RAYMOND E. FEIST
Rage of a Demon King

Book Three of the Serpentwar Saga

Copyright

HarperVoyager An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpervoyagerbooks.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by Voyager 1997

Copyright © Raymond E. Feist 1997

The Author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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For Stephen A. Abrams,

who knows more about Midkemia than I do

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Character List

Book Three: The Mad God’s Tale

Prologue

Chapter One: Krondor

Chapter Two: Warning

Chapter Three: Queg

Chapter Four: Relationships

Chapter Five: Elvandar

Chapter Six: Infiltration

Chapter Seven: Schemes

Chapter Eight: Evolution

Chapter Nine: Plots

Chapter Ten: Dedication

Chapter Eleven: Alarm

Chapter Twelve: Midsummer

Chapter Thirteen: Improvisation

Chapter Fourteen: Betrayal

Chapter Fifteen: Onslaught

Chapter Sixteen: Battles

Chapter Seventeen: Destruction

Chapter Eighteen: Delay

Chapter Nineteen: Catastrophe

Chapter Twenty: Decisions

Chapter Twenty-One: Escalation

Chapter Twenty-Two: Ravensburg

Chapter Twenty-Three: Retreat

Chapter Twenty-Four: Darkmoor

Chapter Twenty-Five: Revelations

Chapter Twenty-Six: Confrontation

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Truth

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Rebirth

Epilogue

Keep Reading

Continue the Adventure …

Acknowledgments

About the Author

By The Same Author

About the Publisher

Character List

Acaila – leader of the eldar, in the Elf Queen’s court

Aglaranna – Elf Queen in Elvandar, wife of Tomas, mother of Calin and Calis

Akee – Hidati hillman

Alfred – Corporal from Darkmoor

Andrew – priest of Ban-Ath in Krondor

Anthony – magician at Crydee

Avery, Abigail – daughter of Roo and Karli

Avery, Duncan – cousin to Roo

Avery, Helmut – son to Roo and Karli

Avery, Karli – wife of Roo, mother of Abigail and Helmut

Avery, Rupert ‘Roo’ – young merchant of Krondor, son of Tom Avery

Borric – King of the Isles, twin brother to Prince Erland, father of Prince Patrick

Brook – First Officer, Royal Dragon

Calin – elf heir to the throne of Elvandar, half-brother to Calis, son of Aglaranna and King Aidan

Calis – ‘The Eagle of Krondor,’ special agent of the Prince of Krondor, Duke of the Court, son of Aglaranna and Tomas, half-brother to Calin

Chalmes – ruling magician at Stardock

d’Lyes, Robert – magician from Stardock

de Beswick – Captain in King’s Army

de Savona, Luis – former soldier, assistant to Roo

Dolgan – King of the dwarves of the west

Dominic – Abbot of Ishapian Abbey at Sarth

Dubois, Henri – poisoner from Bas-Tyra

Duga – mercenary Captain from Novindus

Duko – General in the Emerald Queen’s Army

Dunstan, Brian – the Sagacious Man, leader of the Mockers, used to be known as Lysle Rigger

Erland – brother to the King and Prince Nicholas, uncle to Prince Patrick

Esterbrook, Jacob – wealthy merchant of Krondor, father of Sylvia

Esterbrook, Sylvia – Jacob’s daughter

Fadawah – General commanding the Emerald Queen’s Army

Freida – Erik’s mother, wife of Nathan

Galain – elf in Elvandar

Gamina – adopted daughter of Pug and sister of William, wife of James, mother of Arutha

Garret – Corporal in Erik’s Company

Graves, Katherine ‘Kitty’ – girl thief in Krondor

Greylock, Owen – Captain in Prince’s service, later General

Gunther – Nathan’s apprentice

Hammond – Lieutenant in King’s Army

Hanam – Loremaster of the Saaur

Harper – Sergeant in Erik’s Company

Jacoby, Helen – widow of Randolph Jacoby, mother of Nataly and Willem

James – Duke of Krondor, father to Arutha, grandfather to James and Dash

Jameson, Arutha – Lord Vencar, Baron of the Prince’s Court and son of Duke James

Jameson, Dashel ‘Dash’ – younger son of Arutha, grandson of James

Jameson, James ‘Jimmy’ – elder son of Arutha, grandson of James

Kaleid – ruling magician at Stardock

Livia – Daughter of Lord Vasarius

Marcus – Duke of Crydee, cousin to Prince Patrick, son of Martin

Martin – former Duke of Crydee, great uncle to Prince Patrick, father of Marcus

Milo – owner of the Inn of the Pintail in Ravensburg, father of Rosalyn

Miranda – magician and ally of Calis and Pug

Nakor the Isalani – gambler, magic user, friend of Calis and Pug

Nathan – blacksmith at the Inn of the Pintail in Ravensburg, former master of Erik, married to Freida

Nicholas – Admiral of the Western Fleet, Prince of the Royal Family, uncle to Prince Patrick

Patrick – Prince of Krondor, son of Prince Erland, nephew to the King and Prince Nicholas

Pug – magician, Duke of Stardock, cousin to the King, father to Gamina and William

Reeves – Captain of Royal Dragon

Rosalyn – Milo’s daughter, wife of Rudolph, mother of Gerd

Rudolph – baker in Ravensburg, husband of Rosalyn, stepfather to Gerd

Shati, Jadow – Sergeant in Erik’s Company

Sho Pi – former companion of Erik and Roo’s, student of Nakor’s

Subai – Captain of the Royal Krondorian Pathfinders

Tithulta – Pantathian High Priest

Tomas – Warleader of Elvandar, husband of Aglaranna, father of Calis, inheritor of the powers of Ashen-Shugar

Vasarius – Quengan noble and merchant

von Darkmoor, Erik – soldier in Calis’s Crimson Eagles

von Darkmoor, Gerd – son of Rosalyn and Stefan von Darkmoor, nephew to Erik

von Darkmoor, Manfred – Baron of Darkmoor, half-brother to Erik

von Darkmoor, Mathilda – Baroness of Darkmoor, mother to Manfred

Vykor, Karole – Admiral of the King’s Eastern Fleet

William – Knight-Marshal of Krondor, Pug’s son and Gamina’s adopted brother, uncle to Jimmy and Dash

Book Three The Mad God’s Tale

We are the music makers,

We are the dreamers of dreams,

Wandering by lone sea-breakers,

And sitting by desolate streams;—

World-losers and world-forsakers,

On whom the pale moon gleams:

We are the movers and shakers

Of the world for ever, it seems.

Arthur William Edgar O’Shaughnessy

Ode, st. 1

• Prologue • Breakthrough

The wall shimmered.

In what had once been the throne room of Jarwa, last Sha-shahan of the Seven Nations of the Saaur, the thirty-foot-high wall of stones opposite the empty seat of power seemed to waver, then vanish as a black void appeared. Nightmare creatures gathered, things of terrible fangs and poisonous claws. Some wore the faces of dead animals, while others were humanlike in aspect. Some bore proud wings, antlers, or bull’s horns. All were beings of massive muscle and evil intent, dark magic and murderous nature. Yet all in the hall remained motionless, terrified of that which was appearing on the other side of the newly created gateway. Demons who stood as tall as trees crouched low trying not to be seen.

Immense energy was required to open a gate, and for years the demons had been thwarted by the accursed priests of the distant city of Ahsart. Only when the mad High Priest unsealed the portal, admitting the first demon to deny his city to the conquering host of the Saaur, was the barrier breached.

Now the world of Shila lay in tatters, the remaining life reduced to lowly creatures at the sea bottom, lichen clinging to rocks in crevices upon distant mountain peaks, and tiny creatures that scuttled under rocks to avoid detection. Anything larger than the smallest insect had been devoured. Hunger now gripped the demon host, and again they returned to their ancient habit of feeding upon one another. But internecine conflict was put aside among the elite of the host as a new gate from the Fifth Circle to Shila was completed, opening the way for the supreme ruler of the demon realm to communicate.

The demon without a name stood at the edge of those summoned to this once-grand hall. He peeked out from behind a stone column, lest he call attention to himself. He had captured a unique soul and had been harboring it, using it, becoming cunning and dangerous. For unlike most of his brethren, he had discovered guile worked better than confrontation in gaining valuable life force and intelligence. He still showed the proper mix of fear and danger to those directly above him, enough fear so they judged him under their sway, yet dangerous enough for them to avoid attempting to consume him. It was a perilous pose, and had he made one misstep, calling attention to his uniqueness, those captains nearby would have destroyed him utterly, for his mind was turning alien and was now self-aware enough to be a threat to all of them.

This demon knew he could easily defeat at least four of the demons who presumed superiority and stood before him, but to rise too quickly among the host was to call unwanted attention to oneself. He had, during his short life, seen no fewer than a half-dozen others rise too quickly, only to be destroyed by one of the great captains, either against that day they might themselves be challenged, or to protect a favored servant.

Mightiest of these captains was Tugor, First Servant of Great Maarg, who was now making his will known. Tugor fell to his knees, placing his forehead to the floor, and others followed his lead.

The demon without a name heard a faint voice and knew it came from the soul he had captured, and he tried to ignore it, but it always said something he knew to be important. ‘Observe,’ he heard in his mind, as if it were a faint whisper in his ear, or a thought of his own.

A great rush of energies bathed the room as the shimmering wall seemed to ripple outward, then vanish as a gate to the home realm opened. A wind filled the chamber, from air sucked through the gap between worlds, as if everything in this hall were being urged to return to its home realm. By their nature, demons instinctively felt an awareness of those far mightier than themselves, and being close to Tugor caused the nameless demon to nearly faint in terror. But the presence that emanated through the rent in the fabric of space nearly reduced him to babbling incoherence.

All those present stayed on their knees, keeping foreheads to the stones, save the nameless demon still hidden behind the column. He watched as Tugor stood to face the void. From within the gap in the wall came a voice that was filled with the echoes of rage and dread. ‘Have you found the way?’

Tugor said, ‘We have, most mighty! We have sent two of our captains through the rift to Midkemia.’

‘What do they report?’ demanded the voice from beyond, and in it the nameless demon detected a note of something besides anger and power, a hint of desperation, perhaps.

‘Dogku and Jakan do not report,’ responded Tugor. ‘We know nothing. We believe they are unable to hold the portal.’

‘Then send another!’ ordered Maarg, Ruler of the Fifth Circle. ‘I will not cross until that way is clear; you’ve left nothing upon this world that I may consume. Next time I open the way, I will cross, and if there is naught for me to devour, I will eat your heart, Tugor!’ The sound of air being sucked from the room ceased as the rift between the worlds closed. Maarg’s voice hung in the air as the shimmering vanished and the wall was as it had been before.

Tugor rose up and shouted in rage, venting his frustration. The others stood slowly, for now would not be a good time to draw the attention of the second most powerful among their race. Tugor had been known to snap the heads from the shoulders of those who appeared to be growing too powerful, so that no rival would appear who might contest his position. It was even rumored that Tugor harbored his strength against the day when he might challenge Maarg for supremacy among the race.

Tugor turned and said, ‘Who goes next?’

Without quite knowing why, the nameless demon rose and came forward. ‘I will go, lord.’

Tugor’s visage, a horse skull with great horns, was nearly expressionless, but what expression it was capable of reflected puzzlement. ‘Who are you, little fool?’

‘I have no name yet, Master,’ said the nameless one.

Tugor took two large strides, pushing aside several of his captains, to stand towering over the small demon. ‘I have sent captains, who have failed to return. Why should you succeed where they did not?’

‘Because I am meek and will hide and observe, Master,’ the nameless one said quietly. ‘I will gather intelligence, and I will hide, harboring my strength, until I can reopen the portal from the other side.’

Tugor paused a moment, as if considering, then drew back his hand and struck the smaller demon, driving him across the room into the wall. The demon had small wings, not yet sufficient to fly with, and they felt as if they had been broken by the impact of the stone wall.

‘That is for being presumptuous,’ said Tugor, his rage just below the killing level.

‘I shall send you,’ he said to his next more powerful captain. Then he spun and grabbed another, ripping out the hapless demon’s throat as he screamed, ‘And this is for the rest of you for not showing as much courage!’

Some of the demons at the edge of the group turned and fled the hall, while others fell to the stones, throwing themselves on the mercy of Tugor’s whim. He was satisfied with killing one of his brethren, and drank blood and life energy for a moment, before tossing aside the now-empty husk of flesh.

‘Go,’ said Tugor to the captain. ‘The rift is in the distant hills, to the east. Those who guard it will tell you what you must know to return … if you are able. Return, and I will reward you.’

The captain hurried from the hall. The small demon hesitated, then followed, ignoring the fiery pain in his back. With food and rest, the wings would heal. As he left the palace he was challenged twice by other demons driven by hunger. He quickly killed them. Drinking their life energies caused the pain in his wings to fade, and as before, new thoughts and ideas manifested themselves. He suddenly knew why he was following the captain sent to reopen the rift.

The voice that had once come from the vial he wore around his neck, but that was now inside his head, said, ‘We shall endure, then thrive, then we shall do what must be done.’

The little demon hurried to the rift site, the location of the fissure between worlds where the last of the Saaur horde had fled. The little demon had learned things and knew that somehow an ally had betrayed the demons, that this gate was to have remained open, but instead had been closed. Twice it had been forced open, but closed again quickly, for those on the other side used counterspells to keep the portal sealed. At least a dozen powerful demons had died at Tugor’s hands because of the host’s inability to cross.

The captain reached the portal site as a dozen other demons surrounded him. Unnoticed, the little demon followed the larger as if accompanying him.

The rift site was unremarkable, a large patch of muddy earth, the grass crushed by the passing of thousands of Saaur horses and riders, their wives and children accompanying them. Most of the grass surrounding the rift was withered and blackened by the tread of demons, but tiny patches of green could be seen here and there. Should the rift remain closed much longer, even those tiny sources of life energy would be sought out and devoured. Squinting his eyes, the tiny demon saw the strange twist in the energy that hung in the air, difficult to notice unless one specifically looked for it.

What the Saaur and other mortal races called magic was but a shifting of life energies to the demons, and some of these might die in opening the rift. Until the wards on the other side were removed, it would be impossible to keep the rift open for more than a few seconds at a time, and many demons would die to achieve even two or three such passages. No demon gave his life willingly – it was not in their nature – but all feared Tugor and Maarg, and harbored the hope it would be the others in their company who paid the ultimate price, while they survived to gain reward.

The captain commanded, ‘Open the way!’

The demons given the task glanced at one another, knowing that some would die in the attempt, but at last they opened their minds and let the energies flow. The little demon studied the air and saw the shimmering as the opening appeared, and the captain crouched, timing his jump to the brief opening.

As he launched himself, while demons around the site screamed and fell, the little demon leaped upon his back. Taken totally by surprise, the captain bellowed his shock and outrage as they fell into the rift. The urgency of the little demon’s purpose helped him ignore the disorientation, while it only added to the captain’s surprise.

As they emerged into a dark and vast hall, the little demon bit as hard as he could into the base of the captain’s skull, where it met the neck, the weakest point on his body. Instantly an electric pulse flowed into the little demon as the captain’s outrage turned to terror and pain. He flailed about in the darkness, desperately seeking to dislodge the assassin. The little demon clung viciously to his victim’s back. Then the captain flung himself back, attempting to crush the smaller demon against the rock face of the cavern, but his own powerful wings conspired to prevent that.

Then the captain collapsed to his knees, and at that moment the smaller demon knew he was victorious. Energy flowed into him until he felt as if he might literally explode from it; he had feasted to insensibility before on those he had taken, but never in one feast had he consumed so much energy. He was now more powerful than the one he fed upon. His legs, longer and more muscular than they had been only a moment before, stood upon hard stone as he lifted his diminishing victim, who now could only mew weakly as his life force was drained.

Soon it was over and the newly victorious demon stood in the hall, almost drunk from the infusion of power. No food of flesh or fruit, no drink of ale or wine could bring one of his kind to this state. He wished for a Saaur looking glass, for he knew he was now at least a head taller than a moment before. And upon his back he felt the wings that would carry him through the sky one day begin to grow again.

But something distracted him, and he again felt alien thoughts entering his mind. ‘Observe and beware!’

He turned and altered his perceptions to pierce the darkness.

The vast hall was littered with the bodies of mortal creatures. He saw both Saaur and those called Pantathians, and a third type of creature, one unknown to him, smaller than the Saaur and larger than the Pantathians. There was nothing left of their life energies and so he quickly dismissed them.

The wards were still in place, the barriers that caused the death of those demons who attempted to pass through unaided. He inspected them and saw that they should have been easily removed by those demons sent before him.

Again regarding the carnage in the room he realized that great magic had been brought to bear to prevent the demons who came before from destroying the wards. Then he wondered what had happened to his brethren, for if they had been destroyed in this battle, there would have been a lingering energy, but there was none.

Fatigued from his battle yet intoxicated with his new life force, the demon reached to remove the first ward, but the alien voice said, ‘Wait!’

The demon hesitated, then reached down to the vial he wore about his neck. Without considering the consequences, the newly empowered demon opened the vial and the soul trapped within was loosed. But rather than fly to join that great soul of his ancestors, the soul in the vial passed into the demon.

The demon shuddered, closing his eyes as a new mind took control. Had the demon not been caught up in the change after the victory, he would not have succumbed so easily to the demand to free the soul in the vial, and had he not been so disoriented, that other intelligence would not have been able to achieve dominance. The mind now in charge of the demon reserved some essence in the vial and replaced the stopper. Some of his essence must remain apart from the demon, an anchor of sorts against the demands of demon lust and appetite. Even with that anchor, withstanding the demon’s nature would be a continuous struggle.

Seeing through nonhuman eyes, the newly formed creature inspected the wards again, and, rather than destroy them, he chanted an ancient Saaur summoning of magic and strengthened them. The creature could only imagine the rage of Tugor when the next messenger exploded into flaming agony upon attempting to pass into this realm. The setback would not keep the demons from entering this realm forever, but it did gain this new creature valuable time.

Flexing talons, and then arms that seemed suddenly too long, the creature wondered about the third race who lay dead upon the floor. Was it ally or foe to the Pantathians and their dupes, the Saaur?

The creature put aside such considerations. As the new mind, made up of the demon and the captured soul, melded into one, knowledge unfolded. It sensed at least one or two mindless demons wandering these halls and galleries of stone. It knew that the wards had protected the little demon as he rode the back of the captain through the rift, and that the captain had been stunned, robbed of wit and rendered animal-like, no matter how powerful. But the creature that had once been a demon knew that eventually, as the other demons already here fed and grew in power, cunning, then intelligence would return. And with memory would the need to return to this cavern and destroy the wards, opening the way.

First the creature must hunt down those demons, ensuring that did not happen. Then would come another search. ‘Jatuk.’ The creature spoke the name softly aloud. The son of the last ruler of the Saaur on the world of Shila would rule here, over the remnants of the last Saaur host, and this creature had much to tell him. As the melding continued, the demon’s nature was controlled and contained, then fused with that other intelligence. The father of Shadu – who now served Jatuk – took control of this false body and moved toward a tunnel. The mind of Hanam, last of the great Loremasters of the Saaur, had found a way to cheat death and betrayal and would now find the last of his people to warn them of the great deception that would doom another world to destruction if not halted.

• Chapter One • Krondor

Erik signaled.

The soldiers knelt just below his position in the gully watching as he silently motioned where he wanted each of them. Alfred, now his first corporal, gestured from the far end of the line and Erik nodded. Each man knew what to do.

The enemy had camped in a relatively defensible position on the trail north of Krondor. About three miles up the road was the small town of Eggly, the objective of the invaders. The enemy had stopped their march before sundown, and Erik was certain they would launch an attack just before dawn.

Erik had watched them from his hidden vantage, his men camped a short distance away while he decided his best course of action. He had observed the enemy erect their camp and saw they had been as disorganized as he had suspected they would be; their pickets were placed poorly, and were undisciplined, spending as much time looking into the camp to chat with comrades as actually watching for an enemy approach. The constant glances in the direction of the campfires were certainly diminishing their night vision. After gauging the strength and position of the invaders, Erik knew his choices. He had decided to strike first. While outnumbered by at least five to one, his men would have the advantage of surprise and superior training; at least, he hoped the latter was true.

Erik took a moment for one last inspection of the enemy’s position. If anything, the pickets were even more inattentive than they had been when Erik had sent for his company. It was clear the invaders thought their mission one of minor importance, taking a small town off the beaten track, while major conflicts would be raging to the south near the capital city of Krondor. Erik was determined to teach them that there were no minor conflicts in any war.

When his men were in place, Erik slipped down a small defile, until he was almost within touching distance of a bored guard. He tossed a small stone behind the man, who looked without thought. As Erik knew would be the case, the man glanced back into the camp, at the nearest campfire, which blinded him for a moment. A soldier sitting near the fire said, ‘What is it, Henry?’

The guard said, ‘Nothing.’

He turned to find Erik standing directly before him, and faster than he could shout alarm, Erik hit him with his balled fist, catching him as he fell.

‘Henry?’ said the man at the campfire, starting to rise, vainly trying to see into the gloom beyond the campfire light.

Erik attempted to imitate the guard’s voice. ‘I said, “Nothing.”’

The attempt failed, for the soldier started to shout alarm and pulled on his sword. But before he could clear the blade from his scabbard, Erik was upon him like a cat on a mouse. Grabbing the man by the back of his tunic, Erik pulled him over backward, slamming him hard into the ground. Putting a dagger at the man’s throat, he said, ‘You’re dead. No noise.’

The man gave him a sour look, but nodded. Softly he said, ‘Well, at least I get to finish my supper.’ He sat up and returned to his dinner plate, while two other men blinked in incomprehension as Erik circled the campfire and ‘cut’ each of their throats before they realized an attack was under way.

Shouts from around the camp announced that the rest of Erik’s company was now in force among the enemy, cutting throats, knocking down tents, and generally creating havoc. The only prohibition Erik had put on them was no fires. Although tempted, he thought the Baron of Tyr-Sog would not appreciate the damage to his baggage.

Erik hurried through the struggle, dispatching sleeping soldiers as they emerged from tents. He cut a few ropes, trapping soldiers inside as the canvas fell upon them, and heard shouts of outrage from within. Throughout the camp, men cursed as they were ‘killed,’ and Erik could hardly contain his amusement. The strike was fast and he was at the center of the camp within two minutes of the start of the assault. He reached the command tent as the Baron came out, obviously half-asleep as he buckled his sword belt around his nightshirt, and clearly displeased by the disruption. ‘What have we here?’ he demanded of Erik.

‘Your company is destroyed, my lord,’ said Erik with a light tap of his sword upon the Baron’s chest. ‘And you are now dead.’

The Baron studied the man who was sheathing his sword: he was tall, unusually broad across the shoulders without being fat, like a young blacksmith, with unremarkable features. His smile was engaging, however, friendly and open. In the firelight his pale blond hair danced with ruby highlights.

‘Nonsense,’ said the stout Baron. His neatly trimmed beard and fine silk nightshirt said volumes about his campaign experience. ‘We were to attack Eggly tomorrow. No one said anything about this’ – he waved his hand around the campsite – ‘business of a night attack. Had we known, we would have taken precautions.’

Erik said, ‘My lord, we are attempting to prove a point.’

A voice came out of the darkness. ‘And you proved it well.’

Owen Greylock, Knight-Captain of the Prince of Krondor’s Royal Garrison, came into the light. His gaunt features gave him a sinister appearance in the dancing shadows of the firelight. ‘I judge you’ve killed or incapacitated three-quarters of the soldiers, Erik. How many men did you bring?’

Erik said, ‘Sixty.’

‘But I have three hundred!’ said the Baron, clearly disturbed. ‘With an auxiliary of Hadati warriors.’

Erik glanced about and said, ‘I don’t see any Hadati?’

From out of the dark came an accented voice. ‘As it should be.’

A group of men dressed in kilts and plaids entered the camp. They wore their hair tied up high atop their heads in a knot, with a long fall of it spilling down their backs. ‘We heard your men approaching,’ said the leader, looking at Erik, who wore an unmarked black tunic, and guessing at his rank, ‘Captain?’

‘Sergeant,’ corrected Erik.

‘Sergeant,’ amended the spokesman, a tall warrior who wore only a simple sleeveless tunic above his kilt. His plaid would provide warmth in the mountains if unrolled and worn around his shoulders. Below night-black hair, his features were even, nothing out of the ordinary, save for dark eyes that reminded Erik of a bird of prey’s. In the campfire light, his sun-darkened skin was almost red. Erik didn’t need to see the man draw the long blade he wore on his back to know him for a seasoned fighter.

‘You heard us?’ asked Erik.

‘Yes. Your men are good, Sergeant, but we Hadati live in the mountains – often sleeping on the ground near our herds – and we know when we’re hearing a group of men approach.’

‘What’s your name?’ asked Erik.

‘Akee, son of Bandur.’

Erik nodded. ‘We need to talk.’

The Baron said, ‘I protest, Captain!’

Greylock said, ‘What, my lord?’

‘I protest this unannounced action. We were told to play the role of invaders and expect resistance by local militia and special units from Krondor at the town of Eggly. Nothing was said of a night attack. Had we known, we would have prepared for such!’ he repeated.

Erik glanced at Owen, who signaled that Erik should form up his company and depart while the Prince’s Knight-Captain soothed the ruffled feelings of the Baron of Tyr-Sog. Erik motioned Akee to his side and said, ‘Have your men gather their kits and find my corporal. He’s a nasty-looking thug named Alfred. Tell him you’ll be coming with us to Krondor in the morning.’

‘Will the Baron approve?’ asked Akee.

‘Probably not,’ answered Erik, turning away. ‘But he doesn’t have much to say about it. I’m the Prince of Krondor’s man.’

The Hadati hillman shrugged and motioned to his companions. ‘Let those men free.’

‘Free?’ asked Erik.

Akee smiled. ‘We captured a few of those you sent to the south, Sergeant. I believe your ugly thug may be among them.’

Erik let fatigue and the pressure of the night’s exercise get the better of his usually calm nature. Swearing softly, he said, ‘If he is, he’ll regret it.’

Akee shrugged, turning to his companions and saying, ‘Let’s go see.’

Erik addressed another of his company, a soldier named Shane. ‘Get the men formed up at the south end of the camp.’

Shane nodded and started shouting orders.

Erik followed the Hadati to a point outside the perimeter of the Baron’s camp and found a pair of Hadati sitting next to Corporal Alfred and a half-dozen of Erik’s best men.

‘What happened?’ Erik asked.

Alfred sighed as he stood. ‘They’re good, Sergeant.’ He pointed to a ridge above them. ‘They must have moved the second they heard us coming, ’cause we were up there on that ridge, and I would have wagered everything I own it wasn’t possible they could have come up out of that camp, crossed the ridge, lay low, then come up behind us as we headed down.’ He shook his head. ‘We were being tapped on the shoulder before we heard them.’

Erik turned to Akee. ‘You’ll have to tell me how you did that.’

Akee shrugged, saying nothing.

To Alfred, Erik said, ‘These hillmen are coming with us. Take them down to the camp and let’s get back to Krondor.’

Alfred smiled, forgetting the tongue-lashing he was likely to receive from Erik when they were back at the garrison. ‘A hot meal,’ he said.

Erik was forced to agree it would be welcome. They had been out on maneuvers for a week, eating cold rations in the dark, and his men were tired and hungry. ‘Get moving’ was all he said.

Standing in the dark, Erik considered what was at stake in the impending war, and wondered if a hundred such exercises would prepare the men of the Kingdom for what was to come.

Tossing aside such concern, he conceded that probably nothing would prepare them fully, but what other choice did he have? He considered that Calis, Prince Patrick, Knight-Marshal William, and other commanders were operating throughout these mountains, conducting such exercises this week; at the end of the week a council would be held to tally what needed to be done.

Erik said to himself, ‘Everything, everything needs to be done,’ and he realized his black mood was due more to fatigue and hunger than to Alfred’s failing to avoid the Hadati ambush. Then he smiled. If the hillmen from northern Yabon had gotten up over that ridge that fast, it was a good thing they were going to be on the Kingdom’s side, and even better, thought Erik, under his command.

He turned toward the camp and decided he’d better join Greylock in mollifying the distressed Baron of Tyr-Sog.

The soldiers stood to attention as the courtyard resounded with the echo of their boot heels striking cobbles as one, and each man stood motionless while the Prince of Krondor made his appearance on the dais.

Roo looked at his friend Erik and said, ‘Nicely done.’

Erik shook his head, indicating that Roo should keep silent. Roo grinned but stayed quiet while Prince Patrick, ruler of Krondor, accepted a salute from the assembled garrison of the palace. Next to Erik stood Calis, Captain of the Prince’s special guards known as the Crimson Eagles.

Erik shifted his weight slightly, uncomfortable with the attention being drawn to him and the others. The survivors of the most recent expedition to the distant land of Novindus were being presented with awards for bravery, and Erik wasn’t sure what that entailed, but he knew he would prefer being back about his usual duties.

He had returned from the exercises in the mountains expecting a quick council, but Calis had informed Erik and the others that with Prince Erland’s return from a visit to his brother King Borric, a ceremony was scheduled and awards would be conferred, but beyond that, Erik knew little. He glanced sideways and saw his Captain, Calis, also looking impatient to see the fuss over with. Renaldo, one of the other survivors, turned to look at Micha. Both soldiers had accompanied Calis on their flight from the halls of the Pantathian serpent priests. Renaldo had his chest puffed out as the Prince of Krondor presented him with an award, the White Cord of Courage, which would be sewn to his tunic sleeve, marking him a man who displayed conspicuous bravery for King and Country.

Roo had sailed one of his largest ships to Novindus to bring the Kingdom soldiers home. Erik and his companions had rested and healed on the return journey. Their Captain, the enigmatic man reputed to be a half-elf, was almost completely recovered from injuries that would have killed any other man. Two old companions of his, Praji and Vaja, had died in the magical blast that had caught Calis, and half his body had been burned as if set on fire. Yet he hardly showed the slightest scar, his face and neck only marked by flesh just a little lighter in color than the rest of his sun-bronzed skin. Erik wondered if he would ever know the full truth about the man he served.

And thinking of enigmas, Erik regarded another of his companions over the last few years, the odd gambler, Nakor. He stood apart from those being honored, a half-mocking grin on his face as he watched the award ceremony. At his side stood Sho Pi, the former monk who now regarded himself as Nakor’s acolyte. They had been residing in the palace as the guests of the Duke of Krondor for the last month, Nakor showing little motivation to return to his usual occupation, fleecing the unsuspecting in card rooms across the Kingdom.

Erik let his mind wander as the Prince cited each man, and he wondered who would honor those who were left behind, particularly Bobby de Loungville, the iron-tough, unforgiving sergeant who, more than any other, had forged Erik into the soldier he had become. Erik felt a tear gather in his eye as he recalled holding Bobby in the ice cave in the mountains as his lungs filled with blood from a sword wound. Silently Erik said to himself, See, I got him out alive.

Blinking away the tear, Erik once again glanced at Calis and found the Captain watching him. With a barely perceptible nod, Calis seemed to say he knew what Erik was thinking, and was also remembering lost friends.

The ceremony dragged on, then suddenly it was over, the assembled garrison of the palace in Krondor dismissed. Knight-Marshal William, Military Commander of the Principality, motioned for Erik and the others to attend him. To Calis he said, ‘The Prince asks you all to join him in his private council room.’

Erik glanced at Roo, who shrugged. On the return voyage, the two boyhood friends had caught up with each other’s news. Erik had been half-amused, half-astonished to discover that his best friend had, in less than two years, contrived to become one of Krondor’s preeminent merchants and one of the Kingdom’s richest men. But as he saw the ship’s master and crew snap to every order Roo gave, he realized that Rupert Avery, barely more than a common thief as a child, and hardly more than a boy now, truly owned that ship.

Erik had told Roo of what he and the others had discovered, and he needed no embellishment to convey the horror and disgust he felt at fighting through the Pantathian birthing halls. Of those who had not traveled to Novindus with Calis on his most recent journey, Roo, Nakor, and Sho Pi had been there previously, and knew what the others faced. Slowly, over the voyage, Erik had provided enough grisly details about the slaughter of Pantathian females and infants, as well as about the mysterious ‘third player’ who had accomplished more carnage than Calis’s raiders ever could have done. Unless there were birthing crèches located elsewhere – and it seemed unlikely – the only living Pantathians were those close to the Emerald Queen. If they were finally defeated in the coming battle, the Pantathian serpent priests would cease to exist, a fate most fervently hoped for by the two boyhood friends from Darkmoor.

Roo and Erik had parted almost as soon as the ship had berthed, as Roo had businesses to oversee. Two days later, Erik had left on maneuvers, evaluating the training Jadow Shati had inflicted upon the men in training while Calis had been gone. Erik was pleased that the new men under his command for the last week were as disciplined and reliable as those he had trained with when he had been a common soldier.

Entering the palace, Erik was again uncomfortable at finding himself in the halls of power and in the presence of the great of the Kingdom. He had served for a year in Krondor before leaving with Calis on the last voyage, but had confined himself to the training grounds most of the time. He came to the palace proper only when summoned or to borrow a book on tactics or some other aspect of warcraft from Knight-Marshal William. He was never comfortable with the supreme commander of the King’s Armies of the West, but he finally grew used to spending hours over ale or wine discussing what he had read and how it would bear on the armies he was helping to fashion. But, given a choice, Erik would rather be in the drilling yard, working with the armorers around the forge, or tending to the horses, or most of all, out in the field, where life was too demanding to think much about the larger consequences of the coming war.

In the Prince’s private chamber – actually, Erik thought, a small hall – other men waited, including Lord James, Duke of Krondor, and Jadow Shati, the other sergeant in Calis’s company. Erik expected Jadow would be promoted to Sergeant Major to replace Bobby. Upon the table a lavish board of cheeses, meats, fruit, bread, and vegetables had been laid out. Ale, wine, and frosted pitchers of fruit juices were also waiting.

‘Set to,’ said the Prince of Krondor, removing his ceremonial crown and mantle and handing them to waiting pages. Calis picked up an apple and bit into it while others moved around the table.

Erik motioned to Roo, who came over to him.

‘How did you find things at home?’ Erik asked.

Roo said, ‘The children are … amazing. They’ve grown so much in the months I was gone I scarcely recognize them.’ His face creased in a thoughtful expression. ‘My business endured my absence well enough, though not as well as I expected. Jacob Esterbrook had the better of me three times while I was gone. One transaction cost me a small fortune.’

‘I thought you and he were friends,’ said Erik, taking a bite of bread and cheese.

‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Roo. He had thought better of mentioning his relationship to Sylvia Esterbrook, Jacob’s daughter, given that Erik tended to have a narrow view of family and vows of faithfulness. ‘“Friendly competitors” would be a more accurate description. He has a stranglehold on trade to Kesh and seems reluctant to relinquish even a small part of it.’

Calis came up to them and said, ‘Roo, will you excuse us a moment?’

Rupert nodded, said, ‘Of course, Captain,’ and walked over to the table to take advantage of the fare.

Calis waited until they were out of earshot before he asked, ‘Erik, has Marshal William had a chance to talk to you today?’

Erik shook his head. ‘No, Captain. I was busy getting back into the rhythm of things with Jadow … now that Bobby’s no longer here …’ He shrugged.

‘I understand.’ Calis turned and motioned for the Knight-Marshal, who joined them. Calis looked at Erik. ‘You’ve got a choice.’

William, a short, slender man whom Erik knew to be one of the best riders and swordsmen in the Kingdom despite his advancing age, said, ‘Calis and I have talked about you, youngster. With things … as they are, we have more opportunities than we have men with talent.’

Erik knew what William had meant by ‘things as they are,’ for he knew that a terrible army was massing across the sea and would be invading in less than two years’ time. ‘Choice?’

‘I’d like to offer you a staff position,’ said William. ‘You’d hold the rank of Knight-Lieutenant in the Prince’s army, and I’d put you in charge of the Krondorian Heavy Lance. Your skill with horses – well, I can’t think of a better man for the job.’

Erik glanced at Calis. ‘Sir?’

‘I’d like you to stay with the Crimson Eagles,’ said Calis in a flat tone.

‘Then I’ll stay,’ said Erik without hesitation. ‘I made a promise.’

William smiled ruefully. ‘I thought as much, but I had to ask.’

‘Thank you for asking, m’lord,’ said Erik. ‘I’m flattered.’

William grinned at Calis. ‘You must use magic. He’s halfway to being the best tactician I’ve ever met – and if he keeps studying he will be the best – and you want to waste him as a bully sergeant.’

Calis smiled slightly, an expression of wry amusement Erik had come to know well. The half-elven Captain said, ‘We have more need of bully sergeants to train soldiers right now than we do tacticians, Willy. Besides, my bully sergeants are not the same as yours.’

William shrugged. ‘You’re right, of course, but when they come, each of us is going to want the best we can find at our side.’

‘I can’t argue that.’

William left and Calis said, ‘Erik, thank you.’

Erik repeated, ‘I made a promise.’

‘To Bobby?’ asked Calis.

Erik nodded.

Calis’s expression darkened. ‘Well, knowing Bobby, I’d best tell you now, I need a sergeant major, not a nursemaid. You kept me alive once, Erik von Darkmoor, so consider your promise to Bobby de Loungville discharged in full. If it comes to a choice between my life and the survival of the Kingdom, I want you to make the right choice.’

It took Erik a moment to comprehend what had just been said. ‘Sergeant major?’

‘You’re taking Bobby’s place,’ said Calis.

‘But Jadow has been with you longer –’ Erik began.

‘But you have the knack,’ interrupted Calis. ‘Jadow doesn’t. He’ll do fine as a sergeant – you saw how the new men are shaping up – but promoting him any higher would put him in a situation where he would be a liability instead of an asset.’ He studied Erik’s face a moment. ‘William wasn’t overstating the case about your abilities as a tactician. We’ll need to work on your comprehension of strategy as well. You know what’s coming and you know that once the struggle begins, you may find yourself out there with hundreds of men looking to you to keep them alive. An ancient Isalani general called it the “fog of battle,” and men who can keep other men alive while chaos erupts around them are rare.’

Erik could only nod. He and the others around him who had traveled with Calis had seen the army of the Emerald Queen, had been a part of it for a time, and he knew that when that host of hired killers arrived on the shores of the Kingdom, chaos would ensue. In the midst of that chaos, only well-trained, disciplined, hard men might survive. And it would be upon those men that the fate of the Kingdom – and the rest of the world of Midkemia – would rest, not on the Kingdom’s traditional armies.

‘Very well, Captain. I accept,’ said Erik.

Calis smiled and put his hand upon Erik’s shoulder. ‘You didn’t have a choice, Sergeant Major. Now you need to promote some men; we need one more sergeant for the balance of this year, and a half-dozen corporals besides.’

‘Alfred of Darkmoor,’ said Erik. ‘He was a corporal and a bully until I got through with him. He’s ready to take on the responsibility, and at heart he’s still a brawler and we’ll need that when the time comes.’

‘You have that right,’ said Calis. ‘Every man a brawler, for that matter.’

Erik said, ‘I suppose we have enough potential corporals around. I’ll make up a list this evening.’

Calis nodded. ‘I must talk to Patrick before this turns into a full-blown reception. Excuse me.’

Roo returned when he saw Calis leave, and asked, ‘Well, did you get promoted or did Jadow?’

‘I did,’ answered Erik.

‘My condolences,’ said Roo. Then he grinned and struck his friend on the arm. ‘Sergeant Major.’

‘What about you?’ asked Erik. ‘You were telling me how things are at home.’

Roo smiled weakly and shrugged. ‘Karli is still upset I took off to go after you on such short notice, and she was right: the children don’t recognize me, though Abigail does call me daddy, and little Helmut just gives shy grins and gurgles.’ He sighed. ‘I got a warmer welcome from Helen Jacoby, truth to tell.’

‘Well, from what you told me, she is in your debt. You could have turned her and her children out on the streets.’

Roo chewed on a piece of fruit a moment. ‘Not really. Her husband had no part in the plot to kill my father-in-law.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up; Jason, Duncan, and Luis have been careful in seeing to my company while I was gone, and my partners in the Bitter Sea Company haven’t robbed me too outrageously.’ He grinned. ‘At least, I haven’t found any proof yet.’ His expression turned serious again. ‘And I also know that this army you’re about to become a significant part of will need provisions, weapons, and armor. Those don’t come cheaply.’

Erik nodded. ‘I have some small idea of how we’re going to meet the Emerald Queen, and while we’ll never put as large a force in the field as she will send against us, we’ll have to mount the most ambitious campaign since the Riftwar, and one never matched before.’

‘How many men under arms do you think?’

‘I’m speculating,’ said Erik. ‘But at least fifty, sixty thousand more than the current armies of the East and West.’

‘That’s close to a hundred thousand men!’ said Roo. ‘Do we have that many?’

‘No.’ Erik shook his head. ‘We have twenty thousand in all the Armies of the West, including the ten thousand directly under the Prince’s command. The Armies of the East number more, but many of them are honor garrisons. With our long-term peace with Roldem, the other eastern kingdoms are calm, not willing to try anything without Roldem distracting us.’ Erik shrugged. ‘Too much time spent with Lord William, I guess, talking strategy … We now must start building for the battle here.’ With a shake of his head he said softly, ‘We lost too many of our key men on our last trips to Novindus.’

Roo nodded. ‘There is a large debt to be repaid to that green bitch.’ Then he sighed audibly. ‘And a huge billing to finance it.’

Erik smiled. ‘Our Duke is getting into your pocket?’

Roo returned the smile, though his was far more wry. ‘Not yet. He’s made it clear that taxes will remain reasonable because he expects me to underwrite a large portion of the coming fight and to convince others, like Jacob Esterbrook, to provide funds as well.’

Mentioning Esterbrook, Roo again thought of his daughter, Sylvia, Roo’s mistress for the better part of a year before his sailing to rescue Erik, Calis, and the others. He had seen her only once since returning two weeks ago, and he was planning on seeing her tonight; he ached for her. ‘I think I should call upon Jacob soon,’ he said as if the thought had just come to him. ‘If he and I together agree to participate in financing the war, no one else of importance in the Kingdom would refuse the Prince’s request.’ Dryly he added, ‘After all, if we fail in this, repayment of loans will be the last of our worries.’ Then he whispered in a somber tone, ‘Assuming we can worry about anything.’

Erik nodded noncommittally. He had to admit that Roo had proven beyond any doubt he understood matters of finance far better than Erik and, should his phenomenal success be any indication, better than most of the businessmen in the Kingdom.

Roo said, ‘I should make my excuses to the Prince and get about my own business. I suspect those of us here who are not part of your military inner circle will be asked to find other things to go do soon, anyway.’

Erik took his hand. ‘I think you’re right.’ Other nobles, not part of the military, were presenting themselves to the Prince. Roo left his boyhood friend and joined the line of those begging the Prince’s leave to depart, and soon only the Prince, his senior advisers, and members of the military remained.

When Owen Greylock entered, Patrick said, ‘We’re now all here.’

Knight-Marshal William motioned for them to gather around a circular table at the far end of the room. Duke James sat to his Prince’s right, and William to the left.

It was the Duke who began. ‘Well, now that the pomp is over, we can get back to the bloody work ahead of us.’

Erik sat back and listened to the plans for the final defense of the Kingdom begin to take shape.

Roo reached the gate where his horse was waiting for him. He had left his carriage at home for his wife’s use, for he had moved his family to an estate outside the gates of the city. While he preferred the convenience of his town house, across the street from Barret’s Coffee House – where most of his business day was spent – the country house offered a tranquillity he couldn’t have imagined before the move. He had grounds for hunting if he chose, and a stream with fish, and all the other advantages granted to the nobility and rich commoners. He knew he would have to find time soon to enjoy those pastimes.

Not yet twenty-three years of age, Roo Avery was the father of two, one of the richest merchants in the Kingdom, and privy to secrets shared by few. The country house was also a hedge, as the gamblers called it, a place from which his family could escape the oncoming invasion to safer refuge to the east before the mob fled the city, trampling everything in its path. Roo had endured the destruction of Maharta, the distant city crushed three years before by the armies of the Emerald Queen. He had been forced to fight his way through the mass of panic-stricken citizens, had seen innocents die because they were in the wrong place. He vowed he would spare his children that horror, no matter what else might come.

He knew what he had been told, years before, along with the rest of Calis’s company, on the shore of that distant land called Novindus, that should the Kingdom of the Isles not prevail, all life as they knew it would cease on Midkemia. He still couldn’t accept that deep within, but he acted as if it were true. He had seen too many things on his trip south to know that even if the Captain’s claims were overblown, life under the yoke of the Emerald Queen’s advancing army would bring only a choice between death and slavery.

He also knew that if that event should come to pass which the Captain warned of, the invading army reaching some unnamed goal, then whatever preparations he made would be meaningless. But short of that, he was determined to take whatever steps necessary to keep his wife and children alive and away from harm. He had purchased a town house in Salador, presently used by an agent he had hired to run his affairs in the Eastern Realm, and he would probably buy another in the city of Ran, on the Kingdom’s eastern frontier. He was next going to inquire of foreign agents in the East about the availability of property in distant Roldem, the island kingdom most closely allied with the Kingdom of the Isles.

Gathering his thoughts, he realized he was halfway to his office. He had told Karli he would spend the night at the town house, claiming that the affairs at the palace would force him to work late into the night. The truth was he was going to send a message to Sylvia Esterbrook, asking to see her tonight. Since returning from rescuing Erik and the others, he had thought of little else. Images of her body haunted his dreams, and memories of her scent and the soft feel of her skin made him unable to think of more important things. The one night he had spent with her after his return only reinforced his hunger to be with her.

He reached his office and rode through the gate, past workmen hurriedly attempting to finish the improvements to the property he had ordered when first back from his sea voyage. A second story was being added to the old warehouse, a loft, actually, where he could conduct business without being on the busy warehouse floor. His staff was growing and he needed more room. He had already made an offer for a piece of property adjoining his at the rear, and would have to completely tear down an old block of apartments rented to workmen and their families, and then build new facilities. He paid too much, he knew, but he was desperate for the space.

He dismounted and motioned for one of the workers to take his horse. ‘Give him some hay; no grain,’ he instructed as he made his way past wagons being loaded and unloaded. ‘Then saddle another horse and have it ready for me.’ Workers repairing broken wheels and replacing shoes on draft animals set up a raucous hammering, and men shouted instructions to one another across the floor.

Overseeing the chaos were two men, Luis de Savona, Roo’s companion from the early days of Calis’s ‘company of desperate men,’ and Jason, a former waiter at Barret’s who had been the first there to befriend Roo, and who was also a genius with figures.

Roo smiled. ‘Where’s Duncan?’

Luis shrugged. ‘Abed with some whore, probably.’

It was midday, and Roo shook his head. His cousin was reliable in certain ways, but in others he had no sense of loyalty. Still, there were only a handful of men in the world Roo would trust at his back in a knife fight, and Duncan was one of them.

‘What news?’ asked Roo.

Jason held out a large document. ‘Our attempt to establish a regular route to Great Kesh is “under consideration,” according to this very wordy document that just arrived from the Keshian Trade Legate’s office. We are, however, welcome to bid on odd jobs as they come to our attention.’

‘He said that?’

‘Not in so many words,’ said Luis.

‘Since we took over the operation of Jacoby and Sons, I halfway expected we’d keep their regular clients.’

‘We have,’ said Jason, ‘except for the Keshian merchants.’ He shook his head, his young features a mask of solemnity. ‘Once it became known you’d taken over on Helen Jacoby’s behalf, every Keshian trading concern began canceling contracts as fast as possible.’

Roo frowned. Tapping his chin with his finger, he asked, ‘Who’s getting those contracts?’

Luis said, ‘Esterbrook.’ Roo turned and stared at his friend, who continued. ‘At least, either companies he holds a minor interest in, or ones owned by men he has major influence over. You know he was doing a lot of business with the Jacobys before you finished with them.’

Roo glanced at Jason. ‘What did you find when you went over the Jacoby accounts?’

Jason had thoroughly investigated all those accounts while Roo had sailed across the sea to rescue Erik. Roo had killed Randolph and Timothy Jacoby when they had tried to ruin him, and rather than put Randolph Jacoby’s wife, Helen, and their children out on the streets, he had agreed to run Jacoby and Sons on her behalf.

Jason said, ‘Whatever business Jacoby and Esterbrook had, there was little record keeping involved. There were some minor contracts, but nothing out of the ordinary, just a few odd personal notes I can’t make sense of. But one thing doesn’t fit.’

‘What?’ asked Roo.

‘The Jacobys were too rich. There was gold accounted to them in several countinghouses that … well, I don’t know where it came from. I have accounts going back ten years’ – he waved at a pile of ledgers on the floor nearby – ‘and there’s just no source for it.’

Roo nodded. ‘Smuggling.’ He remembered his first confrontation with Tim Jacoby, over some smuggled silk Roo had managed to get his hands on. ‘How much gold?’

Jason said, ‘More than thirty thousand sovereigns, and I haven’t found every account yet.’

Roo considered silently for a minute. ‘Don’t say anything about this to anyone. If you have any reason to speak to Helen Jacoby, just tell her things are going better than we had thought. Keep it vague, just enough solid information to reassure her that she and her children are protected for life, no matter what happens to me. And ask her if she needs anything.’

‘Aren’t you going to see her?’ asked Luis.

‘Soon.’ He glanced around. ‘We need to build more resources, and fast, so start keeping your ears open for businesses we can buy into or take over outright. But keep it quiet; any mention of the name Avery and Son or the Bitter Sea Company and prices will rise faster than a spring flood.’ The others acknowledged his instructions, and Roo said, ‘I’m going next to Barret’s, to see my partners, and if I’m needed, that’s where you’ll find me for the balance of the day.’

Roo left his associates and mounted his fresh horse. As he considered what he had been told, he reached Barret’s Coffee House before he knew it.

Roo dismounted, tossing the reins to one of the waiters. He pulled a silver coin from his vest and handed it to the boy. ‘Stable him behind my house, Richard.’

The youngster led the mount away, smiling. Roo made it a point to remember the names of all the waitstaff at Barret’s and to tip lavishly. He had been employed there only three years before and knew how difficult the work could be. Besides, if he needed something from a waiter, a message carried across town or a special dish prepared for a business associate, he got quick service in exchange for his largesse.

Roo moved past the first rail as another waiter quickly opened the gate for him, then made his way to the stairs up to the balcony overlooking the central part of the floor. His partners, Jerome Masterson and Stanley Hume, were waiting for him. He took his seat and said, ‘Gentlemen?’

Jerome said, ‘Rupert. A pleasant morning to you.’ Hume echoed the greeting, and they began to conduct the morning business of the Bitter Sea Company, the largest trading concern in the Kingdom of the Isles.

• Chapter Two • Warning

Erik fumed.

He had spent the day working on a plan to employ the Hadati hillmen he had taken from the Baron of Tyr-Sog, only to be told they had left the Prince’s castle, and no one seemed sure where they had gone or at whose orders. He had finally ended up outside the office of the Knight-Marshal of Krondor, who was ensconced within his private chamber in a meeting with Captain Calis.

Finally a clerk indicated Erik could enter, and both William and Calis greeted him. ‘Sergeant Major,’ said William, indicating an empty chair. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘It’s about the Hadati, m’lord,’ said Erik, not taking the seat.

‘What about them?’ asked Calis.

‘They’re gone.’

‘I know,’ said Calis with a faint smile.

Erik said, ‘What I mean is, I had plans –’

Knight-Marshal William held up his hand. ‘Sergeant Major, whatever plans you had are certainly similar to our own. However, your particular talents aren’t needed in that area.’

Erik’s eyes narrowed. ‘In what area?’

‘Teaching hillmen how to fight in the hills,’ said Calis.

He motioned for Erik to sit, and Erik did as he was instructed.

William pointed to a map on the wall across the room. ‘We’ve got a thousand miles of hills and mountains running from just north of the Great Star Lake up to Yabon, Sergeant. We’re going to need men who can live up there without supplies from Krondor.’

Erik said, ‘I know, m’lord –’

William interrupted him again. ‘Those men already meet our needs.’

Erik was silent a moment, then said, ‘Very well, m’lord. But, for my curiosity’s sake, where are they?’

‘On their way to a camp north of Tannerus. To meet with Captain Subai.’

‘Captain Subai?’ asked Erik. The man named was head of the Royal Krondorian Pathfinders, an elite scouting unit that traced its lineage back to the Kingdom’s first foray into the West. They had long since changed their mission of being trailbreakers and explorers; they now served as long-range military scouts and intelligence officers. ‘You’re turning them over to the Pathfinders?’

‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Calis. He sounded tired, and Erik studied his leader’s features. There were dark smudges under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept much in recent days, and his face was a bit more pinched than usual. Those signs might go unnoticed, by someone who hadn’t spent every waking moment for months in Calis’s company, but to Erik they communicated much: Calis was worried and was working late into the night. Erik suppressed a rueful smile. He had started to think like the very nursemaid Calis had warned him not to become, and besides, he was just as guilty of overwork as his leader.

Calis spoke: ‘We need couriers and exploring officers.’

This was a term new to Erik. ‘Exploring officers?’ he asked.

‘It’s a madman’s job,’ offered Calis. ‘You pack your horse with a few rations and a canteen of water, then you ride like hell through the enemy’s pickets, move behind their lines, stay alive, meet with agents and spies, occasionally assassinate someone or burn down a stronghold, and otherwise wreak havoc wherever you can.’

‘You forgot the important part,’ offered William. ‘Staying alive. Getting back with what you know is more important than all the rest.’

‘Information,’ said Calis. ‘Without it, we’re blind.’

Erik realized with a sudden clarity that what he had lived through on two journeys to Novindus – the hardships, the loss of good men – was all to return with vital information. As with many things that Erik had learned in the military, he thought he understood something only to discover later he possessed merely a surface apprehension of the way things were, as a deeper appreciation of the topic seemed to unfold in his mind. Tactics and strategy were like that. William kept telling him he had a knack, yet often Erik felt stupid, as if he were missing the obvious.

Almost blushing, Erik said, ‘I understand.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ said Calis in a friendly tone.

William said, ‘We’re delighted to put the Hadati to such use, though they will likely be used as scouts and couriers; few of them are competent enough horsemen to serve as explorers.’

‘I can train them,’ said Erik, suddenly interested.

‘Perhaps. But we’ve got some Inonian mountain rangers coming in from the East. They are experienced riders.’

Erik had seen the occasional Inonian in Darkmoor. Swarthy, tough little men from the Inonia region along the coast of the Kingdom Sea nearest the southeastern borders with Kesh, they were reputed to be as fierce in their ability to defend their mountain highlands as the Hadati or dwarves. Erik knew them firsthand only for the excellent wines they traded in exchange for Darkmoor’s best; their wines were distinctive, using different varieties of grapes from those found in Darkmoor, often spiced or treated with resins or honey, but treasured for that very difference. The Inonians also produced the finest olive oil known, and that was the primary source of their prosperity.

‘From what I understand,’ offered Erik, ‘Inonian horsemen are able enough.’

‘In the mountains,’ said William, standing up as if to throw off the weight of fatigue. ‘Hit and run tactics are the rule. They also don’t marshal many men at a time, doing most of their damage with a dozen or fewer raiders.’ He waved to a bookshelf on the opposite side of his office. ‘We have at least one account of the Kingdom’s conquest of their region in there. They have some nasty tricks that may help us when the invaders get here.’ He stretched. ‘They ride small, tough ponies, and getting them to accept our faster horses may take some doing; you may have to give them some instruction, too.’

Calis grinned, and Erik knew without being asked that the eastern hill fighters were unlikely to take being trained gracefully. ‘But for the moment,’ the Captain said, ‘you’re to head back into the hills with another batch of soldiers.’

‘Again?’ Erik barely suppressed a groan.

‘Again,’ said Calis. ‘Greylock and Jadow have got sixty survivors of their boot camp they swear will take to your training like a baby to the teat. You and Alfred and another six of your men will take them out tomorrow morning.’

William said, ‘Teach them everything you can, Sergeant Major.’

‘And keep your eye out for potential corporals,’ Calis added. ‘We need more sergeants, too.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Erik rose, saluted, and turned to leave.

Calis said, ‘Erik?’

‘Yes?’ asked Erik as he paused at the door.

‘Why don’t you go out tonight and have some fun? You look like hell. Consider that an order.’

Erik shrugged, shook his head, and said, ‘You’re no daisy.’

Calis smiled. ‘I know. I’m taking a long hot bath; then I’m turning in early tonight.’

William said, ‘Go find a girl and a drink and relax.’

Erik left the Knight-Marshal’s office and moved to his own quarters. He had been working in the marshalling yard all day, and if he was going anywhere he wanted to bathe and change.

After his bath and in a fresh tunic, he felt hunger and considered heading to the mess. He weighed his choices and decided a meal in town might be just the thing.

Erik decided to walk to the Broken Shield, the inn operated by Lord James for the men, giving them a place to drink and meet the whores hand-selected by the Duke to ensure no one said anything to a potential agent of the enemy.

Evening was falling and the city was ablaze in torch and lantern light as Erik reached the inn. James had picked a location far enough from the palace to look a likely hangout for soldiers wishing to be away from the scrutiny of their officers, yet close enough that a message would reach anyone in minutes. Only Erik, the officers, and a few others realized that every person within the inn was an agent or employee of the Duke.

Kitty waved as Erik entered the room and he found himself smiling at her. He had been the one who had told the girl of Bobby de Loungville’s death and since then he had looked in on her from time to time. She had shown no reaction to the news, excusing herself for a few minutes, and when she had returned, only slightly red eyes had betrayed her feelings. Erik suspected the former thief had been in love with the man who had held the position of Sergeant Major before him. Bobby had been a difficult, even cruel, man at times, but he had treated the young girl with nothing but respect since she had come to the inn.

Erik had asked James if the girl did more than tend bar, but the Duke had simply replied he was pleased with the girl’s services since she had become one of his agents. Erik knew her primary job was to keep alert for any Mocker, a member of the Guild of Thieves of Krondor, attempting to enter the Broken Shield.

‘What’s new?’ asked Erik as he reached the bar.

‘Not much,’ said Kitty, retrieving a large jack from under the counter, then filling it at the ale tap. ‘Just those two in from somewhere.’ With a motion of her chin she indicated two men sitting at a corner table.

‘Who are they?’ asked Erik, then took a long pull on the ale. Say what you will, he thought, about being told to frequent only this one inn: at least the Duke kept it serving only the finest ale and food.

Kitty shrugged. ‘Didn’t say. They sound like Easterners to me. Certainly not from around here.’ She picked up a bar rag and began wiping imaginary spills. ‘One of them is quiet, the dark fellow in the corner, but the other talks enough for both of them.’

Erik shrugged. While the inn was known to locals as being the hangout of garrison soldiers off duty, a few strangers wandered in from time to time, and although the staff was always on the lookout for spies and informers, most of those strangers had legitimate business in the area. Those few who didn’t were either followed out by Duke James’s agents or conducted to a basement room for interrogation, depending on the Duke’s instructions.

Erik glanced around and noticed that none of the girls who serviced the soldiers was in view. He glanced at Kitty and found he preferred talking to her for the moment. ‘The girls keeping out of sight?’

‘Meggan and Heather are working tonight,’ said Kitty. ‘They ducked out when the strangers arrived.’

Erik nodded. ‘The special girls?’

‘One’s on the way,’ said Kitty. The special girls were agents of the Duke, and when a stranger stayed too long at the inn, one quickly appeared, ready to accompany the stranger and ferret out whatever information might prove useful.

Erik found himself wondering who had taken up the role of ‘Spymaster,’ as Erik was certain that had been one of Bobby de Loungville’s many masks. Certainly it wasn’t Captain Calis, and Erik knew it wasn’t himself.

‘What are you thinking?’ asked Kitty.

‘Just wondering about our’ – glancing at the two strangers, he changed what he was about to say – ‘landlord’s employees.’

Kitty raised her eyebrows in question. ‘What do you mean?’

Erik shrugged. ‘It’s probably none of my business, anyway. A man can get too curious.’

Kitty leaned forward, elbows on the bar, and said, ‘Curiosity is what got me the death mark.’

Erik raised his eyebrow. ‘The Mockers?’

‘Rumor reached me a few weeks ago. An old friend thought to warn me. The Upright Man has returned, or at least someone claiming to be the Upright Man, and I’m being blamed for some troubles beyond the death of Sam Tannerson.’

Tannerson had been a bully and thief who had killed Kitty’s sister as a warning to Roo not to do business in the Poor Quarter without paying bribes. It had been a bloody business and had resulted in both Roo and Kitty finding themselves in need of the Duke’s protection.

‘What sort of troubles?’

‘Something to do with the previous leader of the Mockers, the Sagacious Man, having to flee Krondor.’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, if I venture out of this inn after dark, or into the Poor Quarter at any time, I’m dead.’

Erik said, ‘That’s a heavy burden.’

Kitty shrugged as if it weren’t important. ‘Life is like that.’

Erik sipped his ale. He studied the girl. When she had first been captured, she had stripped before Bobby and the men who had captured her, partly in defiance, partly in resignation. She was pretty – a lithe body, long neck, and big blue eyes that any man would notice – but hard. There was an element of toughness in her which took nothing away from her features but which underlined them, as if life had forged her in a hotter fire than most. Erik found it attractive in a way he couldn’t articulate. She wasn’t remotely provocative, like the girls he slept with at the Sign of the White Wing, or playful and mildly taunting, like the whores who worked this inn. She was guarded, thoughtful, and, Erik had decided, very smart.

‘What are you staring at?’ she asked.

Erik lowered his eyes. He hadn’t realized he had been staring at her. ‘You, I guess.’

‘There are plenty of girls around here to scratch your itch, Erik. Or there’s the White Wing if you want something special.’

Erik blushed. Suddenly Kitty laughed. ‘You’re a child, I swear.’

Erik said, ‘I’m not in the mood … for that. Just thought I’d have a drink or two and … talk.’

Kitty raised an inquiring eyebrow, but said nothing for a moment. Finally she said, ‘Talk?’

Erik sighed. ‘I’m spending so much time shouting at men, watching them fall all over themselves trying to anticipate my next order, or in meetings with the Captain and the other court officers, I just wanted to talk about anything that doesn’t have something to do with’ – he almost found himself saying ‘the invasion’ but caught himself – ‘being a soldier.’

If Kitty noticed his slight hesitation, she said nothing. ‘So, what do you want to talk about?’ she asked, putting away her bar rag.

‘How are you doing?’

‘Me?’ she asked. ‘Well, I’m eating better than I ever have. I’ve gotten used to not having to hold a dagger in my hand when I sleep – I just keep it under my pillow. That’s another thing I’m getting used to: sleeping in a real bed.

‘And not having lice and fleas is good.’

Suddenly Erik laughed. Kitty joined in. Erik said, ‘I know what you mean. The pests on the march can be as maddening as anything.’

One of the two strangers approached. ‘From your garb I take you for a soldier,’ he said.

Erik nodded. ‘I am.’

With a friendly manner the fellow spoke. ‘It’s kind of quiet here tonight. I’ve been in a lot of inns, and this isn’t exactly what I’d call lively.’

Erik shrugged. ‘Sometimes it is. Depends on what’s going on at the palace.’

The man said, ‘Really?’

Erik glanced at Kitty, who nodded slightly, said, ‘Got to check some inventory,’ and left through the rear door.

‘We’ve got a big parade coming up soon,’ said Erik. ‘Some embassy or another from Kesh is coming for one of those state visits. The Master of Ceremonies has the Captain of the Prince’s Household Guards half-crazy with all the nonsense the garrison’s going to go through to get ready for this. I’m in for a quick ale and a chat with my friend, then I’ve got to head back.’

The man glanced at his empty ale mug. ‘I need another.’ He turned and shouted, ‘Girl!’

When Kitty didn’t answer, he turned back to Erik. ‘Think she’d mind if I fill my own?’

Erik shook his head. ‘If you leave your coins on the bar, she won’t.’

‘Buy you one?’ asked the man as he moved behind the bar.

‘What about your friend?’ asked Erik, indicating the other man at the table, the darker stranger Kitty had referred to as the quieter of the pair.

‘He’ll keep. He’s a business associate of mine.’ The man lowered his voice and in a conspiratorial tone said, ‘Truth to tell, he’s a terrible bore. All he talks about is trade and his children.’

Erik nodded, as if agreeing with the man.

‘I’m unmarried myself,’ said the stranger, coming around the bar, handing a foaming mug to Erik. ‘Name’s Pierre Rubideaux. From Bas-Tyra.’

‘Erik.’ He took the mug.

‘Your health,’ said Pierre, hoisting his own mug.

Erik took a drink. ‘What brings you to Krondor?’

‘Business. In particular, we’re looking to set up some trading with the Far Coast through the port.’

Erik smiled. ‘You’ll be wanting to talk to a friend of mine, I think.’

‘Who’s that?’ asked Rubideaux.

‘Rupert Avery. Owns the Bitter Sea Company. You trade in Krondor, you do business with either Roo or Jacob Esterbrook. If you’re talking about Kesh, that’s Esterbrook. If you’re talking the Far Coast, that’s Roo.’ Erik took another long drink from his mug. Something slightly bitter lingered after the ale, and he frowned. He didn’t remember his first mug being off.

‘As a matter of fact, I am looking for Rupert Avery,’ said the man.

The other man stood, nodding to Pierre. ‘It’s time,’ he said. ‘We must leave.’

‘Well, Erik von Darkmoor, it’s been more of a pleasure than you know.’

Erik started to say good-bye, then frowned. ‘I never told you my full name –’ he began. Suddenly a pain ripped through his stomach, as if someone had plunged a fiery knife in his gut. He reached out and grabbed the stranger by his tunic front.

As if removing the grip of a baby, the man pulled Erik’s hands away. ‘You’ve got only a few more minutes, Erik, but they’ll be long ones; trust me.’

Erik felt the strength drain from his legs as he attempted to step forward. The blood pounded in his temples and darkness began to close around his field of vision. He was dully aware of Kitty reentering the inn. Her voice sounded distant and he couldn’t understand most of what she was saying, but he heard a man shout, ‘Take them!’

Then he was looking upward through a tunnel of light as darkness moved in from all sides. His body was afire with pain as if each joint were swelling inside him. Hot spikes of agony traveled up and down his arms and legs, and his heart pounded faster and faster as if trying to erupt from his chest. Perspiration ran from his face and drenched his body as Erik felt his muscles tighten, disobeying his command to let him stand. As Kitty’s face appeared at the end of the tunnel of his vision, he attempted to speak her name, but his tongue wouldn’t work and the pain made it almost impossible to breathe.

The last thing he heard as darkness overtook him was a single word: ‘Poison.’

‘He’ll live,’ said the voice, as Erik found himself regaining consciousness.

Pain exploded behind his eyes as he opened them, causing him to groan. The sound of his own voice caused the pain to redouble, and he bit back a second groan. His body ached and his joints were burning.

‘Erik?’ came a woman’s voice, and Erik attempted to find the source. Strange blurry shapes hovered at the edge of his vision, and he couldn’t make his eyes obey his will, so he shut them.

Another voice, Roo’s, said, ‘Can you hear me?’

‘Yes,’ Erik managed to croak.

Someone put a damp cloth on his lips and Erik licked them. The moisture seemed to help, so he sucked on the cloth. Then someone held a cup of water to his lips, while someone else held his head so he could drink.

‘Just a sip,’ said the woman’s voice.

Erik sipped, and while his throat hurt worse than he ever remembered, he forced himself to swallow. In a few seconds the returning moisture to his mouth and throat eased the discomfort.

Erik blinked, as he realized he was in a bed. Hovering over him were Kitty, Duke James, Roo, and Calis. Another figure was barely visible at the periphery of his vision.

‘What happened?’ asked Erik, his voice still hoarse.

‘You were poisoned,’ said Roo.

‘Poisoned?’ he asked.

Nodding, Duke James said, ‘Henri Dubois. He’s a poisoner from Bas-Tyra. I’ve run afoul of his handiwork before in Rillanon. I didn’t expect to see him this far west.’

Glancing around, Erik assumed he was in a back room at the inn, a priest of an order he didn’t recognize standing behind the others.

‘Why?’ asked Erik. Assuming no one in the room was ignorant of the coming invasion, he still didn’t want to betray anything Lord James wanted kept secret.

‘Nothing to do with the coming troubles,’ said Calis. He glanced pointedly at the priest, which Erik took to mean the man was not fully trusted.

‘A personal matter,’ suggested Lord James.

Erik wasn’t sure what he meant, for a moment, then realization struck. ‘Mathilda,’ he whispered. He sank back into the bed. His father’s widow, mother to his murdered half-brother, who had vowed revenge on Erik and Roo, had sent someone to see the matter disposed of.

‘They were coming after Roo next,’ said Erik.

‘That’s logical,’ said James.

‘Who was the other man, the quiet one?’ asked Erik as James helped him to sit upright. Nausea struck him, his head rang, and his eyes watered, but he stayed conscious.

‘We don’t know,’ answered Calis. ‘He got out of the inn while we were subduing Dubois.’

‘You captured him?’ asked Erik.

‘Yes,’ answered James. ‘Last night.’ He indicated Kitty. ‘When she left the inn to fetch some of my agents, then returned to find you on the floor, she surmised at once what was going on. She hurried down to the nearest temple and brought a priest to heal you.’

‘Half dragged, you mean,’ said the nameless priest.

James smiled. ‘My men took Dubois to the palace and we questioned him all night. We’re certain the late Baron of Darkmoor’s widow sent him after you.’ James raised one eyebrow and motioned with his head toward the cleric.

Erik said nothing. He knew the Lady Gamina, James’s wife, could read minds, which was why they were certain who had sent the assassin. No confession was needed.

The priest said, ‘I think you should rest. The magic that cleansed your body of the poison didn’t reverse the damage already done you. You will need at least a week of bed rest and a bland diet.’

‘Thank you, Father … ?’ began Erik.

‘Father Andrew,’ answered the priest. He nodded once to the Duke and left without further comment.

Erik said, ‘That’s an odd priest. I don’t recognize his regalia.’

‘I would find it strange if you did, Erik,’ answered the Duke as he moved toward the door. ‘Andrew is a priest of the order of Ban-ath. Their shrine is the closest to this inn.’

The god of thieves was not one commonly worshiped by most citizens. There were two holidays where small votive offerings were made to protect the home, as an appeasement, but mostly those who frequented the temple were on the dodgy path, as it was called. It was rumored the Mockers’ Guild sent a tithe to the temple each year.

James said, ‘I’m going to leave you now. You stay here a couple of days, then you’ve got to get that happy little band of cutthroats we’ve recruited for you up into the mountains and teach them what they need to know.’

Erik glanced around. ‘Where is here?’

‘My room,’ said Kitty.

‘No,’ said Erik trying to rise. He almost fainted from the effort. ‘Give me a little while to catch my breath and I’ll get back to the palace.’

Calis turned to leave. ‘Stay here.’

‘I’ve slept with worse company,’ said Kitty. ‘I won’t mind a pallet on the floor.’

Erik tried to protest but fatigue was making it hard to keep his eyes open.

He heard Calis say something to Kitty, but couldn’t remember what it was. During the night, chills racked his body for a few minutes, until a warm body slipped into bed with him and he felt reassuring arms encircle his waist. But when he awoke in the morning he was alone.

Erik rode in silence. His strength was slowly returning after a few days in bed, and a week in the saddle. Since leaving Krondor he had left it to Alfred to bully the men, doing little more than give instructions to Alfred and another corporal named Nolan. He had inspected fortifications only once or twice. Jadow and the other sergeants had done their work in Krondor. The men were adept at using the ancient Keshian Legion techniques for making camp each night. Within a hour of the order being given, a tiny fortress was in place with breastworks, defensive stakes, and removable planks used to get in and out.

Erik was getting to know these men, though he still couldn’t remember every name. He knew many of them would die in the coming war. But Calis and William were doing a nearly perfect job of picking the right men for these special companies. The men before him were tough and self-reliant and, Erik suspected, would be able to live by their own wits for months up in these mountains if the situation required once they had learned the particulars of mountain living.

Erik considered all the things he knew from living in Ravensburg: the tricks the wind played with sound, the threat of a sudden storm being felt before it was seen, and the dangers of being exposed to such a storm. He had seen more than one traveler dead from spending the night in the cold, only miles from the inn where Erik had grown up.

The wind from the north was cold, for winter was coming quickly. Erik realized that was why he was thinking of the trader they had found when he was ten; the man had tried to shelter under a tree, with his cloak wrapped around him, but in the night the wind had sucked the warmth from his body and killed him as if he had been encased in ice.

They were making their way along a small mountain trail, used for the most part by hunters and a few shepherds, one which ran roughly the same course as the King’s Highway from Krondor to Ylith, but which veered to the northeast about fifty miles from the Prince’s city. Several little hamlets dotted the way up to another fork, where the road turned west again, eventually leading to Hawk’s Hollow and Questor’s View, while a smaller trail led to the northeast, toward the Teeth of the World and the Dimwood. In the foothills of those great mountains and in the various meadows, valleys, and stretches of the forests existed some of the most dangerous and unknown territory within the boundaries of the Kingdom.

Fate had conspired to keep Kingdom citizens out of those areas, for there were no natural trade routes, little desirable farmland, and few mineral riches to lure men to these areas. Erik had decided, without asking anyone, to take his trainees farther on this march than ever before. He had an instinct that the more the Kingdom knew of the north, the less likely they would be to have unwelcome surprises when the Emerald Queen’s army came.

As if reading his mind, Alfred rode up next to him and said, ‘Bit far to go for drilling, isn’t it, Erik?’

Erik nodded. He pointed to a pass off in the distance. ‘Send a squad to scout out that rise, so we don’t find a band of Dark Brothers marching over it unexpectedly, and look for tonight’s camp.’ He glanced around, then said softly, ‘Hunting parties tomorrow. Let’s see who knows how to find his own dinner.’

Alfred shivered. ‘This is a cold place to camp.’

‘The farther north we go, the colder it gets.’

Alfred sighed. ‘Yes, Sergeant Major.’

‘Besides,’ said Erik, ‘we’re almost where I want to be.’

‘And would you be in the mood to share that tidbit, Sergeant Major?’ asked Alfred.

‘No,’ said Erik.

Corporal Alfred rode off, and Erik suppressed a smile. The old corporal had served in the garrison at Darkmoor, for Erik’s father, for fifteen years before they met. He was a full twenty years older than Erik’s twenty-two. He had also been an early convert of Erik’s, having been one of the first picked to accompany the levy of men Erik’s half-brother sent to the Prince, and he was one of the few survivors of that journey. Erik had been forced by circumstance to physically beat Alfred three times, the first when Alfred had sighted Erik in an inn in the town of Wilhelmsburgh and Alfred had attempted to arrest Erik. The second time had been during his first week of training under Erik and Jadow Shati, and the third, when he had gotten too sure of himself and thought he could finally best the young sergeant. Then they had voyaged to the far continent, Novindus, and from there they had returned, two of the five men who survived that expedition. Now Erik trusted the man with his life and knew Alfred felt the same way about him.

Erik considered that odd forged bond of soldiers, men who otherwise might have no use for one another but who after serving together, facing death together, felt like brothers. Then, thinking of brothers, he wondered if James would be able to convince Erik’s half-brother’s mother to cease her attempts to kill him. Erik considered that if anyone could do so, it would be Lord James.

The men marched and Erik considered the coming war. He was not privy to all the plans of Lord James, Knight-Marshal William, and Prince Patrick, but he was beginning to suspect what they would be. And he didn’t like what he was beginning to suspect.

He knew more than most men what was coming, but he had reservations about what would be the price of victory, and as he rode down the small path, he heard one of the men pass the word, ‘Scouts coming!’

A man sent ahead with three others jogged at a good pace past the column of men marching ahead of Erik and stopped before the Sergeant Major. His name was Matthew, and he struggled for breath as he said, ‘Smoke, Sergeant!’ He turned and pointed. ‘Far ridge. About a dozen fires, I think.’

As Erik searched the distant ridge, he started to notice the low hanging smoke, easily mistaken for ground fog at this distance. ‘Where are the other scouts?’

The soldier, catching his breath, said, ‘Mark has moved out, while Wil and Jenks are staying where we first saw the smoke.’ He blew out his cheeks a moment, then said, ‘And Jenks will follow about now, I guess.’

Erik nodded. It was the standard procedure for any encounter with potentially hostile soldiers. The scouts always left camp an hour before the main column, moving along the road in pairs, two on each side, scouting for potential ambush. If any potential enemy was spied, orders were for one man to return, the other to scout ahead. If the advance scout didn’t quickly return, a second would follow, to determine if the first was dead, captured, or observing the enemy. If the latter, the advance scout would return as soon as he was relieved, carrying the most up-to-the-moment intelligence while leaving another pair of eyes to watch.

Erik nodded and wished they were training these men as mounted cavalry. That would start next month, but right now he wished for the speed.

Erik signaled and said, ‘Hand signals only!’

The men at the rear turned to look, then started tapping the men in front on their shoulders, relaying the silent order. Alfred motioned and Erik nodded. He signed that he would ride with the advance scout to the van, while Alfred was to bring up the column. He indicated he wanted two squads on the wings, one to the right and one to the left, and ready for anything.

Erik motioned for the scout to take the lead and he rode after. The man jogged at a good pace, and Erik trotted along after him.

After moving up the road for nearly a half-hour, they found the first of Erik’s scouts, watching ahead. He held up his hand and Erik dismounted. Keeping his voice low, he said, ‘No sign of Jenks or Mark, Sergeant.’

Erik nodded, handing his reins to Matthew. He motioned for Wil to come with him and moved along the trail. Glancing across a small valley, he could clearly see smoke from fires along a distant ridge.

He moved another quarter-mile along the trail, then paused. Something ahead wasn’t right. He listened, then realized that while sound was echoing from all around this narrow pass, it was silent ahead. He motioned for Wil to move to the other side of the trail, then he continued down into the thick brush on his side.

The going was slow as Erik carefully picked his way through the dense undergrowth. The trees in this rocky hillside stood in clumps, with relatively bare spots between. At the edge of one such clearing, Erik saw Wil on the other side of the road. With hand gestures, he indicated Wil should loop around and approach the next group of trees from a position farther off the trail.

Erik watched and waited. When Wil didn’t appear again, Erik was certain he knew where whoever was taking his scouts was secreted. Erik surveyed his own surroundings and decided to move farther down slope.

He backed away from the edge of the trees he had hid within, and after a few scrambling half-slides, he was down at the base of a dry creek. During the next rain this defile would be flooded, he knew, but at present there was only a bit of damp soil underfoot to remind him of the last rain in these mountains.

The scent of smoke was now evident, and Erik knew there had been other campfires closer than the ones that now burned, and he suspected that another company of men had broken camp here the night before. A familiar odor greeted Erik and he glanced up the slope. A good job of hiding horse dung had been accomplished, but to someone who had grown up with the animals the scent was unmistakable. The animals had been staked out a short distance from the clearing where his scouts had vanished. The lingering pungency of horse urine would be gone in another day.

Erik moved to the point on the opposite side of the road where his scout had disappeared, and paused, listening. Again there was a dead spot of sound nearby, as if the animals had left and would not return until the present occupants departed.

Erik skirted the edge of the brush, reached the next grove of trees down the downslope side, and started working his way back to the trail. Suddenly he knew; someone was watching him.

While short on years, he was long on experience in warfare, and he knew that he was about to be attacked. He rolled over as a body landed upon the spot he had just vacated.

The man landed lightly on his feet, despite his intended victim’s not being where he had expected, and as he turned, Erik did the unexpected. He rolled back into the man, yanking him down on top of him.

Few men Erik had met were as strong as he, so he felt more confident with both of them in close than having his opponent upright while he tried to rise. Erik rolled the man over and got on top of him.

His opponent was strong, and quick, but Erik soon had his wrists confined. Seeing no weapon in the man’s hand, Erik released his wrist, drawing back his own fist to strike, but hesitated, as he recognized the man.

‘Jackson?’

The soldier said, ‘Yes, Sergeant Major.’

Erik pushed himself off the man and rose to his feet. The soldier was one of Prince Patrick’s Household Guards. But rather than the ceremonial uniforms of the palace, or even the daily drilling regalia, he was dressed in a dark green tunic and trousers, with a leather breastplate, short dagger, and metal bowl helm.

Erik extended his hand and helped the guardsman to his feet. ‘Want to tell me what this is all about?’

Another voice said, ‘No, he doesn’t.’

Erik looked to the source of that voice and saw a face familiar to him: Captain Subai of the Royal Krondorian Pathfinders.

‘Captain?’

‘Sergeant Major,’ said the officer. ‘You’re a bit off your course, aren’t you?’

Erik studied the man. He was tall, but rangy, close to gaunt, in appearance. His face was sunburned and looked like dark leather. His eyebrows and hair were grey, though Erik suspected he was not that old a man. He was rumored to be originally from Kesh, and was counted a fierce swordsman and an exceptional bowman. But like most of the Pathfinders he tended to stay among his own, not mixing with the garrison or Calis’s Eagles.

‘I was told by Prince Patrick to drill my new company and thought I’d wander them a bit through some rougher terrain than just outside Krondor.’ With his chin he indicated the distant smoke. ‘Your fires, Captain?’

The man nodded, then said, ‘Well, take your men north if you want, but don’t come this way, Sergeant Major.’

‘Why not, Captain?’

The man paused and said, ‘That wasn’t a request, Sergeant Major. That was an order.’

Erik wasn’t inclined to argue the chain of command. This wasn’t some noble’s hired mercenary but a Knight-Captain of the Prince’s army, a man with rank equal to Calis’s. Erik thought Bobby de Loungville might have a clever rejoinder in this situation, but all Erik could think to say was ‘Yes, sir.’

Subai said, ‘Your scouts are over there. They need some work.’

Erik crossed the road and found another pair of soldiers standing guard over Wil, Mark, and Jenks. His men were tied up, but not uncomfortable. Erik glanced at the two guards, and saw that one was a Pathfinder and the second another of Prince Patrick’s Household Guards.

‘Cut them loose,’ said Erik and the two guards complied. The three rose slowly, obviously stiff from their confinement, and flexed a bit as the two guards handed them back their weapons.

Wil began to speak, and Erik held up his hand. A faint noise came to him and he recognized it, then another, and a third. ‘Come along,’ he ordered his men.

After they were well away from the Pathfinders, Erik asked, ‘They jumped you from the trees?’

Mark said, ‘Yes, Sergeant Major.’

Erik sighed. He had almost been taken that way as well. ‘Well, look up more often.’

The men waited for an outburst, or some other form of recrimination for allowing themselves to be captured, but Erik’s mind was elsewhere.

He mused on the presence of Prince Patrick’s select guard along that distant ridge, working hand in glove with the Pathfinders and their odd Captain. More odd yet was the presence of many soldiers on a distant ridge where every map said there were no trails, and oddest of all were the faint sounds that had carried to Erik. The second had taken him longer to recognize, but he knew it had been the sound of axes felling trees. That and the sound of picks on rock had not come to him as quickly as the first sound, one he knew well from his childhood: the sound of hammers striking iron on an anvil.

As they cleared the ridge to where the remaining scout waited, Jenks made bold to ask, ‘What are those blokes doing over there, Sergeant Major?’

Without thought, Erik said, ‘They’re building a road.’

‘Over there?’ asked Wil. ‘Why?’

Erik said, ‘I don’t know, but I intend to find out.’

The problem was, Erik had a good idea why they were building a road along that distant ridge, and he didn’t like the answer.

• Chapter Three • Queg

Roo scowled.

Karli stood aside, obvious awe on her features, as the Duke of Krondor entered their home. She had met Lord James once before, at a gala Roo had thrown to mark the advent of his success with the founding of the Bitter Sea Company. Outside the door a carriage waited. Four mounted guards, one carrying a spear from which hung the ducal banner, stood holding their horses’ bridles.

‘Good evening, Mrs Avery,’ said the Duke. ‘I’m sorry for the unexpected intrusion, but I need to borrow your husband for a bit.’

Karli was nearly speechless, but she managed to say, ‘Borrow?’

Duke James smiled and took her hand, squeezing it slightly. ‘I’ll return him to you undamaged. I promise.’

Roo said, ‘Shall we talk?’ He indicated his study.

The Duke said, ‘I think so.’

He removed his cape and handed it to the astonished serving girl who had come to see who was at the door, and swept past her and Karli.

In his study, Roo closed the door. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ he asked.

James sat in a chair opposite Roo’s desk. ‘From the expression on your face when I appeared at the door, pleasure isn’t what I think you feel.’

Roo said, ‘Well, it’s not often we have the Duke of Krondor show up unannounced a few minutes before bedtime.’

‘I can do without the fuss of letting you know I’m coming and throwing your household into an uproar. I don’t need another large meal with all the neighbors invited,’ said James. ‘Truth to tell, I know most of those with estates near here, and you’re among the few with whom I can have an interesting discussion.’

Roo looked dubious. ‘Would you care to stay the night, m’lord?’

‘My thanks for the offer, but I must continue my journey. I’m heading to your homeland, to have word with the Dowager Baroness and her son. She sent assassins to kill Erik.’

‘I was warned,’ said Roo. ‘I was also told you took the assassin into custody.’

‘Yes,’ said the Duke. His features were drawn and he looked as if he had done without sleep for too many days recently, but his eyes were still alert and they studied Roo’s face for a moment. ‘He’s been … seen to. The other man, though, he’s still out and about, and if he’s merely Baroness Mathilda’s errand boy, he’ll be back to Darkmoor by now and she may be hatching another plot. I have plans for you and Erik, so I’m personally going to see she stops trying to kill you,’ he said lightly. Then, with complete seriousness, he added, ‘Neither of you is to die until I say so.’

Roo sat back. There was really nothing more for him to say until the Duke told him what was on his mind. Roo knew he owed James several serious favors for his intervention in Roo’s almost unheard of rise to power and wealth, and he was certain James was here to collect one of those favors. He wouldn’t stop by just to let Roo know he was personally seeing to Erik’s and his safety.

After a moment of silence, James said, ‘I could do with a drink.’

Roo had the good grace to blush. ‘Sorry,’ he said, rising from his chair. He retrieved two crystal goblets and some expensive brandy in a matching decanter from a cabinet built into the wall next to a window overlooking one of Karli’s many gardens. He poured two generous measures, then handed one to the Duke.

James sipped and nodded his approval.

When Roo had returned to his chair, the Duke spoke. ‘I have a favor to ask.’

Roo was surprised. ‘You sound as if you really mean that.’

‘I do. We both know you owe me in a very large measure, but I can’t demand you go.’

‘Go where?’

‘Queg.’

‘Queg?’ Roo’s astonishment was genuine. ‘Why Queg?’

James paused a moment, as if weighing how much to tell Roo. He lowered his voice. ‘Confidentially, we’re going to have our hands full with the Emerald Queen’s fleet when it clears the Straits of Darkness. Nicky’s got some notion of hitting it halfway through, but to do that he’s got to have the bulk of our fleet on the Far Coast. That means we have no way of protecting our shipments from the Free Cities and Ylith when the enemy is in the Bitter Sea.’

‘You want to make a deal with Queg not to raid our shipping?’

‘No,’ said James. ‘I want you to negotiate a deal to hire Quegan warships as escorts for our ships.’

Roo looked like an owl greeted by a bright light. Then he laughed. ‘You want to bribe them.’

‘In a word, yes.’ James sipped at his brandy then lowered his voice, ‘And we want fire oil. Lots of it.’

‘Will they sell it?’

James sipped his drink. ‘Once, no. But they know we have the knowledge of making it, and have had it since the fall of Armengar. What we don’t have is the production facilities. Our agents tell us they have an abundant supply. I need at least five thousand barrels. Ten thousand would be better.’

‘That’s a lot of destruction,’ whispered Roo.

‘You know what’s coming, Roo,’ the Duke answered, his voice equally low.

Roo nodded. There was only one merchant in Krondor who had traveled to that distant land and seen firsthand the destruction visited upon innocents by the Emerald Queen. But there were other merchants with far better connections to be made with Queg. ‘Why me?’

‘You are a well-regarded curiosity, Roo Avery. Word of your rise has spread from Roldem to the Sunset Islands, and I’m counting on that curiosity to tip the balance.’

‘What balance?’ asked Roo.

James set his goblet on Roo’s desk. ‘Queg has many quaint and original laws, and not the least of these is the simple fact that a non-citizen of that mad little Empire had no legal rights. If you set foot on Quegan soil without a Quegan sponsor, you’re property for the first Quegan with a strong enough arm to toss a rope around you and make it stick. If you resist, even to save your life, that’s assault on a citizen.’ He made a rowing motion. ‘How do you feel about long ocean voyages?’

‘How long?’

‘Twenty years is the shortest sentence we’ve heard of.’

Roo sighed. ‘How do I get a sponsor?’

‘That’s the tricky part,’ said James. ‘We’ve had strained relations with Queg lately. Too much smuggling and raiding from our point of view, too little paying of duties for sailing on their ocean from their point of view. Our delegation was expelled from their court four years ago, and it’s going to take a while to get another installed.’

‘Sounds difficult,’ said Roo.

‘It is. But the thing you need to know about the Quegans is that their government serves two purposes: to keep order – by keeping the peasants beaten down – and to defend the island. The real power rests with their rich merchants. The oldest families have hereditary rights to a place on their ruling body, the Imperial Senate. Those with enough money can buy a seat.’

Roo grinned. ‘Sounds like my kind of place.’

‘I doubt you’d like it. Remember, aliens have no rights. If you irritate your sponsor, he can withdraw his protection at whim. That means you have to be very polite. Take lots of gifts.’

‘I can see what you mean.’ Roo reflected on what he had been told for a moment, then asked, ‘How am I supposed to get ashore to make this sort of sponsorship contact if you can’t provide an introduction?’

‘You’re an enterprising lad,’ said James, finishing his brandy. He stood. ‘You’ll find a way. Start sounding out your business associates. Once you get some names to contact, I can arrange to have one message smuggled into Queg without too much difficulty, but that’s about the limit of what I can do.’

Roo rose. ‘I suppose I’ll find a way.’ Already his mind was turning to the problem.

‘My carriage is waiting and I have some distance to travel,’ said the Duke as he reached the doorway.

James followed him and motioned for the serving girl, who was rooted to the same spot he had left her in, still holding the Duke’s cloak. She quickly helped the Duke on with it, and James stood aside while Roo opened the door.

James’s carriage was waiting just beyond the portal and Roo’s gateman made ready to escort the carriage back to the entrance to Roo’s estate.

As the carriage door was closed by a guard, James leaned out the window and said, ‘Don’t be too long. I’d like you to leave next month at the latest.’

Roo nodded, and closed the door. Karli hurried from the upstairs to ask, ‘What did the Duke want?’

‘I’m going to Queg,’ answered Roo.

‘Queg?’ responded his wife. ‘Isn’t that dangerous?’

Roo shrugged. ‘Yes. But for the moment, getting there is the problem.’ He yawned. Slipping his arm around her waist, he gave her a playful squeeze. ‘Right now I need some sleep. Let’s go to bed.’

She returned his merry tone with a rare smile. ‘I would like that.’

Roo led his wife upstairs.

Roo lay in darkness listening to Karli’s even breathing. Their lovemaking had been uninspired. Karli did nothing to arouse his desire, the way Sylvia Esterbrook did. He thought of Sylvia during his love play with his wife and felt vaguely guilty for it.

He had visited Sylvia almost weekly, often twice in a week, since the award ceremony at the palace, and he was still as excited by her as he had been the first time he had come to her bed. He quietly stood up and moved to the window.

Through the flawless glass, imported at great expense from Kesh, he could see the rolling hills of his estate. He had a brook that provided, he had been told, excellent fishing, and he had a small stand of woodlands to the north teeming with game. He had said he would fish and hunt like a noble, but he never seemed to find time. The only thing that he could remotely consider recreation was his time spent with Erik at the Sign of the Broken Shield, making love to Sylvia, or practicing his swordplay with his cousin Duncan.

He reviewed his life in a rare moment of reflection and had to consider himself both lucky and cursed. He was lucky that he had survived the murder of Stefan von Darkmoor, the journey to Novindus with Captain Calis, and his confrontation with the Jacoby Brothers. More, he was now one of the wealthiest merchants in Krondor. He felt blessed to be a family man, though his wife was not someone he cared to consider; he had long since admitted to himself he had married Karli out of pity and guilt: he felt responsible for the death of her father.

His children confused him. They were alien little creatures, demanding things he could only vaguely recognize as needs. And they tended to smell at the most inconvenient times. Abigail was a shy child who often burst into tears and ran from him if he raised his voice even in the slightest, and Helmut was teething, which led to his constantly spitting up the contents of his stomach, usually on a fresh tunic that Roo had just put on. He knew that had he not married Karli, he would now be wed to Sylvia. He didn’t understand love, as others talked about it, but Sylvia consumed his thoughts. She took him to heights of passion he had only dreamt of before he met her. He even imagined that had Sylvia been his wife, his children would be perfect, blond little creatures who smiled all the time and never spoke unless it was required by their father. He sighed. Even if Sylvia had been their mother, Abigail and Helmut would be odd, alien creatures, he was sure.

He saw a cloud moving across the sky, blocking the big moon, the only one showing this time of night. As the vista beyond the window darkened, so did his mood. Sylvia, he wondered silently to himself. He was beginning to doubt she was in love with him; maybe it was some doubt about himself, he thought, but he just couldn’t truly believe someone such as himself could capture her interest, let alone her heart. Still, she seemed relieved when he could arrange to visit her and her father, especially if he could spend the night. Her lovemaking was always inventive and enthusiastic, but as the months wore by, he suspected everything wasn’t as it seemed to be. He also suspected she might be giving information to her father that cost Roo in his business. He decided he would have to be more careful what he said to Sylvia. He didn’t think she was getting information out of him to give to her father, but a chance remark repeated over dinner might give the crafty old Jacob enough of an edge to better his younger rival.

Stretching, he watched as the cloud rolled past. Sylvia was a strange and unexpected presence in his life, a miracle. Yet doubts continued to stir. He wondered what Helen Jacoby would make of this. Thinking of Helen made him smile. While she was the widow of a man he had gotten killed, they had become friends and, truth to tell, he enjoyed talking to her more than either Karli or Sylvia.

Roo sighed. Three women, and he didn’t know what to make of any of them. He softly left the bedchamber and crossed to the room he used as his office. Opening a chest, he extracted a wooden box and lifted the lid. In the moonlight rested a brilliant set of matched rubies, five large stones as large as his thumb and a dozen smaller ones, all cut in identical fashion.

He had tried to sell the set in the East, but too many gem merchants recognized it for what it was, stolen goods. The case was inscribed with the name of the owner, a Lord Vasarius.

Roo laughed softly. He had cursed his luck at being unable to sell the gems, but now he counted himself fortunate. He knew that in the morning he would tell his apprentice Dash to inform his grandfather, Duke James, that when he was ready to send his message to Queg, he knew what it would say:

‘My Lord Vasarius. My name is Rupert Avery, merchant of Krondor. I have recently come into possession of an item of great value I am certain belongs to you. May I have the pleasure of returning it to you in person?’

The ship rocked gently inside the huge harbor that was the entrance to the city of Queg, capital of the island nation of the same name. Roo watched with fascination as they edged close to the quay.

Huge war galleys crowded the harbor, along with dozens of smaller ships and boats, from large trading vessels down to tiny fishing smacks. For an island the size of Queg, it seemed an improbably busy port.

Roo had studied as much as he could on the hostile island nation, asking his trading partners, old soldiers and sailors, and anyone else who could give him an ‘edge,’ as the gamblers like to say. When the Empire of Great Kesh had withdrawn from the Far Coast and what were now the Free Cities, pulling out her legions to send south to fight rebellious nations in the Keshian Confederacy, the Governor of Queg had revolted.

A child of the then Emperor of Kesh, from his fourth or fifth wife, he claimed one gods-inspired divine reason or another that led to the founding of the Empire of Queg. This tiny nation of former Keshians, mixed with local islanders through intermarriage, would have been something of a joke save for two factors. The first was that the island was volcanic and had some of the richest farmland north of the Vale of Dreams, surrounded by unusual local currents so that it was the most clement climate in the Bitter Sea – meaning it was self-sufficient when it came to feeding its populace – and the second was its navy.

Queg had the largest navy in the Bitter Sea, a fact of life constantly driven home by its regular harassment and occasional seizure of Kingdom, Keshian, and Free Cities ships. Besides Queg’s claim that it had territorial rights throughout the Bitter Sea – a legacy of that long-ago claim on this sea by Kesh – there was the additional irritation of its pirates. Often galleys without flags would raid along the Kingdom coast or the Free Cities, down even along the far western coast of the Empire in a bold year, and at every turn the Emperor and Senate of Queg denied knowledge.

More than once Roo had heard from a minor palace official, ‘And all they’ll ever say is, “we are a poor nation, surrounded on all sides by enemies.”’

Odd shadows skimming across the water caused Roo to lift his eyes aloft, and they opened wide in amazement. ‘Look!’

Jimmy, grandson of Lord James, and his brother, Dash, both looked up and observed a formation of giant birds flying out to sea. Jimmy was along at his grandfather’s insistence, which caused Roo no small amount of discomfort. Dash worked for him, at least nominally, and was a reliable apprentice trader. Jimmy worked for his grandfather, though Roo wasn’t certain in what capacity. He was certain it wasn’t accounting. For a brief instant Roo wondered if the Quegans would hang the entire party if the boys were accused of being spies, or just him.

The brothers didn’t resemble each other much, Jimmy looking mostly like his grandmother, fine-boned and with pale hair, while Dash, like his father, Lord Arutha, with a mass of curly brown hair and a broad open face. But they shared more than most brothers in attitude and cunning. And he knew where they got that attitude: from their grandfather.

‘Eagles,’ said Jimmy. ‘Or something like them.’

‘I thought they were only a legend,’ said Dash.

‘What are they?’ asked Jimmy.

‘Giant birds of prey, harnessed and ridden like ponies.’

‘Someone’s riding on them?’ asked Roo in disbelief, as the ship was hauled into the quay by dock workers catching ropes tossed to them by deckhands.

‘Little people,’ said Jimmy. ‘Men who have been chosen for generations for their tiny size.’

Dash said, ‘Legend has it that a Dragon Lord flew them as birds of prey, as you or I might fly a falcon, ages ago. These are the descendants of those birds.’

Roo said, ‘You could do a lot with a flock of those in battle.’

‘Not really,’ suggested Jimmy. ‘They can’t carry much and they tire easily.’

‘You suddenly know a great deal about them,’ suggested Roo.

‘Rumors, nothing more,’ said Jimmy with a grin.

‘Or reports on your grandfather’s desk?’ suggested Roo.

Dash said, ‘Look at the reception committee.’

Jimmy said, ‘Whatever you wrote, Mr Avery, it seems to have done the trick.’

Roo said, ‘I merely informed Lord Vasarius I had something of value that belonged to him, and wished to give it back.’

The gangway was rolled out, and as Roo made to leave, the ship’s Captain put a restraining hand on his chest. ‘Better to do this by custom, Mr Avery, sir.’

The Captain called ashore. ‘Mr Avery and party from Krondor. Have they leave to come ashore?’

A large delegation of Quegans stood waiting, surrounding a man in a litter, carried by a dozen muscular slaves. Each wore a robe with a fancy drape that hung over one shoulder, what Roo had been told was called a toga. In the cold months, the locals wore wool tunic and trousers, but in the hot months of spring, summer, and early fall, this light cotton garb was the preferred dress of the wealthy. One of the men said in the King’s Tongue, ‘Please come ashore as our guest, Mr Avery and party.’

The Captain said, ‘Who speaks?’

‘Alfonso Velari.’

The Captain removed his hand from Roo’s chest. ‘You are now invited to set foot on Quegan soil, Mr Avery. You’re a free man until that Velari fellow withdraws his protection. By custom he’s supposed to let you know a day in advance. We’ll be waiting here, ready to up anchor and set sail at a moment’s notice.’

Roo regarded the man, one of his many ship’s masters, named Bridges, and said, ‘Thank you, Captain.’

‘We’re at your disposal, sir.’

As he stepped on the gangway, Roo overheard Dash mumble to Jimmy, ‘Of course he’s at Roo’s disposal. Roo owns the ship!’

Jimmy laughed softly, and the brothers fell silent.

Roo walked down the gangway and stopped before Velari. He was a short man of middle years, with hair cut close to his head and oiled. Roo was reminded of Tim Jacoby, for he also had sported a Quegan style of hair. ‘Mr Avery?’ asked the Quegan.

‘At your service, sir.’

‘Not mine, gentle Mr Avery. I am but one of many servants to Lord Vasarius.’

‘Is that Lord Vasarius in the litter?’ asked Roo.

The Quegan returned an indulgent smile. ‘The litter is to transport you to Lord Vasarius’s home, Mr Avery.’ He made a gesture that indicated Roo should enter the litter. ‘Porters will secure your baggage and bring it to my master’s home.’

Roo glanced at Dash and Jimmy, who nodded briefly. Roo said, ‘I was planning on staying at one of your city’s better inns …’

Velari made a sweeping gesture with his hand, as if to brush aside the remark. ‘There are none, sir. Only common travelers and seamen stay at our public houses. Men of rank always guest with other men of rank.’

As if that settled the matter, he held aside the litter’s curtain and Roo awkwardly entered. Instantly he was inside, the litter was picked up by the eight slaves, and the procession set off.

Roo could see the city of Queg as he was carried through. He glanced behind and saw that Jimmy and Dash were having no trouble keeping up, and he settled in to view the splendor of the Quegan capital.

One of Queg’s greatest exports lay in quarries at the center of the island. Marble of unsurpassed quality was cut there and exported at great expense to nobles in the Kingdom, Kesh, and the Free Cities who wanted impressive façades on their homes, or stunning fireplaces. But here it was used everywhere. The common buildings seemed to be fashioned from stone and plaster, but the larger buildings on the tops of the surrounding hills all glistened white in the morning sun.

Already the day was warm, and Roo wished he had cooler clothing. The tales about the climate here were understated if anything. While the weather in Krondor was still brisk in the morning and mild in the afternoon, here it was almost like summer. Rumor had it that much of the warm currents that surrounded the island came from undersea volcanoes, venting nearby. It had been said on more than one occasion by those to whom Roo spoke that occasionally prayers were said to Prandur, Burner of Cities, that the entire island should blow up.

Despite the Quegans’ reputation as a people hostile to outsiders and generally unpleasant to deal with, the common folk of the city seemed much like those of Krondor to Roo. The only marked difference was dress, as the laborers wore only breechclouts and headbands as they loaded and unloaded cargo at the docks, and the common workers wore short tunics of what looked to be a light spun wool, and cross-gartered sandals.

Occasionally Roo spied a noble in a toga, but mostly the men affected the short tunic. Roo saw women wearing long skirts, but with their arms bare and their heads uncovered.

The sounds of the city were much like those of Krondor, though horses seemed rare. Roo judged a population of this size must require that a very high percentage of the land be put under cultivation, which wouldn’t leave much room for grazing non-food animals. Horses on Queg would be a luxury.

The party wended its way up a series of hills until at last it reached a large building behind a high stone wall. The gate opened and they were admitted by two guards wearing the traditional Quegan military uniform: breastplate, greaves, shortsword, and helm. Roo realized they looked similar in attire to the legendary Legionaries of the Keshian Inner Legions. He had practiced Legionary tactics when he had served with Calis’s Crimson Eagles, and he knew much about them. But this was as close as he had come to ever seeing one.

As the litter was gently deposited on the stones before the entrance to the building, Roo considered it likely it was as close as he was ever likely to get to a genuine member of the Keshian Inner Legions. Rumor had it that they were still the finest body of soldiers in the world, despite their never having ventured outside the immediate vicinity of the Overn Deep, the inland sea upon which the city of Kesh had been built ages before. Absently Roo wondered if their reputation was earned, or the legacy of ancient conquest.

The language of Queg was a variant of the ancient Keshian spoken at the time of the Empire’s withdrawal from the Bitter Sea, so it was related to the languages of Yabon and the Free Cities. It was also similar enough to the language spoken in the land of Novindus that Roo could understand most of what was being said around him.

He thought it best to feign ignorance.

As he exited the litter, a young woman slowly walked down the three stone steps that led to the wide entrance to the building. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was regal. Slender, self-assured, and possessed of an attitude that spoke volumes of her contempt for this alien merchant who stood before her, all the while masking that contempt behind a welcoming smile.

‘Mr Avery,’ she said in accented King’s Tongue.

‘I am,’ said Roo with a noncommittal half-bow.

‘I am Livia, daughter to Vasarius. My father has asked me to show you to your quarters. Your servants will be seen to.’ As she turned away, Jimmy stepped forward and cleared his throat.

The young woman turned. ‘Yes?’

‘I am Mr Avery’s personal secretary,’ said Jimmy before Roo could comment.

The girl raised one eyebrow, but simply turned, and Roo took that as acquiescence to his coming with Roo. Softly Roo said, ‘You’re my what?’

Jimmy whispered back, ‘I won the coin toss. Dash gets to be your servant.’

Roo nodded. One inside with Roo, one outside to see what there was to see. Roo was certain that Lord James had other tasks for these two beyond seeing that Roo didn’t end up dead or chained to a galley oar.

Roo and Jimmy were led into a large entrance area, open to the sky, then through a series of hallways. Roo quickly decided the building was a hollow square, and his suspicions were verified when he glimpsed a garden through a doorway off to one side.

The girl led them to a large apartment, with a pair of beds, surrounded by white netting, and a large bathing pool that was built into the floor. The room overlooked the wall to the city, and Queg could be seen below in the distance, while the nearby houses were blocked from view. Privacy and panorama, thought Roo. Livia said, ‘These will be your quarters. Bathe and change. Servants will show you to our table for dinner. Rest until then.’

She walked off without further comment, ignoring Roo’s thanks. Jimmy smiled as a young man took his bag from his hand and started to unpack. He winked at Roo and inclined his head slightly.

A young girl was unpacking Roo’s belongings, including the wooden case containing the rubies. She set them aside on a table as if they were but another possession, took his clothing and went to what appeared to be a blank wall of marble. She pressed lightly and a door popped open, revealing a wardrobe.

Roo said, ‘That’s amazing,’ and moved to inspect the handiwork. ‘Jimmy, look at this.’

Jimmy came to see what Roo was pointing to, and saw that a slab of marble, cut thin but still more than a man’s weight, was cleverly hinged and counterweighted, so the door moved almost effortlessly.

Roo pointed to the hinges. ‘Very well engineered.’

‘Expensive,’ said Jimmy.

The girl barely suppressed a giggle, and Roo said, ‘Our host is among the wealthiest men in Queg.’

The boy who had unpacked Jimmy’s baggage and put his belongings in a chest near the foot of one of the beds came to stand next to the girl and waited.

Roo was uncertain exactly what came next, but Jimmy said, ‘We can bathe ourselves, thank you. It is our custom. If we may have some privacy.’

Without any expression the two young people waited. Jimmy pantomimed bathing and pointed to himself and Roo, and then to the servants and the door. The servants bowed and retired from the room. Roo said, ‘Bath servants?’

‘Very common here and in Kesh. Remember, they are slaves, so living in the luxury of a house like this is dependent on pleasing the master and his guests. Even the slightest fault might earn one of them a quick trip to a brothel along the docks, or the quarry, or anywhere else strong young slaves are needed.’

Roo looked appalled. ‘I never thought much about it.’

‘Most people in the Kingdom don’t.’ Jimmy began undressing. ‘If you don’t want to share the bath, I can go first or wait.’

Roo shook his head. ‘I’ve shared cold rivers with other men, and that pool is big enough for six of us.’

They stripped and entered the water. Roo looked around and said, ‘Where’s the soap?’

‘This is Queg,’ said Jimmy, indicating a line of wooden sticks arrayed along the edge of the bath. ‘Scrape the dirt off with these.’

Roo longed for a cake of hand-milled Krondorian soap, and looked dubiously at the sticks as he picked one up and followed Jimmy’s lead. After a sea voyage of two weeks, he wasn’t as dirty as he had been many times in his life, but he was far from being fresh. But as Jimmy showed him how to use the stick, called a stigle in the local language, he found that the dirt came off quickly in the hot water.

His hair was another matter. Repeated ducking under the water didn’t seem to rid him of that not quite clean feeling, but then Jimmy pointed out most Quegan men oiled their hair.

‘What about the women?’ asked Roo.

‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ said Jimmy as he rose from the pool and wrapped himself in a large bath sheet.

After they had dressed, they found nowhere to sit, so they lay down waiting for the call to dinner. Roo dozed a bit in the warm afternoon, until he was awoken by Jimmy.

‘Time to eat.’

Roo came to his feet and found Livia waiting for them at the door of their suite. He picked up the wooden case with the rubies inside, and moved to the door. As he started to greet her, the girl said, ‘Were the servants unsatisfactory?’

Roo had no idea what she was saying. Jimmy, however, said, ‘No, milady. We were weary and wished to rest.’

‘If you see one among the servers at the table whom you find desirable, mark that one by name and we shall send him or her to your room tonight.’

Roo said, ‘Ah … milady, I’m a married man.’

The girl looked over her shoulder as she led them down the hall. ‘This is a problem?’

‘In my nation it is,’ said Roo, blushing. While cheating on his wife with Sylvia seemed as natural to him as breathing, the thought of one of those young girls – or boys – being sent to his bed, much like an extra blanket, positively scandalized him.

Jimmy worked hard at not laughing.

The girl seemed indifferent as she led them into the dining room. The table was a long slab of marble, resting upon a matched set of ornately carved supports. Roo assumed that the table had been hauled into the room by a derrick and the roof added after this massive piece of stone had been installed inside. Along each side sat a half-dozen chairs, open-backed, little more than half-circles of matching stone with thick pillows upon them, small benches, really, thought Roo. One didn’t move the heavy chairs to sit and dine, one stepped over them. Livia pointed to a chair to the left of the man sitting at the head of the table, indicating Roo should sit there. Then she moved to the chair on her father’s right. Jimmy sat at the remaining place, to Roo’s left.

Lord Vasarius was an impressive man, thought Roo. His toga was worn off one shoulder, and Roo could see that despite his age he was still a powerfully built man. He had the shoulders of a wrestler and the arms of a blacksmith. He had sandy hair that had turned mostly grey, and he wore it oiled and close to his head. He did not rise or offer his hand in greeting, but merely inclined his chin. ‘Mr Avery,’ he said.

‘My lord,’ Roo returned, bowing as he would before the Prince.

‘Your message was cryptic, but the only thing of worth you might possibly have of mine in the Kingdom was a set of rubies stolen over a year ago. May I have them, please?’ He held out his hand.

Roo started to hand the case across the table, but a servant intercepted it and carried it the short distance to his master. He flipped open the case, briefly regarded the gems, then closed the case.

‘Thank you for returning my property. May I inquire how you came by it?’

Roo said, ‘As you may have heard, m’lord, I have purchased several different companies lately, and this item was discovered among the inventory of one of them. As there was no lawful bill of sale attached and as your name was prominently noted on the case, I assumed them to be stolen goods. I thought it best to return them personally, given their unique beauty and their value.’

Vasarius handed the case back to a servant without looking. ‘Their value is only that they were to have been a gift for my daughter on her most recent birthday. Both the servant who removed them from this house, and the captain of the ship that took him from our island, have been found and dealt with. I have only to discover to whom they were sold and all those hands who have soiled them until you returned them to me. All will die painfully.’

Thinking of his friend John Vinci, who had bought them from that Quegan captain, Roo said, ‘My lord, they were in an inventory box with other items of dubious origin. I doubt it possible to trace who dealt them along from the captain to myself. Why trouble yourself further, now they have been returned?’ Roo hoped Lord Vasarius listened. Obviously the now-dead captain hadn’t implicated John, else he and Roo would already be dead men.

Vasarius said, ‘My name was upon the box, Mr Avery. Any man who saw it knew it to be my property. Any man who did not return it as you have done is a man without honor, a thief, and one who should be thrown to the animals in the arena, or tortured slowly.’

Roo considered that he had been among those attempting to sell the stones and the only reason he had been distracted from that undertaking was the murder of his father-in-law. He maintained an indifferent manner. ‘Well, m’lord, perhaps that is as it should be, but now that you have those gems back, at least that portion of the affront has been somewhat lessened.’

‘Somewhat,’ agreed Roo’s host as the servants began bringing out the evening meal. ‘As I haven’t been able to find those others besides the captain who insulted my honor, it may be a moot point.’

Roo sat motionless, hoping against hope that was the case, as he was served by young men and women, all attractive by any measure. Whatever other vices Lord Vasarius might have, it was clear he enjoyed the beauty of youth on every hand.

For all the splendor of the setting, Roo found the fare at Lord Vasarius’s table rather plain. Fruits and wine were served, and some flat bread with butter and honey, but the cheese was bland, the wine unspectacular, and the lamb overcooked. Still, Roo dined as if it were the finest meal he had ever tasted; the gods knew he had eaten far worse with gusto in his soldiering days.

There was almost no conversation over dinner, and Roo caught a few meaningful glances pass between Livia and her father. Jimmy seemed bored, but Roo knew he was noting every detail he could. When at last the meal came to an end, Vasarius leaned forward and summoned a servant bearing a tray with a goblet and metal cups.

Roo found the notion of drinking brandy from a metal cup odd, as a metallic flavor was imparted to the drink, but he ignored it, being nothing of the wine purist most people born in Ravensburg were. Besides, not offending his host was far more critical.

Vasarius raised his goblet, said, ‘To your health,’ and drank.

Roo did as well and said, ‘You’re most kind.’

Vasarius said, ‘Now, to the matter of what you expect in repayment for returning my property to me, Mr Avery.’

Roo said, ‘I expect no repayment, m’lord. I merely wished for an opportunity to visit Queg and explore the possibility of trade.’

Vasarius regarded Roo a moment. ‘When I received your letter,’ he said, ‘I was inclined to believe it another plot by Lord James to infiltrate our state. His predecessor was a clever man and again, by half, but James is a demon incarnate.’ Roo glanced at Jimmy to see if he was reacting to his grandfather’s being described that way, but Jimmy maintained a façade of indifference that suited his pose as Roo’s personal secretary. ‘I am willing to put that by, as your reputation precedes you. To return those rubies is of little consequence to a man of your wealth, Mr Avery, but gaining a trading liaison in Queg, now that is something worth the price of such baubles.’

Vasarius took a drink of brandy, then said, ‘Do you know much of my people, Mr Avery?’

‘Little, I’m afraid,’ admitted Roo. In fact he had attempted to study as much about the Quegans as possible, but he felt feigning ignorance was far better for his own purposes.

Livia spoke in the Quegan dialect. ‘If you’re going to give a history lesson, Father, may I be excused. These barbarians sicken me.’

In Quegan, Lord Vasarius said, ‘Barbarians or not, they are guests. If you’re bored, take the young secretary and show him the garden. He’s pretty enough to be diverting. There’s a chance he might know a trick that’s new even to you.’ His tone hid nothing of his disapproval; it would have been evident even if Roo and James didn’t speak the language used.

Vasarius turned to Roo. ‘Forgive my daughter’s lapse of manners, but speaking the King’s Tongue is not something we do often here. It was only her teacher who insisted she learn the languages of our neighbors.’

‘He was a Kingdom-born slave,’ supplied the girl. ‘I think the son of some nobleman or another. So he claimed.’ To Jimmy she said, ‘Business bores me. Would you care to see the garden?’

Jimmy nodded, excused himself, and left Roo and Vasarius alone.

The lord of the house continued, ‘Most of those outside our borders know little of us. We are all that is left of a once proud and great tradition, the true inheritors of all that was once Great Kesh.’

Roo nodded as if hearing this for the first time.

‘We were founded as an outpost of the Empire, Mr Avery. This is important. We were not a colony, as was Bosania, what you know as the Free Cities and the Far Coast, or a conquered people as were those of the Jal-Pur or the Vale of Dreams. Those primitives who lived on this island were quickly absorbed by the garrison placed here to protect Keshian interests in the Bitter Sea.’

Raped by the soldiers and getting half-breed children, thought Roo. He had no doubt that the men living here when the Keshians showed up were either killed or enslaved.

‘The garrison was pure Keshian, men from the Inner Legions. The reason I point this out to you is that you of the Kingdom have often treated with Kesh’s Dog Soldiers. Their leader was Lord Vax, fourth son of the Emperor of Great Kesh.

‘When the legion was called home to crush the rebellion in the Keshian Confederacy, he refused to abandon his people. This was Kesh, and Queg has endured as the sole repository of that great culture since the fall of Bosania to the Kingdom. Those who sit upon the Throne of the Overn Deep are a fallen people, Mr Avery. They call themselves “Trueblood,” but they are a base and degenerate people.’

He stared at Roo, awaiting a reaction. Roo nodded and sipped his brandy.

Vasarius continued. ‘This is why we have few dealings with outsiders. We are mighty in culture, but otherwise we are a poor nation, surrounded on all sides by enemies.’

In other circumstances, Roo would have burst out laughing, as that phrase had been repeated to him so often it was something of a joke. But in the midst of this splendor, Roo understood. While there were many things of beauty, one couldn’t eat marble or gold. You had to trade. Yet this was a nation of people who distrusted, even feared outsiders.

Roo considered his words. ‘One must be careful with whom one is trading.’ He waited, then said, ‘Else one must consider the risk of contamination.’

Vasarius nodded. ‘You are very perceptive for … an outsider.’

Roo shrugged. ‘I am a businessman, first and foremost, and while I have been lucky, I have also had to live by my wits. I would not be here if I didn’t sense an opportunity for mutual gain.’

‘We do not permit many to trade in Queg, Mr Avery. In the history of our people there have been fewer than a dozen such concessions granted, and all have been to merchants in the Free Cities or from Durbin. Never has a Kingdom merchant been permitted such a privilege.’

Roo weighed his options. If this had been a Kingdom merchant or noble with whom he was speaking, he would have judged it time for a ‘gift,’ as bribery was part of doing business. But there was something about this man that warned him away from making such an offer. After a moment he said, ‘I would be content to remain in Krondor, and let my Quegan partner conduct the business at this end. I am a shipper, and a … cooperation with a Quegan of rank and influence would be beneficial. Also, there are cargoes that are difficult to secure anywhere else than Queg.’

Vasarius leaned forward, his voice dropping. ‘You surprise me. I assumed you wanted to establish a presence here in Queg, Mr Avery.’

Roo shook his head. ‘I would be quickly disadvantaged by your local businessmen, I am certain. No, I need the sure hand and practiced intelligence of a man known in Queg for his perspicacity and wisdom. Such a man would benefit from such an arrangement, as would I.’

Roo fell silent. Vasarius knew what he had to offer. He could bring in foodstuffs to make this the most lavish table in Queg. Wines unmatched in all the world. Silks from Kesh for his daughter and mistresses. Luxury items that these people obviously craved.

Roo glanced around the room. He knew why these buildings were marble: there was abundant marble on Queg. Wood was scarce. Most of the arable land had been cleared centuries ago for crops. Sheep were the livestock of choice, as you got more meat for less grass than with cattle. Everything about this meal tonight spoke of a people who had prospered, but at a price. No, Queg smelled ripe for imported luxury items from the Kingdom.

Vasarius said, ‘What do you offer?’

Roo said, ‘Almost anything you can imagine, m’lord.’ He paused, then he said, ‘Luxuries, rarities, and novelties.’ Vasarius didn’t blink. Roo spoke again. ‘Lumber, coal, and beef.’ A spark ignited in Vasarius’s eyes, and Roo knew he was now an equal player in this game. He felt a warm tingle of success begin to spread inside him; Roo was in his element. It was time to haggle.

Vasarius said, ‘What cargo would you wish to secure?’

‘Well, as a matter of fact I have a commission, which, should I fulfill it, would be a great beginning to any such trading association.’

‘What do you seek to buy?’

‘Fire oil.’

Vasarius blinked. It was the most overt reaction Roo had witnessed so far, and he knew that this was a man he didn’t want to face in a card game. But he knew he had surprised him.

‘Fire oil?’

‘Yes, I’m sure your intelligence has told you the Kingdom is preparing for war.’ He slipped into the speech James had had him memorize. ‘Kesh moves along the Vale again, and we fear it seeks to invade. With a new Prince in Krondor and no practiced General leading the Armies of the West, it would be prudent to equip as well as possible. We are training additional men for the Prince’s army and seek to bolster our defenses with fire oil. We know how to produce it, as I am sure you’re aware; it’s no longer a secret. But we lack facilities to produce it in sufficient volume to provide any viable amount.’

‘How much do you desire?’

‘Ten thousand barrels.’

Roo watched and again there were flickers in the man’s eyes: shock, followed almost at once by greed. Roo reconsidered, and wondered if he could get this man into a game of cards.

• Chapter Four • Relationships

Dash laughed.

Jimmy said, ‘And then I asked, “Are the red bulbs more difficult to cultivate than the yellow?”’

Owen Greylock, Knight-Captain of the Prince’s Army of the West, said, ‘You came close to a personal insult, James.’

Jimmy smiled. ‘In that strange land, what I said was far more important than what I meant.’ He took another drink from his ale. ‘I might have found the girl attractive in different circumstances, but her contempt for me simply because I came from another land … it made any notion of romance impossible.’

Roo said, ‘Well, you didn’t seem to have any problems with that young serving girl later that night.’

Jimmy smiled. ‘I thought you were asleep.’

Roo shook his head. ‘I was, but you woke me up. I decided it was less awkward to feign sleep. Besides, I’ve had friends coupling a few feet away before, in camp.’ He glanced at Erik.

Kitty, who had been standing behind Roo, filling ale tankards, said, ‘Oh?’ in a meaningful tone, then turned and walked away.

Roo laughed, and so did the others as Erik began to blush. ‘What’s this, then?’ asked Duncan Avery. ‘Something going on between you two?’

Erik said, ‘Not that I’m aware of.’ He glanced at Kitty’s retreating back. ‘I don’t think so, anyway.’

‘Think so?’ said Jadow Shati. ‘Man, there either is or there isn’t. That’s simple enough even for someone as dim as you, and that’s the truth.’

Erik stood up. ‘I guess. Excuse me.’

Jadow laughed as Erik followed Kitty. The Sergeant from the Vale of Dreams said, ‘Man, if that boy was any dumber when it comes to women, we’d have to kill him to put him out of his misery.’

Jimmy glanced at his brother, and Dash said, ‘I don’t know. Kitty’s a strange girl. I think she just … likes having someone solid around.’

Roo said, ‘Erik’s that.’

Erik reached the bar and said, ‘Kitty?’

‘Yes, Sergeant Major?’ she asked coolly.

‘Ah …’ He blushed again. She fixed him with an unwavering glance. ‘I … uh.’

‘Spit it out before you choke.’

‘What did you mean, at the table?’

‘Mean?’ she asked, a skeptical expression on her face. ‘By what?’

‘By that “Oh”.’

‘Nothing. Just “Oh,” as in “Oh.”’

Erik suddenly realized he was being made a fool of, and he felt his color rising. ‘You’re making sport of me.’

She reached across the bar and patted his cheek. ‘It’s so easy to do.’

‘What is this?’ he asked, losing any sense of humor in the situation. ‘Are you mad at me?’

She sighed. ‘I’m just mad at men in general.’

Erik said, ‘Well, take it out on someone else.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve suddenly got a tender side for a man who’s killed dozens and bedded whores next to his friends.’

Erik felt flustered. This girl’s attitude was getting under his skin. ‘What would you have of me?’ he asked in exasperation.

Kitty studied his face a long, silent moment, then said in a low voice, ‘I don’t know.’

Erik stared at her. The torchlight reflected off a faint sheen of moisture on her upper lip. She was perspiring lightly despite the cool of the evening.

After a moment, she asked, ‘What do you want?’

Erik shook his head. ‘I don’t know either, but I … I didn’t like the way things felt when you …’

‘Said “Oh”?’ she finished for him.

Said that way, it sounded so silly Erik had to laugh. ‘Yes, I guess that’s what I mean.’

‘Come with me,’ she said. She gestured to one of the other girls that she was leaving, and led Erik through the kitchen, past the cook and his helpers, through a rear door into the courtyard behind the inn.

For a moment Erik experienced an odd sensation of familiarity; he had grown up in such a yard, with the stable and forge, well and hayloft, behind an inn. There was a wooden bench around the well, used by those too short to pull up the bucket easily, and Kitty went and sat on it, motioning for Erik to sit next to her.

Erik said, ‘It’s quiet back here.’

Kitty shrugged. ‘I never noticed. I’m usually too busy.’

Erik sat and Kitty leaned over and kissed him. He held still an instant, then he returned her kiss. After a long moment, she sat back, looking at him. Finally she said, ‘I’ve never done that before.’

‘Kissed a man?’ Erik said, his voice showing his surprise.

‘I’m a thief, not a whore,’ she said. ‘I’ve been raped and had men stick their tongues in my mouth, but I’ve never kissed anyone before.’

Erik’s mouth hung open, and then he shut it. ‘What about Bobby?’ he asked finally.

She shrugged. ‘What about him?’

‘Well, I thought …’ He hesitated. ‘Well, we just assumed you and he …’

She looked down. ‘I would have, if he’d asked. He was good to me. Better than I deserved, I think. I mean, he treated me roughly that night you caught me, and he threatened to hang me and the like, but mostly he made me laugh. And he kept others from hurting me.’ She pointed to the back of the inn. ‘I’ve got to watch for Mockers, or anyone else nosing around, but what I am now is just a barmaid. That’s not bad, ’cause I won’t whore.’

She looked down. ‘I would have lain down for Bobby, ’cause he was good to me, but he didn’t love me and I didn’t love him. Not that way.’ She looked at Erik. ‘I don’t think there was anyone he loved, maybe ’cept for Captain Calis.’

‘Bobby was devoted to him.’

‘I thought for a while he might be one of those men who love other men.’ She made a motion with her hand, as if flipping something over. ‘Not that I care – I’m no follower of Sung the Pure, but you do wonder. Then I heard he was a regular down at the White Wing, so I figure he’s just got it in his head to get his itch scratched by someone who’s …’ She searched for a concept.

‘Not special to him?’ Erik supplied.

‘Ya,’ she agreed. ‘That’s it. Like if he did it with me or someone else who wasn’t a whore, it might make things … you know, different.’

Erik nodded that he understood.

She sighed. ‘Bobby joked and made me laugh. At first I was scared of him, because he said he would kill me if I betrayed the Prince or the Duke, and I saw in his eyes he meant it. But after a while, when folks here treated me right, well, I stopped being afraid.

‘I’ve got no place to go, so like it or not, this is my home.’ She was silent awhile, looking at the inn. ‘It’s not a bad life. I know something big’s coming. You can’t work here and not figure out a few things. Soldiers who aren’t bragging on what they’re doing, they’re keeping secrets. So something big’s coming. I don’t know what, and I think I don’t want to know.’ She paused, and stared up at the pale moon.

Suddenly, she turned her head to face Erik. ‘But with Bobby gone, you’re the man who’s been nicest to me. The men sometimes say things to the other girls, about me, but I don’t mind. It’s just, well, you’ve never been anything but nice to me.’

Erik shrugged and said, ‘I know what it’s like to have some tough luck, I guess.’

‘You can’t know what life is like on the street.’

He said nothing, just watching her in the flickering torchlight. She went on, ‘Girl children aren’t thought much of, except for whores. There’s good money for little girls in some places.’ She hugged herself. ‘My mum was a whore, that’s the truth. No one knows who my father was. My mum threw me out when I was six. I think maybe she was keeping me from the crib. Her whoremaster kept looking at me funny.

‘I got found by this man, named Daniels, and he took me to this place in the sewers. They gave me food and told me they’d take care of me, but I had to do what they said. There were other children there, too. They didn’t seem too bad off. They were dirty, mostly, but they were fed.

‘I begged, and I learned the best dodges. I could cry like I was lost and if some mark stopped to see what the problem was, someone else cut his purse. I started being the holder after a while.’

‘Holder?’ asked Erik.

‘Cutpurse, he gets spotted, he gets stopped by the City Watch, he’d better have nothing on him that don’t belong. So most Mockers work in teams. The cutpurse hands off the score as soon as he can, and the holder moves to the bagman, who takes it to Mother’s.’

‘Mother’s?’

‘That’s what the Mockers call the place we all live … lived.’

‘Oh.’

She said, ‘Anyway, I saw me mum and we talked after I’d been gone a few years. She told me I had a sister, who was a whore. That was Betsy.’

‘You found her, then?’

‘Yes, and we got along good. She didn’t like me being a thief and I didn’t care much for her whoring, but we got along. I liked her. She was the only one I knew who wasn’t always after me for something.

‘When I got these –’ she pointed to her breasts – ‘some of the men got rough with me. If I could stay close to the other cutpurses or hang out at Mother’s, I was all right. But sometimes you just can’t stay in a crowd, you know what I mean?’

Erik didn’t, but he nodded as if he did.

‘I got poked a lot until I started dressing like I was when you found me, like a boy, staying dirty, not smelling good.’

Erik didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent.

‘What I’m saying is I’ve never done nothing with a man that was ’cause I wanted.’

Erik waited, and when she didn’t speak, he softly asked, ‘Are you telling me you want to now?’

Tears welled up in her eyes as she almost imperceptibly nodded. He sighed as he gathered her into his arms. Erik had never felt so unsure of himself before. He had been with whores since he had joined the army, and he remembered what the first one told him, to go easy, but every woman he had lain with knew more than he did. Now he was being asked to lie with a girl who knew only violence at the hands of men.

He kissed her on the cheek and then the chin, then the lips. At first she was very still, then after a few more kisses she began responding. Soon she stood and took him by the hand and led him into the barn, toward the loft where she slept.

‘Erik!’ came the familiar voice. ‘You up there?’

A sleepy ‘wuzat?’ came from Kitty as she nestled in his arms. Their lovemaking had been tentative, slow, and awkward at first, then building until Erik felt he was in the midst of battle, as Kitty exploded in a riot of emotions in his arms. Laughter mixed with tears was unleashed by his touch, and at the end she lay exhausted, as did he.

A while later they made love a second time, and Kitty was much more sure of what it was she wanted. Erik had never experienced anything like this with another woman.

He wondered if he was in love.

He raised up on one arm as the caller again shouted his name. ‘Nakor, I’m going to kill you,’ Erik muttered as he sat up and began to dress.

Kitty came awake. ‘Is that the funny gambler?’ she asked.

Erik said, ‘He’s not being very funny at the moment.’

As he pulled on his boots, she slipped her arms around his waist and said, ‘Thank you.’

He stopped. ‘For what?’

‘For showing me what the other girls always talked about.’

Erik sat motionless for a moment. ‘You’re welcome, I think.’

She leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘You think?’

‘It wasn’t a favor,’ he said in a curt tone.

‘Oh, you enjoyed it, too?’ she asked innocently.

Erik realized she was again teasing him. He was pleased it was too dark for her to see him blush. ‘I ought to spank you for that,’ he muttered.

She kissed his shoulder. ‘Some of the girls at the White Wing charge extra for that, I’ve been told.’

A wave of uncertainty gripped Erik, as real as a sword thrust in his chest. He turned and gripped her by the arms, harder than he intended, and when he saw the look of panic in her eyes, he instantly released his hold. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘But I can’t stand it when you mock me.’

She looked at his face as tears formed in his eyes and suddenly she was crying. She laid her chin on his shoulder, cheek to cheek with him, as she whispered, ‘I’m sorry, too. I don’t know how to be any other way.’

‘I will never hurt you,’ he whispered.

‘I know,’ she whispered back. ‘I’m all jumbled inside.’ Then she pulled back and he saw she was smiling. ‘And it’s your fault, Erik von Darkmoor.’

He kissed her.

Soon, a cough sounded and Erik turned to see Nakor’s head poking up from below as he stood on the ladder to the loft. ‘There you are!’

Without a word, Erik extended his leg, pushing the ladder away from the loft, and watched it vanish, with a satisfying squawk from Nakor, into the gloom. A loud thud and an ‘Oof’ of breath exploding from Nakor’s lungs followed.

Kitty laughed and Erik finished dressing. After a moment, as Nakor lay groaning dramatically from atop a pile of hay, Erik said, ‘When you’re done with your act, put the ladder back up.’

The groaning was instantly replaced by a chuckle. ‘You know me too well,’ said Nakor.

The ladder reappeared at the edge of the loft and Erik glanced at Kitty, who was dressed. He went down the ladder first, and she followed.

Nakor said, ‘Sorry to have bothered you and your lady friend, but I needed to see you.’

‘Why?’ asked Erik.

‘To say good-bye for a while.’

Erik saw that Sho Pi, his onetime comrade-in-arms and now Nakor’s student, was standing silently by the doorway of the barn. ‘Where are you going?’ asked Erik.

‘Down to Stardock again. The King has asked me to return there while Lord Arutha returns to work for his father.’ Then his expression turned serious. ‘Something’s going on. Prince Erland sailed into port tonight aboard a Keshian cutter.’

Erik said, ‘Nothing we can talk about.’

Nakor nodded. ‘I think I know what you mean.’

Erik said, ‘Well, have a safe journey and let me know when you return to the city.’

Nakor nodded. ‘We’ll be back.’ He motioned for Sho Pi to follow as he left the barn, and Erik watched them vanish into the night.

‘That is the strangest little man,’ said Kitty.

‘You are far from the first to observe that,’ said Erik. ‘Still, he’s a good man and worth six when you’re out on the trail. The things he knows are astonishing. He claims there’s no magic, but if there’s anyone who’s a better magician out there, I’ve not met him.’

Kitty came and leaned in to Erik and he slipped his arm around her waist. ‘What did he mean, “Something’s going on”?’

Erik turned and kissed her. ‘You catch spies, and you want me to talk about secrets?’

She nodded, resting her cheek against his chest. ‘I sometimes think I know what is going on, Erik, as I piece together bits of things heard here and there. Other times I’m not sure even what I’m doing here. Since Bobby died I often think I’m in one of those places the priests talk about, one of the lesser hells. I can’t leave the inn unless I’ve a pair of guards with me. The Mockers have put the death mark on me, but they’re the only family I’ve known.’

Erik couldn’t think of anything to say. He hugged her. ‘If I get some time off soon, I’ll take you somewhere, someplace different, away from the city.’

She clung to him a minute, then said, ‘I have to get back.’

He walked toward the rear door of the inn and removed his arm from around her waist when they got there. Saying nothing, he followed her inside. She silently moved through the kitchen and took her usual station behind the bar.

Jadow Shati and Owen Greylock still sat at the table, but Roo had departed.

‘Where’s Roo?’ Erik asked as he sat.

‘When you didn’t come back, he, Jimmy, and Dash left. Something about an important appointment,’ answered Greylock.

‘Did Nakor find you?’ asked Jadow innocently.

‘Yes,’ answered Erik as he sat.

‘Not at too awkward a moment, I hope,’ said Jadow, his face splitting into a wide grin.

Erik blushed and said, ‘No.’

‘That’s good,’ said Jadow. Then he exploded into a laugh so infectious Greylock and Erik were forced to join in.

Kitty approached with a fresh pitcher of ale. ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.

Her tone was one of potential injury, and her expression spoke volumes: if she was the butt of some joke told by Erik, some brag of conquest, no repair would ever be possible to the damage done.

Adroitly Greylock said, ‘Nakor,’ and started to laugh again.

‘Oh,’ said Kitty, as if that explained everything. She smiled at Erik and he returned the smile.

After she left, Jadow said, ‘So there is something going on with you two?’

Erik nodded. ‘And it scares the hell out of me.’

Greylock held up his fresh ale, as if in a toast. ‘That’s serious.’

Jadow nodded sagely. ‘Very serious, man. It can only be one thing.’

‘What?’ said Erik, a tone of worry in his voice.

‘Oh, man, he does have it bad,’ said Jadow.

‘That’s the truth,’ answered Greylock.

‘What?’ demanded Erik.

Greylock said, ‘Never been in love before?’

Jadow retorted, ‘He’s too stupid to know if he has.’

Erik sat back and said, ‘I guess not.’ His brow furrowed and he stared into his ale as if he’d find an answer in it. Then suddenly he grinned and looked at the faces of his two friends. ‘I guess not.’

He turned to gaze at Kitty, who was busy cleaning behind the bar, talking quietly with another of the working girls, then turned back to his friends. ‘I’m in love,’ he said as if it were a revelation.

Suddenly Greylock and Jadow couldn’t contain themselves and started laughing again. After the mirth died, Jadow said, ‘Come on, boy. You need another drink.’

Greylock shook his head and sighed. ‘Ah, to be young again.’

Erik just sat silently, wondering at all the odd feelings of delight and uncertainty within. He stole a glance at Kitty and saw her watching him. He smiled at her and she returned it, and he felt joyous inside.

Then while Jadow and Greylock exchanged witty remarks, a dark cloud descended over Erik, as he considered the coming battle. How could he afford the time for anything other than that, he wondered to himself.

Sylvia bit Roo playfully on the neck.

‘Ow,’ he said, half in jest, half in real pain. ‘That was too hard.’

She pouted. ‘I need to punish you. You’ve been gone too long.’

She snuggled down into the crook of his arm as he said, ‘I know. The closer we get –’ He caught himself. He was about to say ‘to the invasion.’

‘Closer to what?’ she asked, very attentively.

He studied her face in the candlelight. He had come to her house late and they had gone straight to bed. Her father was away on business, she said, so he planned on spending the entire night, rather than returning to his town house before dawn, as was his habit when Jacob Esterbrook was at home. Thinking about what he had found about her father’s advantage over Roo’s companies in trade with Great Kesh, he again wondered if he was saying anything that she was repeating to her father. He pushed aside the concern. ‘I mean, as I get closer to this goal I have, controlling all shipping on the Bitter Sea, I seem to have less time for anything else.’

She bit him on the shoulder again, this time hard enough to make him genuinely cry out. ‘Explain that to your wife,’ she said, indicating the teeth marks she’d left. She got out of bed, and Roo marveled at the sight of her naked body. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered, and in the light of the single candle she seemed sculpted from living marble, without flaw. He thought about his own wife’s pudgy body, without a hint of strength in the muscle, the marks on her left by childbirth, and he found himself astonished by his ability to make love to Karli.

As Sylvia put on her robe, he said, ‘What’s gotten into you?’

‘You have time to spend with Helen Jacoby, but you spend days away from me.’

Roo said, ‘You can’t possibly be jealous of Helen?’

‘Why not?’ She turned, an accusatory expression on her face as he sat up in her bed. ‘You spend time with her. She’s not unattractive in a raw-boned peasant-girl fashion. You’ve mentioned you respect her wit, far too many times for my liking.’

Roo got out of bed, and said, ‘I killed her husband, Sylvia. I owe her some comfort. But I have never touched her.’

‘You’d like touching her, I wager,’ said Sylvia.

Roo tried to put his arms around her, but she brushed him aside and moved away. ‘Sylvia, you’re being unfair.’

‘I’m being unfair?’ she said, turning and allowing her robe to fall open.

Roo found himself beginning to become aroused at the sight of her.

‘You’re the man with the wife, children, and reputation. I was one of the most eligible daughters in the Kingdom until I met you.’ Pouting, she moved toward him, letting her breasts rub against his bare chest as she said, ‘I’m the mistress. I’m the woman of no status. You can leave whenever you want.’ Her hand began tracing small circles on his stomach.

Roo’s breath came hard as he said, ‘I would never leave you, Sylvia.’

Reaching down, she stroked him and said, ‘I know.’

He pulled off her robe and carried her so quickly to the bed he almost tossed her onto the covers. Quickly taking her, he pleaded his undying love while Sylvia looked at the canopy overhead, fighting off a yawn. A self-satisfied smile then formed on her lips that had nothing to do with physical pleasure, and everything to do with power. Roo was on his way to being the most important merchant in the history of the Kingdom, and he was clearly under her power. She listened to Roo breathe more rapidly as his passion mounted and she detached herself from the experience. The novelty of his lovemaking had long since worn off, and she preferred the talents of his cousin, Duncan, who was far more attractive, and whose appetite for inventive love play matched her own.

She knew Roo would be appalled to discover that she and Duncan often shared this bed, and occasionally invited one of the servants to participate as well. She knew that Duncan would be malleable as long as he had access to fine clothing, good food, rare wine, pretty women, and the trappings of prosperity. He would make a fine lover after she wed Roo, and a completely socially acceptable replacement for him one day. As Roo neared the pinnacle of his ardor, Sylvia absently wondered how long she need wait to wed the repellent little man after she arranged the murder of his fat wife. At the thought of taking control of both her father’s financial empire and Roo’s, Sylvia found her own passion mounting at last, and as Roo could control himself no longer, Sylvia joined him in a paroxysm of release, imagining herself as the most powerful woman in Kingdom history.

Erik knocked on the door and William looked up. ‘Yes, Sergeant Major?’

‘If you have a minute, sir?’ he asked.

William waved him to a chair and Erik sat. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing to do with training,’ said Erik. ‘That’s going well. It’s a personal matter.’

William sat back. His expression was neutral. While serving together, each man had occasionally let the other glimpse some facet of his personal life, but neither had intentionally opened a conversation on a personal subject. ‘I’m listening,’ said the Knight-Marshal of Krondor.

‘I know this girl, and, well, if you don’t mind, I just need to talk about being a soldier and getting married.’

William said nothing for a moment, then he nodded. ‘It’s a difficult choice. Some handle family matters well. Others don’t.’ He paused. ‘The man who held this office before me, Gardan, was once a sergeant like yourself. He served Lord Borric, Duke of Crydee, when my father was a child there. He came to Krondor with Prince Arutha and rose to this office. All the while he was married.’

‘How did he do with it?’

‘Well, all things considered,’ said William. ‘He had some children, one of whom became a soldier like him. He died in the sacking of the Far Coast.’

Remembering what his stepfather, Nathan, had told him of those days, Erik knew that many had died during those raids. ‘Gardan was already dead by then. Some of the other children survived, I believe.’

William rose and closed the door behind Erik, and came to sit on the edge of his desk. Erik noticed that apart from the formal tabard of his office, the Knight-Marshal elected to wear a common soldier’s uniform, without markings of rank. ‘Look, with what’s coming …’ William began. He fought for words, then said, ‘Is any sort of relationship wise?’

‘Wise or not, I have it,’ said Erik. ‘I’ve never felt this way before about a girl.’

William smiled, and for a moment Erik saw years drop from the man. ‘I remember.’

‘If you don’t mind my asking, have you ever been married, sir?’

‘No,’ said William, and there was a hint of regret in his voice. ‘My life never seemed to have room for a family.’

He moved to his own chair and sat. ‘Truth to tell, my family hasn’t had much room for me.’

‘Your father?’ asked Erik.

William nodded. ‘Time was we didn’t speak to each other from anger. We’ve since gotten over that. But it’s hard. If you’d ever met my father, you’d think he was my son. He looks but ten years older than you.’ William sighed. ‘The ironic thing, it turns out, was that becoming a soldier, as I did, had been his own boyhood dream. He insisted I study magic.’

William smiled. ‘Can you imagine growing up somewhere where everyone practices magic, or is married to someone who does, or is the son or daughter of someone who does?’

Erik shook his head. ‘It must run in your family, though. I met your sister.’

William smiled ruefully. ‘Another irony. Gamina’s adopted into our family. And she’s far more adept at things magical than I.

‘I have one pitiful talent. I can speak with animals. They tend toward short, uninteresting conversations. Except Fantus, of course.’

At mention of the firedrake, Erik said, ‘I haven’t seen him around the palace lately.’

‘He comes and goes as it pleases him. And if I ask him where he’s been, he pointedly ignores me.’

Erik said, ‘I still don’t feel any closer to a decision than I did before.’

William said, ‘I know that feeling, too. There was a young magician from Stardock, a girl from the desert stock of the Jal-Pur, who came to study with my father when I was a boy. She was two years older than I.

‘She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, dark skin and eyes the color of coffee. She moved like a dancer and her laughter was musical.

‘I was smitten the first time I saw her. She knew me as the Master’s son, Pug’s boy, and she knew I was infatuated with her. I followed her around, making a pest of myself. She put up with me with good grace, but after a while I think I wore her nerves thin.’

William gazed out the window that overlooked the courtyard and said, ‘I think her indifference to my plight was one of the big reasons I chose to leave Stardock and come to Krondor.’ He smiled in remembrance. ‘She came two years later.’

Erik raised an eyebrow in question.

‘Prince Arutha’s father had a magical adviser, a wonderful old character named Kulgan. Far from the most powerful magician around, he may have been among the most intelligent. He was like a grandfather to me in many ways. His death hit my father very hard. Anyway, Prince Arutha decided he wanted a magical adviser in his court, so he asked Pug to send his best to Krondor. Father surprised everyone by sending her instead of one of the masters; I thought at first he was sending her to check up on me.’ He smiled ruefully in memory.

William was almost laughing as he went on, ‘You can imagine the consternation among the nobles when she showed up and turned out not only to be Keshian, but to be distantly related to one of the most powerful noble lords among the desertmen of the Jal-Pur. It took Prince Arutha’s iron will to force the court into accepting her.’

William sighed. ‘Things got very difficult here the day she showed up, some things I can’t talk about, but suffice it to say by the time we were done she and I had learned we were very different people than we had been at Stardock. We also discovered that my feelings hadn’t changed, and I was astonished to discover that the two years apart had changed the way she looked at me. We became lovers.’

Erik said nothing for a moment as William became lost in a moment of remembering.

‘We were together for six years.’

‘What happened?’

‘She died.’

Erik said, ‘If you don’t want to talk about it –’

‘I don’t,’ interrupted William.

Erik looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, I’ll go, sir. I didn’t mean to open old wounds.’

William waved away the apology before it came. ‘You didn’t. Those wounds are with me every day and they are always open. It’s one of the reasons I’ve never wed.’

As he reached the door, Erik said, ‘If you don’t mind my asking, sir, what was her name?’

Without looking at Erik, still staring out the window, William said, ‘Jezharra.’

Erik closed the door behind him. As he walked along the corridor leading to the marshaling yard, he considered the conversation. No closer to knowing what he should do, he decided to put his mind to the matters before him and let his feelings for Kitty come as they might.

• Chapter Five • Elvandar

Tomas sat motionless.

King Redtree, Aron Earanorn in the elves’ language, spoke. ‘In the years since we abandoned the Northlands to return, we have attempted to understand our cousins.’ The leader of the glamredhel, the ‘mad’ elves, those left to fend for themselves in the Northlands beyond the Kingdom ages ago, fixed Queen Aglaranna with a steady stare. ‘We bow to you as ruler, here, lady’ – he made an all-encompassing gesture with his right hand – ‘in Elvandar. But we do not accept any suggestion that you rule us, absolutely.’

Tomas glanced at his wife. The ruler of the Elves of Elvandar turned her softest smile on the warrior who had ruled over his followers for almost as many years as she had reigned in the elven glades. ‘Earanorn, no one here is suggesting anything,’ she countered. ‘Those who chose to come to Elvandar, by the call of ancient blood or as guests, are free to leave at any time. Only those who chose to remain here of their own accord are subject to our rule.’

The former King tapped his chin. ‘That’s the rub, isn’t it?’ He looked at the assembled elves in the Queen’s Council: Tathar, her senior adviser; Tomas, the half-human Warleader and prince consort; Acaila, leader of the eldar who had remained on the world of Kelewan until the human magician Pug had found them; and others, including Pug and his current companion, Miranda. After a long silence, the old king asked, ‘Where would we go? Back to the Northlands and our less generous cousins?’

Tomas glanced at Pug, his boyhood companion, foster brother, and ally in the Riftwar, and his eyes revealed that he, too, knew the answer: there was nowhere else for these ‘wild’ elves to go.

Tomas turned his attention to Acaila, whose knowledge and power never failed to astonish Pug, and raised a finger so slightly the human magician barely noticed it. Acaila inclined his head but a fraction of an inch, yet the Queen returned the barely perceptible nod.

‘Why leave at all?’ asked the leader of the Eldar, those ancient elves who were closest to the Dragon Lords, and who kept their lore and knowledge. ‘You have found your lost kindred after centuries of isolation and no one seeks to return you to slavery, yet you seem ill at ease. May one ask why?’

Redtree let out a long sigh. ‘I’m an old man.’ At this, Tathar, Acaila, and some others laughed, without malice but with genuine amusement. ‘Very well, so I’m merely three hundred seventy years of age, while some here are twice that, but the truth is the Edder Forest of the Northlands is a harsh place, rife with enemies and scant of food. You have little sense of that here, in the midst of Elvandar’s bounty.’ He hugged himself slightly as if memory of the Edder was chilling. ‘We numbered no spell weavers and the healing magic of Elvandar did not exist. Here a mild wound heals with rest and food; there festering can take a warrior as surely as an enemy’s arrow.’ He held out his hand in a balled fist, anger coloring his words. ‘I have buried my wife and my sons. By my people’s experience, I am a very old man.’

To Pug, Miranda whispered, ‘And a long-winded one, too.’ She stifled a yawn. Pug tried not to smile on the heels of the old king’s emotional words, but he, like Miranda and the others, had heard the tale of Redtree’s battles and losses many times in the months they had lived with the elves.

Calin, Aglaranna’s older son and heir to her throne, spoke. ‘I think over the last thirty years we have demonstrated our goodwill, King Redtree. We mourn your losses’ – others of the council nodded agreement – ‘yet here rests your people’s best chance to thrive, returned to the heart of our race.

‘During the Riftwar and the Great Uprising, we lost many who now rest in the Blessed Isles, yet we have gained, by your having found your way here. In the end, all of elvenkind are profited.’

Redtree nodded. ‘I have considered my people’s choices.’ He seemed to let go of something, a hint of pride. ‘I have no sons.’ Looking at Calin, he said, ‘I need an heir.’

A young warrior of the glamredhel stepped to his King’s side, handing over a bundle wrapped in leather and tied in thongs. ‘This is the mark of my rank,’ said Redtree, untying the bundle. As much as elves could display surprise, the assembled council was surprised. Inside the skins was a belt of marvelous beauty: silken threads that Pug judged were something more alien than silk held gems of stunning brilliance in a pattern both lovely and compelling. ‘Asle-thnath!’ proclaimed Redtree.

Pug studied the belt, shifting his perceptions. To Miranda he whispered, ‘This is a thing of power.’

‘Really?’ she asked dryly.

Pug glanced at her and saw her smile, as she tried to keep from laughing at him outright, and again he was visited by the certainty that her power and knowledge were more than she revealed.

Acaila stepped down from the circling benches and came to stand before Redtree. ‘May I?’ he asked.

Redtree handed him the belt.

He examined it and then turned to Tathar. ‘This is a great and wonderful magic. Did you not know it was here?’

Tathar, senior among the Queen’s Spellweavers, shook his head. With a hint of irritation, he said, ‘Did you?’

Acaila laughed, as he had often laughed when teaching Pug for the year the magician had lived with the eldar, in Elvardein, Elvandar’s twin forest, magically hidden under the ice-cap on the world of Kelewan. There was no mockery in that laugh, ever, but with a hint of irony, Acaila said, ‘There is that.’ He turned back toward Redtree and the ruler of the glamredhel nodded slightly. Acaila turned as Tathar stepped down from his place in the Queen’s circle. Even though Acaila was the undoubted leader in age and experience among the Queen’s advisers, he was a newcomer, and Tathar was Aglaranna’s seniormost adviser.

As Tathar took the belt and turned to present it to Calin, Redtree spoke. ‘The belt is worn in high council and is passed from the King to his son. As he who was my father gave the belt to me to mark my position as heir, so I give this to you, Prince Calin.’

The Elven Prince bowed his head as Acaila handed him the belt. He took it and touched his forehead to it, and said, ‘Your nobility is unquestioned. I accept your generosity with humility.’

Then Aglaranna rose and said, ‘Again our people are one.’ To Redtree she said, ‘You are truly Aron Earanorn.’ She bowed her head to him. An elf appeared behind him with a new robe, and at the Queen’s bidding, he placed it over the armor and furs Redtree wore in the fashion of his people. ‘You would honor our council by accepting a place in it.’

The old King said, ‘The honor is mine.’

Acaila put out his hand and led Redtree to a place between Tathar and himself.

Pug smiled and winked at Miranda. By placing the glamredhel above himself in council, yet behind Tathar, the wise leader of the Eldar avoided years of possible resentment by the glamredhel. Redtree would stand second only to Tathar in council.

Miranda motioned with her head for Pug to move away from the council and when they were safely away from the discussion, she said, ‘How long is this going to continue?’

Pug shrugged. ‘Redtree’s people first came here about thirty years ago, twenty years or so after Galain and Arutha ran into him after the fall of Armengar.’

‘They’ve been arguing who’s in charge for thirty years?’ asked Miranda, her face showing disbelief.

‘Discussing,’ said Tomas, appearing behind them. ‘Come with me.’

Tomas led Pug and Miranda to a private area, screened from the Queen’s court by cleverly arrayed branches. On the other side, he could look out over the tree city of Elvandar.

Pug asked, ‘Do you ever get used to it?’ He studied his friend, again finding the echoes of his foster brother in the alien etched features of the tall warrior.

Even in his ceremonial robes, Tomas radiated strength and power. His pale blue eyes, nearly colorless, gazed across the vista of Elvandar as he said, ‘Yes, but its beauty never fails to move me.’

Miranda said, ‘No one who’s alive could not feel something.’

It was evening and Elvandar was ablaze with a hundred cooking fires, some on the ground below, others on platforms erected in the branches of the trees. Throughout the community, glowing lanterns had been ignited, but rather than the harsh yellow flame of a city lamp, these glowed with a softer, blue-white light: elven globes, part natural, part magic, and unique to this place. But the trees themselves also were alight, branches illuminated with a soft glow, a faint bluish or greenish haze, as if the leaves were phosphorescent.

Tomas turned, the golden trimmed red robe flaring slightly, and said, ‘Is it time for me to don my armor, old friend?’

‘Soon, I fear,’ said Pug.

Almost wistfully Tomas said, ‘When we were victorious at Sethanon, I hoped we were done with this business.’

Pug nodded. ‘Hoped. But we knew sooner or later the Pantathians would come again for the Lifestone.’ Pug’s forehead furrowed, as if he was about to say something additional, but he halted himself. ‘So long as your sword rests within the stone, and so long as the Valheru are not finally vanquished, we did but buy time.’

Tomas did not reply, but he continued to stare out over the railing at the splendor of Elvandar. ‘I know,’ he said at last. ‘There will come a time when I must retrieve that sword and finish what we started that day.’ He had listened with keen interest when Miranda had recounted what she and his son had discovered on their last voyage to the southern continent. Tathar, Acaila, and the other Spellweavers had questioned her repeatedly over the months since she had come, ferreting out details she had forgotten. While Miranda’s patience had been worn thin on many occasions, the long-lived elves took the interminable investigation as a matter of course.

The sounds of voices announced that Aglaranna and her advisers were coming to join her husband in their private quarters. The Queen, followed by Tathar, Acaila, Redtree, and Calin, entered.

Miranda and Pug bowed their heads, but the Queen said, ‘Court is over, my friends. We are here to discuss important issues in an informal fashion.’

Miranda said, ‘Thank the gods.’

Redtree scowled. ‘My familiarity with your race is limited,’ – he glanced at Acaila, who mouthed a word – ‘milady.’ He pronounced the word as something alien. ‘But this rushing to action I’ve observed in humans … it’s incomprehensible!’

‘Rushing!’ said Miranda, allowing her astonishment to show openly.

Pug said, ‘We have been dealing with the Pantathians for fifty years, Redtree.’

The old elf took an offered goblet of wine and said, ‘Well, you should have come up with some sense of the enemy, then.’

Suddenly Pug realized that the old elf had his own sense of humor. It was different from Acaila’s, while just as dry: it had a mocking edge. Pug grinned. ‘You remind me of Martin Longbow.’

Redtree smiled and years dropped from his face. ‘Now, there’s a human I like.’

‘Where is Martin?’ asked Tomas.

‘Here,’ came a voice as the old former Duke of Crydee climbed into view, mounting a flight of steps from below. ‘I don’t move quite as spryly as I once did.’

‘You’re still a fair hand with a bow, Martin,’ said Redtree. Then he added, ‘For a human.’

Martin was the oldest living human Redtree might call a friend. Nearly ninety years of age, Martin looked a man in his late sixties or early seventies. His powerful shoulders and chest were still broad, though his arms and legs were thinner than Pug remembered. His skin looked like old leather, sun-dried and wrinkled, and his hair was now completely white. But his eyes were still alert, and Pug realized that Martin, over the months he had stayed in Elvandar, continued to have his wits about him. There was no hint of the doddering in this old man. While not quite rejuvenating him, the magic of Elvandar kept him vigorous.

Nodding at Miranda, Martin smiled. ‘I’ve known the edhel,’ he said, using the elves’ own term for their people, ‘since I was a baby, and their humor is often lost on humans.’

Miranda said, ‘As is their sense of haste.’ She looked at Pug. ‘For months now, close to a year or more, you’ve been saying that we must be about this or that – mostly, “We must find Macros the Black” – yet I find us spending a great deal of time sitting around doing little.’

Pug’s eyes narrowed briefly. He knew Miranda was far older than she looked, perhaps even older than his own seventy-odd years, but often she displayed what he could only call an impatience that surprised him. He seemed about to say one thing, then another. At last he said, ‘Macros’s legacy to me included many things – his library, his commentaries, and, to some extent, his powers – but nothing could replace his experience. If anyone can help us unlock the mystery of what is behind all we face, it is he.’ Pug stood before Miranda and looked into her eyes. ‘I can not help but feel that far behind all we have seen lurks another mystery, one far more profound and dangerous than what we yet know.’ Then his tone lightened slightly as in a mock-chiding voice, he added, ‘And I would expect you, as much as anyone, to realize that often when one is motionless, the most thought is being applied to the problems at hand.’

Miranda said, ‘I know, but I feel like a horse too long held under rein; I feel the need to be doing something!’

Pug turned to Tomas. ‘There we have the problem, don’t we?’

Tomas nodded, glancing at the oldest, wisest minds in the Council of Elvandar. ‘What is to be done?’ he asked.

Pug said, ‘Once you found Macros by leading me into the Halls of the Dead. Would it be useful to return there?’

Tomas shook his head. ‘I don’t think so; do you?’

Pug shrugged. ‘Not really. I’m not even sure what I would say should we again face Lims-Kragma. I know more now than I did then, but of the nature of the gods and those other agents who serve them I still feel ignorant. In any event, I’m grasping at straws.’ He was silent a moment, frustration clearly evident on his features. Then he said, ‘No, the realm of the dead would be a waste of time.’

Acaila said, ‘Those beings are not meant for easy apprehension by those who live mortal spans. But indulge me one question, Pug: why would it be a waste of time to seek this person in the Halls of the Dead?’

Pug said, ‘I really don’t know. A feeling, nothing more. I’m certain Macros is alive.’ He then described how when they had last sought the Black Sorcerer, Gathis – then Macros’s and now Pug’s majordomo at Sorcerer’s Island – had indicated that there was a bond between them, and should Macros be dead Gathis would somehow know it. Pug finished by saying, ‘Several times over the last few years I’ve had this sense that Macros was not only still alive but …’

Miranda now looked thoroughly irritated. ‘What?’

Pug shrugged. ‘That he was somehow close by.’

Under her breath she let out a sound of aggravation. ‘That wouldn’t surprise me.’

Martin smiled with wry amusement and asked, ‘Why?’

Miranda glanced out over the lights of Elvandar and said, ‘Because my experience is that most of these “legendary” individuals turn out to be no more than a well-constructed sham, designed to convince us all of their importance, rather than any real indication of their true significance.’

Aglaranna sipped her wine and sat next to Tomas on a long bench by the railing. ‘You sound more than irritated in a general way, Miranda.’

Miranda dropped her gaze a moment; when she raised it to look at the Elf Queen, she was composed. ‘Forgive my petulance, lady. We of Kesh often struggle with issues of appearance, rank, and court standing that have nothing to do with worth or value in any real sense. Many rise high by dint of birth while others far more worthy never achieve any significance, their lives spent in trivial work. Yet those “great” nobles have no sense they achieved high rank by a simple accident of birth.’ She made a sour expression. ‘They think the fact their mothers were who they were ample proof of the gods’ favor. Given my … history, I have had to deal with more than my share of such men. I have … little patience, I fear, for such as they.’

‘Well,’ said Tomas, ‘Macros did construct his own legend to protect his privacy, I’ll grant, but as one who stood beside him more than once I can attest his legend is nothing but a shadow of his real power. He faced a dozen Tsurani Great Ones in this very forest, and while the magic of our Spellweavers aided our struggle, against the alien magicians he alone strove, and he destroyed their works and sent them fleeing to their own world. He is alone among men I would dread opposing. His power is nothing short of astonishing.’

Pug nodded. ‘Which is why we need to find him.’

‘Where do we start?’ asked Miranda calmly. ‘The Hall?’

Pug said, ‘I don’t think so. There are too many people willing to sell information who live in the Hall of Worlds.’ Dryly he added, ‘And not all of it is accurate.’ He sat across from the Elf Queen, and said, ‘I thought we might journey to the City Forever and question the Dreadmaster we imprisoned there.’

Tomas shrugged. ‘I doubt he would know much more than we already discovered. He was but a tool.’

Acaila said, ‘Have you considered this sorcerer might be here on Midkemia?’

Martin said, ‘Why?’

The eldar said, ‘Pug’s “feeling.” It is something I would not dismiss or set aside lightly. Often such feelings are our own minds informing us of something we haven’t apprehended consciously.’

‘True,’ said Redtree, taking a bite from a large red apple. ‘In the wilds one’s instincts must serve, else a hunter doesn’t return with food for his family, or a warrior is left behind on the field of battle.’ Looking at Pug, he said, ‘Where did you feel this Macros’s presence the most?’

‘Oddly enough,’ said Pug, ‘at Stardock.’

‘You didn’t say anything,’ offered Miranda, her voice almost accusing.

Pug smiled. ‘I was often distracted.’

Miranda had the grace to blush. ‘You could have said something at one time or another.’

Pug shrugged. ‘I dismissed it as stemming from the fact that most of his powerful tomes and scrolls are housed in my tower. I often feel as if he’s looking over my shoulder when I read them.’

Tathar said, ‘There is also this matter of that artifact retrieved from the southern continent.’

Aglaranna spoke. ‘The Spellweavers feel there is something alien about it.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Tomas, ‘and it is more than the Pantathian presence. There is something about this that is alien even to the Valheru.’

Martin said, ‘There is something I don’t understand.’

‘What, old friend?’ asked Calin.

‘In all of this, since the first Tsurani ship was wrecked on Crydee shores, to the fall of Sethanon, no one has asked one important question.’

‘Which is?’ asked Acaila.

‘Why have all these plots, all these plans, involved such chaos and destruction?’

Tomas said, ‘It is the nature of the Valheru.’

Martin said, ‘But we haven’t faced the Dragon Lords; we’ve faced only their agents, the Pantathians, as well as those who’ve served or were duped by them.’

Pug tried to dismiss Martin’s observation. ‘I think we’ve seen ample proof of the nature of the Pantathians.’

Martin said, ‘You mistake my meaning. What I’m saying is that in all of this, much is without apparent motive. We’ve assumed things, over the years, about why and how the Pantathians were acting in the fashion they have, but we don’t know why they’re behaving the way they are.’

Pug said, ‘I must be guilty of some oversight. I still don’t see your meaning.’

Miranda said, ‘Because you’re not paying attention.’ She stepped past Pug to stand before Martin. ‘You’ve got an idea.’ It wasn’t a question.

The old bowman nodded. Turning to Tathar, Acaila and Redtree, he said, ‘Feel free to correct anything I say that isn’t as it should be.’ To Pug and Tomas he said, ‘You have powers I cannot begin to imagine, but I have spent most of my life here, in the West, and I know the lore of the edhel as well as most men, I wager.’

‘Better than any human living,’ offered Tathar.

‘In the lore of the eledhel,’ said Martin, ‘some things are said about the Ancient Ones.’ He faced the Queen. ‘Most Gracious Lady, why is that usage preferred?’

The Queen considered the question a moment, then said, ‘Tradition. It was once believed that to use the name of the Valheru would be to call their attention.’

Miranda said, ‘A superstition?’

Martin looked to Tomas. ‘A superstition?’ he repeated.

Tomas said, ‘Much of the memories given to me of the ancient times is clouded, and even those that are well remembered are the memories of another being. We share much, but much is also unknown to me. The power was once given to the eldar to call us by speaking our names aloud. That may be where this belief originated.’

Martin, better than anyone except Pug, fully understood the strange duality of Tomas. He had known this half-alien man when Tomas and Pug had been boys at Castle Crydee, and had watched as the mystic armor of the long-dead Dragon Lord Ashen-Shugar had transformed Tomas into the strange being he was today, neither fully man nor Dragon Lord but something of both.

Tomas looked at the eldar and said, ‘Acaila?’

The old elf nodded. ‘The legends say such. We who were first among the slaves of the Valheru were able to contact them. This may have given rise to the practice of never speaking their names aloud.’

Miranda said, ‘What, then, is your point?’

Martin shrugged. ‘I’m not even sure I have one, but it seems to me that we’re making many assumptions here, and if any one of them is incorrect, we risk all by building our plans upon such mistaken beliefs.’ He stared into Miranda’s eyes. ‘You returned from the land on the other side of the world with artifacts, apparently made by the Ancient Ones, yet Pug and Calis both say they are “tainted,” not what they seem to be.’

Acaila again nodded. ‘They are not pure. We know enough of our former masters to recognize another hand has touched these items.’

‘Yet they sing to you?’ offered Pug.

‘Yes, they are much of the Valheru,’ offered Aglaranna.

Martin said, ‘So, then, whose is that other hand?’

‘The third player,’ said Pug. Looking at Miranda, he said, ‘The demon – I assume that’s who he meant.’

Martin nodded. ‘I think so, as well. What if the Pantathians are not tools of the Ancient Ones, but rather are tools of these demons?’

Tomas said, ‘That would explain a few things.’

‘Such as?’ asked Redtree, taking a sip of wine.

Pug said, ‘The Dread, for one.’

Acaila asked, ‘What of them?’

Tomas said, ‘They are an unlikely ally for my brethren.’ He used the term brethren for the Valheru when he was caught up in thinking as one.

‘And an even less likely tool,’ supplied Acaila. ‘What lore has passed down through the generations of the eldar always shows the Dread to be rivals to the Valheru on the occasions when they crossed paths.’

‘Yet,’ said Pug, ‘we didn’t consider the oddity at the time.’

With a faint smile, Tomas said, ‘We were a bit preoccupied.’

Pug’s brow furrowed and his expression was a question.

‘The Riftwar?’ Tomas added, with a laugh.

Pug returned the laugh. ‘I know what you mean, but what I mean is, why didn’t you think of this before?’

It was Tomas’s turn to look perplexed. ‘I don’t know. I just assumed the presence of the Dreadmaster in the City Forever and the Dreadlord at Sethanon were part of the Valheru attempt to distract us. I assumed somehow the Pantathians made contact with those creatures –’

Acaila interrupted. ‘You have memories and some knowledge, and great power, Tomas, but you lack experience. You are less than a century of age, yet you wear powers not gained in five times that span.’ He looked around the gathering. ‘We are as children when we speak of beings like the Valheru and Dreadlords. We are presuming when we attempt to understand them, or apprehend their purpose.’

Pug said, ‘I grant that, but we must try, for there are things that cannot be allowed to simply come to us; we must discover the purpose behind those who seek to take the Lifestone and end us all.’

Miranda said, ‘All of which brings us back to this: we know little and we need to find Macros the Black, and you still haven’t suggested where we start to look.’

Pug looked defeated. ‘I don’t know.’

Acaila said, ‘Perhaps you should cease looking for a place, and begin looking for a person.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Pug.

The ancient elf said, ‘You spoke of a sense of Macros being close by. Perhaps it is time to turn your focus on that sense, look for the presence, and let it lead you to the man.’

Pug said, ‘I don’t imagine how that is possible.’

‘You studied with me for a brief time, Pug. There are many things we have to teach you still. Let me instruct you and Miranda now.’

Pug looked at his companion, who nodded.

‘Do I need to come along?’ asked Tomas.

Acaila looked at the Warleader of Elvandar and shook his head. ‘You’ll know when it is time to leave, Tomas.’

To those of the Queen’s Court he said, ‘We will need to retire to the contemplation glade. Tathar, I would appreciate your help in this matter.’

The old elven adviser bowed to his Queen and said, ‘By your leave, lady?’

She nodded and the four of them left the Queen and Tomas’s private quarters. Down through the bowers that formed the elven city in the trees they moved, until they came to the ground, where large cookfires were brightly burning.

They moved silently away from the heart of Elvandar until at last they came to a tranquil glade. Here Tomas and Aglaranna had pledged their vows; here only those ceremonies most important to the elves were conducted.

Pug said, ‘We are honored.’

‘It is necessary,’ said Acaila. ‘Here our magic is most potent, and I suspect we need to use it to ensure your survival.’

‘What do you propose?’

‘Tomas spoke to me of your previous travels to the Halls of the Dead, through the entrance at the Necropolis of the Gods. While we have a different vision of the universe and its order, we elves understand your human vision enough to know that only Tomas’s raw strength allowed you to survive that journey.’

‘I awoke with my lungs burning and feeling as if I had been frozen to my bones,’ said Pug.

Acaila said, ‘You do not enter the realm of death while you are alive – not unless you make extensive preparations.’

Pug said, ‘Are we to return to Lims-Kragma’s halls?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Acaila. ‘That is why we must do what we are to do here. Time passes differently in other realms, that much we remember from our Master’s travels across the dimensions. You may be gone but hours, yet experience years. You may be gone months, yet experience minutes. We have no means to know which will be true. However long it takes, you are to leave your bodies for a while. Tathar and I will ensure your bodies are ready to receive you when you return. We shall keep you alive.’

Miranda said, ‘We appreciate the effort.’

Pug turned and saw her dubious expression. ‘You don’t have to come,’ he said.

‘I must,’ she said. ‘You’ll understand.’

‘When?’

‘Soon, I think,’ she answered.

‘What must we do?’ Pug asked Acaila.

‘Lie down,’ he answered.

They did as he bade and he said, ‘First, you must remember what I said about the passage of time. This is important, for you must hurry while you are in spirit form. If you linger but for an hour, months may pass here on Midkemia, and we know how quickly the enemy approaches. Second, your bodies will follow your spirits. When you return, you may not find yourselves here. If all goes as we hope, you will arrive where you need to be, and Tathar and I will know you were successful because you will awaken here or your bodies will vanish from our sight. Last, we cannot help you return. This is something you must accomplish by your own arts. We shall know if you fail only when your bodies die despite our efforts. Our arts can do only so much.

‘Now close your eyes and attempt to sleep. You will see visions. When they first come to you, they will be as dreams. But they will become more real to you as the moments pass. When I call to you, stand up.’

Pug and Miranda closed their eyes. Pug heard Acaila’s voice as the ancient eldar Spellweaver began chanting. There was something tantalizingly familiar about the words, but he could not quite recognize them. It was as if he heard the words of a song forgotten the moment he heard the words.

Soon he dreamed of Elvandar. He could see the faint glow of the magic-imbued trees above him, as if his eyes were open. But they appeared to him as brilliant shimmering colors, blues and greens, golds and whites, reds and oranges, and the sky was as black as the darkest tunnel under the mountains.

Pug ‘looked’ deep into that void and soon found specks of color appearing against the blackness. Time passed unnoticed as he saw the spirits of stars dance across the heavens. A strange, distant keening sound intruded on his awareness, also familiar yet unrecognized.

Time continued to slip by, and Pug was lost in an awareness unlike anything he had ever experienced. The texture of the universe lay open to him, not the outer shapes, or even the illusions of matter and time, but the very fabric of reality. He wondered if this was the ‘stuff’ Nakor spoke of, the fundamental matter of all that was.

His mind started to soar, to voyage through the distances, and he discovered he could move at will from place to place. Yet he sensed he still lay in the grove. Something about his body had changed, and he felt alien powers and odd sensations course through him.

Not since his time on the Tower of Testing, high above the Assembly on the distant world of Kelewan, had he felt so connected to the world around him. Thinking of that time in his life, he turned and looked ‘down’ at Midkemia.

Suddenly he floated miles above the highest peaks of the Kingdom, with seas and coastlines looking like maps to his perception. But rather than flat lifeless things, the very land and seas were living things, pulsing with power and beauty.

He shifted his perceptions and saw every fish swimming in the sea. How very much like being a god! he thought.

‘Pug.’ A distant call and one that almost caused him to lose his perception.

‘Find Macros,’ came the instruction. ‘And ’ware the time!’

He glanced one way and another, and every being on the world had a signature of energy, a line of force that started at Sethanon, at the Lifestone, which bound all living things in Midkemia together. As time passed, lines vanished as beings died, and new lines sprouted from it as births occurred. It looked like nothing so much as an emerald fountain of pulsing energy, life incarnate, and it took Pug’s breath away.

Among the myriad strands he sought one, one with a familiar quality to it. He lost track of time, and did not know if hours or years passed, yet eventually he saw something familiar.

The Sorcerer! he thought as he saw a particular pulsing line of force. How strong and distinct it was, he thought as he focused. But it was odd. It existed in two places at the same time.

‘Arise!’ came the spoken command, and Pug stood up.

He saw Acaila and Tathar, but they looked alien to him, beings of coarse matter and finite energy, while he was a creature of enhanced perception and unlimited power. He glanced at Miranda and saw a being of stunning beauty.

She wore no clothing and revealed no hint of sex. Where he should have seen breast and hips, as familiar to him as his own body, he saw only smoothness, featureless and without distinguishing marks. Her face was an oval, with a pair of burning lights where eyes should be. She had no nose. A single slit where her mouth should have been moved, but rather than his hearing her voice, her mind touched his.

‘Pug?’ Miranda asked.

‘Yes,’ he answered.

‘Do I look as odd to you as you do to me?’ she said.

‘You look stunning,’ he replied.

Suddenly he was seeing himself through her eyes. He was as featureless as she. They were of like height and they both existed with a shimmer of energy illuminating them from within. Neither had hair or sexual organs, teeth or fingernails.

From a great distance they heard Acaila’s voice. ‘What you see are your true selves. Look down.’

They did, and saw their own bodies lying on the grass, as if asleep.

‘Hurry, now,’ said Acaila. ‘Follow the thread that leads you to Macros, for the longer you are out of your bodies, the harder it will be for you to return. We will keep you alive, and when it comes time to return, you only have to think of it. Your bodies will appear wherever you need them to be,’ he repeated. ‘May your gods protect you.’

Pug sent, ‘We understand.’ He said to Miranda, ‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Where do we go?’

With a thought he made the thread appear to her, and he said, ‘We follow that!’

‘Where does it lead?’ she asked as he reached out with his mind and ‘took her hand’ leading her along the thread’s path.

‘Don’t you sense it?’ he asked. ‘It is going to the one place I should have expected it to lead us. It’s taking us to the Celestial City. We travel to the home of the gods!’

• Chapter Six • Infiltration

Calis pointed.

Erik nodded, then signaled for his squad to move out behind him. The men duck-walked in the gully, keeping their heads below the rim of the wash through which they were approaching their opposition.

Erik was both sick to death of this drilling and frantic that it might not be enough. In the six months since he had taken the first band of soldiers into the mountains, he had judged he had a solid twelve hundred soldiers under his command, reliable men who would survive on their own for as long as possible.

There were another six hundred men who were close, needing a bit more training.

The band he led now were those he feared would never become the soldiers needed to win this coming war.

Alfred tapped him on the shoulder and Erik turned. The corporal pointed to a man on the other side of the gully, who was not walking as instructed, letting the discomfort in his knees drive him to recklessness.

Erik nodded, and Alfred nearly dove to get to the man and pull him to the floor of the gully. Sharp rocks cut both men, but Alfred’s hand clamped hard over the soldier’s mouth, preventing his cry from being heard by the nearby sentries. Erik could hear his corporal’s whisper: ‘Now, Davy, your sore knees just got you and your comrades killed.’

A distant voice told Erik the exercise was a failure, and as if reading Erik’s mind, Calis stood and said, ‘This is done.’

Erik and the others rose and Alfred jerked the soldier named Davy to his feet with one powerful tug. Now his voice was unleashed in all its volume and fury. ‘You rock-headed layabout! You sorry excuse for a water boy! You’ll regret the day your father looked at your mother when I’m done with you.’

Calis heard a challenge, turned, and called out the password. He motioned to Erik, and the Sergeant Major and his Captain walked away from the men. Calis said, ‘Corporal, start them back to camp.’

Alfred shouted, ‘You heard the Captain! Back to camp! Quick march!’

The soldiers set out at a ragged run, and the Corporal harried them every step of the way.

Calis watched in silence until the men were out of sight; then he said, ‘We have a problem.’

Erik nodded. The sun was setting in the west and he said, ‘Each day about this time, I feel as if we’ve lost another step. We’re never going to get six thousand men trained in time.’

‘I know,’ said Calis.

Erik looked at his Captain and sought any hint of his mood. In the years he had spent with Calis he had come no closer to being able to read him than he had the first day they had met. He was an enigma to Erik, as unreadable as one of those foreign texts William kept in his library. Calis smiled. ‘That’s not the problem. Don’t worry. We’ll have our six thousand men in the field when the time comes. They won’t be as well trained as either of us would like, but the core will be solid, and that backbone of really fine soldiers will help keep the others alive.’ He studied his young Sergeant Major’s face for a while, then said, ‘You forget that the one thing you can’t teach is the seasoning you get in combat. Some of the men you judge fit will get themselves killed in the first few minutes, while some you would wager everything you have will perish will survive, even flourish in the midst of the carnage.’

His smile vanished. ‘No, the problem I speak of is we’ve been infiltrated.’

Erik said, ‘Infiltrated? A spy?’

‘Several, I suspect. It’s a hunch, nothing more. Those we face are occasionally heavy-handed, but they’re never stupid.’

Erik thought it time to broach his own unease. ‘Is that why the Prince’s guards are ensuring no one sees the Royal Engineers building supply roads along the rear of Nightmare Ridge?’

‘Nightmare Ridge?’ asked Calis. His expression was clear to Erik. He wasn’t being disingenuous, he didn’t recognize the name.

‘That’s what we call it in Ravensburg,’ answered Erik. ‘It’s probably called something else up north.’ He glanced around. ‘I ran a company up into the north and took them farther than usual. We ran into a company of Pathfinders and a bunch of Prince Patrick’s Household Guards. I could hear the sound of tools coming from the other side of the valley we entered, echoing from behind the ridge: trees being felled, anvils striking steel, and spikes being driven into rock. The Prince’s corps of engineers is building a road. That ridge runs all the way from the Teeth of the World down through Darkmoor, and halfway to Kesh. It’s almost impossible to cross anywhere there isn’t a road, and more than one traveler’s been found dead up there. That’s why we call it Nightmare Ridge. You get lost anywhere up there in cold weather, you’re a dead man.’

Calis nodded. ‘That’s the place. You weren’t supposed to be there, Erik. Captain Subai was not pleased, nor was Prince Patrick. But yes, that’s why no one is permitted to go there, in case the enemy does have agents snooping around outside Krondor.’

Erik blurted, ‘You’re going to abandon the city.’

Calis sighed. ‘I wish it were that simple.’ He was silent as he watched the sunset. Brilliant orange and pink faced by black clouds far away, over the sea, gave an unreal quality to the approaching evening, as if nothing that beautiful should exist in the same world as the coming evil.

Calis looked at Erik. ‘We have several plans in place. You need worry only about the disposition of soldiers under your command. You’ll be told where to take them and what your options are. Once you are in the mountains with your soldiers, you’ll have to make the decisions, Erik. You’ll have to judge what is best for both your men and the overall campaign. A great deal will ride on your judgment.

‘But until the Prince and Knight-Marshal are ready to brief you on the overall operation, I will not give you details you might blurt out to the wrong person.’

‘The infiltrators?’

‘That, or if you’re abducted and some agent of the Pantathians doses you with some potion to make you speak, or if they have mind readers like the Lady Gamina in their employ. We have no idea what might happen. That’s why whatever you hear you share with no man, and you’re only to be told what you need to know.’

Erik nodded. ‘I’m worried …’

‘About the girl?’

Erik was surprised. ‘You know about that?’

Calis motioned they should start walking after the departing soldiers, and said, ‘What sort of Captain would I be if I didn’t know about my Sergeant Major’s life outside the barracks?’

Erik had no answer for that. He said, ‘Of course I’m worried about Kitty. I’m worried about Roo and his family, too. I’m worried about everybody.’

‘Now you’re starting to sound like Bobby, though he would never have voiced it that way.’ Calis smiled. ‘He’d have said, “We’ve got too damn much work to do and half the time needed, and a bunch of incompetent fools doing it.”’

Erik laughed. ‘That sounds like him.’

‘I miss him, Erik. I know you do, as well, but Bobby was one of the first I picked. The first of my “desperate men.”’

Erik said, ‘I thought you fetched him from the Border Barons to work for you.’

Calis laughed. ‘Bobby would have put it that way. He failed to mention he was going to be hanged for having killed another soldier in a brawl. I had to beat him a half-dozen times to get him to control his temper.’

‘Beat him?’ asked Erik, negotiating his way over a large rock, as they followed the gully downward.

‘I told him each time he lost his temper I’d strip to the waist and we’d have at it. If he was standing and I was not, he was a free man. It took that fool six beatings before he finally realized I was a great deal stronger than I look.’

Erik knew that was the truth. The Captain’s father was a man called Tomas, some sort of lord or another up in the north. By all rumors, his mother was the Elf Queen. But whatever the truth of his parentage, Calis’s strength was unmatched by that of any man Erik had run across. The former smith from Ravensburg had been the strongest man in his village, and of all those soldiers who had served with him on his first voyage to Novindus, only the huge man named Biggo was his equal. But Calis had done things that Erik could only judge impossible. He had once seen the Captain easily pick up a wagon so Erik could replace the wheel, when Erik knew from experience he would have needed the help of at least two other men to duplicate the feat.

Considering Bobby de Loungville’s nature, Erik said, ‘I’m surprised you didn’t have to kill him.’

Calis laughed. ‘I came close, twice. Bobby wasn’t a man to take defeat easily. When I came back from that first trip to Novindus, and we came limping into Krondor harbor like whipped hounds, Prince Arutha called me the “Eagle” because of the banner on our ship.’ Erik nodded. He knew as well as any man that in that distant land Calis played the part of a mercenary captain, and his company was called the Crimson Eagles. ‘Bobby elected to call himself the Dog of Krondor. Prince Arutha seemed less than pleased, but said nothing.’

Calis stopped and restrained Erik. ‘Don’t say anything to anyone about what you suspect, Erik. I don’t want to lose another Sergeant Major. Bobby may have fancied himself a dog, but he was a loyal and tough one. You’re just as loyal and just as tough, though you don’t know it yet.’

Erik nodded at the compliment. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘I’m not through. I don’t want to lose another Sergeant Major because Duke James hanged him to keep him silent.’ He looked Erik in the eyes. ‘Do I make myself clear?’

‘Very.’

‘Come along, then, we’ve got to march this lot back to Krondor and hand them over to William to turn into garrison rats. If they somehow find themselves in the mountains, they may survive a little longer than the average soldier, so we’ve done them a favor, but none of these men will be of service to us.’

Erik said, ‘That’s the truth.’

‘Go find me some more men, Erik. Desperate men if you must, but get me some men we can train.’

‘Where should I seek them?’ asked Erik.

Calis said, ‘Go see the King before he leaves Krondor. If you ask him nicely, he may give you a warrant so you can steal the Border Barons’ best men from them. The Barons will not be happy when you do this, but if we lose this war, invasion from the Northlands is the last thing we’ll need worry about.’

Erik, remembering the map of the Kingdom in William’s office, said, ‘That means a journey to Northwarden, Ironpass, and Highcastle.’

‘Start with Ironpass,’ instructed Calis. ‘You’ll have to move fast, and while you’re bringing the men south, march them through the Dimwood and avoid Sethanon. Get them here as soon as you can.’ Then with what Erik had come to think of as Calis’s evil grin, he said, ‘You have two months.’

Erik suppressed a groan. ‘I need three!’

‘Kill some mounts getting there if you must, but you have two. I need another six hundred good men, two hundred from each of those garrisons here in Krondor in two months.’

‘That will leave them with less than half their standard garrison! All of the Barons will object.’

‘Of course they’ll object,’ said Calis with a laugh. ‘That’s why you need the King’s Warrant.’

Erik hesitated, then set off in a jog, leaving a startled Calis behind. ‘Where are you running to?’

‘Krondor,’ said Erik. ‘I need all the time I can squeeze, and there’s someone I must say good-bye to.’

Calis’s laughter faded into the background as Erik continued to run. He was still running when he passed a startled Alfred and the men marching back to camp.

Erik had spent a difficult day with the King and then with Kitty. While the King wasn’t too adverse to stripping his northern garrisons of soldiers needed there to defend his realm from the marauding goblins and dark elves, he was less than enthused with Calis entrusting the task of selecting those men to a sergeant. He reminded Erik that he carried court rank now, and he shouldn’t let any of the Barons question his right to carry out those orders, but silently Erik wondered how he would force a nobleman with nearly four hundred armed men trained to obey to do what Erik wanted should the King’s Warrant prove insufficient.

He told Jadow that Calis would be returning later with the men who were to be reassigned to the Prince’s garrison, and then left to find Kitty.

She took the news of his two-month absence with a calm exterior, but Erik had come to know her well enough to see she was upset. He wished he could spend one more day with her, but knew that Calis’s time limit was nearly impossible.

They slipped out of the inn and spent an emotional hour together, and at the end Erik had come as close as he dared to breaking his word to Calis about not repeating what he suspected. He just warned Kitty that should he not be around when that ‘something big’ she suspected finally happened, she should slip out of Krondor and head to Ravensburg. He knew that when word of the invaders finally reached the city, there would be a little time to flee before the Prince ordered the city sealed. Kitty was smart enough to know what he meant and she would head to the Inn of the Pintail in Ravensburg to be with Freida, his mother, and Nathan, his stepfather. He promised he would find her there.

Erik left two hours before sundown. He knew he would have to put up at an inn along the way, but every hour he could steal would be worth the extra expense. Besides, he was spending the King’s gold, not his own.

Sundown found him still an hour from the nearest inn. The little moon was up, so it wasn’t completely dark, and the King’s Highway was a clearly marked way, but Erik walked his horse rather than risk an injury by having the animal stumble.

His horse was a tough little roan gelding he had selected himself. It wasn’t as strong or as large as most of the horses in the Prince’s stable, but it was likely to possess more endurance than most of the animals Erik might choose.

He would switch mounts often on this journey, and he would be in the saddle from before dawn to after dusk for nearly two weeks to reach Ironpass, and even then he would have to push the horses to the end of their endurance, but it could be done.

Silently Erik cursed his Captain and rode into the night.

Nakor pointed. ‘There, again!’

Sho Pi nodded. ‘As it was last time, Master.’

Nakor resisted the impulse to tell the young man to cease calling him master. It was as pointless as telling a dog not to scratch fleas.

‘Keshian patrols along the south coast of the Sea of Dreams,’ observed Nakor. ‘Last time Calis informed the garrison commander, yet here again we see Keshian lancers riding with their colors unfurled.’ After a moment, he laughed.

‘What is funny, Master?’

Nakor struck the young man lightly with the back of his hand on Sho Pi’s shoulder. ‘It’s obvious, boy. Lord Arutha has made a deal.’

‘A deal?’ asked Sho Pi as the boat’s Captain turned his craft toward the shore.

‘You’ll see,’ said the little man.

He and his disciple had taken ship from Krondor and sailed through the inlet into the waterway between the Bitter Sea and the Sea of Dreams. They were now on a river boat heading to Port Shamata, where they would buy horses and ride to Stardock. Nakor carried documents for Lord Arutha and orders from Prince Patrick and Duke James. Nakor had a nagging suspicion he knew what was in those documents, for several of them bore the King’s own crest, not that of the Prince.

The balance of the journey passed uneventfully, and eventually, Nakor and Sho Pi found themselves on the raft that served to carry passengers and goods across the Great Star Lake to the island of Stardock, and the community of magicians that resided there.

Arutha, Lord Vencar, Earl of the King’s Court and son of Duke James, met them at the landing. ‘Nakor, Sho Pi! It’s good to see you two again.’ He laughed. ‘Our last meeting was far too brief.’

Nakor also laughed. He had spent less than two minutes in the newly arrived Earl’s company before departing with Sho Pi and Pug to travel to Elvandar.

As they jumped the narrowing gap between barge and dock, Nakor said, ‘I have messages from your father.’

Arutha said, ‘Come with me, then.’

‘How did you know we were on the barge?’ asked Nakor.

As they walked to the huge building that was Stardock, the man the King had sent to administer the island of magicians said, ‘Something mundane. Our lookout saw you from up there.’ He pointed to one of the windows in a high tower. ‘He sent word to me.’

‘Must be one of my students,’ said Nakor, nodding.

Inside the building, they traversed a long hall and moved toward what Nakor knew would be Arutha’s office. It was the same one he had taken when he had been placed in charge of the island by Calis. ‘Are Chalmes, Kalied, and the others giving you any trouble?’ asked Nakor.

At mention of the Keshian-born traditionalist who resisted the idea of this island’s being subject to the King’s law, Arutha shook his head and said, ‘None worth mentioning. They grouse a bit now and again, but as long as they’re free to teach and do their research, they don’t complain too much about my administration.’

Nakor said, ‘I suspect they’re plotting.’

‘No doubt,’ agreed Arutha as they reached his office, ‘but I think it won’t amount to much without outside help. They’re too spineless to attempt to secede from the Kingdom without a strong ally.’

Once inside the office, Arutha closed the door. ‘And we’re prepared for that,’ said the Earl as he took the packet of documents his father had sent. ‘Excuse me a moment,’ he said, and broke the seal on the first of those, a personal message from the Duke.

As he read, Nakor studied the Earl. He was as tall as his father, but looked more like his mother, with fine features and an almost delicate mouth. His eyes, though, thought Nakor, were his father’s; they were dangerous. His hair was like his father’s, too, as it had been when James was a young man: tight dark brown curls.

After a moment, Arutha said, ‘Do you know what’s in here?’

‘No,’ said Nakor, ‘but I can guess. Erland has just returned from Kesh. Did he pass this way?’

Arutha laughed. ‘Not much gets by you, does it?’

‘When you’ve lived by your wits as long as I have,’ said Nakor, ‘you learn to pay attention to everything.’

‘Yes, Erland stopped for one night on his way home.’

‘Then you’ve made a deal with Kesh.’

Arutha said, ‘Let’s say we’ve come to an understanding.’

If Sho Pi was lost in the conversation, he gave no sign, seemingly content to let his master and the Earl speak uninterrupted.

Nakor laughed. ‘Your father is the most evil, dangerous man I’ve ever met. It’s a good thing he’s on our side.’

Arutha looked rueful. ‘You’ll get no argument from me in that regard. My life has never been my own.’

Nakor took the message as Arutha handed it across the desk. ‘You don’t seem particularly bothered by this,’ observed the gambler.

Arutha shrugged. ‘I had the usual rebellious nature most young men possess, but truth to tell, most of what my father had me do was interesting; challenging even. My sons, as you may have gathered, were a completely different case. My wife is quite a bit more forgiving of “adventuresome” natures than my mother was.’ He stood up as Nakor read the Duke’s message. ‘I have often thought what Father’s life must have been like, to be literally raised a thief in the sewers of Krondor.’ He glanced out a small window that overlooked the shoreline. ‘I’ve heard enough “Jimmy the Hand” stories to last a lifetime.’

‘I didn’t think your father was much on bragging,’ observed Sho Pi as Nakor continued to read.

‘Not from Father, but from others,’ said Arutha. ‘Father has changed the history of the Kingdom.’ He fell into a thoughtful silence. ‘It can be a difficult thing to be the son of a great man.’

Nakor said, ‘People expect much of a great man’s son.’ He put the document on the desk. ‘You want me to stay?’

‘For a while,’ said Arutha. ‘I need someone trustworthy here when this all breaks out. I need some reassurance that Chalmes and the others don’t react badly.’

‘Oh, they’ll react badly enough when they see what your father and Prince Erland have cooked up,’ said Nakor with a small laugh, ‘but I’ll make sure no one gets hurt.’

‘Good. I’ll leave next week, after I’ve seen to a few more necessary details.’

‘You need to return to Krondor?’ asked Nakor.

Arutha nodded. ‘I know my father.’

Nakor sighed. ‘I understand.’

Arutha said, ‘You have the same rooms as before, so rest and I’ll see you at dinner.’

Sensing they were being dismissed, Sho Pi rose and opened the door for Nakor.

After they had left the Earl’s office, Sho Pi said, ‘Master, what did you mean by asking Lord Arutha if he needed to return?’

‘His father ordered him to Rillanon, on a thin pretext of carrying messages to the King,’ said Nakor as they turned a corner leading to the suite of rooms set aside for them. Climbing a flight of stairs, Nakor continued, ‘Arutha knows his father is unlikely to leave Krondor when the fighting starts. He wants to see that his sons don’t stay with their grandfather.’

‘I know war is risky,’ said the former soldier, ‘but why should the Duke’s grandsons be at any greater risk than anyone else?’

‘Because it is unlikely that anyone who is in Krondor when the Queen’s fleet arrives will survive,’ Nakor answered flatly.

Sho Pi remained silent as they reached their quarters.

Erik signaled and the riders stopped. One of his scouts was riding back toward him. He had spent the better part of two months raiding the Border Barons for their best men, and now almost six hundred men rode in three columns spread out over twenty miles and a half behind him. It had been an exhausting ride, and Erik was cursing Calis with almost every mile of it, but he had his men.

Each Border Baron he had visited had read the King’s Warrant with a mix of disbelief and outrage. Each Baron was unique in that he was a vassal of the Crown, answerable to no Earl or Duke. To have a mere sergeant major of the Prince’s garrison walk in with orders to let him handpick men to be taken away, while promises of replacements were vague at best, was more than they could withstand.

Baron Northwarden had even considered attempting to hold Erik for confirmation of the order, but by then Erik had an armed company of nearly two hundred men with him and the Baron thought better of it.

At Highcastle, the Baron merely looked as if another weight had been added to his already abundant burden, and complied with a minimum of complaint. Erik suspected the company of four hundred men wearing the livery of Northwarden and Ironpass also convinced him.

They had ridden through the vast grasslands of the High Wold, home to nomadic tribesmen, herding their sheep and trading with the Barons and those small villages that survived this close to the Northlands. Several times they had found camps recently abandoned, as if the approach of so many armed men had caused bandits to flee into the hills.

After the third such camp had been encountered, Erik had ordered two of the men from Ironpass to ride advance scout. Erik found it slightly discomforting to think of any problems this far within the border of the Kingdom, but of all the lands between the Far Coast and the Kingdom Sea, those lands between the Teeth of the World – the great northern mountain range – and the boundary of the Dimwood were among the most hostile. Raiding parties of goblins and dark elves were known to have traveled as far south as Sethanon in the years before the Riftwar, and no matter the frequency of Kingdom patrols through these areas, they still remained wild and inhospitable.

They were presently riding through light woodlands, leading toward the far denser Dimwood, and now Erik had lost count of the ideal places for ambush he had ridden past.

The first scout reined in and said, ‘An armed camp, Sergeant Major. At least a hundred men.’

‘What?’ said Erik. ‘Did anyone see you?’

‘No, they post no scouts and seemed unconcerned about it; I believe they think themselves alone here.’

‘Could you mark them?’

‘No banner flew and they wore neither uniform nor tabard. They look like brigands.’

Erik dismissed the scout and turned to the man he had named acting Corporal, a sergeant from Ironpass named Garret. ‘I want a skirmish line behind us by fifty yards – half the men. At the first sound of trouble, I want them to sweep in from either side. The rest should ready themselves to hit hard up the middle if needed, by column of two. Get four of your best and ride with me.’

At least a decade Erik’s senior, the man showed no hesitation in taking orders from the younger man. Erik liked his attitude and his discipline and planned on making him a sergeant as soon as possible, because in Garret he sensed someone who’d keep his men alive.

That was the one thing about Calis’s plan Erik grudgingly approved of: the men he had been sent to fetch had been hardened by years of fighting goblins, dark elves, and bandits. Most of them were mountain fighters by experience, and it would take little to meld them into the force Erik already had under his command.

Like the trained soldiers they were, the first twenty men spread out behind Erik. He told Garret, ‘Get ready for trouble.’

Orders were passed, and Erik, Garret, and the four men he had chosen rode forward.

They slowly picked their way through the trees and came within sight of campfires. Close to eighty men lay about or stood talking in a clearing in the woods. A few dozen tents of various size were erected in haphazard fashion, and some men tended cooking fires and saw to provisions near the middle of the clearing. Erik saw baggage wagons and horses staked out near the far edge. To Garret he said, ‘This is no band of outlaws.’

The older soldier nodded silent agreement. ‘We better hit them hard.’ There was no question in his mind; they were heading for a fight. Erik wondered. While it was not quite midday, many of the men were sleeping. Erik held up his hand and spoke softly. ‘They’re waiting for someone.’

‘How do you know, Sergeant Major?’ asked Garret.

‘They’re bored and they’ve been here for at least a week.’ He pointed to a slit trench over to their right.

Garret said, ‘I can smell it. You’re right. They’ve been here for a while.’

‘And unless I’m mistaken, there’s nothing here worth waiting for, so they’re waiting for someone else to show up.’

‘Who?’

‘That’s what I intend to find out.’

He motioned the men forward and they walked their horses to within sight of the camp.

A bored soldier sat polishing his sword and he glanced up as Erik and the others hove into view. His eyes widened and he shouted.

As soon as Erik heard the man’s voice, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he shouted to the rear, ‘Attack!’

Swords were in hands without thought and the sound of the riders coming hard filled the afternoon air. In the camp, men ran to bedrolls and pulled on armor as they could, or grabbed shields and swords, bows and arrows, and the fight began.

As Erik had planned, the column of twos rode into the center of the camp behind him just as the sweeping skirmish line encircled the camp. Men screamed as arrows filled the air and steel rang upon steel as the riders swept into the clearing. Many of the men who rode with Erik were mounted bowmen and quickly picked off targets as men struggled to don armor.

Erik rode down two men as he headed for the center of the camp. Whoever led these men was certain to be there, and he intended to find the leader before some overly eager Kingdom archer skewered him with a bowshaft.

Erik saw the leader.

The man was an oasis of calm as those around him ran in every direction. He shouted orders and attempted to bend his men by force of will into an effective fighting force. Erik put heels to his horse and charged him.

The leader sensed more than saw Erik approach, so intent was he on directing his men. He turned to see the horse and rider almost on top of him and dove to one side, avoiding Erik’s charge.

Erik turned his mount and found the man now armed with sword and shield, quickly retrieved from the ground. Erik knew he faced a tough opponent, for the man had dived in the direction of his weapons. He would not rattle.

Erik knew better than to charge him again, for to do so was to risk having the man duck under his attack and hamstring his horse. He was probably calm and confident enough to attempt that dangerous move.

His men were taking a terrible toll on those in camp, and Erik circled his opposite number, waiting. The man eyed him warily, ready for the charge that didn’t come, and Erik shouted, ‘Keep as many of them alive as possible.’

When it became clear that the men in the camp were hopelessly outclassed by those on horseback, soldiers began throwing down their weapons and crying for quarter.

Quickly the matter resolved itself in Erik’s favor, and when at last there was no doubt, the leader threw down his weapon. Erik knew that in Novindus, it was the accepted sign of surrender by mercenaries.

Erik glanced around and saw a banner lying on the ground. The emblem was familiar to him. Erik rode his horse toward the man. Garret and the other soldiers looked perplexed as the Prince’s Sergeant Major spoke in a strange tongue.

To the man, Erik said, ‘Duga and his War Dogs, if I’m not mistaken.’

The man nodded. ‘Who are you?’

‘I rode with Calis’s Crimson Eagles.’

Captain Duga, mercenary leader of one hundred swords, sighed. ‘You were to be killed on sight, and that was on the other side of the world.’

‘You’ve come a long way,’ observed Erik.

‘That’s the truth.’ He glanced around and saw his men being disarmed by Erik’s. ‘What now?’

‘That depends. If you cooperate, you’ll get a chance to stay alive. If you don’t …’

‘I won’t break oath,’ Duga said.

Erik studied the man. He had been almost a classic mercenary captain in Novindus. Clever, if not intelligent, but smart enough to keep his men alive, a requirement of any captain. He’d be tough enough to keep a surly band of cutthroats in line, and he’d be honest enough to keep contracts, else no one would hire him.

‘No oath need be broken. You’re our prisoner, but we can hardly give you parole to return home.’

Bitterly the man said, ‘I don’t even know where home is.’

Erik pointed to the southwest. ‘That way – on the other side of the world, as you said.’

‘Care to loan us a boat?’ Duga asked with bitter irony.

‘Perhaps. If you share some information with us, you might find yourselves with some opportunity to return home.’ Erik didn’t comment on how slim the chance of that occurring might be.

‘Talk,’ said Duga.

‘Start with, how did you get here?’

‘Through one of those magic gates the snake men make.’ He shrugged. ‘They offered a bonus for any captain who led his men through.’ He glanced around. ‘Though where I’ll spend it, the gods only know.’

Erik said, ‘How long have you been here?’

‘Three weeks.’

‘Who are you waiting for?’

‘I don’t know,’ said the Captain of mercenaries from Novindus. ‘All I know is the orders from General Fadawah were simple. Go through this rift thing and find a place to camp nearby. Then wait.’

‘For what?’

‘I don’t know. I just know we were told to wait.’

Erik felt a stab of uncertainty. Until the next element of his column arrived, he had almost as many prisoners as he had men to guard them, and at any moment new enemies might appear. Thinking quickly, he said, ‘Limited parole. You’ll not be harmed, but we won’t let you ride away. We’ll negotiate better terms when we get to our camp.’

The mercenary considered it for a moment, then said, ‘Done.’ With obvious relief, he shouted to his men, ‘No more fighting. Now, let’s eat!’

Erik once more was amazed at the attitude of mercenaries from Novindus, who treated conflict and fighting as jobs, who faced men across the line one day who might have been allies the year before, and might be again someday, and who carried little or no ill will as a result.

Erik motioned to Garret and said, ‘After things settle down, make camp and let the men eat.’

The Sergeant from Ironpass saluted, and started giving orders.

Erik stretched in the saddle and felt as if every bone were jangled out of its joint. His backside was sore and he couldn’t remember ever having been this tired. With a silent groan he dismounted and, smelling the food on the fires, realized he was hungry.

Before beginning the questioning of the prisoners, he paused once more to curse his Captain. He started to tend his horse and again paused a moment to curse Calis.

• Chapter Seven • Schemes

Roo nodded.

The trade delegate had been speaking for nearly an hour, and Roo had sensed the entire course of negotiations within the first five minutes, but protocol dictated he endure the entire presentation before declining the opportunity. Roo wished the man would come to the end, as he knew this meeting was entirely pointless.

Since seizing control of the grain market in the Western Realm of the Kingdom, Roo had seen the control of his various companies, especially the Bitter Sea Company, grow by the month, until he had only one rival in the Western Realm in commerce: Jacob Esterbrook.

The one area where Jacob completely dominated was in trade with Kesh. The profitable luxury trade with the Empire was like a locked room to Roo, and no attempt of his to gain a foothold in that lucrative market had resulted in anything more than a minor contract or a marginally profitable trade.

He had again sought to gain a concession into Kesh, but now he was being told at great length by this minor Keshian functionary that his latest attempt would come to naught.

At long last the man finished, and Roo smiled at him. ‘So, to put it another way, the answer is no.’

The trade delegate blinked as if seeing something for the first time and said, ‘Oh, I think it too harsh to simply say “no,” Mr Avery.’ He put the tips of his fingers together. ‘It is far closer to the truth to say that such an arrangement is not feasible at this time. However, that is not to say that at some future date such an accommodation might not be possible.’

Roo glanced out the window of the upper floor of Barret’s Coffee House. Night was approaching. ‘The afternoon is late, sir, and I still have much to do before enjoying my evening meal. May I say that when next we speak, I plan on starting a great deal earlier in the day.’

The Keshian rose, his expression showing Roo’s humor was completely lost on him, and bowed slightly, then departed.

Duncan Avery, Roo’s cousin, sat almost asleep in the corner, and stretched as he rose. ‘Finally,’ he said.

Luis de Savona, Roo’s general manager, said, ‘I agree. Finally.’

Roo said, ‘Well, we had to try.’ He sat back in his chair, glanced at the coffee and rolls that had sat upon the table for hours and were now cold and stale, and said, ‘Someday I’m going to figure out how Jacob has such a stranglehold on Keshian trade. It’s almost as if …’ He left the thought unfinished.

‘As if what?’ asked Duncan.

Luis glanced at Roo’s cousin. The two men barely got along, though they remained civil with one another. Luis, a former comrade-in-arms with Roo, was hardworking, conscientious, and meticulous in every detail of whatever task lay before him. Duncan was lazy, paid no attention to detail, and was in Roo’s employ only because he was his cousin. He was also charming, funny, and an excellent swordsman, and Roo enjoyed his company.

Luis said, ‘When did you become interested in trade?’

Duncan shrugged. ‘Roo started to say something. I just wondered what. That’s all.’

Roo said, ‘Never mind. I have some things I need to investigate.’

Duncan said, ‘Anything you want me to do?’

Roo shook his head. ‘No, but I need to speak to Duke James.’ He stood, walked to the rail, and shouted down, ‘Dash?’

‘Yes, Mr Avery,’ came the response from below. Dash looked up from a Bitter Sea Company desk where he was going over shipping invoices with two of Roo’s scribes. ‘What can I do for you, sir?’ While informal when alone with his employer, Dash always observed the formalities at Barret’s and other public places.

‘I need to see your grandfather at his earliest convenience.’

‘Now?’ said Dash, half rising.

Roo waved him back into his chair. ‘Tomorrow is soon enough.’

From the doorway a voice said, ‘Now would be better.’

Dash looked up as Roo craned his neck to see who spoke, and Dash said, ‘Grandfather!’

The Duke of Krondor entered, flanked by two palace guardsmen. A general stir sounded in the lower floor and several of the members rose and bowed slightly as word of the visitor spread. James came to the railing that prevented non-members from entering the trading floor, and one of the guards opened the gate. James passed through and mounted the stairs to the upper floor of Barret’s. It was a tremendous breach of protocol for a non-member to do so unless he was there on business, but Roo decided it wasn’t the time to inform the most powerful noble in the Kingdom of that detail.

James spoke to Luis and Duncan. ‘Leave us.’ He leaned over the railing and said, ‘Dash, ensure we’re undisturbed.’

Dash moved to the foot of the stairs and tried not to grin as he saw his grandfather’s guards also take up position at the foot of the stairway.

Keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard below, James said, ‘It’s time for us to do some business.’

Roo didn’t like the sound of that, but he shrugged. ‘Sooner or later.’

‘I need two million golden sovereigns.’

Roo blinked. His net worth was several times that, but he wasn’t that liquid. To put his hands on that much gold would require some restructuring of his business. ‘How soon do you need it?’

‘Yesterday, but tomorrow will suffice.’

‘And the interest?’

James smiled. ‘Whatever you like, within reason. You understand that we may not be in a position to repay this loan.’

Roo nodded. ‘If you can’t repay this loan, I doubt I’ll be in a position to complain.’

James said, ‘How soon can I see the gold?’

‘I can have a half-million golden sovereigns at the palace by the end of business tomorrow. The other million and a half will take a few days to arrange. I’m going to overtax most of the moneylenders in the city. I’m going to have to do some business in the East, as well.’ Leaning back, he said, ‘Would you do me the courtesy of a bit more advance notice next time, Your Grace?’

‘No,’ said James. ‘Things come up.’

‘Speaking of which,’ said Roo, ‘I just got another trade concession rejected by the Keshian trade legate. Is there anything you can do to help me overcome this problem?’

‘Possibly,’ said James. ‘Right now we’re doing a lot of business with Kesh.’

‘The gold?’ asked Roo, raising an eyebrow in question.

‘A very fat bribe for several well-placed Keshian nobles.’

‘Very fat,’ agreed Roo. ‘Are you attempting to overthrow the Emperor?’

James stood. ‘It would take a great deal more gold than that to even dream of such a move. There may not be enough gold in existence to overthrow Great Kesh.’ James hesitated, then said, ‘So you know. We have a southern border to worry about.’

Roo nodded. ‘I figured out that much by myself.’ He stretched and stood up. ‘I am interested in how you propose to deal with Kesh during the coming invasion.’

‘I’m working on several different contingencies,’ said James. ‘But one of them is to ensure that enough Keshian soldiers are in the right place to encourage the Emerald Queen’s army to stay where we want them.’

Roo nodded. ‘No sweeps south of Krondor, up into the mountains from the Vale of Dreams.’

‘Something like that. That sort of move would require that the Emerald Queen overrun the dwarves at Dorgin, which has never been done.’ James smiled ruefully. ‘But even old King Halfdan’s army would be put to rout by this host, I’m afraid.’

Roo shrugged. He had heard stories of the dwarves’ fierceness in warfare, but had never met one of them.

As James turned to leave, Roo came around the desk. ‘No need to see me to the door,’ said the Duke. ‘I can find my own way.’

As he reached the top of the stairs, he said, ‘Oh, by the way, stop trying to squirrel away your wealth in the East and the Free Cities. I’m going to need most of it for the war.’

Roo didn’t even attempt to look shocked or deny the truth; he had been taking small amounts of capital and moving it quietly out of Krondor. ‘Very well,’ he said with honest resignation in his voice. ‘Trying to outfox you is a waste of energy.’

James nodded. ‘Don’t forget it.’

He left and Roo stood alone, wondering again at his failed attempt to get a trade concession into Kesh. He had a theory, and he needed to put it to the test, but right now he had a more immediate concern: how to raise a huge amount of gold quickly without causing every moneylender in the city to double his interest rates.

He sighed as he thought about his planned visit to Sylvia. He would have to give Duncan a note to take to her, since he would be here until well past midnight. He sat down and started to write.

Once done, he called down to Dash. When Dashel was standing before him, Roo said, ‘Give this to Duncan to take to the Esterbrook house. He’ll know what to do.’ Roo stretched again. ‘Then please send word to my wife that your grandfather is keeping me too busy to come home for the next few days.’ Actually, Roo had already told his wife he was staying in the city to work, but had planned on seeing Sylvia that night. Now he felt obliged to see Sylvia the next night, or the one after that, before returning home.

Roo glanced out the window at the sunset, and he heard the city noises outside as the day wound down and shops began to close. ‘I need to take a break before I start doing your grandfather’s bidding,’ said Roo, standing up. ‘I think I’ll pay a visit to Helen Jacoby and her children.’

Dash nodded. ‘After that?’

‘I’m going to Avery and Son’s for an hour or so this evening,’ and with a sour face he added, ‘Then it’s back here. I’ll most likely be here all night.’

Dash nodded. ‘Anything else?’

‘No, that’s all. Come back here first thing in the morning. I expect I’ll have a great deal for you to do. Have Jason come along, as well.’

As Dash hurried toward the door, Roo walked down the stairway. He reached the entrance to Barret’s and considered crossing the street to his town house, to saddle up a horse and ride over to Helen’s. Then he decided he’d rather walk.

He wended his way through the busy streets. Roo never tired of the crowds and clamor of the city. A smalltown boy, he saw Krondor as a never-ending source of stimulation. Just by walking he could refresh himself and conceive of anything being possible. But today as he walked, the distant specter of the Emerald Queen and her approaching host intruded on his appreciation of the robust city.

On one level, he knew that eventually Krondor would be attacked, probably overrun. He had seen what happened when her conquering General Fadawah crushed a city: he had barely escaped the destruction of distant Maharta. He knew it was coming. He had a faint hope the Kingdom army, far better trained and more dedicated than anything encountered by the invaders, might keep them out of Krondor, but he recognized it was probably a vain hope.

On another level, the coming seemed an impossibility. He was rich beyond even his boyish dreams of avarice; he possessed the most beautiful woman in the world; and he had a son. Nothing remotely evil could be allowed to touch that perfection.

Roo stopped. He had been so intent on his imagining, he had neglected to turn on the street that led to Helen Jacoby’s home. He turned and thought he saw a figure duck out of sight. He quickened his steps and turned the corner, and glanced both ways.

Shopkeepers were closing for the day, and workers were hurrying along, either on their final errands for their masters, or to home or a friendly inn. But the figure he had glimpsed was nowhere to be seen.

Roo shook his head. It must be fatigue, he thought. But he couldn’t shake off the feeling he had been followed. He glanced around, then set off toward the Jacoby house.

He thought it had to be the realization that the Emerald Queen’s fleet was getting ready to sail. He didn’t have any direct intelligence, but he knew enough to understand it was a certainty.

He’d watched as her army had swept over the continent of Novindus, and had sat in council while plans were made to defend the Kingdom against her attack. He could read the signs. He provided as much transport as any firm in the Kingdom; he knew where the supplies were being stored; he knew where the shipments of arms and reserve horses were being readied. He knew the attack was coming soon.

It was early fall in Krondor, which meant it was spring on the other side of the world; soon the massive fleet would be loading, and would start its months-long voyage. Time and again Roo had heard Admiral Nicholas talk about the dangers of sailing through the Straits of Darkness. Difficult in the mildest of weather, it was nearly impossible in the winter. To bring so large a fleet through safely, the ideal time would be almost exactly upon Banapis, Midsummer’s Day. Tides and winds would make the narrow passage between the Endless Sea and the Bitter Sea clement enough for those inexperienced ship masters who must be in command of the bulk of the fleet. Given the wholesale carnage visited on Novindus by the Queen that Roo knew about, he couldn’t imagine there were six hundred competent captains left alive down there. Besides the wholesale devastation her conquest had visited upon the populace, Novindus boasted no deep-water sailors; they were all coast huggers, captains who didn’t suspect there was a land across the sea until Nicholas and his crew had visited there twenty years before.

Roo also suspected Nicholas had a surprise or two in store for the visitors when they attempted to clear the Straits, which was why Roo had made the journey to Queg. The only reason Duke James might require Quegan ships to act as escort for Kingdom merchants would be if the entire Royal Navy was busy elsewhere. No, Nicholas would have something waiting for the invaders as they pushed through the Straits.

He reached the Jacoby house and put the troubling thoughts of invaders behind him for a while. He knocked.

Helen Jacoby answered his knock, and Roo said, ‘I hope you don’t mind an unannounced visit?’

She laughed and Roo was struck by how nice that sounded. ‘Rupert, of course not. You are always welcome here.’

From behind came the sound of her children calling his name, and Roo found himself struck by a refreshed feeling he seldom experienced elsewhere. ‘Uncle Rupert!’ said Willem, the five-year-old. ‘Did you bring me something?’

‘Willem!’ said his mother. ‘That’s no way to treat a guest.’

‘He’s no guest,’ said Willem indignantly. ‘He’s Uncle Rupert!’ Seven-year-old Nataly rushed forward and threw her arms around his waist in a welcoming hug.

Rupert smiled at the boy’s brashness and the girl’s affection as Helen moved to close the door behind him. As it latched, he realized something: if his calculations were accurate, the invaders would be in sight of Kingdom soil in seven months.

Acting Corporal Garret had looked dubious, but he accepted Erik’s orders without comment. After questioning Duga and his men all the previous day, Erik had decided on a course of action. He ordered Garret to lead half the men requisitioned from the Border Barons on a slow march to Krondor, while Erik kept the remaining half with himself. They had turned in their tabards when they left their previous commands, but they still looked like soldiers.

Erik then had them swapping clothing with the captured mercenaries, and after a while judged the results sufficiently chaotic to give the illusion of this being a very large company of mercenaries.

Duga gave his approval: ‘They look like my boys.’

Erik had spent the previous evening talking with Duga. He had come to like the man, a simple no-nonsense captain with a company of eighty men who had come to realize they were in over their heads. It had taken all night, but Erik had at last convinced him that it was in his own best interest to give more than his parole; rather, he should switch sides. Several of his men seemed dubious, and Erik had marked those and sent them off with Garret’s squad, while the rest stayed with Erik and Duga.

Later that same day, the second contingent of Kingdom soldiers had ridden past, and Erik instructed them to follow Garret’s company. When Duga saw the third company of two hundred come past early the next morning, he commented that he and his men had been led to believe they were invading a country of weak, ill-prepared cities.

Erik had gone on at great length, patiently explaining how things were different here in the Kingdom, and while he downplayed the relative sizes of the two armies, he emphasized the training and equipment of the Kingdom soldiers. Fortunately for his case, he had been aided by the sight of six hundred of the toughest veterans in the King’s Army riding by.

Duga gladly accepted the rations carried by Erik’s men, which they shared for breakfast. ‘You know,’ he commented as he ate, ‘there’s not a lot keeping the Queen’s army together but fear.’

Erik nodded. ‘I saw that at Maharta.’

‘It’s gotten worse.’ He glanced around. ‘Some of the captains tried to desert after that, when we got word we were turning east toward the City of the Serpent River.’

‘I heard what happened,’ said Erik. Prince Patrick’s spies had reported about the captains being impaled along with some randomly selected soldiers.

‘It’s as if we’re all guarding each other. No one wants to be there, but everyone’s afraid to say anything.’ He shook his head. ‘No, if you say the wrong thing to the wrong man, you’ve got a stake pounded up your arse.’

Erik considered his next question. ‘Has anyone asked why you’re sent halfway around the world?’

‘There’s nothing left at home,’ he said. ‘Not much plunder when a city’s burned to the ground.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I don’t believe this, but those snakes that stay close to the Queen have been telling everyone who’d listen that this is the richest place in the world, that there’s this city called Sethanon’ – he pronounced it ‘Seeth-e-non’ – ‘where the streets are marble, the door handles and latches are all gold, and they use silk for curtains.’ He sighed. ‘After what I’ve seen for the last ten years, I can understand why men want to believe, but you’ve got to elect to be stupid to believe that nonsense.’ He lowered his voice even more. ‘Some of the captains … we’ve talked about trying to do something, but …’

‘But what?’

‘But she’s just got too much control.’

‘Tell me about this,’ urged Erik.

He motioned with his chin that they should take a walk. When they were out of earshot of the men, Duga said, ‘I’ve probably got an agent or two of hers in my company now. You never know. This General Fadawah, he’s a bloody genius with his tactics and knowing when to send the men and the like, but he’s also a murderous dog. You heard what happened to General Gapi?’

Erik nodded. ‘Staked out naked over an anthill because he failed.’

‘And most of the generals and captains had to watch.’ He hit himself in the chest with his thumb. ‘I was one of them. It wasn’t pretty, I can tell you that.’

Duga looked frustrated as he tried to explain. ‘It’s the way they’ve got us all,’ he said, closing his hand slowly to demonstrate. ‘At first it was just another fight. You’d sign up at the rendezvous and go fight, loot, then spend your money. Then we started sacking cities. I remember Calis’s Crimson Eagles were on the other side at … where was it?’

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