed of any office and protocol on this journey. Your only title will be “tutor”. You must be free to come and go as you need.’ He stood and the others followed suit. He looked at the boys and said, ‘Supper tonight.’

The twins nodded their understanding and rose, assuming this meant they were dismissed. As Locklear and James followed suit, Arutha said, ‘James, abide a moment longer.’

The twins exchanged glances, but said nothing, and left the room with Locklear a step behind. When only Arutha, James, and Gardan remained, the Prince asked, ‘What sort of intelligence are we getting out of the city of Kesh?’

Ten years previously, Arutha had quietly asked James to begin creating an intelligence system, primarily as a means to counteract a very well established network of agents working for Kesh in the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles. James had begun with his already established contacts in the Krondorian underworld. Within a year he had informants watching every ship and caravan in and out of the city as well as having identified a dozen likely recruits in the region in other cities and towns, from Land’s End up to Ylith.

A visit to Locklear’s father two years earlier had provided James with his best new agent on the border with Kesh. James had only been to Land’s End once, previously, as a boy, and used a very old acquaintance from that visit as his introduction around the city.

Bram had been the illegitimate son of the Baroness of Land’s End and his claim on the title had not been upheld by the crown, the title and estates being given to Locklear’s father. But as a reward for service done the crown, a bit of black murder which few besides James knew about, Bram, and his wife Lorri, had been set up as very wealthy farmers. By the time James reacquainted himself with them, they had established lucrative trading concerns down into Great Kesh, and finally, after years of work, James had positioned an agent in the Imperial palace.

James said, ‘I have someone as highly placed in the palace staff as possible without trying to recruit a trueblood.’ Both Arutha and Gardan knew that trying to recruit any trueblood Keshian into service for a foreign power would likely prove impossible. ‘The difficulty is sifting through rumour and gossip looking for useful information.

‘Here’s what we know,’ James continued, knowing both men had read every report he had prepared. ‘There are factions within the trueblood community with differing loyalties to the various claimants to the throne. The Empress has a daughter who is widowed, and who would normally be next in line, but for reasons we don’t yet understand is not openly acknowledged. She has a younger brother who is very popular with the military leaders. The Empress also has a granddaughter, who is very young, but who – if married to the right leader – would create even more division among the factions.’

‘Civil war,’ said Gardan. ‘If the Empress doesn’t clean up the question of succession before she dies, Kesh could be shattered.’

Arutha nodded. ‘The Confederation is always looking for an excuse to rebel, and nothing would suit them better than the Royal House of Kesh being torn apart.’

James said, ‘I’m still waiting for copies of the last year’s communications between our ambassador and your brother, Highness.’

Arutha nodded. One of his frustrations was that while he had a great deal of autonomy in dealing with the Western Realm, the Kingdom was still ruled from Rillanon, a city thousands of miles away. And while Kesh often sent envoys and ambassadors to the Western Realm as a concession to necessity, Arutha had no formal reciprocation. And for reasons not clear after years ruling Krondor, he still had trouble getting copies of the communications between the Isle’s ambassador in Kesh and the King. ‘You’ll have to wait longer, I’m afraid. By the time you return from Kesh, I expect you’ll be more informed than Lord Dougrey.’ The Kingdom’s ambassador to Kesh was a minor Earl with a talent for entertaining and a distinct lack of other gifts. ‘For he has been recalled by the King, so when you get there, you’ll have to rely on your agent in the palace, and your own wits.’

James sighed. ‘Well, at least that rids us of the problem of how to keep the ambassador busy and out from under foot.’

Arutha said, ‘We have two possibilities to consider. Either, someone wants to keep the Empire together, and what better way to avoid a civil war than by plunging the Empire into a major war with a neighbour?’

James finished. ‘Or, someone wants to use a war with the Isles or the threat of a war to pull the Empire apart.’

Gardan said, ‘And the list of those who would delight in seeing Kesh collapse is not short.’

Arutha stood. ‘I’m sending you into another mess, Jimmy. But this one has consequences as dire as any before if mistakes are made. I would not bother to inform you of the obvious, save this time you’re labouring with a grave handicap.’

James smiled. ‘Borric and Erland will be kept on a short leash.’

‘Don’t let them start a war, please?’ Then without another word, he departed, the Duke following after.

James had come to understand Arutha’s moods as well as any outside his family. A mind as complex and deep as the Prince’s was like a chess master’s; Arutha was planning every conceivable outcome as many moves in advance as possible.

James left the room and found Locklear and the twins waiting for him outside the door. ‘We leave early in the morning,’ James informed them.

Borric said, ‘We’re not due to leave for another three days.’

James said, ‘Officially. If your Keshian friend has compatriots about, I would prefer they not know our plans.’ He glanced at Locklear. ‘We’ll slip out of the palace before dawn, and gather at a tavern. Horses and supplies will be waiting for us. A small mounted troop, twenty guards, dressed as mercenaries. Couriers leave in an hour by fast horses. Arutha’s sending word to Shamata we’re going to need fresh mounts and stores enough for two hundred escorts.’

Locklear said, ‘We’ll be arriving in Shamata at the same time as any message and two hundred—’

James cut him off. ‘We’re not going to Shamata. We want any Keshian agents who might be paying attention to think we’ll travel in state to Shamata. But we’re not going to Shamata. We’re going to Stardock.’

## • Chapter Three • Stardock

DUST SWIRLED.

Twenty-four riders moved at a steady pace along the edge of the Great Star Lake. A week and a half of hard riding had taken them southward from Krondor, to Landreth on the north coast of the Sea of Dreams. Then, from where it entered the sea, the Star River led them further southward, the rugged mountains of the Grey Range always in sight as they entered the lush Vale of Dreams. Years of border wars between the Kingdom and the Empire had seen this rich farming land changing hands many times. Those who lived in this part of the world spoke the languages of the Southern Kingdom and the Northern Empire with equal fluency. And the sight of twenty-four armed mercenaries evoked no notice. Many armed bands of men rode the vale.

At the midpoint of the river, near a small waterfall, they forded the currents, making for the south shore. Upon reaching the headwaters of the Star River, the Great Star Lake, they turned to track the shoreline southward, seeking that point closest to the island dominating the centre of the lake, Stardock. There they would find the ferry that provided passage from the shore to the island.

Along the banks of the shore they passed tiny fishing and farming villages, often no more than an extended family, little groups of huts and cottages, but all looking prosperous and well tended. The community of magicians upon Stardock had grown over the years, and now other communities had developed to meet the demands for food of those upon the island.

Borric urged his horse forward, as they rounded a small promontory of land, bringing them their first clear view of the large building upon the island. It nearly shone in the orange light of the sunset, while the advancing night behind turned the distant sky violet and grey. ‘Gods and demons, Uncle Jimmy, look at the size of that place!’

James nodded. ‘I had heard they were building a massive centre for learning, but the tales never did it justice.’

Locklear said, ‘Duke Gardan visited here many years ago. He told me they had laid a huge foundation for the building … but this is larger than anything I’ve seen.’

Glancing at the falling light, James said, ‘If we hurry, we’ll make the island within the next two hours. I’d rather a warm meal and clean bed than another night on the trail.’ Setting heels to his horse’s sides, he moved on.

Under a canopy of brilliant stars on one of the rare nights when all three moons had yet to rise, they passed through a small gap between hillocks and entered a prosperous-looking town. Torches and lanterns blazed at every storefront – an extravagance in all but the wealthiest of towns and cities – and children ran after them, shouting and laughing in the general confusion. Beggars and prostitutes asked favours or offered them respectively, and ramshackle taverns stood open to provide the weary traveller with a cool drink, hot meal, and warm company.

Locklear shouted over the noise, ‘Quite a prosperous little metropolis growing here.’

James glanced about at the dirt and squalor. ‘Quite. The blessings of civilization,’ he observed.

Borric said, ‘Perhaps we should investigate one of these small pubs—’

‘No,’ answered James. ‘They’re certain to offer you refreshments at the Academy.’

Erland smiled ruefully. ‘A sweet and slightly feeble wine, no doubt. What else would one expect from an assemblage of old scholars, poking around in musty piles of manuscripts.’

James shook his head. They came to what was obviously the crossroads of the two main streets in the town and turned toward the lake. As James expected, down near the waterfront a large pier had been constructed and several ferries of differing sizes waited to haul goods and people to the island. Despite the late hour, workers still stacked sacks of grain against the need of hauling them the next morning.

Reining in, James called down to the nearest ferryman, ‘Good evening. We seek passage to Stardock island.’

A face, dominated by a hawk-beaked nose, with ill-cut bangs almost hiding the eyes, was revealed as the man glanced over his shoulder and said, ‘I can make one quick run across, sir. Five coppers a man, sir, but you need stable your horses here.’

Jimmy smiled. ‘How about ten gold pieces for the lot of us, including the mounts?’

The man returned to his work. ‘No bargaining, sir.’

Borric rattled his sword a bit as he said, half-jokingly, ‘What, you turn your back upon us?’

The man turned again to face them. Touching his forehead, in slightly sarcastic tones, he said, ‘Sorry, young sir, but no disrespect was intended.’

Borric was about to respond, when James tapped his arm with a gloved hand and pointed. In the gloom, just out of the light of a guttering torch, a young man in a plain robe of homespun sat at the dockside watching the interplay calmly.

Borric said, ‘What?’

‘The local constable, I expect.’

‘Him?’ said Borric. ‘He looks more a beggar or monk than any sort of fighting man.’

The ferryman nodded. ‘Right you are, sir. He’s our Peacekeeper.’ He grinned up at James. ‘You know your way around, sir. Yes, you do. That’s one of the magicians from the island. The council that runs the place keeps it peaceful-like over here in Stardock Town, so they make sure that we have the means. He has no sword, young sir,’ he said to Borric, ‘but with a wave of his hand he can stun you worse than a poleaxe to the noggin. Believe me, sir, I found that out the hard way.’ His voice falling to a near mutter, he added, ‘Or, it could be the magic what sets you to itching so bad you wish to die …’ Returning to the topic at hand, he raised his voice, ‘And as far as hagglin’, sir, as much as I do enjoy a good round of lying about how much injury a good profit does my children’s diet, the fact is the Academy sets the rates.’ He scratched his chin. ‘Suppose you could haggle with that young spellcaster over there, but I expect he’ll tell you the same. Given the traffic back and forth, the prices are fair.’

‘Where is the stable?’ James asked, but just then several small boys pushed from the crowd and offered to take their horses.

‘The boys will see your mounts to a clean stable.’ James nodded and dismounted. The other riders followed suit. Instantly, small hands removed reins from James’s grasp as other children did likewise throughout the company. ‘Very well,’ said James, ‘but see they have clean stalls and fresh hay and oats. And have a farrier check shoes, will you?’

James ceased his commentary as something caught his eye. He turned abruptly, reached out, and yanked a small boy away from Borric’s horse. James lifted the boy off the ground and looked him hard in the eyes. ‘Give it back,’ he said with a calm note of menace. The boy began to protest, then when James shook him for emphasis, thought better of it and held out a small coin purse to Borric. Borric’s mouth opened as he patted himself down and then accepted the purse.

James put the boy down but held onto his shirt front, then leaned down so he was eye to eye with the would-be cutpurse. ‘Boy, before I was half your size I knew more than twice what you’ll ever know about thieving. Do you believe me?’ The boy could only nod, so frightened was he at discovery. ‘Then take my word on the matter. You haven’t the knack. You’ll end up at the end of a short rope waiting for a long drop before you’re twelve if you keep this up. Find an honest trade. Now, if anything is missing when we leave, I’ll know who to look for, won’t I?’ The boy nodded again.

James sent him scurrying and turned to the ferryman. ‘Then it’ll be twenty-four of us on foot to the island.’

At this, the young magician rose to his feet and said, ‘It’s not often we have armed soldiers come to the Academy. May I ask your business?’

‘You may ask,’ said James. ‘But we’ll save our answers for another. If we need your permission, send word to the magician Pug that old friends come to call.’

The young magician raised an eyebrow. ‘Who should I tell him comes to call?’

James smiled, ‘Tell him … Baron James of Krondor, and …’ he glanced at the twins, ‘some of his kinsmen.’

A small group waited to welcome the company as the ferry came to rest against the shore with a bump. A loading dock was the only sign that this was the entrance to perhaps the strangest community upon Midkemia, the Academy of Magicians. Workers aided the soldiers as they negotiated the dock. Many were unsteady after their first ride on a flat-bottomed ferry. Lanterns hung from the dock posts, illuminating the welcoming committee.

A short man of middle years, wearing only a black robe and sandals, was at the centre of the group. To his right stood a striking, dark-skinned woman with iron-grey hair. An old man in robes stood to his left, a large huntsman in leather tunic and trousers at his shoulder. Behind them two younger men, attired in robes, waited patiently.

As James, Locklear, and the twins stepped off the ferry, the short man stepped forward and bowed slightly. ‘Your Highnesses honour us.’ Then he said, ‘Welcome to Stardock.’

Borric and Erland stepped forward, and awkwardly held out their hands to exchange a less formal hello with the man. While they were Princes born, used to some degree of deference and awe at their rank at times, here before them stood a man legends and tales had grown around. ‘Cousin Pug,’ Borric said, ‘thank you for receiving us.’

The magician smiled and everyone relaxed. Though nearly forty-eight years old, he looked a man in his early thirties. Brown eyes almost shone with warmth and, despite his age, the dark beard couldn’t hide an expression that was almost boyish. This youthful face could not belong to the man reputed to be the single most powerful individual in the world.

Erland and he quickly exchanged greetings, and James stepped forward. ‘Lord Pug …’ James began.

‘Just Pug, James.’ He smiled. ‘Around here we have little use for formal titles within our community. Despite King Lyam’s generous intentions in creating a tiny duchy out of Stardock and naming me its lord and master, we rarely think of such things.’ He took James by the arm. ‘Come; you remember my wife?’

James and his companions bowed slightly and took the woman’s slender hand. Upon close inspection, James was surprised at how delicate the woman looked. He hadn’t seen her for over seven years, but she had been a robust, healthy woman in her early forties, with suntanned cheeks and raven dark hair. Now she looked ten years her husband’s senior. ‘My Lady,’ said James, bowing over her hand.

The woman smiled and years vanished from her. ‘Just Katala, James. How is our son?’

James grinned. ‘William is happy. He is Acting Captain of Arutha’s Guard. He is well thought of, and I expect will hold the office when Valdis steps down. He’s a fine officer and will rise high, perhaps even to Knight-Marshal someday.’

Katala said, ‘And … otherwise?’

James’s smile faded. ‘He pays court to several lovely ladies of the Princess’s retinue.’ For a brief instant Katala’s expression lightened. ‘But no one holds his interest, I’m afraid.’ Katala’s face turned sombre again. Nothing more need be said; Katala, Pug, and James remembered the young woman who had been very dear to William, a young woman lost in serving the Kingdom. Softly James said, ‘That wound doesn’t seem to heal, does it?’

Pug said, ‘He should be here.’ Seeing his wife’s features darken, he said, ‘I know, dearest, we have put that argument to rest. Now,’ he said to the Princes, ‘may I present the others?’

When Borric nodded, Pug said, ‘I think you boys will remember Kulgan, my old teacher. And Meecham, who oversees our community’s food stores and a thousand other tasks.’ The two men named both bowed, and Borric and Erland shook each hand in turn. The old magician who had been Pug’s teacher moved with difficulty, aided by a cane and the hand of the other man.

Meecham, a powerful-looking man of advancing years, scolded the old magician like a nagging wife. ‘You should have stayed in your room …’

Kulgan shook off the aiding hand as Erland moved to take Borric’s place before Pug’s old master. ‘I’m old, Meecham, not dying.’ The man’s hair was white as winter’s first snow, and the skin was lined and tanned like old leather. But the blue eyes were still bright and alert. ‘Your Highness,’ he said to Erland.

The Prince smiled back. As boys they had delighted in Kulgan’s visits, for the old magician had entertained them with stories punctuated by small feats of magic. ‘Seems we’re informal, here. Uncle Kulgan. It’s good to see you again. It’s been too long.’

The two younger men behind were unknown to James. Pug said, ‘These are leaders in our community and were among the first of those to come to Stardock to learn the Greater Magic. They are teachers of others, now. This is Korsh.’ The first man, tall and bald, bowed slightly to the Princes. His eyes shone brightly in contrast to his very dark skin, and gold earrings hung to his shoulders.

The second man looked nearly the twin of the first, save for a full black beard, oiled to ringlets which hung loosely from his cheeks. ‘And his brother, Watume.’

Pug said, ‘You must all be tired from your journey.’ He glanced around. ‘I was expecting our daughter, Gamina, to join us, but she is helping to feed the children and I suppose she was detained. You’ll meet her soon enough.

‘Now, to your quarters. We have rooms for you in the Academy. You’ve missed supper, but we’ll have hot food delivered to your room. In the morning, we can visit.’

The small company moved up the shoreline, to where they could see past the monstrous building that dominated the island. Fully forty stories tall at points, its central focus was a lofty spire that reached another hundred feet above the roof. It seemed little more than an un-railed stairway around a column, topped by a tiny platform. It was illuminated by an odd blue light which shone from below, so that it seemed to almost float upward, rather than be a thing of stone and mortar.

‘Everyone is struck by the sight of our Tower of Testing,’ Pug remarked. ‘That is where those of the Greater Path learn their first mastery, and leave their apprenticeship behind.’

The two dark-skinned brothers cleared their throats in a meaningful way and Pug smiled. ‘Some of us have differing feelings as to how much “outsiders” should be allowed to know.’

Rounding the shore, they saw a rather busy town at the other end of the building. Cleaner than its twin upon the shoreline, it was still its equal in activity. Despite the advancing hour, many people were in the streets upon one errand or another. ‘Stardock Town,’ said Katala, pride evident in her voice.

Locklear said, ‘I thought the town upon the shore was Stardock Town.’

Pug said, ‘So those who live there call it. But this is the true town upon the island of Stardock. This is where many of our brothers and sisters in magic live. Here is where their families abide. Here we have built a haven for those who have been driven from their communities by fear and hatred.’ Pug motioned for his guests to enter the main Academy building through a large double door and escorted them inside. At an intersection of two halls, most of the welcoming committee bid the guests good night, while Pug led the travellers down to a series of doors upon each side of a long hall. ‘We’re lacking in regal accommodations, I’m afraid,’ he said, ‘but these guest cells are warm, dry, and comfortable. You’ll find a basin for washing, and if you leave your dirty travel clothing outside, someone will see it is washed. The garderobe is at the far end of the hall. Now, rest well and we’ll have a long talk in the morning.’

Pug bid them good night and the twins quickly found the food waiting for them in their cells. Up and down the hall the night was full of the noise of soldiers shedding travelling armour and arms, splashing water, and the clink of knives against serving plates. Soon all were gone from the hall, save a puzzled-looking Locklear standing next to James. ‘What ails you?’

James shrugged. ‘Nothing, I guess. Tired, or …’ he let his voice trail off. He thought of Kulgan’s age and Katala’s less than healthy appearance. ‘It’s just that the years have not been kind to some fine people.’ Then his manner brightened, ‘Or it could be my youthful crimes coming back to haunt me. I’m just not comfortable with the idea of spending the night in any room referred to as a “cell”.’

With a wry smile and a nod of agreement, Locklear bid his companion good night. A moment later, James stood alone in the long, empty hall. Something was not right. But he left that feeling for the next day. Now he needed food and a wash.

With the sound of a bird chirping outside his window, James was awake. As was his habit, the young Baron of the Prince’s court rose before the sun. To his surprise, he discovered his clothing had been washed and folded and left just inside his door. A light sleeper by nature and quick to full wakefulness by training, he was discomforted that anyone could have opened his door and not disturbed him. James pulled on the clean tunic and trousers, foregoing the heavy travelling boots. Since childhood he had preferred bare feet, and over the years it had become something of a common joke among the palace staff that should one enter Baron James’s office, one was likely to find his boots removed and tucked away under his desk.

He made his way to the outer doorway, moving soundlessly. He was certain that everyone else was still asleep, but his stealth was not born of consideration, it was habitual. As a boy in the Poor Quarter of the city, James had earned his livelihood as a thief, and moving without sound was second nature.

Opening the outside door, he slipped through and closed it silently behind. The sky had already turned slate grey and the eastern horizon was showing the blush of the approaching sunrise. The only sounds were the calling of birds and the thud of a single axe falling, as someone cut wood for an early morning fire. James moved away from the huge building of the Academy and made his way along the path that led to the village.

The sound of wood being cut fell away as that unknown farmer or fisherman’s wife finished the task. After a hundred yards, the path diverged, one part heading toward the village while a smaller path led toward the lakeshore. James decided he was in little mood for idle morning chatter with townspeople, so he moved toward the water.

In the gloom he almost didn’t see the black-robed figure until he was nearly upon him. Pug turned and smiled. He pointed eastward. ‘This is my favourite part of the day.’

James nodded. ‘I thought I’d be the first up.’

Pug kept his eyes fastened upon the horizon. ‘No, I sleep very little.’

‘The wear doesn’t show. I don’t think you look a day older than when I last saw you seven years ago.’

Pug nodded. ‘There are things about myself I am just discovering, James. When I took upon myself the mantel of Sorcerer…’ his voice trailed off. ‘We’ve never really talked, have we?’

James shook his head. ‘We’ve had our share of interesting conversations, Pug, but not about anything profound, if that’s what you mean. Not anything that wasn’t related to the business of the state, is what I’m saying. It’s not exactly as if our paths cross frequently. We first met at Arutha and Anita’s wedding,’ he ticked off on his fingers as he spoke, ‘and again after the battle at Sethanon.’ Both men glanced at each other and nothing needed to be said between them about the cataclysmic battle that had taken place there. ‘Then twice since in Krondor.’ Neither spoke of the last two encounters, for not only had state secrets involving a secret society of assassins and then a mission to recover a stolen Ishapian artefact of critical importance, and dark magic been involved, but they had lost someone special to them both, a student of Pug’s who had become a close friend of James’s.

Pug returned his attention to the east, where the first hot pink and orange of the sun’s rays struck the clouds. ‘When I was a boy I lived in Crydee. I was nothing more than a Far Coast peasant lad. I worked in the kitchen with my foster family and had ambitions to be a soldier.’ He fell silent.

James waited. He had little desire to talk about his past, though it was well enough known to anyone of rank in the city of Krondor, and to everyone in the palace. ‘I was a thief.’

‘Jimmy the Hand,’ said Pug. ‘Yes, but what sort of boy were you?’

James considered the question for a moment, then answered. ‘Brash. That’s the first word that comes to mind.’ He watched as the dawn unfolded. Neither man spoke for several minutes as each saw the fingers of light striking the clouds hanging in the east. The fiery rim of the disc of the sun began to appear. James said, ‘I … was also foolish at times. Remind me sometime to tell you the story about how I almost destroyed half the keep in Krondor when Guy du Bas-Tyra was Viceroy: one of my first lessons in why it’s wise to leave magic to magicians.’ James grinned, then his smile faded and at last he sighed. ‘I had no idea of there being any limit to what I could do. I have no doubt that had I continued that existence, I’d have finally taken one big chance too many. I’d most likely be dead by now.’

‘Brash,’ Pug repeated. ‘And foolish at times.’ He indicated with his head the Academy. Not unlike the royal twins.’

James smiled. ‘Not unlike the Princes, though they lack any sense of true risk, I fear. I knew from my earliest days that any misstep could end my life. They are convinced they will live forever.’

‘What else?’

James considered. Without false modesty, he said, ‘Brilliant, I suppose you could say, or gifted at least. Things often seemed obvious to me that confused many of those around me. At least the world seemed a more obvious place then. I’m not so sure I wasn’t a great deal smarter as a boy than I am now as a man.’

Pug motioned that James should walk with him and started slow progress toward the water’s edge. ‘When I was a boy, my modest ambitions seemed the most splendid things. Now …’

‘You seem troubled,’ James ventured.

‘Not as you would understand it,’ Pug answered. James turned and in the grey light saw an unreadable expression on Pug’s face. ‘Tell me of the attempt upon Borric. You were closest to him.’

James said, ‘News travels fast.’

‘It always does. And any coming conflict between the Kingdom and Kesh is of concern for us.’

‘Given your location, I can understand. You are a window upon the Empire.’ He gestured south, toward the not-distant border. James told Pug what he knew of the attempt, and finished by saying, ‘That the assassin was Keshian is hardly in doubt, but all those clues that point to the Royal House of Kesh being at the root of the attempt … it’s too clear. I think someone seeks to dupe us.’ He turned as they lost sight of the town, regarding the upper stories of the Academy. ‘You have many Keshians here?’

Pug nodded. ‘And from Roldem, Queg, Olasko, Miskalon, the Peaks of the Quor, and other places. Here we pay little attention to matters of nation. We are concerned with other issues.’

James said, ‘Those two who met with us last night …’

‘Watume and Korsh, yes. They are Keshian. From the city of Kesh itself.’ Before James could speak, Pug said, ‘They are not Imperial agents. I would know. Trust me. They think nothing of politics. In fact, if anything, they are too eager for us to be apart from the rest of the world.’

James turned for a moment, to regard the hulking edifice of the Academy. ‘This is a Kingdom duchy, at least in name. But many have wondered aloud what it is you build here. There is something about this place that strikes many in the court as odd.’

‘And dangerous,’ Pug added. James turned to study the magician’s face. ‘Which is why I work diligently to see that the Academy never partakes in national conflicts. On any side.’

James considered his words. ‘There are few among the nobility who are as comfortable with the idea of magic as our King and his brother. Growing up with Kulgan in the household as they did, they think nothing about it. But others …’

‘Still would see us driven from cities and towns, or hung, or burned at stakes. I know,’ Pug said. ‘In the twenty years we have worked here, much has changed … yet so little has changed.’

Finally James said, ‘Pug, I feel something odd in you. I detected it last night. What is it?’

Pug’s eyes narrowed as he studied James. ‘Strange you should observe that, when those closest to me don’t see it.’ He reached the edge of the lake and halted. With an outstretched hand, he pointed. A family of snowy egrets were preening themselves and squawking in the shallow of the lake. ‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’

James could only agree as he took in his surroundings. ‘This is a beautiful place.’

‘It wasn’t so when I first came here,’ answered Pug. ‘The legend is that this lake was formed by a falling star, hence its name. But this island was not the cooled body of that star, which I calculate could have been no larger than this.’ He held his hands apart about six inches. ‘I think the star cracked the crust of the earth and lava rose up to create this island. It was rocky and barren when I first came here, with only a bit of tenacious grass at the water’s edge, and a few hearty bushes here and there. I brought what you see here, the grass, the trees, the animals.’ He grinned, and years vanished from his face. ‘The birds found their own way over.’

James considered the groves of trees nearby and the deep meadow grass he saw everywhere. ‘A not inconsiderable feat.’

Pug waved away the comment as if it was a common enough conjurer’s trick. ‘Will there be war?’

James let out an audible sigh. It held the sound of resignation. ‘That’s the question, isn’t it?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘No, that’s not the question. There is always war. The question is when and between which nations? If I have any say in the matter, there’ll be no war between the Kingdom and Kesh in my lifetime. But then, I may not have much to say about the matter.’

‘You ride a dangerous course.’

‘It’s not the first time. I wish circumstances could have spared the Princes the need to go.’

‘They are their father’s sons,’ observed Pug. ‘They must go where duty requires. Even if it means risking much to gain little.’

Pug resumed his walk along the shore and James fell into step at his side.

James could only nod at that. ‘Such is the burden of their birthright.’

‘Well,’ said Pug, ‘there are short respites, such as this one, along the way. Why don’t you go over there?’ He pointed to a stand of willow trees masking the shore.

‘On the other side is a small inlet fed by a hot spring. It is a most invigorating experience. Soak in the hot water a bit, then jump into the lake. It will set you right and you can be back in time to join us for the morning meal.’

James smiled. ‘Thank you, it sounds just the thing. I’m so used to having much work before breaking my fast. A pleasant way to fill an hour or so will be welcomed.’

Pug turned back toward the town and after a few steps said, ‘Oh, be careful of swimming in the shore grasses. It’s easy to get turned about and lose your way. The wind makes them bend toward the island, so should you get lost, simply swim in that direction until you feel land underfoot. Then walk out.’

‘Thank you. I’ll be cautious. Good morning.’

‘Good morning, James. I’ll see you at breakfast.’

As Pug returned to the Academy, James headed toward the stand of trees the magician had indicated.

Passing between large boles, pushing aside hanging greenery like a curtain, he discovered a narrow barren path that led down the side of a small dell, toward the lakeshore. Near the water’s edge, he could see steam rising in the morning coolness. James inspected a small pool that was obviously fed from underground, as the steam all rose from that one location only. A small rivulet of water over-spilled one side and ran to the shore, joining the lake there. It was but no more than twenty yards from pool to lake. He glanced about. The pool and this small stretch of shoreline were screened on three sides by trees affording him ample privacy. James removed his tunic and trousers and stuck a foot in the pool. It was almost hotter than he cared for in his own bath! He sank in and let the warmth infuse him, relaxing tense muscles.

Tense muscles? He wondered. He had just awoke. Why should he feel tension. His own voice answered, because of the risk in sending two boys to play at a game of Keshian court politics older than the house of conDoin. He sighed. Pug was a strange man but a wise and powerful one; he was an adopted kinsman to the King and a Duke. Perhaps James should ask Pug’s opinion. Then he thought against it. As much as Pug was reputed to have been a saviour to the Kingdom in years past, there was something odd about Stardock and the manner in which it was governed. James decided he’d find out as much as possible about what went on here before speaking in confidence to the magician. He wondered if he might contrive a way to insinuate an agent here, but concluded it highly improbable given Pug’s resources.

Gods, how I hate waking up tired, he thought. Then he lay back as comfortably as possible to meditate upon his troubles. The soothing heat seemed to creep into his bones, and minutes later his mind floated. He ran down a street, and a hand grabbed him by the arm. He closed his eyes in remembrance. His first memory. He could have been no more than three. It was his mother, pulling him inside her whore’s crib, out of the sight of slavers who were prowling the night. He remembered being held tightly while she clamped her hand over his mouth. Later she would be gone. When he was older, he knew she was dead, but all he could remember of that night was the man with the loud voice shouting at her and hitting her and the red everywhere. Jimmy put the ugly memory aside as he fell into the warmth of the water. Soon he dozed.

He awoke without moving. From the angle of the sun, he couldn’t have dozed for more than minutes, perhaps a half-hour at best. The morning was quiet, but something had disturbed him. He had somewhat outgrown his childhood habit of coming to his feet with a dagger in his hand, it had proved quite disturbing to the servants in the palace, but he still kept a dagger close by. Opening his eyes he moved them first, and saw nothing in his field of vision. He turned his head and again could see nothing above the rim of the pond. He slowly elbowed himself up, feeling foolish as full wakefulness returned, who would be a threat here upon the island of Stardock?

James peeked up above the rim of the pool and found nothing. Suddenly there was a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach and he couldn’t find a name for it. It was as if he had entered a room a moment after someone had left through another door; without knowing why, he knew someone had just passed beyond his view.

Instincts born of city dangers set off a primitive alarm in his head, an alarm that had saved him from harm too many times before to be ignored. Yet this alarm didn’t have the echoing ring of threat to it, rather it was excitement. Years before, James had learned the discipline of the night, remaining motionless, keeping one’s mind distant from the concerns of the moment so sudden movement wouldn’t trigger a response. He relaxed his breathing and kept still. He glanced over the rim again, and the echo of another’s passing was gone. The small inlet looked as it had before.

He lay back again and sought to recapture the warm calm that had finally overtaken him, but he couldn’t relax his mind. An excitement began to build in James, as if something glorious was approaching, and there was a sadness, too, as if something miraculous had just passed within touching distance and left him behind. Odd feelings of giddy delight and childish tears clashed inside him. He took a long breath to calm himself. James had discovered he was a man of deep passions since coming to Arutha’s service, but they were rarely shown to others, another legacy of his dangerous youth spent with those for whom displays of emotions other than anger were considered admissions of weakness. But what was triggering these sudden feelings?

Lacking a satisfying answer, he heaved himself out of the pool and raced headlong for the lake, yelling a boy’s shout of frustration released. He dove under and came up spitting water. A sound of relief escaped him as the cold lake seemed to shock him to full wakefulness.

He was an indifferent swimmer but enjoyed the occasion from time to time. Like most children of Krondor’s Poor Quarter, when the hot winds of summer blew he had sought relief at the harbour side, diving from the piers into the salt water and refuse. The sensation of clean water upon his body was something he had remained ignorant of until well into his thirteenth year.

James found himself swimming lazily toward the far side of the inlet. The trees and reeds cut into the water, providing a series of narrow passages to whatever lay upon the other side of the inlet. He picked his way through, half-swimming, half-paddling, until he came to a thick stand of reeds and grasses. He saw the grasses and reeds were wide-spaced, allowing ample vision of the shoreline. He turned upon his back and kicked lazily. Above him, the morning sky turned brilliant, as the sun was now full upon the day. The clouds were white and beautiful as they sped their course across the heavens. Then he was in the grasses, seeing stalks rise high above his head as he felt their ticklish caress while he swam. After a few minutes of swimming this way, he righted himself and glanced about.

Things appeared different and the way back not apparent. Calm by nature, he found the notion of swimming in circles within the reeds an unappealing one but not a fearful one. He remembered Pug’s words and saw the grasses all bending to his left. He would simply swim to where he felt ground underfoot and walk out.

Within a minute, he felt the shore under his toes. He walked through thick reeds and tall grasses, toward a line of trees at the water’s edge. The hanging branches and thick greenery plunged him into shadows while he was still up to his chest in the water. He could only see a few feet in any direction, and the morning light made everything a pattern of murk and blinding blue-white sky above. James followed the rising bottom until he was in water below his waist. He felt foolish to be striding around naked, but as there was no one about, he would only need a short scamper back to the pool where he had left his clothing.

James took a step and suddenly found himself falling into deep water. A current had eroded a small channel to a depth more than his six feet and he came up sputtering and blind. He paddled to the far side and again felt land under him.

A birdcall above him made him wonder if the creature was laughing at his clumsy progress. Sighing, he continued toward the shore, which was but a few yards away, judging by the glimpses of land he got between the trees. With the water at his knees, he was confronted with an impassable barrier of trees and reeds, a rocky overhang rising up to shoulder height. He moved to his right, toward what seemed a closer exit from the foliage that conspired to trap him, and again felt a drop beneath his feet. He settled down to chest-high water and pushed through a very thick curtain of reeds. His progress was slow and he could only move a few feet at a time. His overwhelming feeling was one of unalloyed stupidity for finding himself so distant from where he wanted to be. Pleasant swim before breakfast, indeed.

As his knees brushed a ridge of lake bottom, signalling an end to the channel he was wading through, he parted the reeds before him. Abruptly, James found himself confronted by a sight totally unexpected. Fair skin, white as a newborn’s, was revealed merely a yard before him. And by circumstance of his depressed perspective, he was staring directly at the naked backside of a young woman. Her nearly white-blond hair hung wet from her head as she squeezed water from it, a pose which conspired to display her hips and buttocks in a slightly exaggerated and flattering pose.

James’s breath caught in his chest. The same mixed feeling of alarm and excitement struck him like a hammer blow. He felt as embarrassed at his intrusion into her privacy as he would have felt had she found him at his own pool. Conflicting signals to hold motionless, move back, say something, not be discovered, all clashed together and paralyzed him.

Again his boyhood training overrode conscious thought and he froze in place. Then another thought intruded, and he felt his stomach tighten as a hot rush of excitement gathered in his stomach and groin. Almost aloud he said. It’s about the most beautiful bottom I’ve ever seen.

Instantly the young woman turned about, her hands flying up to her mouth, as if startled by a noise. In that instant, James discovered that the rest of her was equal to what he had already seen. Her figure was slender, like a dancer’s, and her arms and neck were long and elegant, her stomach flat, her breasts not large, but full and lovely. As her hand dropped away from her face, he saw a high forehead, fine cheekbones, and pale, slightly pink lips. Her eyes, wide in astonishment, were the blue of midwinter’s ice. All these details were etched in his mind in an instant. A thousand instants of recognition flooded through James, and in each he knew the young woman before him was at once the most wonderful and terrifying sight he had ever beheld. Then those beautiful pale blue eyes narrowed and suddenly pain exploded in James’s head.

He fell back as if struck by a weapon, and his voice cried out hollow in his own ears as he went beneath the water’s surface. Sharp knives of hot agony filled his mind as water filled his mouth. James sank into the murk of the water as he lost consciousness.

In a place which was not a place James swam, drowning in memories: his playing upon the street cobbles and never a moment passing without the fear. Strangers were a danger, yet every day brought strangers into his mother’s house. Men who were loud and frightening passed the boy each day, some ignoring him, others attempting to amuse him for a brief moment with a pat upon the head or an odd word.

Then the night when she died and no one came: the man with the crooked smile had heard him cry and fled. Jimmy had found his way out of the house, his child’s feet padding through the sticky blood on the floor.

Then the fights with the other boy for the bone and the bread crust left out behind the inns and taverns, eating the raw wheat and corn that spilled from under the grain wagons at the dockside. And the drops of bitter wine in the almost empty bottle. The occasional coin from a generous passerby to buy a hot pie. Hunger was always there.

A voice in the dark, no face to remember, asked him if he was clever. He had been clever. Very clever. His beginning with the Mockers.

Danger around, at all times. No friends, no allies, only the rules of the guild to protect Jimmy the Hand. But he was gifted; the Upright Man forgave small trespasses from one who brought in so much wealth at such an early age.

Then the man with the crooked smile reappeared. Jimmy had been twelve. It had been nothing of proud honour and hot revenge. A boy thief had crept in and dosed the drunk’s wine with a poison purchased from a man dealing in such things. The man with the crooked smile died without knowing his murderer’s reasons, his face blackening as his tongue protruded through swollen lips and his eyes bulging, while the son of a murdered whore watched through a crack in the ceiling of the flop house where he lay. Jimmy had felt no triumph, but somehow he hoped his mother rested better. He never knew his mother’s name. He felt as if he wanted to cry but didn’t know how. He had cried twice … no, three times in honesty. When Anita lay stricken and when he thought Arutha dead. That had been grief, and it was not a sign of weakness or shame. But he had cried in the darkness when trapped in the cave with the rock serpent, before Duke Martin had saved him. He could never admit to his fear.

Other images: his incredible, almost inhuman skills in the calling. His discovery that his fate was linked to great things when he helped to hide the Prince and Princess of Krondor from their captors during the reign of Mad King Rodric. His freeing the captives in Del Garza’s prison and feeling the city and the Upright Man’s wrath afterward, then his adventure in Land’s End. His death duel with a Nighthawk upon the rooftops of the city, saving Arutha’s life, though he had not known it at the time. His travels twice to the Northlands and the great battles of Armengar and Sethanon, and the peace that followed after the battle to stem the return of the Dragon Host.

Now he was James.

His service to Arutha and his reward by being elevated to a place in his court, his title, and, later, another title, and his being named Chancellor of Krondor, first in rank after Duke Gardan in the Prince’s court, all became a haze of pleasant thoughts, the only pleasant thoughts in his life. Faces passed, some named, others nameless. Thieves, assassins, nobles, peasants. Women. He remembered many, for early on he had developed a taste for the attentions of women and, as a rising young nobleman, had his choice of many companions. He never treated any poorly, and genuinely cared for those he bedded, but there was always something lacking. Something important. The moments were pleasant, but pleasure was fleeting and he felt empty afterward. Then a nude figure wading in the lake as she squeezed water from her hair. The most stunning vision he had beheld.

Then a face with pale blue eyes, and lips like pink roses. A concerned face, which peered into James’s, saw past the mask and deep into his very being. Something magical and beautiful burst within James, and again he wanted to cry. A sadness filled him with awful joy and he cringed before those clear eyes. They looked inside and saw things, and he had no secrets. He had no secrets! I am lost! he cried out and a child whimpered at the death of his mother, and a boy cried as a young woman lay dying from an assassin’s bolt, and a youth cried as the only man he had come to trust lay dead before him in his chambers, and a man cried for all the old pain and torment, the fear and loneliness that had lived within his breast since the day of his birth.

James awoke upon the shore, a cry of pain and fear upon his lips. He sat bolt upright, his arm over his head, a child avoiding a blow from above. He was still damp, and naked. A voice said, ‘The pain will pass.’

James turned, and as he did so the terrible aching inside slipped away. He turned to find the young woman sitting upon the shore a few feet away from him. She sat with her legs pulled up before her, arms around her knees, still without her clothing.

James had never so much wished to flee in his life. No experience filled him with such nameless dread as seeing this beautiful young woman sitting near. Tears rose unbidden to his eyes. ‘Who are you?’ he whispered. Yet as he wished to flee, so much more so did he long to be close to this woman.

Slowly she rose, unselfconscious in her nudity, and came to stand before him. She knelt until her face was before his. A voice sounded inside his mind: I am Gamina, James.

Fear again visited James, and he found himself unable to move. He said, ‘You spoke inside my head.’

‘Yes,’ she answered aloud. ‘You must understand that I can see your thoughts, hear them,’ she seemed to grope for a concept, ‘those words are not right. But I know what you think unless you try to keep your thoughts from me.’

He attempted to gather his wits about him as he fought down the aching pain inside. ‘What happened over there?’ He indicated the reed-filled pool.

‘Your thoughts startled me, and I reacted without reason. I can defend myself, as you discovered.’

James raised a hand to his head, a memory of pain there. ‘Yes,’ was all he could say.

She reached out and touched his cheek softly. ‘I am sorry. It was not something I would have done knowingly. I can cause much harm to the mind. It is one of the ways my talents could be abused.’

James found the touch of her hand both reassuring and disturbing. A fearful thrill ran from his chest to his groin. Softly he asked, ‘Who are you?’

She smiled and pain and fear fled from James. ‘I am Gamina. I am Pug and Katala’s daughter.’ Then she leaned forward and softly kissed his lips. ‘I am who you have been seeking, and you are who I have sought.’

James felt hot desire rise up within, but a giddy fearfulness came with it. No stranger to a woman’s embrace, he suddenly felt like a child with his first stolen moment of love. Words he had never thought to hear himself utter came unbidden. ‘I am frightened,’ he whispered.

‘Don’t be,’ she whispered back.

Holding him close, she spoke to his mind. When I stunned you, you fell back into the water. Had I not pulled you out, you would have drowned. As I revived you, your mind was open to me, and mine to you. Had you the ability, you would know me as well as I know you, my Jimmy.

James’s own voice sounded small and wounded in his ears as he spoke. ‘How can it …?’

‘It is,’ she answered. Then she sat back, rubbing salt tears from his face. ‘Come, let me show you.’ Like a baby, he let himself be gathered to her breast, and as her hands caressed his head and shoulders, her voice spoke into his mind. You will never be alone again.

Borric and Erland sat beside each other, enjoying the array of foods for the morning meal. Besides the usual Kingdom fare, a large number of Keshian delicacies also were provided. Pug’s family as well as Kulgan and Meecham dined with the guests. Two places were empty, next to Katala and Locklear.

Borric chewed a mouthful of fine cheese and wine, while Erland said, ‘Cousin Pug, how many people live here now?’

Pug picked lightly at his plate, not eating much. He smiled at his wife and said, ‘Katala attends the daily business of governing this community.’

Katala said, ‘We number nearly a thousand families, both here and on the shore. Here, upon the island—’ Her words fell away. All at the table turned to see the cause of Katala’s truncated speech.

The door at the end of the hall had opened and James entered, escorting a young woman dressed in a simple lavender dress cinched about the waist with a rainbow-coloured belt.

Borric, Erland, and Locklear rose, as the girl hurried to Pug and kissed him upon the cheek. Then she looked into Katala’s eyes for a long moment, as if speaking, though no words were exchanged. The older woman’s eyes began to brim with tears as a smile spread across her face.

Pug turned to look at James, expectantly.

Locklear said, ‘James?’

James cleared his throat, and in a self-conscious tone of voice, like a schoolboy reciting before his master, said, ‘Lord Pug, I, I have the honour of asking permission … to ask for the hand of your daughter in marriage.’

Borric and Erland’s eyes widened in disbelief, then both looked at Locklear. James’s life-long companion since coming to the palace sat down heavily with a stunned expression equal to the twins’ own. Shaking his head, all he could say was, ‘Sink me!’

## • Chapter Four • Concerns

BORRIC SHOOK HIS HEAD.

Erland asked, ‘What’s bothering you?’

Borric said, ‘What?’

‘You’ve been shaking your head “no” as you’ve been walking for the last couple of minutes. You’re arguing with yourself again.’

Borric made a sound between a sigh and a grunt. ‘I’m worried about Uncle Jimmy.’

Erland turned slightly as he picked up the pace so he could examine his brother’s face while they walked. The evening sky was turning inky as the middle moon hadn’t risen yet. But the balmy evening promised romance for those inclined and able to find willing partners. It was upon such a search the twins were now embarking. As they headed to where the ferry barge was tied, Erland said. ‘It’s not usual for you to concern yourself with others, let alone someone as capable as Uncle Jimmy.’

‘That’s why I’m worried,’ said Borric, halting to emphasize the point. He poked his finger on Erland’s chest. ‘“There’s nothing dumber in the world than a man with an erection,” he used to tell us, right?’

Erland laughed and nodded. ‘Except Uncle Locky. It just makes him that much more cunning.’

‘Only when it comes to finding a warm place to put his great sword. Otherwise he’s just as stupid as the rest of us.’

‘The rest of us except Uncle Jimmy.’

‘Right,’ agreed Borric. ‘My point exactly. He’s had his share, we both know that. But he’s always kept them at a distance and never made stupid promises. It’s like … he never found something he was looking for. Now he meets this woman and …’ He paused, at a loss for words.

‘Like magic.’

‘Exactly!’ said Borric. ‘And what better place to find magic than an island of magicians?’

Erland put a restraining hand on Borric as his brother started to walk again. ‘You think this is some sort of spell? An enchantment?’

‘Ah, a very special enchantment,’ said a gravelly voice from the dark.

Both brothers turned to see a stout figure sitting upon a tree stump not ten feet away. Because the man had been motionless, he had remained unseen in the gloom until he spoke. Coming closer, the young Princes saw the speaker was the old magician, Kulgan.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Borric, as if his suspicions had been confirmed.

Kulgan laughed. He stuck out his hand for a moment and then waved it impatiently. ‘Well just don’t stand there. Give an old man some help. My knees are older than creation!’

Erland assisted the old magician as Kulgan pulled himself upright, one hand in Erland’s, the other on a large wooden staff. The magician continued, ‘I’ll walk with you to the ferry landing. I assume you’re going across to find some trouble. Boys your age always are interested in trouble.’

‘The enchantment?’ said Borric impatiently.

The old man laughed. ‘You know, when your grandfather Borric was a little older than you, he was just as unwilling to wait. When he wanted an answer, he wanted it right now, by damn. It took a lot of years for him to get over that. Your father has the same flaw, but he hides it better. Arutha always was among the best I’ve known for recognizing limits.’

Erland said, ‘He has that knack, except when it comes to us.’

Kulgan fixed both brothers with a baleful gaze. ‘Limits? What do you spoiled children know of limits? Oh, maybe you’ve had to use your swords now and again, but limits?’ He halted for a moment, and leaned upon the staff. Tapping his head with one finger, he said, ‘This. Your brain. When you bring all your faculties to bear on a problem, try every conceivable solution in your mind, and still have no solution, then you’ll understand what limits I’m talking about.’

‘Father always said you were one of his most demanding teachers,’ said Erland with a grin.

‘Ha!’ snorted Kulgan. ‘Now Father Tully, there was an exacting taskmaster.’ His eyes looked off in the distance, reflecting for a moment, then he continued, ‘It’s a pity you never knew him. You were babies when he died. Tragic loss. One of the finest minds I’ve ever known … even if he was a priest,’ he added, unable to resist the jab at his old debating partner, and feeling sadness at the lack of a rejoinder.

Borric said, ‘Were you joking about the enchantment on Jimmy?’

Kulgan said, ‘You are very young, my Prince. You don’t know half of everything yet. Or a half of a half. Or even half of that,’ he added with a more than playful whack with his staff to Borric’s leg for emphasis.

‘Ow,’ Borric said, reflexively dancing back.

As Erland began to laugh, Kulgan gave him a bark on the shins as well, saying, ‘Just to keep things even.’

As both brothers made a show of being in pain, Kulgan said, ‘Now pay attention. I’m old and I don’t have the time to waste repeating myself.’

When the twins ceased their little dances of distress, Kulgan said, ‘The sort of enchantment I am speaking of is nothing you can teach. It’s not of the sort of magic men can employ at whim. It’s a magic the gods have given to only a few lucky men and women. It’s the magic of a love so real and profound that nothing can change you back once you’ve known it.’ His eyes again sought distant horizons as he said, ‘I’m so old I have to work to remember last night’s dreams. Yet there are times boyhood recollections come to me as if they were but moments ago.’ He looked at Borric, as if searching for something familiar in his young face. After a quiet moment, he said, ‘Your grandfather was a passionate man, and your uncle is, as well. So’s your father, though you’d not know it to look at him, he was trapped by your mother almost from the moment they met, though he was too thick to know it. He was incredibly fortunate to fall in love with a woman to whom marriage would prove advantageous for the nation. If not for that, your mother might have been a minor princess from Roldem or the daughter of some eastern duke.

‘Your Aunt Carline was set upon marrying your Uncle Laurie within days of meeting him. And do you know what a fuss that caused? She was the King’s sister, and it could have been vital for Lyam to marry her off to a Prince of Kesh or Roldem, the Duke of Olasko, or an eastern noble to strengthen his rule, but she would have none of it. She made him name a commoner Duke of Salador so she could marry nobility, but your aunt would have still run off with him had he stayed a lowly minstrel.’ He chuckled. ‘Fortunately for everyone, your Uncle Laurie turned out to be a competent enough ruler.

‘The point is that you will feel needs as you get older, needs that carousing through alehouses with net-menders’ daughters will not satisfy, no matter how rosy their cheeks, sweet their laughter, or soft their arms may be. And the bed-silks of the nobility’s daughters will lose their lustre as well.’

Both Borric and Erland exchanged glances, and Erland said, ‘That will be some time to come, I think.’

Kulgan silenced him with another smack to his shins. ‘Don’t interrupt. I don’t care if you are a prince. I’ve whacked better men than you and of higher rank. Your uncle, the King, was a poor student and saw the flat of my hand more than once.’ He sighed. ‘Now, where was I? Oh, yes, true love. You’ll find as you get older that passion fades, but the need for a true mate deepens. Your father found it, Carline found it, your Uncle Martin found it. The King did not.’

Borric said, ‘He loves the Queen, I’m certain.’

‘Oh, in his way, certainly. She’s a fine woman and I’ll not hear any man say otherwise, but there’s love and there’s what our young Baron James has discovered. He’s a changed man, no doubt about it. You watch and learn. If you’re fortunate, you might witness what you will likely never know.’

Borric sighed and looked at the ground. ‘Because I am to be King?’

Kulgan nodded. ‘Precisely. You’re not as thick as I took you to be. You will marry for the good of the nation. Oh, you’ll have plenty of opportunity to satisfy itches with willing ladies of many ranks, no doubt. I know your uncle has given you at least a half a dozen cousins born on the wrong side of the blanket. Several of them will no doubt rise through the ranks of the nobility by the time it’s over with and done. But that’s not the same thing.

‘The King is very fond of the Queen, and from what I hear, she is an able confidant and wise counsellor, but she is still no more than a friend to him. Your uncle has to live every day of his life without that one special thing that your father, your aunt, and your uncle Martin were blessed with.

‘James has found the person whom the gods placed here to make his life complete. Don’t doubt for a moment that it was fated, and don’t think for a moment that he was taken unawares. What seems to you to be a hasty act of rash thoughtlessness is in fact a recognition of something so profound that only one who has known it can understand. The mind and logic have nothing to do with this; it is a thing of the heart and intuition. So, do you understand now?’

‘We should let him alone?’ said Erland.

‘Precisely,’ said Kulgan, pleased with himself. He smiled as he studied the Princes for a moment. ‘You know, you two are nowhere near the stupid pair of street thugs you resemble. Blood will tell after all, I guess. Now, you’ll most likely forget everything I’ve told you five minutes after you find an alehouse with a card game and a couple of amply endowed serving women looking to snag a rich gift from a young noble.

‘But with luck, at some critical time in your life, you will recall what I’ve said. It will help you make choices you must make, both of you, for the good of your nation.’

Borric shrugged. ‘It seems that the last few weeks have been dedicated to constantly reminding us of our duty.’

‘As it should be.’ Kulgan studied the boys. ‘You have been placed upon a high seat, Borric, and you one step below, Erland. You are not given all the power your rank carries for your simple pleasures and amusements. They come to you in payment for terrible sacrifices. Your grandfather made them, as did your uncle, and your father. I served with Lord Borric during the Riftwar and watched him order men into battle, knowing that many of them would not return. The ghosts of the many men who died under your grandfather’s command haunted his nights. As the ghosts of those who served your father haunt his nights. And while every one of those men died willingly in service to their King and Prince, still their deaths weigh heavily upon Arutha. That’s the sort of man your father is. You will come to know him better as you get older.’ Looking at Borric, he said, ‘And the day will come when you have to order men to go forth and die for the Isles, and unless you came into this world without a soul and heart, my young friend, your nights will be as haunted as your father’s and grandfather’s.’

Both brothers said nothing. At last Kulgan turned back toward the imposing edifice of Stardock. ‘It’s turning cool. I’ll find me a fire to warm myself next to. You go find whatever trouble you can.’ After he took a few steps, Kulgan halted, turned and said, ‘And be cautious of some of our fisher lads. Make free with their women and they’ll have their scaling knives out before they remember you’re royalty.’ He studied the twins’ faces a long moment, then added, ‘Take care of yourselves, boys.’

Borric and Erland watched the old magician head back to the entrance of the main building of the Academy, then resumed their walk to the ferry. As they came to the beach, Erland said, ‘What do you think?’

Borric said, ‘About what he said? I think he’s an old man with a lot of strange ideas.’

Erland nodded in agreement as they signalled to the ferryman they wished to cross to the beckoning lights of the distant town. While they waited, Borric turned and stared into the gloom at the doors where Kulgan had passed. For a brief moment he pondered the old magician’s words, and wondered if the reason he felt so uncomfortable with what Kulgan said was because he didn’t understand what Kulgan said, or because he did understand what Kulgan said.

The wind blew softly as Gamina and James walked along the shore, silently sharing the evening. James felt both invigorated and exhausted. In his thirty-seven years he had shared little of himself with anyone. True intimacy seemed impossible for him, but in Gamina he found someone able to break past previously unbreachable defences. No, it wasn’t that way, he amended silently to himself. She hadn’t broken past anything. She simply found the door waiting for her to open.

A scented breeze blew out of the south, the fragrance of distant orchards and fields in bloom across the Vale of Dreams. Middle moon rose in the east, a copper disc in the dark night approaching. James turned to his intended bride. He marvelled at the arch of her neck, the way her fine pale hair seemed to float about her face and shoulders, a nimbus of white tinged smoky grey in the twilight. Her pale eyes regarded him, then she smiled and his spirit leaped. ‘I love you,’ she said.

‘I love you,’ he said, not quite believing his own joy. ‘And I must leave you.’

She turned to watch the moon for a long moment, then her thoughts came to James. No, my love. My time here is over. I will journey to Kesh with you.

James gathered her into his arms. ‘It’s dangerous. Even for one of your gifts, there will be peril.’ He kissed her neck and felt her shiver slightly in response. ‘I would be more content within my mind with you safely here.’

Would you? she asked. I wonder … She stepped slightly away and studied his face in the fading light. ‘I fear you might retreat within yourself, Jimmy, and after a time you would convince yourself what we have found here was an illusion and those barriers against love and pain would then be restored, stronger, higher, and more firmly buttressed than ever before. You would find a reason to journey back to Krondor another way, and you would find reasons to postpone your return to Stardock. For a time you would convince yourself that you intended to come for me as soon as possible, but there would be one reason then another to keep you away. And always one reason or another to keep you from sending for me. After a time, you would simply put all this away from your heart and forget.’

James looked stung. Newly discovered feelings rampaged through him and his usual pose of relaxed confidence was absent. He looked nothing more than the boy he had never truly been, confused and disturbed by the loving attentions of a woman. ‘Do you think so little of me, after all?’

Touching his cheek, she smiled, and the warmth of her loving gaze swept away the fear again, as it had a dozen times during the day. Gamina had read James’s heart and soul when she had revived him upon the lakeshore and had shared herself with him, both her body and heart. Still, trust for James was grudgingly surrendered, even to the woman who had touched him as no other had. ‘No, love, I do not underestimate you. But I also do not underestimate fear. My talents are not just magic as others upon this island know it. My skills are also in healing the mind and heart. I can share things with those who are weakened in spirit and sick of mind, and help them, sometimes. I can listen to dreams. And I have seen what fear can do. You fear being left again as you were by your mother.’

James knew she was right. Even as she spoke, the feelings of that dreadful night returned, when as a child of six or seven he stole out of his mother’s crib, the stickiness upon the floor her blood, the horror of knowing only utter abandonment. Unbidden tears came to James’s eyes. Gamina gathered him into her arms and let him vent his pain. You will never be alone again, came her thoughts in his mind.

He stood motionless, holding her as if she were his only connection to life. And as it had before, the pain slipped away, leaving behind a tired but warm and relieved feeling. Something angry and festering within him for years had been lanced, and poisonous fear and loneliness were draining away. The wound wouldn’t heal in the space of a single day, or even many days, but in time it would heal and James of Krondor would be the better man for the healing. Her voice came to him as she said, And it is my fear speaking, as well. Doubt can make us all vulnerable.

‘I have no doubt,’ he answered simply. She smiled as she again hugged him tight.

The sounds of footfalls upon the ground and a pointed clearing of a throat signalled Locklear’s arrival. ‘Sorry to intrude, but Pug would like to see you, James.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘And your mother would like you to join her in the kitchen, Gamina.’

‘Thank you,’ Gamina answered. She gifted Locklear with a warm smile and kissed James on the cheek. ‘I will see you at dinner.’

He kissed her again, and she headed toward the kitchen. James and Locklear walked toward Pug’s study. Locklear cleared his throat in a significant, theatrical manner.

James said, ‘You’ve got something on your mind. Out with it.’

Locklear’s words came in a rush. ‘Look, we’ve known each other, what, twenty-two years? In all that time I’ve never known you to show the least bit of interest in women—’ James gave him a strange look and he amended that to, ‘—I mean interest in marriage, at least. Now, out of nowhere, you suddenly walk in and announce to all that you’re getting married! I mean, she’s certainly a beauty, with that nearly-white hair and all, but you’ve known—’

‘I’ve known no one, nothing, like Gamina,’ Jimmy interrupted. He stopped his companion with a restraining hand to Locklear’s chest. ‘I don’t know if someone like you can understand, Locky, but she’s seen inside of me. She’s seen all there is to see, the bad I’ve done and felt, the things that I’ve only hinted at to you, and she loves me despite those things. She loves me, anyway!’ He took a deep breath. ‘You will never know what that means.’

He resumed walking and Locklear hesitated an instant before catching up. ‘What do you mean “someone like you”?’

James halted again. ‘Look, you’re the best friend – perhaps the only real friend – I’ve ever known, but when it comes to women … you have no … consideration. You’re charming, you’re attentive, you’re persistent, and when the lady in question wakes up in your bed, you’re gone. I don’t know if you’ve ever really loved a woman, and sometimes, I’m not entirely sure you really even like them. You certainly don’t take their feelings into account. Why some woman’s brother or father hasn’t run a sword through you … When it comes to you and women, Locky, you just are not very constant.’

‘And you are?’

‘I am now,’ James answered. ‘As constant as water running downhill.’

Locklear said, ‘Well, we’ll see what Arutha has to say about this headlong flight into matrimony. We court Barons need his permission to marry, remember?’

‘I know.’

‘Well, I’ll leave you to your meeting with the spellcaster,’ Locklear said as they reached the door to the Academy building. ‘I expect he’ll also have a thing or two to say about you spiriting away his daughter.’ Locklear left James alone at the entrance.

James entered the building and made his way down a long corridor to the base of the tower, the top of which housed Pug’s study. He mounted a spiral stairway and climbed until he reached the door of the study. As he raised his hand to knock, the door swung open to admit him. Stepping through the portal, he was not surprised to discover Pug alone in the study, some distance away from the door. After he was inside, the door closed behind James without apparent aid.

‘We need to speak,’ Pug said, as he rose and beckoned James to a large window. Looking out, he pointed at small lights which dotted the far shore. ‘People,’ he said.

James shrugged. He knew the sorcerer hadn’t called him to his presence to discuss the obvious.

‘When we came to Stardock over twenty years ago, this was a barren patch of ground in the middle of a deserted lake. The shore was a bit more hospitable, but this Vale was the scene of constant warfare between the Kingdom and the Empire, between rival border lords, or gangs of renegades. Durbin slavers raided, and simple bandits plagued the farmers as much as locust.’ He sighed as he remembered. ‘Now people lead relatively peaceful lives. Oh, there are occasional problems, but for the most part, things in the area of the Great Star Lake are quiet. And what caused that change?’ he asked James.

James said, ‘It doesn’t take a genius to deduce your presence here caused that change. Pug.’

Pug turned away from the view of the lake shore and said, ‘Jimmy, when we first met I was a young man and you were a boy. But in the time between then and now I’ve encountered more than most men could imagine in a dozen lifetimes.’ With a simple wave of his hand he created a cloud in the middle of the room, less than two feet in diameter. It shimmered, then appeared a hole in the air, through which James could see a strange hall. It was a hall hanging in the midst of a grey nothingness, along the path of which doors were spaced every dozen yards or so. The grey void of nothingness between the doors was so absolute that even the black of night seemed rich and alive in comparison. ‘The Hall of Worlds,’ said Pug. ‘By this path I have ventured to places no human has seen, nor will likely see again. I have visited the ashes of ancient civilizations and seen new races aborning. I have counted stars and grains of sand both, and find that the universe is so vast that no mind, perhaps not even that of a god, could encompass it.’

Pug waved his hand and the image vanished. ‘It would become easy to dismiss the concerns of those who live in such a tiny place as the Vale as trivial.’

James crossed his arms as he said, ‘Compared to that, it is trivial.’

Pug shook his head. ‘Not to those who live here.’

James sat without Pug’s leave and said, ‘I know there’s a point to this. Pug.’

Pug returned to his own chair behind his study table and said, ‘Yes, there is. Katala is dying.’

That news, unexpected as well as shocking, caught James by surprise. ‘I thought she appeared unwell, but dying …’

‘There is much we can do here, James, but there are limits. No magic, potion, charm, or prayer can do more for my wife than has already been done. There is a link between healing magic and something profound in the human spirit.’ He grew thoughtful and barely masked the pain his voice did not betray. ‘I think it is natural for all things to die, eventually, even the longest lived races, the elves, and great dragons.’ He looked at James, without words for a moment, then added, ‘If it is time, no magic or spell can prevent this. Katala … is ready to die. Soon she will journey through a rift back to her homeland, the Thuril Highlands on Kelewan. She has seen no kinsman in nearly thirty years now. She will return home to die.’

James shook his head, knowing there was nothing he could say. Finally he asked, ‘Gamina?’

‘I’ve watched my wife grow old before her time, James, though had this illness not developed I would have had to face this burden eventually. You can see I have not aged measurably. Nor will I in your lifetime. I may not be immortal, but my powers make me long-lived. And I’ll not watch my children and grandchildren grow old and wither while I stay as I am.

‘I will leave Stardock within hours of Katala’s departure. William is firm upon his soldier’s path, having forsaken his magic gifts. I wished it were otherwise, but like most fathers I must accept that my own dreams are not necessarily my son’s. Gamina has talents, as well, not limited to magic, but rather stemming from an unusual mind. Her mental speech is both magic and natural, but her sensitive nature, her empathy, her caring, these are special gifts.’

James nodded. ‘I can’t argue that. Her mind is … a miracle.’

Pug said, ‘I agree. I’ve studied my daughter’s talents more closely than any upon this world and know better than even she what the extent of her talents are … and her limits. She would have chosen to stay here, had she not met you, to take over the burdens her mother leaves behind, Katala has been the true leader of our community for most of our time here. I wish to spare Gamina this. She was a child burdened with great sadness and pain at an early age, much like you, I suspect.’

James gave a slight nod. ‘We’ve shared things …’

‘No doubt,’ said Pug with a wry smile. ‘But that is as it should be with lovers, husbands and wives. I will lose much when Katala departs, more than perhaps even she suspects.’ For an instant, Pug stood exposed to James and the young Baron saw a man isolated from others by unknowable responsibility, and one of the few who could ease that great weight, one who could give him a few moments of warmth and comfort, was slowly leaving him. For just a moment, Pug revealed the depth of his pain, then the mask was again in place. ‘For when she leaves I will begin to concern myself with those grand issues I’ve given you but a glimpse of, and leave behind the “trivial” concerns of Stardock, the Vale, even the Kingdom.’ He looked off in the distance, as if his mind was elsewhere. ‘The Kingdom is my birthplace, Jimmy, but all the world is my home.’ He let out a deep breath, then smiled. ‘I wish for my loved ones what any man must wish: safe homes and fine children, lives unspoiled by turmoil and strife. In short, I wish them to be as happy as possible. And Gamina has shown me what is in her heart, and it is you. I wish to grant you my blessings.’

James let out a long sigh of relief. ‘I hope Arutha is as understanding. I need his permission to marry.’

‘This is no difficulty.’ Pug moved his hands and created a grey smoky sphere in the air. Within it, shapes began to form, then suddenly James was looking at Arutha in his study in Krondor, as if a window appeared between two rooms but a wall apart. Arutha glanced up as if at them and with an uncharacteristic display of surprise, half-rose from his chair. ‘Pug?’

Pug spoke, ‘Yes, Highness. I am sorry to intrude, but I have a favour to ask.’

Arutha sat down with obvious relief there was both a reasonable and friendly cause for the sudden apparition in his study. He put down a quill with which he’d been writing and said, ‘What may I do for you?’

‘You remember my daughter Gamina?’

Arutha said, ‘Yes, very well.’

‘I would like to see her married … to a man of some rank. One of your young court Barons.’

Arutha looked past Pug, caught sight of James, and smiled, his eyes revealing a rare amusement. ‘I suspect we could arrange a state marriage to one of our bright young men, Pug. Do you have anyone in mind?’

‘Baron James seems a most promising young man.’

Arutha’s smile broadened, to what James could swear was almost a grin, something he had never seen his Prince do before. ‘Most promising,’ he intoned in mock-seriousness as he returned his attention to Pug. ‘He stands to be a duke someday if his more impetuous nature doesn’t get him killed along the way, or banished by an angry monarch to the Salt Marsh Islands. A wife might be just the thing to rein in some of that recklessness. I had given up on his ever developing an interest in family. I am pleased to be wrong. I was ten years married at his age.’ Arutha sat an instant, lost in thought as he recalled his own youthful feeling for his wife, then looked past Pug at James, with a rare expression of deep affection apparent. Then he resumed his more familiar stoic demeanour. ‘Well, if he agrees, then you have my permission.’

Pug smiled. ‘He’s agreed, have no worry. He and my daughter are much in agreement on this course.’

Arutha sat back in his chair, a more typical half-smile on his face. ‘I understand. I still remember my own feelings for Anita when first we met. It can come suddenly. Very well, we’ll have a state wedding as soon as he returns from his envoy to Kesh.’

‘Actually, I was thinking of something a bit more timely. She wishes to accompany him on his envoy.’

Arutha’s features darkened. ‘I do not think I should approve. James may not have told you of the dangers—’

‘I have a clear idea of the dangers involved, Arutha,’ Pug interrupted. ‘But I think you have no idea of my daughter’s talents. I know much of what transpires in Kesh. She will aid your sons and envoy should trouble arise.’

Arutha considered this for a moment, then nodded. ‘Given that you are the girl’s father, I expect she has some abilities that may stand her in good stead should things prove difficult.

‘Very well, let us do this much. Marry them as quickly as you judge proper, then when they return, we’ll have a state wedding and festival in their honour. My wife and daughter would never forgive me for letting an excuse for new gowns pass them by. We shall have to do both.’

James looked surprised. ‘State wedding?’

Arutha nodded once, emphatically. ‘Gamma’s a royal cousin by adoption – unless you’ve forgotten – all of Pug’s family are. Our cousin Willy will be Duke of Stardock if I don’t make him Knight-Marshal of Krondor first. You’re marrying into the family.’ Then in mock-doubt, he sighed, ‘Though that thought brings me only the coldest comfort.’

‘Thank you, Arutha,’ said Pug with some amusement at the banter.

‘You are most welcome, Pug. And … Jimmy,’ he said, again with a genuine smile.

‘Yes, Arutha,’ said James, returning the smile.

‘May you be as happy in your marriage as I am in my own.’

James nodded. While Arutha was never a demonstrative man, James remembered years ago when Anita nearly died; the grief Arutha had endured was still keenly recalled. Only a few besides James knew how deep was the Prince of Krondor’s love for his Princess. ‘I think we shall be.’

‘Then I have a gift for you, an early wedding present.’ He opened a small chest atop his writing table and withdrew a small parchment scroll. ‘I shall give it over when you return, but for the present—’

Pug interrupted. ‘I can bring it to him now, if you wish, Arutha.’

If the Prince was surprised by this offer, he showed none of it. He simply said, ‘If you would be so kind.’

Pug waved his hand, closed his eyes a moment, and the document vanished from Arutha’s hand, appearing in his own. Arutha’s eyes widened slightly, his only reaction to the sorcerer’s ability really to move the parchment over such a distance in an instant.

Pug handed it to James. ‘For you.’

James opened the document and read. His eyes widened briefly. ‘It’s a patent of Office. Earl of the Prince’s Court. And King’s Minister.’

‘I was going to give that to you on your return, anyway. You’ve earned the rank, James. We’ll discuss holdings and revenues when you are back in Krondor. You will also assume the duties of Chancellor of the Western Realm when Gardan retires.’

James grinned, and Pug and Arutha both remembered the boy thief they had met years before. ‘I thank His Highness.’ He could not help but laugh. ‘But how many times has Gardan attempted to retire?’

Arutha seemed unable to avoid being amused in return. He laughed. ‘Every time he tried, I promoted him to a higher office, but now that he’s Duke of Krondor, I can’t find another unless I abdicate.’ Arutha’s face lost its smile. ‘No, in a year or two, he’ll return to Crydee and take up fishing and annoying his children as he spoils his grandchildren. You get the Chancellorship, Locklear will get the Exchequer, Valdis: Knight-Marshal and William: Knight-Captain of the Household. I’ll decide who gets to be the new duke then.

‘Now, let me return to work,’ said Arutha.

Pug said, ‘I bid you good evening, Highness.’

‘Good evening, to you, my lords Duke and Earl.’

Pug waved his hand and the image of the Prince vanished. ‘Astonishing,’ James said. ‘With that trick,’ he looked at the parchment he held, ‘and these armies …’

‘Which is why we must talk of things other than your wedding, James.’ Pug moved toward a table and indicated a decanter of wine. James poured two goblets of a fine fortified red. As he sipped, Pug sat and motioned for James to do likewise. ‘Stardock will not be allowed to become a tool of any nation. I have plans to prevent that.

‘My son will not inherit the title of Duke of Stardock. I think he prefers the life of a professional soldier, in any event. No, the two men you met upon landing, Watume and Korsh will be given sovereignty over this island after I depart, with another yet to be chosen, a triumvirate of magicians who will decide the good of the people here. They may expand that council as they see fit in years to come. But Lyam will not always sit upon the Throne of the Isles and I would not give over the power of Stardock to one like Mad King Rodric. I met him, and had he mustered magicians such as we have here to his cause, the world would have trembled. I also remember the havoc created by those magicians on Kelewan who chose to do the Warlord’s bidding during the Riftwar. No, Stardock must remain apolitical. Always.’

James stood up and said, ‘As a noble of the Kingdom, I fear you come close to treason.’ He took a few steps toward an open window and looked out into the night. Then he smiled. ‘As a man who learned to think for himself at an early age, I applaud your wisdom.’

‘Then you will also understand why I trust you will always remain a voice of reason in the Congress of Lords.’

James said, ‘A small voice, but one that will attempt to speak on behalf of your vision.’

Pug said, ‘I don’t think your voice will remain small very long, my lord Earl. Arutha has plans for you and when he speaks, the King listens. No, you will rise to a position of great importance one day.’

James said, ‘Perhaps, perhaps not, but at this moment, I’m just another court Earl.’ Then he grinned as he added, ‘Still, Chancellor does merit some attention.’ He lost his grin and spoke seriously. ‘I will try to make others understand. But you realize many will be of the mind that if you are not clearly loyal to the Kingdom you must be an enemy?’

Pug only nodded. ‘Now, to other matters. We shall have a priest over from the village on the lake shore, no temples stand upon the island itself, and our relationship with those who practise clerical magic is not, shall we say, entirely cordial.’

James smiled. ‘You poach their lands.’

Pug sighed. ‘So many think. In any event, the only clerics I found reasonable men are either dead or distant. I’m afraid as our power here grows, so does the suspicion of the great temples in Rillanon and Kesh.’ Then his expression brightened. ‘But Father Marias who oversees the small Church of Killian in the village is a decent enough man. He’ll agree to a wedding.’ Then Pug’s face relaxed into a wide smile. ‘More to the point, he’ll certainly agree to the feasting.’

James laughed aloud, and as thought of his wedding to Gamina swept through him, he was both awed and delighted by the sensations thinking of her caused. Then Pug said, ‘I do not expect you to understand what I’m about to say. But should you ever come to a time when you need to say something upon my behalf, say this, “The last truth is that there is no magic.”’

James said, ‘A very odd thing for a magician to say. I don’t understand.’

‘I don’t expect you to. If you understood what it meant, you would not be travelling to Kesh; I would persuade Arutha to keep you here. Just remember.’ Pug read his future son-in-law’s face and said, ‘Go find my daughter and tell her we’ll hold the ceremony day after tomorrow. No reason to wait another four days to next sixthday – we’re breaking enough traditions as it is.’

With a smile James placed the half-finished wine upon the table and left the room. As hurried footfalls echoed down the steps of the sorcerer’s tower, Pug turned to look out the window and spoke softly to no one, ‘We could all use a dose of revelry. Too many dark days are coming.’

The entire town of Stardock as well as a major portion of those from the shore who could find a way across the lake stood in a large circle around the portly priest. Father Marias smiled and beckoned James and Gamina to stand before him. He was a red-cheeked man, a baby who had never matured, but one whose thinning hair was turning silver-grey. His green robe and golden tabard were threadbare and often washed, but he wore them as proudly as any lord. Marias’s eyes were almost alight with pleasure at a wedding. His flock were fisher folk and farmers in the main, and all too often his duties consisted of burying them. Weddings and dedications of babies to the Goddess of All Living Things were especially delightful.

‘Come along, children,’ he said as Gamina and James advanced slowly. James wore the clothing he had brought along for his presentation to the Empress, a tunic of pale blue, dark blue leggings, and black boots. Over this he wore a white surcoat sewn with gold thread. On his head he wore the latest fashion, a large beret which hung nearly down to his shoulder on his left side, a silver badge and white owl’s feather setting it off.

Locklear stood beside him, similarly attired, though his clothes were even more richly fashioned in russet and gold hues. He glanced about, convinced these new fashions appeared ridiculous, but no one seemed to notice. All eyes were upon the bride.

Gamina wore a simple gown of lavender colour, set off with an extraordinary string of pearls around her neck. The gown was cinched at the waist by a wide belt studded by matching pearls and a silver buckle. A garland of flowers circled her brow, the traditional ‘bride’s crown’.

‘Now, then,’ Marias said, his voice betraying the rich, almost lyrical accent of one who was born along the south coast of the Kingdom Sea, near Pointer’s Head, ‘seeing as you’ve come before me with the stated intention of marriage, I’ve a few things to tell you.’ He motioned for James to take Gamina’s right hand in his and he placed his own pudgy hand over theirs. ‘Killian, the Goddess I serve, looked down upon man and woman when they were created by Ishap, the One Above All, and saw them apart. Man and woman looked heavenward and cried out in their loneliness. Hearing them and pitying them, the Goddess of Green Silence spoke, saying, “You shall not abide apart.” She then created the institution of marriage as a bond to bring man and woman together. It is the melding of souls, minds, and hearts. It is when two become as one. Do you understand?’ He looked each in the eye and in turn Gamina and James nodded.

To the assembled crowd, Marias said, ‘James of Krondor, Earl of the Prince’s Court and Gamina, daughter of Duke Pug and Duchess Katala, have come to this place and company to pledge themselves one to the other, and we are to bear witness to that pledge. If there is any here among you who knows why this should not be, speak now or go forever in silence.’ If there was to be any objection, Marias didn’t wait to hear it. Plunging on he said, ‘James and Gamina, understand that from this moment forward, each of you is now a part of the other. No longer separate, you are now as one.

‘James, this woman seeks to spend her life with you. Do you take her to you as mate and wife, without reservation and knowing that she is now one with you, holding her to you, and putting away any other, from now until death?’

James nodded, as he said, ‘I do.’

With a wave, Marias motioned for Locklear to hand James a golden ring. ‘Put that upon your bride’s hand.’ James did as he was asked, placing the ring upon the ring finger of Gamina’s left hand.

‘Gamina, this man seeks to spend his life with you. Do you take him to you as mate and husband, without reservation and knowing that he is now one with you, holding him to you, and putting away any other, from now until death?’

Gamina smiled and answered, ‘I do.’

Marias instructed Gamina to place a ring upon James’s hand, and she did so.

‘In as much as James and Gamina have agreed to live as one, in the sight of gods and men, we do hereby bear witness.’

The assembled company of guests repeated, ‘So do we bear witness.’

With a grin, the ruddy-cheeked priest said. ‘Well, that’s it, then. You’re married.’

James glanced around. ‘That’s all?’

Marias laughed. ‘We keep it simple in the country, my lord. Now, kiss your wife, and let’s get on with the feast.’

James laughed, grabbed Gamina, and kissed her. The crowd cheered and hats were thrown in the air.

At the edge of the crowd two men did not cheer as they observed the celebration. An angular, thin man with three days’ growth of unshaven beard, took the other by the elbow and led him a discreet distance away. Both were wearing clothing best described as ragged and torn, and both would have warranted a wide berth from anyone with an acute sense of smell. Glancing around to see they were not overheard, the first man said, ‘Earl James of Krondor. Baron Locklear. That means those two red-haired fighting lads are Arutha’s sons.’

The second man, stout and short, yet powerful in the shoulders, was obviously impressed at his companion’s keen observation. His cherubic face appeared almost innocent as he said, ‘Don’t see many Princes in these parts, ’s true, Lafe.’

‘You’re a fool, Reese,’ answered the other in a gravelly voice. ‘There are those who would pay well to know this. Get to the Inn of the Twelve Chairs at the desert’s edge, they are almost certain to ride that route. You know who to ask for. Tell our Keshian friends that the Princes of Krondor and their company ride from Stardock, and travel not in state, but in stealth. Their numbers are small. And wait there for me at the inn. And don’t drink up all the money he’ll give you or I’ll cut your liver out!’

Reese looked at his companion as if such duplicity was unthinkable.

Lafe continued, ‘I’ll follow after them that’s here and if they change route, I’ll send word. They’re surely carrying gold and gifts to the Empress for her birthday. With no more than twenty men at arms, we can be rich for life once the bandits cut their throats and give us our share.’

Glancing around the deserted shore, the man named Reese said, ‘How can I get there, Lafe? The ferryman’s at the wedding.’

Hissing through teeth black with decay, the taller man said, ‘Steal a boat, stupid.’

A glimmer of delight at the obvious answer shone in Reese’s eyes. ‘Good. I’ll get some food, then—’

‘You’ll go now!’ ordered his companion, pushing him off to an uneasy trot toward the shore and the unguarded boats. ‘You can steal something in the town. With everyone dining here, that should be easy enough. But a few still linger, so be cautious.’ Reese turned and waved then scampered along the shore, looking for a boat small enough to manage alone.

Snorting in derision, the man called Lafe turned back toward the feasting. His hunger told him that Reese’s suggestion wasn’t all that bad, but his avarice made him alert to the every move of the wedding party.

The two Princes sat quietly at the dinner table, oblivious to the joy of the newlyweds. Each was intent on their own impatience to be on their way. James had been uncommunicative about when they were leaving, though Locklear had mentioned their stay wouldn’t be extended too long, despite the unexpected events of the last two days.

If the twins had been surprised by their mentor’s sudden encounter with love, they were equally unsurprised by the hasty permission from their father and the quick wedding. Little in their lives had allowed them to take anything for granted.

The twins lived in a world of the unexpected, where the tranquillity of the moment could be shattered at any time by disaster. Warfare, natural cataclysm, famine, and disease were constant threats, and they lived most of their young lives in the heart of the palace where they had observed their father dealing with such problems on a daily basis. From the most important border clash with Kesh to deciding if one guild or another had jurisdiction over a new trade, their father had dealt with problem after problem.

But as they had when watching their father, their present mood didn’t reflect the excitement of the moment. Rather they were bored.

Borric drank deep of a simple ale and said, ‘Is this the best they have?’

Erland nodded. ‘I expect so. From what I can see, ale isn’t a major concern around here. Let us see if there’s something better in the village.’ The brothers stood up from the bench, bowed slightly at the Baron and his new Baroness, who nodded briefly in return at the Princes leaving the table of honour.