ONE
Arrival
James hurried through the night.
As he moved purposefully across the courtyard of the Prince’s palace in Krondor, he still felt the odd ache and twinge, reminders of his recent beating at the hands of the Nighthawks while he had been their captive. For the most part he was nearly back to his usual state of fitness. Despite that, he still felt the need for more sleep than usual, so of course, he had only just settled into a deep slumber when a page came knocking upon his door and informed James that the overdue caravan from Kesh had been sighted approaching the city. James had gotten up and dressed despite every fiber of his being demanding that he roll over in his warm bed and return to slumber.
Silently cursing the need to meet the arriving magician, he reached the outer gate where two guards stood their stations.
“Evening, gentlemen. All’s well?”
The senior of the two guards, an old veteran named Crewson, saluted. “Quiet as the grave, Squire. Where’re you bound at this ungodly hour?” He motioned for the other guard to open the gate so that James could leave the precinct of the palace.
Stifling a yawn, James said, “The Prince’s new mage has arrived from Stardock, and I’ve the dubious honor of meeting her at the North Gate.”
The younger guard smiled in mock sympathy. “Ah, you’ve all the luck, Squire.” He swung the gate wide to allow James to depart.
With a wry smile, James passed through the opening. “I’d rather have a good night’s sleep, but duty calls. Fare you well, gentlemen.”
James picked up his pace, as he knew the caravan would disband quickly upon arrival. He wasn’t worried about the magician’s safety, as the city guard would be augmented by caravan guards coming off duty, but he was concerned over the possible lapse in protocol should he not be there to greet her. While she might be only a distant relative of the Ambassador from Great Kesh to the Western Court, she was still a noble by rank, and relations between the Kingdom of the Isles and Great Kesh had never been what one might call tranquil. A good year was one in which there were three or fewer border skirmishes.
James decided to take a shortcut from the palace district to the North Gate, one that would require he pass through a warehouse district behind the Merchants’ Quarter. He knew the city as well as any living man, and had no concerns about getting lost, but when two figures detached themselves from the shadows as he rounded a corner, he cursed himself for a fool. The out-of-the-way route was unlikely to be host to many citizens abroad on lawful business at this time of night. And these two looked nothing like lawful citizens.
One carried a large billy club and had a long belt knife, while the other rested his hand easily upon a sword. The first wore a red leather vest while his companion wore a simple tunic and trousers. Both had sturdy boots on, and James instantly recognized them for what they were: common street thugs. They were almost certainly freebooters, men not associated with the Mockers, the Guild of Thieves.
James pushed aside his self-recriminations for taking this shortcut, for the matter was now beyond changing.
The first man said, “Ah, what’s the city coming to?”
The second nodded, moving to flank James should he try to run. “It’s a sad state of affairs. Gentlemen of means, wanderin‘ the streets after midnight. What can they be thinking?”
Red-vest pointed his billy club at James and said, “He must be thinkin‘ his purse is just too heavy and be hopin’ for a helpful pair like us to relieve him of it.”
James let out a slow breath and calmly said, “Actually, I was thinking about the foolishness of men who don’t recognize a dangerous mark when they see one.” He drew his rapier slowly and moved the point to halfway between the two men, so that he would be able to parry an attack from either man.
“The only danger here is tryin‘ to cross us,” said the second thug, drawing his sword and lashing out at James.
“I really don’t have time for this,” James said. He parried the blow easily and riposted. The swordsman barely pulled back in time to avoid being skewered like a holiday pig.
Red-vest pulled out his belt knife and swung his billy club, but James ducked aside and kicked out with his right leg, propelling the man into his companion. “You still have time to run away, my friends.”
Red-vest grunted, recovered his balance, and rushed James, threatening with the billy club while holding his knife in position to do the real damage. James recognized the man’s outrage - this was no longer a simple mugging; these two men now meant to kill him. He ignored the billy club, dodging toward it rather than away, and sliced at the man’s left wrist. The knife fell to the stones with a clatter.
While Red-vest howled in pain and fell back, his companion came rushing in, his sword cocked back over his shoulder. James danced backward for two steps, and as the man let fly with his wide swing - designed to decapitate the young squire - James leaned forward in a move he had learned from the Prince, his left hand touching the stones to aid his balance and his right hand extending out. The attacker’s sword passed harmlessly over James’s head and he ran onto the point of James’s rapier. The man’s eyes widened in shock and he came to an abrupt halt, looked down in disbelief, then collapsed to his knees. James pulled his sword point free and the man toppled over.
The other brigand caught James by surprise coming over the shoulder of his collapsing friend, and James barely ducked away from a thrust that would have certainly split his head. He took a glancing blow on his left shoulder, still sore from the beating he had taken at the hands of the Nighthawks, and gasped at the unexpected pain. The hilt of the knife had struck, so there was no blood - his tunic wasn’t even ripped - but damn it, he thought, it hurt!
James’s training and battle-honed reflexes took over, and he turned with the attacker, his sword lashing out again as the man went by, and stood behind him as he too went down to his knees, then toppled over. James didn’t even have to look to know his sword had cut Red-vest’s throat in a single motion.
James wiped his sword off on the shirt of the first man he had killed and returned it to its sheath. Rubbing his sore left shoulder, he shook his head and muttered, “Idiots,” quietly under his breath. Resuming his journey he marveled, not for the first time, at humanity’s capacity for stupidity. For every gifted, brilliant man like Prince Arutha, there seemed to be a hundred - no, make that a thousand - stupid men.
Better than most men in the Prince’s court, James understood the petty motives and narrow appetites of most citizens. As he turned his back on the two dead men, he acknowledged to himself that most of the population were decent people, people who were tainted by only a little larceny, a small lie about taxes owed, a little shorting of a measure, but in the main they were good.
But he had seen the worst and best of the rest, and had gone from a fraternity of men bent on trivial gain by any means, including murder, to a fellowship of men who would sacrifice even their own lives for the greater good.
His ambition was to be like them, to be noble by strength of purpose and clarity of vision rather than by accident of birth. He wanted one day to be remembered as a great defender of the Kingdom.
Ironically, he considered how unlikely it was that that would ever happen, given his current circumstance. He was now commissioned to create a company of spies, intelligence men who were to act on behalf of the Crown. He doubted Prince Arutha would appreciate him telling the ladies and gentleman of the court about it.
Still, he reminded himself as he turned another corner -glancing automatically into the shadows to see if anyone lurked there - the deed was the thing, not the praise.
Absently rubbing his right shoulder with his left hand, he noted how it had been overstrained by the swordplay. The little exercise with the two brigands was reminding him he wasn’t fully healed from his recent ordeal in the desert at the hands of the Nighthawks - a band of fanatic assassins. He had been up and around within days of returning to Krondor, but he was still feelin
g not quite right after three weeks. And two sore shoulders would continue to remind him of it all for a couple of days, at least.
Sighing aloud, James muttered to himself: “Not as spry as I once was, I fear.”
He cut through another alley that brought him around the corner to the street leading to the North Gate. He found himself passing the door of a new orphanage, recently opened by the Order of Dala, the goddess known as “Shield to the Weak.” The sign above the door featured a yellow shield with the Order’s mark upon it. Princess Anita had been instrumental in helping to secure the title to the building and funding it for the Order. James wondered absently how different his life might have been had he found his way to such a place when his mother had died, rather than ending up in the Guild of Thieves.
In the distance he could see two guardsmen speaking with a solitary young woman. He left off his musings and quickened his pace.
As he approached, he studied the young woman. Several facts were immediately manifest. He had expected a noblewoman of Kesh, bedecked in fine silks and jewelry, with a complement of servants and guards at her disposal. Instead he beheld a solitary figure, wearing clothing far more appropriate for rigorous travel than for court ceremony. She was dark-skinned, not as dark as those who lived farther south in Great Kesh, but darker than was common in Krondor, and in the gloom of night, her dark hair, tied back in a single braid, reflected the flickering torchlight with a gleam like a raven’s wing. Her eyes, when they turned upon James, were also dark, almost black in the faint light.
Her bearing and the set of her eyes communicated an intensity that James often admired in others, if it was leavened with intelligence. There could be no doubt of intelligence, else Pug would never have recommended her for the post as Arutha’s magical advisor.
She carried a heavy staff of either oak or yew, shod at both ends in iron. It was a weapon of choice among many travelers, especially those who by inclination or lack of time couldn’t train in blades and bows. James knew from experience it was not a weapon to be taken lightly, against any but the most heavily-armored foe a staff could break bones, disarm or render an opponent unconscious. And this woman appeared to have the muscle to wield it effectively. Unlike the ladies of Arutha’s court, her bare arms showed the effects of strenuous labor or hours spent in the weapons yard.
As he neared, James summed up his first impression of the new court magician: a striking woman, not pretty but very attractive in an unusual way. Now James understood his friend William’s distress at the news of her appointment to the Prince’s court. If she had been his first lover, as James suspected, William would not easily put her behind him, not for many years. Given his young friend’s recent infatuation with Talia, the daughter of a local innkeeper, James chuckled to himself as he surmised that William’s personal life was about to get very interesting. James didn’t envy him the discomfort, but knew it would no doubt prove entertaining to witness. He smiled to himself as he closed upon the group.
One of the two guards conversing with the young woman noticed James and greeted him. “Well met, Squire. We’ve been expectin‘ you.”
James nodded and replied, “Gentlemen. My thanks for keeping an eye on our guest.”
The second guard chimed in. “We felt bad, I mean, her bein‘ a noble and all, and havin’ to wait so long, but we didn’t have enough men to send with her to the palace.” He indicated the other pair at the far end of the gate.
James appreciated their dilemma. If any of them had left his post, for whatever reason, without permission, the guard captain would have had their ears. “Not to worry. You’ve done your duty.”
Turning to the young woman, James bowed and said, “Your pardon, milady, for making you wait. I am Squire James of Krondor.”
The young magician smiled and suddenly James reevaluated his appraisal. She was very pretty, if in an unusual fashion for the women of the Western Kingdom. She said, “It is I who should apologize for arriving at this unseemly hour, but our caravan was delayed. I am Jazhara, most recently of Stardock.”
Glancing around, James said, “A pleasure to meet you, Jazhara. Where is your entourage?”
“At my father’s estates on the edge of the Jal-Pur desert. I had no servants at Stardock and requested none to travel here. I find that the use of servants tends to weaken the will. Since I began studying the mystic arts, I have always traveled alone.”
James found the availability of servants one of the key attractions of the Prince’s court; always having someone around to send on errands or fetch things was very useful. He was also now embarrassed to discover he should have ordered a squad of soldiers to escort Jazhara and himself back to the palace; her rank required such, but he had assumed she’d have her own bodyguards in place. Still, if she didn’t bring it up, neither would he. He merely said, “I quite understand. If you are willing, however, we can leave your baggage under the watch of the guards, and I will arrange to have it brought to the palace in the morning.”
“That will be fine. Shall we go?”
He decided to avoid shortcuts and keep to the broader thoroughfares. It would take a bit longer to reach the palace, but would afford them safer travel. He suspected that in addition to knowing how to use that staff to good effect, Jazhara probably had several nasty magician’s tricks at her disposal, but the risk of an international incident to save a few minutes’ walk wasn’t worth it.
Deciding that being direct was his best course, James asked, “What does your great-uncle think of this appointment?”
Jazhara smiled. “I do not know, but I suspect he is less than happy. Since he was already unhappy that I chose to study at Stardock — over my father’s objections - rather than marry a ‘suitable young lord,’ I fear I’ve likely put him in a dark mood.”
James smiled. “Having met your great-uncle on a few occasions, I should think you’d want to stay on his good side.”
With a slight twist of her lips, Jazhara said, “To the world he is the mighty Lord Hazara-Khan, a man to be dreaded by those who put their own interests ahead of the Empire’s. To me he is Uncle Rachman - ‘Raka’ I called him because I couldn’t manage his name when I was little - and he can deny me little. He wanted to marry me off to a minor prince of the Imperial House, a distant cousin to the Empress, but when I threatened to run away if he sent me south, he relented.”
James chuckled. They rounded a corner and headed down a large boulevard that would eventually lead them back to the palace.
After only a few minutes, James found himself enjoying the company of this young woman from Kesh. She was quick, observant, keen-eyed, and witty. Her banter was clever and entertaining without the acerbic, nasty edge one found so often among the nobles of the Prince’s court.
Unfortunately, she was too entertaining: James suddenly realized he had turned a corner a few streets back without thinking and now they were in the area he had planned on avoiding.
“What is it?” Jazhara asked.
James turned and grinned at her, a grin that could barely be seen in the faint glow of a distant lantern hanging outside an inn. “You’re very perceptive, milady.”
“It’s part of the trade, sir,” she replied, her voice a mix of playfulness and caution. “Is something wrong?”
“I just got caught up in our discourse and without thought turned us into a part of the city it might be best to avoid at this hour.”
James noticed a very slight shift in the way she held her staff, but her voice remained calm. “Are we in danger?”
“Most probably not, but one never knows in Krondor. Best to be alert. We shall be at the palace in a few minutes.”
Without comment, they both picked up the pace slightly, and hurried along, each watching the side of the street for possible assailants in the gloom, James taking the left, Jazhara the right.
They had rounded the corner that put them in sight of the palace district when a sound echoed off to James’s left. He turned and as he did so he recognized the trap
: a pebble being tossed from the right.
As he turned back toward Jazhara, a small figure darted from the shadows. Jazhara had also spun to look in the same direction as James and was slow to recover.
The assailant darted close, a blade flashed, and suddenly a child was running down the street clutching Jazhara’s purse.
James had been prepared for an attack, so it took an instant for him to realize that a street urchin had robbed Jazhara. “Hey! Stop! Come back here!” he shouted after the fleeing child.
“We have to stop him,” said Jazhara. “Besides a few coins, my purse has items which could prove fatal to a child.”
James didn’t hesitate.
He knew the city as well as any man, and after a moment’s pursuit, he slowed. “What is it?” asked Jazhara.
“If memory serves, he just ducked into a dead end.”
They turned into the alley after the cutpurse and saw no sign of him.
“He’s gone!” Jazhara exclaimed.
James laughed. “Not quite.”
He moved to what looked to be some heavy crates, and reached around behind them, pulling away a piece of cloth tacked to the back. With a quick motion, in case the young thief was inclined to use the blade to defend himself, James snatched a thin arm.
“Let me go!” shouted a young girl who looked no older than ten, dressed in rags. She dropped her blade and Jazhara’s purse on the cobbles.
James knew it was a ruse to get him to release her arm and pick up the purse, so he held firm. “If you’re going to be a thief, you must learn who to mark and who to leave be.”
He turned to block her path if she tried to run and held her arm loosely. Kneeling so that he was at eye level with her, he asked, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
Quickly sensing that this man and woman weren’t trying to harm her, the girl relaxed slightly. “Nita,” she said with a tiny hint of defiance. “Mommy called me that after Prince ‘Rutha’s wife, ’Nita.”
James couldn’t help but smile. He knew Princess Anita would be flattered to hear of that tiny honor. “I’m Squire James, and this is Jazhara, the court mage.”
Krondor Tear of the Gods Page 3
