The King's Buccaneer

by Raymond E. Feist

  Arutha knew that they would have to be something unusual for the guard sergeant to pass them along to the Royal Steward, and for the steward to disturb the Prince. “Who are they?” asked Arutha.

  “They claim to be friends of Prince Borric’s.”

  Arutha’s eyebrows went up slightly. “Friends of Borric’s?” He glanced at his wife, then asked, “Do they have names?”

  The Master of Ceremony said, “They gave the names Ghuda Bulé and Nakor the Isalani.” Jerome, an officious man to whom dignity and pomp were more essential than air and water, managed to convey a volume of disapproval as he added, “They’re Keshian, Sire.”

  Arutha was still trying to piece together some semblance of understanding when Nicholas said, “Father! Those are two who helped Borric when he was captured by slavers in Kesh! You remember him telling us about them.”

  Arutha blinked and recollection came to him. “Of course.” He told Jerome, “Show them in at once.”

  Jerome motioned for the page to carry word to the entrance of the palace, and Harry turned to Nicholas. “Slave traders?”

  Nicholas said, “It’s a long story, but my brother was an envoy to Kesh, about nine years ago. He was captured by raiders who didn’t know he was from the royal house of the Isles. He escaped and made his way to the Empress’s court and saved her life. These are two men who helped him along the way.”

  Everyone was staring at the door expectantly when the page entered, followed by a pair of ragged and dirty men. The taller was a fighter by his dress: old, battered leather armor and a dented helm, a bastard-sword slung over his back, and two long dirks, one at each hip. His companion was a bandy-legged fellow, with a surprisingly childlike expression of delight at the new sights around him, and an appealing grin, although he could be described as nothing so much as homely.

  They came to the head of the table and both bowed, the warrior stiffly and self-consciously, the shorter man in a haphazard, absentminded fashion.

  Arutha stood and said, “Welcome.”

  Nakor kept looking at every detail of the room, lost in thought, so after a long moment Ghuda said, “Sorry to disturb you, Your Highness, but he”—he jerked a thumb at Nakor—“insisted.” His speech was accented, and he spoke slowly.

  Arutha said, “That’s all right.”

  Nakor at last turned his attention to Arutha and studied him a moment before he said, “Your son Borric doesn’t look like you.”

  Arutha’s eyes widened in amazement at the direct statement and lack of an honorific, but he nodded. Then the Isalani regarded the Princess and he again grinned, a wide slash of crooked teeth that made him look even more comical than before. He said, “You are his mother, though. He looks like you. You are very pretty, Princess.”

  Anita laughed, and glanced at her husband, then said, “Thank you, sir.”

  With a wave of his hand, he said, “Call me Nakor. I was once Nakor the Blue Rider, but my horse died.” He glanced around the room, fixing his gaze on Nicholas. His face lost its grin as he studied the boy. He stared at Nicholas to the point of awkwardness, then grinned again. “This one looks like you!”

  Arutha was at a loss for words, but at last managed to say, “May I ask what brings you here? You are welcome, for you did a great service to my son and the Kingdom, but…it’s been nine years.”

  Ghuda said, “I wish I could tell you, Sire. I’ve been traveling with this lunatic for over a month, and the best I can get from him is that we need to come here and see you, then leave on another journey.” Nakor was off in his own world again, seemingly entranced by the glitter of the chandeliers and the dancing lights reflecting off the large glass window behind the Prince’s chair. Ghuda endured another moment of painful silence, and said, “I’m sorry, Highness. We never should have bothered you.”

  Arutha could see the old fighter’s obvious discomfort. “No, it’s I who am sorry.” Noticing the ragged, dirty attire, he added, “Please. You must rest. I’ll have rooms made ready, and you may bathe and get a good night’s sleep. I’ll have fresh clothing provided. Then, in the morning, maybe I can aid you in whatever mission you find yourself upon.”

  Ghuda gave an awkward salute, not quite sure of the response; then Arutha said, “Have you eaten?” Ghuda glanced at the heavily laden table and Arutha said, “Sit down, over there.” He motioned for them to take the chairs next to Knight-Marshal William.

  Nakor snapped out of his reverie at the mention of food and unceremoniously hurried to the indicated chair. He waited until the servants had his place set with food and wine, and fell to like a man starved.

  Ghuda attempted to display as many manners as possible, but it was clear he was uncomfortable in the presence of royalty. Amos said something in a strange language, and the Isalani laughed. In the King’s Tongue he said, “Your accent is terrible. But the joke is funny.”

  Amos laughed in turn. He said to the others, “I thought I spoke the language of Isalan pretty well.” He shrugged. “It’s been near thirty years since I was last in Shing Lai; I guess I’ve lost the knack,” and turned his attention back to the Princess of Krondor’s mother.

  Arutha sat down. He became lost in his own thoughts. Something about the appearance of these two, the old tired fighter and the comic character his sons had told him of, brought him a feeling of discomfort, as if the room were suddenly colder. A premonition? He tried to shrug it off, but could not. He motioned for the servants to remove his plate, for he had lost his appetite.

  —

  AFTER DINNER, ARUTHA walked along the balcony that overlooked the harbor. Behind closed doors, servants bustled readying the rooms of the royal family’s apartments. Amos Trask left the building and came to where Arutha stood staring out at the lights near the harbor.

  “You asked to see me, Arutha?”

  Arutha turned and said, “Yes. I need your advice.”

  “Ask.”

  “What’s wrong with Nicholas?”

  Amos’s expression showed he didn’t understand the question. “I don’t take your meaning.”

  “He’s not like other boys his age.”

  “The foot?”

  “I don’t think so. There’s something in him…”

  “That’s cautious,” finished Amos.

  “Yes. It’s why I’m disinclined to really punish him and Harry for their prank today. It’s one of the few times I’ve ever seen or heard of Nicholas taking a risk.”

  Amos sighed as he leaned upon the low wall. “I haven’t given this a lot of thought, Arutha. Nicky’s a good enough lad—not full of pranks and troublemaking as his brothers were.”

  “Borric and Erland were such a pair of rogues that I welcomed Nicholas’s reserve. But now it’s become indecision and overcautiousness. And that is dangerous in a ruler.”

  Amos said, “You and I have been through a lot, Arutha. I’ve known you—what, twenty-five years? You worry the most about those you love. Nicky’s a good lad, and he’ll be a good man.”

  “I don’t know,” came the surprising answer. “I know he hasn’t a mean or petty bone in him, but one can err on the side of caution as well as rashness, and Nicholas is always cautious. He’s going to be important to us.”

  “Another marriage?”

  Arutha nodded. “This goes no further than here, Amos. The Emperor Diiagái has let it be known that closer ties to the Kingdom are now a possibility. Borric’s marriage to the Princess Yasmine was a step in that direction, but the desert people are a tributary race in Kesh. Diiagái thinks it time for a marriage to a Princess of the true blood.”

  Amos shook his head. “State marriages are nasty business.”

  Arutha said, “Kesh has always been the biggest threat to the Kingdom—except for the Riftwar—and we need to treat with her gently. If the Emperor of Kesh has a niece or cousin of the true blood he wishes to marry to the brother of the future King of the Isles, we had better be very secure in our borders before we say no.”

  “Nicky’s not the
only candidate, is he?”

  “No, there’s Carline’s two sons, but Nicholas might be the best—if I thought he was able.”

  Amos was silent awhile. “He’s still young.”

  Arutha nodded. “Younger than his years. I blame myself—”

  “You always do,” interrupted Amos, with a barking laugh. “—for being too protective. The deformed foot…his gentle nature…”

  Amos nodded and again fell silent. Then he said, “So season him.”

  Arutha said, “How? Send him to the Border Lords as I did his brothers?”

  “That’s a little too much seasoning, I think,” said Amos, stroking his beard. “No, I was thinking you might do well to send him to Martin’s court for a while.”

  Arutha said nothing, but from his expression Amos could tell the idea had struck home. “Crydee,” said Arutha softly. “That would be a different sort of home for him.”

  “You and Lyam turned out well enough, and Martin’ll see the boy stay safe without coddling him. Around here no one dares raise a hand or even their voice to the ‘crippled son of the Prince.’ ” Arutha’s eyes flashed at that term, but he said nothing. “Send Martin instructions, and he won’t let Nicky use his bad foot as an excuse for anything. Prince Marcus is about his and Harry’s age, so if you send that troublemaker along, there’ll be two companions of noble rank who are a little rougher than Nicky’s been used to. He might be able to command them, but he won’t cow them. The Far Coast is nothing like Highcastle or Ironpass, but it’s not so civilized that Nicky can’t be hardened a bit.”

  Arutha said, “I’ll have to convince Anita.”

  “She’ll understand, Arutha,” said Amos with a chuckle. “I don’t think you’ll have to do much. As much as she wants to protect the boy, she’ll see the need.”

  “Boy. Do you realize I was only three years older than Nicholas when I took command of my father’s garrison?”

  “I was there. I remember.” Putting his hand upon Arutha’s shoulder, he said, “But you were never young, Arutha.”

  Arutha was forced to laugh at that. “You’re right. I was a serious sort.”

  “Still are.”

  Amos turned to leave, and Arutha said, “Are you going to marry Anita’s mother?”

  Amos turned in surprise. Then he put his fists upon his hips and grinned. “Now, who have you been talking to?”

  Arutha said, “Anita, and she’s been talking to Alicia. The palace has been thick with gossip about you two for years now: the Admiral and the Dowager Princess. You’ve got the rank and the honors. If you need another title, I can arrange it with Lyam.”

  Amos held up his hand. “No, rank has nothing to do with it.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve lived a dangerous life, Arutha. And every time I board a ship, there’s no guarantee I’d be back. I can be a mean man, and no more than when I’m at sea. There was always the chance I’d get myself killed out there.”

  “You thinking of retirement?”

  Amos nodded. “Since I was about twelve I’ve lived on ships, save that bit of scuffling around I did with you and Guy du Bas-Tyra during the Riftwar. If I’m to wed, I’ll stay at home with my lady, thank you.”

  “When?”

  Amos said, “I don’t know. It’s a difficult choice; you’ve seen some of what the sea can do.” Both remembered their first voyage together, as they braved the Straits of Darkness in the winter many years ago. Arutha had been changed by the journey, for not only had he faced death on the sea and survived, he had come to Krondor and met his beloved Anita. Amos continued, “To leave the sea is difficult. Perhaps one last voyage.”

  Arutha said, “Martin’s requested some aid in preparing the new garrison at Barran, up the coast from Crydee. The Royal Eagle is in the harbor, ready to sail with enough weapons and stores to outfit two hundred men and horses for a year. Why don’t you captain it? You can carry Nicholas to Crydee, continue up the coast to the new garrison, then visit with Martin and Briana awhile before you head back.”

  Amos smiled. “A last voyage, back to where my cursed luck began.”

  “Cursed luck?” asked Arutha.

  “To meet you, Arutha. Since we’ve met, you insist on ruining my fun every way you can.”

  It was an old joke between them. “You’ve done well enough for an unrepentant pirate.”

  Amos shrugged. “Well, I’ve done the best I could.”

  Arutha said, “Go pay court to your lady. I will join mine shortly.”

  Amos clapped Arutha upon the back once, then turned and left. When he was gone, Arutha continued to watch the distant lights of the harbor, lost in thoughts and memories.

  Arutha’s reminiscences were interrupted by an unexpected presence at his side. He turned to find the odd little Isalani standing next to him, regarding the city below.

  Nakor said, “I needed to spend a moment with you.”

  Arutha said, “How did you get past the guards in the hall?”

  Nakor shrugged. “It was easy” was all he said. Then he stared out over the water, as if seeing something distant. “You’re sending your son on a voyage.”

  Arutha turned sideways, eyes fixed upon the Isalani. “What are you: seer, prophet, or wizard?”

  Nakor shrugged. “I’m a gambler.” He produced a deck of cards seemingly out of nowhere and said, “That’s how I get money most times.” He twisted his wrist and the deck vanished. “But sometimes I see things.” He fell silent for a moment, then said, “Years ago, when I met Borric, I felt drawn to him, so that when he befriended me, I stayed with him.”

  He paused and, without asking leave, jumped atop the stones of the low wall, folding his legs under him. Looking down at the Prince, he said, “Many things can’t be explained, Prince. Why I know things and can do things—what I call my tricks. But I trust my gifts.

  “I am here to keep your son alive.”

  Arutha shook his head, a small motion of denial. “Alive?”

  “He moves toward danger.”

  “What danger?”

  Nakor shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Arutha said, “What if I keep him here?”

  “You cannot.” Nakor shook his head. “No, that’s wrong. You must not.”

  “Why?”

  Nakor sighed and his smile faded. “A long time ago I met your friend James. He said things about you and your life and what he had done to gain your favor. He tells of a man who’s seen things.”

  Arutha’s sigh echoed Nakor’s. “I’ve seen dead men rise and kill, and I’ve seen alien magic; I have known men born on other worlds. I’ve spoken to dragons and seen impossible visions become flesh.”

  Nakor said, “Then trust me. You’ve made a choice. Abide by it. But let me and Ghuda go with your son.”

  “Why Ghuda?”

  “To keep me alive,” said Nakor, and the grin returned.

  “Borric said you were a wizard.”

  Nakor shrugged. “It serves my purpose at times to let others think such. Your friend Pug knew there was no magic.”

  “You know Pug?”

  “No. But he was famous before I met Borric. He has done many wondrous things. And for a time I lived at Stardock.”

  Arutha’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve not seen him for a dozen years, and word came to us that he had removed to Sorcerer’s Isle, wishing no contact with his old friends. I’ve honored that request.”

  Nakor leaped from the wall. “Time to ignore it. We will need to see him. Tell your captain we will have to stop there on our way west.”

  “You know where I’m sending Nicholas?”

  Nakor shook his head no. “I only know that when I saw Ghuda again, after so many years, he was sitting watching the sunset. I knew then that we would eventually journey west, toward the sunset.” Nakor yawned. “I’m going to bed now, Prince.”

  Arutha only nodded as the strange little man let himself back into the hallway that led to the balcony. The Prince of Krondor stood silently for a long time, leaning aga
inst the wall as he pondered what had been said. Nakor’s words echoed through his mind as he attempted to sort out the conversation.

  One thing he knew, as he knew his own heartbeat: of all those whom he loved, Nicholas was the least able to care for himself should he travel in harm’s way. It was many hours before Arutha at last went to his bed.

  2

  VOYAGE

  The palace was in an uproar.

  Arutha had spent a quiet morning with his wife, and by the time they were finished with breakfast, she had agreed that a year or two with Martin might be the right thing for Nicholas. She had lived at Crydee as Arutha’s guest during the last year of the Riftwar and had come to think fondly of that modest town on the Far Coast. Rough by Krondorian standards though it might be, it was the place where she had come to know her beloved Arutha, with all his dark moods and worries as well as the lighter sides of his nature. She understood Arutha’s concerns over Nicholas, and his fear that the boy could find himself in over his head with the fate of others in the balance; she also knew that Arutha would view such an occurrence as a failure on his part. She relented—though she would miss her youngest child—because she understood this was for Arutha as much as for Nicholas. Out of deference to her, Arutha had protected Nicholas from many of the harsher realities of the world he lived in. His telling argument was the simple statement that Nicholas stood third in line of succession to the crown, behind his brothers, and nothing so far in his life had prepared him for that awesome charge should ill chance unexpectedly bring the crown to him, as it had to his uncle Lyam.

  Anita had also sensed something behind his words, more than simple anxiety over a youngster leaving home for the first time, but she could not tell what it was. But most of all, Anita understood that her husband ached to be able to take control, to provide guidance, protection, and support for Nicholas, and that to let him go was perhaps harder for Arutha than it was for her.