King of Foxes

by Raymond E. Feist

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  RAYMOND E. FEIST

  Tal waited as the Duke considered a parchment message that had been delivered by messenger from Opardum. When he put it down, he said, “You wished to see me, Squire?”

  Tal said, “Your Grace, last night I was approached by someone I believe to be an agent of the King of the Isles.”

  “Oh, really? Tell me about it, Tal.”

  Tal outlined his encounter with Burgess two nights before and his conversation the previous night. When he finished, Kaspar nodded and didn’t speak for a moment.

  Then he said, “You’re probably correct. This man Burgess may be part of Lord Vallen’s very capable spy network. Lord James’s grandfather established it back during the reign of King Lyam, first in Krondor, then here in Rillanon. It’s endured, grown, been refined, and is now the match of the Keshians’.” He looked out of the window toward the city and added, almost to himself, “Lacking their resources, I must rely on other solutions.” Kaspar turned back to Tal, studied him, then went on, “You acted correctly, informing me of this contact. I would like you to seek out this man Burgess and tell him you are willing to act as interlocutor upon behalf of his trading concern.”

  Tal showed his surprise in his expression, but said only, “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “It may be this Burgess is exactly who he appears to be, and perhaps some good will come of this; he might actually have some goods that I’ll purchase, or perhaps a more beneficial trade arrangement can be made with the Isles than we’ve had heretofore—they tend to need little of what we have to offer, and many things we need, so trade with them is usually disadvantageous.

  “But it also may be that Burgess is attempting to recruit you as a spy.”

  “I would never violate an oath, Your Grace!” said Tal.

  “I know, but while you seem a capable young man, _______________

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  Tal, you have no idea how devious these people can be.

  This man would probably let you think for some time to come that he was who he claimed, and allow you to provide some information that seemed harmless enough, but eventually, you would find yourself confronted by Burgess, who would then produce some sort of ‘evidence’

  that if put before me would make you look guilty of betraying Olasko. And from that point forward, you would be Burgess’s creature.

  “No, let us play this out for a while and see what happens. Eventually it will be clear which of the two men Burgess is, the spy or the trader.” Tapping his chin with his forefinger, Kaspar added, “It also might prove useful if he is a spy, for then we can tell him what we want the Isles to know.”

  “Whatever Your Grace wishes,” said Tal.

  Kaspar said, “We have two more days here, then we are off for Opardum. Keep studying the city and find this man Burgess and do as I said. You may go now.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” said Tal.

  Tal left the Duke’s quarters and hurried to his own. It was barely an hour past dawn, and the city would be bustling. Already he felt sorry to be leaving this fabled city behind, but he had a duty. Reaching his own quarters, he found Amafi waiting for his instructions.

  “Lay out a change of clothing. I’m going to spar with the officers of the Royal Guard, then I’ll want a bath.

  Wait an hour, and order up hot water. Then lunch in the city and more sightseeing.”

  “Yes, Magnificence,” said Amafi.

  Tal closed the door and headed for the Royal Armory.

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  The armory had none of the grandeur of the Masters’

  Court, or even the elegance of the Court of Blades in Salador. It was a drab building near the southern gate of the palace complex, fashioned from stone, with high windows that let in just enough light to keep the hall in a state of near gloom. Five large wheels set with candles were hung from the ceiling and provided additional light.

  The room was filled almost to capacity, as word spread through the palace that the Champion of the Masters’ Court would be sparring with the best the Kingdom of the Isles had to offer.

  They cheered when Tal disposed of his third opponent, a gifted young knight lieutenant who pushed him quite hard. Laughing, Tal shook his hand and said, “Bravo, my friend. Had you been in the last tournament, I wager you might have been in the round of eight! Well done!”

  The King’s Swordmaster, in charge of training the soldiers of the Royal Household Guard, said, “Squire, I have seen forty years of service under three kings, and while I may have seen swords to match yours, there haven’t been many. Thank you for the entertaining and instructive display.”

  The assembled officers cheered, and for an odd moment, Tal felt a kinship with them. He was not from the Isles, yet so long had he worn the false colors of a noble of this nation he felt almost as if he were one of them. He lifted his sword in salute, then bowed his head. “You honor me, Swordmaster.”

  The officers began to disperse, and Amafi handed Tal a towel. “Your bath is ready,” he said in Quegan.

  Another voice from behind, also speaking Quegan, said, “Isn’t the plumbing here in Rillanon wonderful?”

  Tal turned to see Lord James approaching. He bowed.

  “Your Grace.”

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  In the King’s Tongue, James said, “I have a lot of dealings with Queg. It helps to speak the language.” He glanced at Amafi. “How did you come to have a Quegan manservant?”

  “It’s a long story, Your Grace,” said Tal.

  “Some other time, then,” said James. “You’re quite remarkable with that sword, young sir.”

  “Thank you. It’s a gift, and I really take no more pride in it than a bird does in singing. It’s something I can do.”

  “Modest?” The Duke raised his eyebrows. “Surprising. Most young men would be howling to the moon over their achievements. But then, you’re not like most young men, are you, Squire?”

  “I don’t take your meaning, sir.”

  In Quegan, James said to Amafi, “Go ahead and prepare your master’s bath. I shall see he comes to no harm.”

  The servant glanced at Tal, who nodded once; Amafi bowed and left them. By now the rest of the officers had departed, and they were alone in the armory. “Let’s have a talk, shall we?”

  “I am at Your Grace’s service.”

  “Not really, since you serve Duke Kaspar. Come, I’ll walk with you a ways.” They left the building, and as they crossed the yard, James asked, “How is it you have a Quegan assassin as a bodyguard, Tal?”

  Tal tried not to look surprised. “Assassin?”

  “Petro Amafi is not unknown to us. In fact, there’s a warrant out for him in Salador. Did you know that?”

  “No,” said Tal honestly. Now Amafi’s desire to take service with Tal made a great deal more sense.

  “I would have him arrested, but as part of Duke Kaspar’s company, he benefits from a certain diplomatic im-munity. I trust you’re taking him with you when you depart?”

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  “Yes, of course.”

  “Good. He’s not the only one who isn’t what he seems to be,” said the Duke as they walked across the empty parade ground.

  “Your Grace?”

  “Whoever you are, my young friend, your papers don’t bear scrutiny. I’ve seen your patent of nobility, and it’s perhaps the best forgery ever, but it’s still a forgery.”

  Tal attempted to look shamefaced without looking guilty. “As I said to His Majesty, Your Grace, how my father got the patent accepted I don’t know. I have never traded upon the rank, and I’ve never attempted to collect rents from anyone on those estates.”

  James laughed. “A good thing, as your ‘tenants’ consi
st of frogs, mosquitoes, blackflies, swamp pigs, some poisonous snakes, and a few smugglers. It is as you said, worthless swampland near Ylith.

  “I don’t know who put those patents in the hall, your father or someone else. Either way, I now face something of a dilemma.”

  “What would that be, Your Grace?”

  James stopped as they reached the steps leading into the heart of the palace. “The King acknowledged your rank in front of witnesses; whatever the origin of those patents, they are now as valid as if his father had bestowed them upon your father.

  “Moreover, you are something of a hero here in the Isles. You are the first Islesman to be Champion of the Masters’ Court.

  “Lastly, if you were staying in Rillanon, I would ask Lord Vallen to keep a close watch on you, but you’re not.

  You’re leaving in two days for a very distant city.

  “But I can’t help but thinking you may be a very dangerous man, Tal. My grandfather taught me to appreciate _______________

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  what he called his ‘bump of trouble,’ that itch on the back of his neck that told him something was wrong. And you, sir, make my neck itch.

  “So, should you ever return to the Isles, expect to be watched very closely. And should you ever return to the Western Realm, expect that I’ll be watching you closely, Talwin Hawkins, Squire of Morgan River and Bellcastle, Baronet of Silverlake.

  “Because there is one fact I can’t seem to get my mind around.”

  “What would that be, Your Grace?”

  “You’re reputed to have been a Bannerette Knight Lieutenant for the Duke of Yabon. But my old friend the Duke can’t find one man who remembers serving with you. Odd, isn’t it?”

  Seeing no easy way out, Tal said, “Well, Your Grace, while the patent was my father’s invention, truth to tell, the claim of service was my . . . embellishment, if you will.”

  The Duke said nothing for a long moment, merely looking at Tal. Then he said, “Good day, Squire.”

  “Good day, Your Grace,” said Tal as Lord James walked away.

  Tal exhaled slowly. He couldn’t help but feel that he had come very close to a disastrous encounter. But he didn’t find any comfort in having avoided it, for he now was under the scrutiny of Lord James of Krondor, and everything Tal had seen of the old noble convinced him the Duke was a very dangerous man.

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  SEVEN

  OATH

  The ship beat against the waves.

  The Dolphin raced north by northwest, heeling over on a close haul against a southbound autumn squall. The rain bit through the oil-soaked canvas cloak, and Tal found his tunic clinging to his skin, but he could not take another minute in the close quarters assigned to him and Amafi.

  Sailors huddled miserably in the lee of whatever shelter they could manage, waiting for the call to trim sails, as the ship was about to swing to a westerly tack.

  The call came, and Tal watched in fascination as barefoot seamen scrambled aloft or hauled on sheets to move booms and yards. The ship came around with a shudder and a groan of wood, then settled into another rhythm as the sails took what they could from the wind and the rolling waves struck the hull from another angle.

  The sky was a canvas of roiling clouds, all black and _______________

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  grey, and Tal wished he could fix the image in his mind, for to paint the subtle differences would be an achievement. All his life he would have said that during a storm the sky was a uniform grey, but now he realized that at sea the rules were different.

  Then he saw the light.

  To the west, a shaft of light broke the gloom as a single ray of sunlight cut through, and at that moment, he felt the rain lessen. Within minutes the sky began to clear, with patches of blue appearing in the west. A sailor nearby said, “We’re through the squall, Squire,” and started to gather up rope off the deck.

  “That was something,” said Tal.

  “Not really. You ought to try tacking through a big blow, say a week or more in the teeth of a gale. Or a day and night running from a hurricane. Now, that’s something to remember.”

  With a grin, Tal said, “I think I’ll find another way to amuse myself.”

  Scrambling up the ratlines, the sailor said, “Suit yourself, Squire.”

  As the storm abated, the breeze turned warmer, or at least with the absence of rain it felt that way to Tal. The ship seemed to ram through the water, a low, rolling motion that reminded Tal of a cantering horse, up and down.

  The rhythm gave him the illusion of riding into sight of Opardum’s towers.

  While Rillanon was the most spectacular city he had ever seen from the deck of a ship, Opardum was impressive.

  He caught a glimpse of it as the weather broke and the lookout aloft cried, “Land ho!”

  The ship heeled over, and they were suddenly on a southwestern tack, reaching straight for the city with a following wind. Directly ahead Tal saw a brilliant sun-

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  drenched morning revealed as the clouds above blew away, like so many curtains being pulled aside.

  Tal knew the geography of this region from the maps he had studied, but those lines of ink on parchment did little to prepare him for the sight that lay ahead. He knew that the southeastern corner of Olasko was a network of islands and waterways, with only one habitation of any size, the port city of Inaska. Hundreds of villages dotted the thousand or more islands, which rested in what was in reality the mouth of the Anatak River. The rest of the islands were lush plantations of fruits, cotton, and flax, in-tercut by glades full of exotic trees and animals, and a few hills high enough to encourage dryland faming. But on the north shore of the river, above a small but thriving harbor, rested Opardum.

  The city seemed to be carved out of the face of the mountain, which was an illusion, Tal knew, as they raced toward the harbor. But from the sea, it looked as if a jumble of spirals and towers had sprouted out of the rock face of a mountain thousands of feet in the air.

  Tal knew from his reading that the mountains were really a massive cliff, and at the top a relatively flat grassland ran downhill for a dozen miles to the west. There a series of fault lines cut canyons and crevasses across the entire region, making use of that land impossible to anything that couldn’t fly to reach it. Beyond that jumbled landscape lay vast grasslands and woodlands, still wild for the most part, until the city of Olasko Gateway was reached.

  The ship’s captain called out orders, and sailors scrambled aloft to reef sails. Amafi came up on deck.

  “Magnificence, I brought you a dry coat.”

  Tal slipped off the soaked oil-treated canvas covering he wore, and thankfully took the dry coat. Amafi asked,

  “This, then, is our new home?”

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  “Yes,” said Tal, “and you must learn to speak the local tongue.”

  The language of the region was similar to Roldemish, as settlers from that island had founded the various nations that comprised the Eastern Kingdom. The exception was the Duchy of Maladon and Simrick, which had been settled by men from the Kingdom city of Ran. They spoke both the King’s Tongue and a local dialect of Roldemish.

  Tal said, “It’s Roldemish to all intents and purposes, but it has local idioms and some different words. You’ll learn quickly, understood?”

  “Yes, Magnificence,” said Amafi.

  As they began the final tack into the harbor, the ship slowed as the captain turned into the wind. Drawing closer to the city, they could see details begin to emerge in the bright light of day.

  “The calm after the storm, as they say,” said Lady Natalia from behind them.

  Tal turned and grinned. “I believe the expression is the calm before the storm, m’lady.”

  “Whatever the case may be,�
�� she said. “Home.”

  Tal conceded that it might be home to her, but to him it was just another alien place. The harbor beckoned, and inbound ships gave way to The Dolphin, for she flew the ducal banner. Compared to Rillanon, Roldem, Salador, or even Krondor, it was a small harbor. Behind it the city was relatively flat, then suddenly rose up on an incline, an almost evenly sloped face of soil and rock that had been ter-raced over the years and connected by ramps and streets.

  Then suddenly the citadel rose up behind, hard against the cliff face, and from what Tal had been told by members of the Duke’s retinue, dug back deep into the rock.

  It struck him as incongruous that the original builders had chosen to use a white or very light grey stone to fash-

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  ion the place, for it stood out dramatically against the darker colors of the cliff.

  The citadel was massive, rising ten stories above the foundations, as far as Tal could judge, and surrounded by a wall of less than half that size. At the corners, towers rose another twenty or so feet, so that overlapping archer fire could stop anyone coming up through the city to the citadel.

  Tal turned his attentions away from the city itself, looked toward the south. He could make out little of the southern islands at this distance, save what looked to be brown smudges on the horizon.

  Natalia put her hand on his shoulder and said, “We shall have fun, Talwin.”

  He patted her hand, somewhat distracted by the events of the last two days in Rillanon. He had followed Kaspar’s instructions and located Burgess, for whom he had promised to intercede with the Duke. The trader would arrive in Opardum in a month or so with samples of trade goods, seeking concessions and licenses.

  But something didn’t feel right. No matter what he said, Burgess just didn’t ring true as a merchant trader, the way Quincy de Castle did. De Castle might be an agent for the Crown of the Isles, but he was truly a trader. Tal had played cards with too many merchants, as well as gained some insights into their nature by reading the biography of Rupert Avery, but Burgess was something else. Under that apparently soft exterior, Tal was certain he was dangerous.