The King's Buccaneer

by Raymond E. Feist

  A herald called, “Gather and attend, O holy men and women. Our gracious Overlord requires your counsel, for a feast is needed. He takes a wife, the Ranjana of Kilbar, and would have ceremony and celebration during the next End of Spring Festival.”

  The expression of the young blonde showed she was not in the least pleased at this announcement, but she kept her place quietly behind the Overlord.

  The herald called, “The Lady Clovis.”

  All eyes shifted to the dark-haired woman as she spoke. “My lord Dahakon asks that you all bless this union and prepare those ceremonies that you deem appropriate for such a state occasion.” The man whom Nakor took to be Dahakon stood motionless and silent.

  Very interesting, thought Nakor.

  The Warlord began to speak, and Nakor listened carefully. He moved slowly behind the row of columns that supported a gallery above the hall and followed it down to the corner. There he ducked deeper into the darkness and slowly made his way toward the dais, to get a better look.

  —

  HARRY AND BRISA entered the inn. They made their way through the crowded room and Harry indicated to Nicholas that he should join them in one of the back rooms. Nicholas motioned for the others at his table to remain, and followed them into the hall.

  They entered Nicholas’s room and Brisa whispered. “We’ve found where the prisoners have been taken.”

  “Where?” asked Nicholas softly.

  Harry said, “That estate we saw across the river.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Harry grinned. “Brisa took the better part of the day and half the evening, but we finally found one of the Ragged Brotherhood—”

  “Who?”

  “Thieves,” said Brisa. “That’s what they’re known as. Not much to speak of, mostly beggars and a few pickpockets. All the really good thieves work alone or are hunted down by the Overlord’s men and killed.”

  Nicholas said, “Harry, go get Calis and Marcus.”

  Harry left, and while he was gone, Nicholas asked, “Anything else of interest?”

  Brisa shrugged. “I don’t know much about cities. I’ve lived all my life in Freeport, and that’s nothing to judge by, but if there’s a more miserable pesthole on the planet than this place, including Durbin, I’ve never heard of it.”

  She frowned, and Nicholas asked, “What?”

  “Just…something one of the beggars said. While I was getting on his good side, convincing him I wasn’t one of the Overlord’s ‘Black Roses,’ he said he only thieved where it was permitted.”

  “Permitted?”

  “Later I asked another thief what he meant, and was told that there’s sort of an unofficial set of rules about where you can get away with thieving and where you’re likely to find yourself in the cage.” She shivered. “Nasty way to go. You hang there getting frozen at night, roasted during the day, can’t quite sit or stand, seeing everyone down in the square going about their business and always feeling like somehow it’s not real.”

  “You sound as if you’ve thought a lot about this,” said Nicholas.

  “Show me a thief who hasn’t thought about getting caught, and I’ll show you a stupid thief.” She made a face. “Truth to tell, we’re all stupid. We think about getting caught, but none of us ever think we’ll get caught.”

  Nicholas smiled slightly. “That’s pretty self-critical.”

  Brisa shrugged. “I’ve been around Harry too much lately.” She grinned. “He’s trying to reform me.”

  Just then the door opened and Harry, Calis, and Marcus entered. Nicholas told Calis and Marcus what he had been told, then said, “Wait until late tonight, and see if you can get across the river without being seen. I don’t know how close you can get to that place unobserved—”

  Calis said, “I can get very close.”

  “—but try if you can obtain any idea where our people are being held.”

  Calis said, “If I go alone, I can do it much better.”

  Nicholas raised an eyebrow. Then he remembered the game in the forest, and glanced at Marcus.

  “He probably can,” said Marcus. He looked at Calis, who was regarding him with a sardonic smile. “Oh, very well. He can.”

  Nicholas paused, then said, “Go with him halfway. I want someone close enough to give him some help if he’s coming away from that place in a hurry.”

  Calis smiled. “Thank you for the concern. I hope it won’t be warranted.” He told Marcus, “We should leave now and take our time reaching that burned-out farmhouse. I can scout from there.”

  They left. Nicholas turned to see Harry standing with his arm around Brisa’s waist in a familiar fashion. “Oh?” he said, eyebrows rising.

  Harry said, “Oh, what?” He noticed he had his arm around the girl and said, “Oh!” as he disengaged himself.

  With a wry smile, Brisa said, “Nothing to get excited about, Nicholas. I’m just contributing to Harry’s education.”

  She sauntered out of the room, closing the door behind her, leaving Harry blushing and Nicholas looking at his friend. “I wonder about you,” said Nicholas.

  Harry’s blush deepened. “Well, we’ve been spending a lot of time together, and she’s really very pretty if you look past all those terrible clothes and dirt she wears.”

  Nicholas put up his hands. “You don’t have to explain.” He glanced at the door, as if he could see through it. “I find that lately Abigail is hard to remember.” He shook his head. “Funny, isn’t it?”

  Harry shrugged. “I don’t think so. We haven’t seen Abigail or Margaret for months and…” He shrugged again.

  “And Brisa in your bed is a little more real than Margaret in your dreams?” supplied Nicholas.

  “Something like that.” Then he looked as if he was growing angry. “But it’s more than that. She’s a decent girl, Nicky. If you or I had it as rough as she’s had it when we were children, we wouldn’t have half her worth. And I know I can get her to stop being a thief.” Nicholas again put up his hands. Harry said, “Besides, Anthony’s in love with Margaret, really in love with her.”

  “You figured it out?”

  Harry grinned. “Took me a while, but I finally figured out it was one of the two girls he was focusing on when he did that spell. Then I remembered that he was pretty relaxed when he was around Abigail, but Margaret made him fidget like crazy.”

  “Where is Anthony?”

  “He went looking for Nakor,” said Harry.

  Nicholas made an aggravated sound. “And where is Nakor? It’s been two days now.”

  Harry had no answer.

  —

  “I WISH THEY’D stop that,” said Abigail.

  Margaret nodded. “I know. It’s unnerving.”

  The two creatures sat nearby, mimicking the girls’ movements as they ate dinner. If Margaret cut her meat with a knife, one of the creatures imitated the motion on an imagined plate and table.

  The two creatures stayed a comfortable distance from the girls during the day, never coming closer than arm’s reach. But they constantly studied the two girls and now they were doing these irritating mimicries.

  Margaret pushed aside the empty plate and said, “I don’t know why I’m eating so much; we don’t do anything. Yet I don’t seem to be putting on weight.”

  Abigail said, “I know. I don’t want to, but I’m not going to be held down and force-fed again.” She dutifully chewed a mouthful of food and swallowed, then said, “And have you ever seen them eat anything?”

  “No,” said Margaret. “I thought maybe they were fed after we slept.”

  Abigail said, “And I’ve not seem them…you know.”

  Margaret smiled a wry smile. “Use the chamber pot,” she said.

  Abigail nodded. “I don’t think they sleep, either.”

  Margaret remembered the one time she had found the creature hovering over her bed and she said, “I think you’re right.”

  Margaret stood and turned, and saw the creature she now th
ought of as hers do likewise. She heard Abigail gasp.

  Turning, Margaret saw that the creature’s body had changed slightly. She was taller, Margaret’s height, and her hips and chest had broadened, while her waist had narrowed.

  Margaret whispered, “What is going on?”

  —

  NICHOLAS LOOKED UP as the door to the hostel crashed open. Three armed men barged in, and before any of the soldiers in the common room could react, a half-dozen bowmen followed.

  A large grey-haired man entered after the bowmen, who covered everyone in the room. “Who commands here?” he demanded.

  Nicholas stood up and said, “I do.”

  The old man walked over to Nicholas and looked down his nose at him. He shook his head. “I commend your bravery to your captain, boy, but you do him no honor hiding him from me.”

  Nicholas said, “Step outside, grandfather, and I will be pleased to show you that I am, indeed, captain of this company.”

  The burly old man said, “Grandfather? Why, you puppy—”

  Nicholas had his sword out and the point to the man’s throat so fast the bowmen didn’t have a chance to pull back and release. “If you think your men can kill me before I can drive the point home, you can order them to shoot.”

  The old man held up his hand, warning the bowmen to hold fire. “If you are the captain of this company, we’ve a matter to settle. We may both be dead in moments, so don’t lie to me. It does no man honor to go to the House of Lady Kal with a falsehood on his lips.”

  Nicholas’s men had been moving around the room slowly, getting ready for the fight. Amos roared, “Anyone do anything particularly stupid and most of us will be dead before any of us have an idea what the bloody hell is going on!”

  The old man glanced down. “Are you sure he’s not the captain?”

  Nicholas said, “He’s the captain of my ship.”

  The old man asked, “A ship? You have a ship?”

  Nicholas ignored the question. “Now, care to tell me why you come barging in here threatening my men and demanding to see me?”

  Slowly the old man put the palm of his gloved hand against the blade of Nicholas’s sword and gently pushed it aside. “I came to see if you’re the men who killed my sons.”

  Nicholas looked the man over; he was tall, at least his uncle Martin’s height, and as broad in the shoulders. He wore his hair pulled back and tied off in a warrior’s tail that fell to his shoulders. From the scars on his face and arms, Nicholas judged the hairstyle was not a vanity. The sword at his side was old but well kept. “Grandfather, I haven’t killed so many men that I wouldn’t remember one. Who were your sons, and why would you think I was the man who caused their death?”

  The old man said, “I am Vaslaw Nacoyen, Chieftain of the Lion Clan. My sons were named Pytur and Anatol. I think you know of their death because one of my men saw you enter the city. With you was a girl I think comes from the City of Kilbar.”

  Nicholas glanced at Ghuda and Amos, then put up his sword. “This is not a good place to talk,” he said, indicating the room full of men neither of his company nor with Vaslaw.

  “We can speak outside,” said the old man.

  Nicholas signaled to Amos and Ghuda to accompany him. The two men rose, and as they reached the door, Nicholas said, “Would you ensure no one leaves until we return?”

  Vaslaw instructed his bowmen to keep everyone away from the door, and stepped outside. A dozen horsemen waited outside, and behind them another dozen fighters on foot. Nicholas said, “It looks as if you came prepared for any answer.”

  The old man grunted, his breath condensing in the night air. He motioned for Nicholas and the others to follow and they moved to the center of the armed company. “No one who is not of my blood can overhear us. Do you know something of my sons?”

  Nicholas said, “If they were involved in a very foolish raid up at Shingazi’s Landing, yes, I do know of them.”

  “They are dead?”

  “If they were with that raiding party, they are certainly dead.”

  “Did you kill them?”

  Nicholas carefully framed his answer. “I don’t think so. We killed some clansmen who took a wagon caravan, but we found only bear and wolf talismans.” He purposely neglected to mention the snake. “The others were green mercenaries who didn’t even think to put out a guard.” Nicholas told of the entire encounter, from finding Tuka and the burned wagons to the discovery of the dead clansmen and mercenaries.

  The old man said, “You just happened by?”

  Nicholas refused to divulge his origin, so he said, “We just happened by.”

  Vaslaw didn’t seem satisfied. “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because you don’t have a reason not to,” Nicholas said. “What motive would I have to attack that wagon train?”

  “Gold,” the man said quickly.

  Nicholas sighed. Being the son of the Prince of Krondor didn’t acquaint one with a proper sense of greed, he realized. “Let’s say that gold is far down my list of things to covet. I have other concerns.”

  Amos said, “Look, you heard him say I was captain of his ship. His father has a fleet.”

  “Who is your father?” asked Vaslaw.

  Ghuda said, “He rules a distant city. This is the third son.”

  The old man nodded. “Ah, proving your manhood in war. I understand that motive.”

  “Something like that,” said Nicholas. “Besides, a far more important question is to ask yourself who profits by the death of your sons.”

  The old man said, “No one. That’s the damnable part of it all. The raid was an ill-conceived plot to irritate the Overlord dreamed up by my sons and some hotheads from the other clans. Killing all those young men profits no one, not even the Overlord. All it achieves is distrust between all the clans and the Overlord, and a general lessening of trust in a city that knows precious little of it already.”

  Nicholas said, “Well, there’s a lot about this that doesn’t make any sense. What if I told you that twice the raiders left behind enough gold to ransom a city? And what if I told you that one of the dead we found was clutching a Red Slayer helm?”

  “Impossible,” said the old man.

  “Why?” asked Nicholas.

  “Because no Red Slayer has ever left the city without the Overlord. They are his most personal bodyguards.”

  Nicholas weighed what to say next. There was something very basic about this old man, something that spoke of simpler times when these people lived much as the Jeshandi did, roaming the plains of grass, living in yurts, riding after the grazing herds. The clansmen might be city men for generations, but they honored their heritage. They were rulers and warriors, still a people whose word was considered their bond. “What if I told you that another detachment of soldiers came to finish off anyone who managed to escape and to kill the Ranjana, and that these were from the Overlord’s personal guards, His Radiance’s Own?”

  “What proof do you have?”

  “I killed a man named Dubas Nebu.”

  “I know that swine. Captain of the Second Company. Why did you kill him?”

  Nicholas explained in detail what they found at Shingazi’s, leaving out only the part about the serpent talisman. When he was finished, the old man said, “You’ve given me and the other clan leaders something to ponder. Someone is attempting to set us all against one another, and against the Overlord.”

  “Who would benefit from such chaos?” asked Amos.

  Vaslaw said, “That is one thing I must discuss in council with the other clan leaders. We have many rivalries and feuds among the families of the various clans—that is tradition—but this sort of disaster could set us back a dozen years in our alliance with the Overlord.”

  “You have an alliance with the Overlord?” asked Nicholas.

  “We do,” said the old man. “I can’t explain our history to you standing out here in the cold. Come to my house in the Western Quarter of the city tomorrow nig
ht and dine with me—bring your companions if you fear for your safety. I can tell you more then.”

  He signaled, and a horse was led over. Despite his years he easily swung into the saddle, while another fighter opened the door and signaled for the bowmen to leave the hostel. Vaslaw said, “I shall send a guide for you tomorrow. Until then.” He turned and led his company away. Amos, Ghuda, and Nicholas watched the Lion clansmen leave, and then reentered the commons.

  Returning to the table, they sat, and Harry said, “What was that all about?”

  “A dinner invitation,” said Nicholas. Amos and Ghuda broke out laughing.

  —

  CALIS SIGNALED TO Marcus to wait. They had been in the burned-out farmhouse for nearly an hour, and both had remained silent, against any possibility of sentries or patrols. Crossing the river had proved more difficult than they had expected, as a squad of guardsmen stood watch on the bridge. They had made their way stealthily to the docks, where they appropriated a small boat. They rowed across the river and left the boat concealed in the bushes.

  Calis signaled two, and Marcus nodded. If he wasn’t back in two hours, Marcus was to assume he had been captured or somehow prevented from leaving. Marcus would return with the information for Nicholas.

  Calis left at a quick trot, dodging across the open road that ran past the farmhouse into a stand of trees. Between the boles, he ran quickly, feeling certain of his ability to hide should the need arise. The woods were familiar, though he had never trodden the paths between these trunks before. His eyes peered into gloom where no human could see and saw clearly the outlines of brush and branches—his nature was such that he needed almost no light to see. Only absolute darkness rendered him sightless.

  Reaching the edge of the woods, Calis paused. He listened, his senses extending as far as possible. Animals scuttled nearby, rabbits or ground squirrels. Calis send forth a thought of reassurance, and the rustling sound quieted.

  Calis was unique among mortals on Midkemia. His mother was an elf, but his father was a human with many of the powers of the legendary Valheru, whom men called the Dragon Lords. It was his father’s magic that had made his birth possible, and his father’s magic that had given to his son abilities that could only be called magical. Calis smiled slightly, considering what Nakor would say to that. He had overheard much of Nakor’s discussions with Anthony on the ship—Nakor would say there is no magic and that the universe is all composed of stuff. Calis knew that Nakor was closer to the truth than he understood, and wondered if he should take Nakor to Elvandar to visit with the Spellweavers should they all manage somehow to return home.