A Darkness at Sethanon

by Raymond Feist

  The moredhel saw the Queen and bowed before her, lowering his head. Softly he said, “Lady, I have returned.”

  The Queen nodded to Tathar. He and others of the Spellweavers gathered about the moredhel. Martin could feel a strange, fey sensation as if the air had suddenly become charged, and as if music could almost be heard. He knew the Spellweavers were working magic.

  Then Tathar said, “He has returned!”

  Aglaranna said, “What is your name?”

  “Morandis, Majesty.”

  “No more. You are Lorren.”

  Martin had learned the year before that there was no true difference between the branches of elvenkind, separated only by the power of the Dark Path, that which bound the moredhel to a life of murderous hatred toward all not of their kind. But there was a subtle difference in attitude, stance, and manner between the two.

  The moredhel rose and the elves surrounding him helped him remove his tunic, the grey of the moredhel forest clans. Martin had lived with elves all his life and fought the moredhel many times and could recognize the difference. But now his senses were confounded. One moment the moredhel seemed odd, somehow different from what they had expected, then suddenly he was a moredhel no longer. He was given a brown tunic and, miraculously, Martin saw an elf there. He had the dark hair and eyes common to the moredhel, but then so did a few other elves, just as an occasional moredhel was blond and blue-eyed. He was an elf!

  Tathar observed Martin’s reaction to the change and said, “Occasionally one of our lost brothers breaks away from the Dark Path. If his kin do not discover the change and kill him before he reaches us, we welcome his return to his home. It is a cause for rejoicing.” Martin and Baru watched as every elf in the area came to embrace Lorren in turn, welcoming him home. “In the past, the moredhel have attempted to send spies, but we can always tell the true from the false. This one has truly returned to his people.”

  Baru said, “Does it happen often?”

  “Of all who abide in Elvandar, I am eldest,” said Tathar. “I have seen only seven such Returnings before this one.” He was silent for a time. “Someday we hope we shall redeem all our brothers in this fashion, when the power of the Dark Path is at last broken.”

  Aglaranna turned to Martin. “Come, we shall be celebrating.”

  “We may not, Majesty,” answered Martin. “We must be away to meet with others.”

  “May we know your plans?”

  “It is simple,” answered the Duke of Crydee. “We shall find Murmandamus.”

  “And,” added Baru without expression, “we shall kill him.”

  SIX

  LEAVETAKING

  Jimmy sat quietly.

  He absently studied the list in his hand, attempting to keep his mind on the matter before him. But he was unable to concentrate on the task. The duty roster of squires for that afternoon’s cortege was done, or as done as it was likely to be. Jimmy felt an emptiness inside, and the need to decide which squire was posted where seemed trivial in the extreme.

  For two weeks Jimmy had been fighting the feeling that he was caught up in some horrible dream, one from which he could not shake himself. Nothing in his existence so far had affected him as deeply as Arutha’s murder, and he still couldn’t face his emotions. He had slept long each night, as if sleep were an escape, and when awake he was nervous and anxious to be doing something, as if being busy would keep him from dealing with his grief. He kept it hidden away, to be confronted later.

  Jimmy sighed. One thing the young man knew, this funeral was taking a hellishly long time getting organized. Laurie and Volney had postponed the departure of the funeral procession twice now. The bier had been placed aboard its carriage within two days after Arutha’s death, awaiting his body. Tradition held the Prince’s cortege should have started for Rillanon and his ancestral vault within three days after his death, but Anita had taken days returning from her mother’s estates, then a few more days in recovering enough to depart, then they needed to wait for other nobles who were arriving, and the palace was in disorder, and so on and so on. Still, Jimmy knew he wouldn’t begin to get over this tragedy until after Arutha was carried away. Knowing he lay in the temporary vault Nathan had prepared, somewhere not too far from where the squire now sat, was just too much for Jimmy. He rubbed his eyes, lowering his head, as once more the threat of tears was forced down. In his short life, Jimmy had met only one man who had touched him deeply. Arutha should have been one of the last men in the world to care about the fate of a boy thief, but he had. He had proved a friend and more. He and Anita had been the closest thing to family Jimmy had ever known.

  A knock upon the door brought his head up and he saw Locklear standing at the entrance. Jimmy waved him in and the younger boy sat down on the other side of the writing desk. Jimmy tossed the parchment at him. “Here, Locky, you do this.”

  Locklear quickly scanned the list, and took quill from holder. “It’s almost ready, except Paul is down with the flux and the chirurgeon wants him in bed for the day. He needs rest. This is a mess. I’d better recopy it.”

  Jimmy nodded absently. Through the blanket of grey sorrow that wrapped his thoughts, an irritant was gently scratching. Something had been nagging at the corner of the young man’s mind for three days now. Everyone in the palace was still in shock at Arutha’s death, but there was an odd note here and there; every so often someone said or did something that was somehow discordant. Jimmy couldn’t put his finger on what that difference was, or even if it was important. With a mental shrug he pushed aside his worry. Different people reacted differently to tragedy. Some, like Volney and Gardan, threw themselves into their work. Others, like Carline, went off to cope with their grief in a private way. Duke Laurie was a lot like Jimmy. He just put his grief aside to be faced at some other time. Suddenly Jimmy understood one reason for his feeling of oddness about the palace. Laurie had been just about running the palace from the time Arutha lay stricken until three days ago. Now he was almost continuously absent.

  Looking at Locklear as the younger boy wrote on the duty roster, Jimmy said, “Locky, have you seen Duke Laurie about lately?”

  Keeping his eyes on his work, Locklear said, “This morning, very early. I was in charge of delivering meals to the visiting nobles for breakfast, and I saw him riding out the gate.” Then his head came up, a strange expression on his face. “It was the postern gate.”

  “Why would he leave by the postern gate?” Jimmy wondered.

  Locklear shrugged and returned to the roster. “Because that’s the direction he was heading?”

  Jimmy thought. What reason did the Duke of Salador have riding toward the Poor Quarter on the morning of the Prince’s funeral procession? Jimmy sighed. “I’m becoming suspicious in my old age.”

  Locklear laughed, the first happy sound in the palace in days. Then, as if he had sinned, he looked up guiltily.

  Jimmy stood. “Done?”

  Locklear handed over the parchment. “Finished.”

  “Good,” said Jimmy. “Come along, deLacy will not show his usual forbearance if we’re late.”

  They hurried to where the squires were assembling. The usual jostling play and laughing whispers were absent, for the occasion was solemn. DeLacy arrived a few minutes after Jimmy and Locklear were in place and without preamble said, “The roster.” Jimmy gave it to him and he glanced over it. “Good, though either your penmanship is improving or you’ve acquired an assistant.” There was a slight shuffle among the boys, but no open mirthfulness. DeLacy said, “I’m changing one assignment, though. Harold and Bryce will stand as coach attendants to the Princesses Alicia and Anita. James and Locklear will remain to assist the Steward of the Royal Household here at the palace.”

  Jimmy was stunned. He and Locklear would not be in the cortege to the gates. They would stand idly by in case there was some minor problem the steward judged required a squire’s presence.

  DeLacy absently read the other assignments aloud, then dismissed t
he boys. Locklear and Jimmy exchanged glances, and Jimmy overtook the departing Master of Ceremonies. “Sir…” Jimmy began.

  DeLacy turned on Jimmy. “If it’s about the assignments, there will be no debate.”

  Jimmy’s face flushed angrily. “But I was the Prince’s Squire!” he answered hotly.

  In an unusually bold moment, Locklear blurted, “And I was Squire to Her Highness.” DeLacy looked at the younger boy in astonishment. “Well, sort of…” he amended.

  “That is of no consequence,” said DeLacy. “I have my orders. You must follow yours. That will be all.” Jimmy began to protest again, but was cut off by the old Master. “I said that would be all, Squire.”

  Jimmy turned and began walking away. Locklear fell in beside him. “I don’t know what’s going on here,” said Jimmy, “but I intend to find out. Come on.”

  —

  Jimmy and Locklear hurried along, glancing about. An order from any senior member of the court would prevent this unexpected visit, so they took pains to avoid the scrutiny of anyone likely to find work for them. The funeral cortege would depart the palace in less than two hours, so there were ample tasks remaining for two squires. Once begun, there would be a slow parade through the city, a stop at the temple square, where public prayers would be said, then the long journey to Rillanon and the tomb of Arutha’s ancestors. Once the funeral party was outside the city, the squires would return to the palace. But Jimmy and Locklear were being denied even that small part in the procession.

  Jimmy approached the Princess’s door and said to the guard without, “If Her Highness can spare a moment?”

  The guard’s eyebrows rose, but he was not in a position to question even as minor a member of the court as a squire, so he would simply pass the message inside. As the guard pushed open the door, Jimmy thought he heard something out of place, a sound that ended before he could apprehend its nature. Jimmy tried to puzzle out what he had just heard, but the guard’s return diverted his attention. A moment later, he and Locklear were admitted.

  Carline sat with Anita, near a window, awaiting the summons to attend the funeral. Their heads were close together and they were speaking softly. Princess Mother Alicia hovered at her daughter’s shoulder. All three were dressed in black. Jimmy came and bowed, Locklear at his side. “I’m sorry to intrude, Highness,” he said softly.

  Anita smiled at him. “You’re never an intrusion, Jimmy. What is it?”

  Suddenly feeling it was petty to be concerned over his exclusion from the funeral, Jimmy said, “A small thing, actually. Someone ordered me to remain at the palace today, and I wondered…well, did you ask for me to be kept here?”

  A glance passed from Carline to Anita, and the Princess of Krondor said, “No, I didn’t, Jimmy.” Her tone was thoughtful. “But perhaps Earl Volney did. You are Senior Squire and should stay in your office, or at least I’m sure that’s what the Earl decided.”

  Jimmy studied her expression. A discordant note was sounding here. Princess Anita had returned from her mother’s estate displaying the grief expected. But soon after, there had been a subtle change in her. Further conversation was interrupted by a baby’s cry, quickly followed by another. Anita rose. “It’s never just one of them,” she said, with affection clearly showing. Carline smiled at that, then suddenly her expression turned somber.

  Jimmy said, “We have intruded, Highness. I am sorry to have troubled you over so petty a matter.”

  Locklear followed Jimmy outside. Moving out of the guard’s earshot, Jimmy said, “Did I miss something in there, Locky?”

  Locklear turned and regarded the door for a moment. “Something’s…odd. It’s like we’re being kept out of the way.”

  Jimmy thought a minute. He now understood what had arrested his attention outside the door, just before they had been admitted. The sound that intruded had been the Princesses’ voices, or rather the quality of those voices: chatty, lightly bantering. Jimmy said, “I’m beginning to think you’re right. Come along. We don’t have much time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “You’ll see.” Jimmy hurried off down the corridor and the younger boy had to scramble to catch up.

  —

  Gardan and Volney were hurrying toward the courtyard, accompanied by four guards, when the boys intercepted them. The Earl hardly spared a glance as he said, “Aren’t you two supposed to be in the courtyard.”

  “No, sir,” answered Jimmy. “We’ve drawn steward’s duty.”

  Gardan seemed mildly surprised at that, but all Volney said was, “Then I expect you should hurry along in case you’re needed there. We must begin the procession.”

  “Sir,” said Jimmy, “did you order us to remain?”

  Volney waved off the question. “Duke Laurie has been attending to those details with Master deLacy.” He turned his attention away from the boys as he and Gardan walked off.

  Jimmy and Locklear halted as the Earl and Marshal vanished around a corner, the boot heels of their escorts clacking noisily on the stones. “I think I’m beginning to understand,” said Jimmy. He grabbed Locklear by the arm. “Come on.”

  With a half-frustrated note in his voice, Locklear said, “Where?”

  “You’ll see,” came the answer, as Jimmy almost ran.

  Locklear hurried after, mimicking, “You’ll see. You’ll see. See what, damn it!”

  —

  Two guards stood at post. One said, “And where are you young gentlemen off to?”

  “Port Authority,” said Jimmy testily, handing over a quickly penned order. “The steward can’t find some ship manifest, and he’s in a fury to get a copy.” Jimmy had been about to investigate something and was rankled by the need to run this errand. It also seemed an odd time for the steward to become obsessed with the need for a manifest.

  The guard who had examined the paper said, “Just a minute.” He signaled to another soldier near the guard officer’s room by the main entrance to the palace. The guard hurried over and the first sentry said, “Can you spare a bit of time to run these lads down to the port office and back? They need to fetch something for the steward.”

  The guard looked indifferent. There and back would take less than an hour. He nodded and the three were off.

  Twenty minutes later, Jimmy stood in the Port Authority office dealing with a minor functionary as everyone else was off to watch the cortege leave the city. The man grumbled as he thumbed through a stack of paper work, looking for a copy of the last manifest of goods delivered to the royal docks. While he fumbled, Jimmy cast a glance at another paper hanging on the wall of the office for all to look at. It was this week’s schedules of departures. Something caught his eye and he crossed over to look. Locklear followed him. “What?”

  Jimmy pointed. “Interesting.”

  Locklear looked at the notation and said, “Why?”

  “I’m not sure,” answered Jimmy, pitching his voice lower, “but think a minute about some of the things going on at the palace. We get held back from the procession, then we ask the Princess about it. We’re out of her quarters less than ten minutes when we’re sent on this useless errand. You tell me; doesn’t it seem like we’re being kept out of the way? Something’s…odd.”

  “That’s what I said earlier,” said Locklear impatiently.

  The clerk found and handed over the requested paper, and the guard escorted the boys back to the palace. Running past the gate guards, Jimmy and Locklear waved absently, then headed toward the steward’s office.

  Once inside the palace, they appeared at the office as the steward, Baron Giles, was leaving. “There you are,” he said in an accusatory tone. “I thought I was going to have to send guards to ferret you out of wherever you were lazing away the day.” Jimmy and Locklear exchanged glances. The steward seemed to have forgotten about the manifest entirely. Jimmy handed it to him.

  “What’s this?” He examined the paper. “Oh yes,” he remarked, tossing the paper upon his desk. “I’ll deal with that la
ter. I must be off to see the procession depart the palace. You will stay here. Should any emergency arise, one of you will remain in this office while the other will come find me. Once the bier has left the gates, I will return.”

  “Do you anticipate any problems, sir?” asked Jimmy.

  Walking past the boys, the steward said, “Of course not, but it always pays to be prepared. I shall return in a short time.”

  After he left, Locklear turned to face Jimmy. “All right. What’s going on? And don’t you dare say ‘You’ll see.’ ”

  “Things are not what they seem to be. Come on.”

  —

  Jimmy and Locklear dashed up the stairs. Reaching a window overlooking the court, they quietly observed the preparations below. The funeral procession was assembling, the rolling bier moving into place, escorted by a hand-picked company of Arutha’s Household Guard. It was pulled by a matched set of six black horses, each bedecked with black plumes and hand-led by a groom dressed in black. The soldiers fell in on each side of the bier.

  A group of eight men-at-arms came from within the palace, bearing the casket containing Arutha. They moved to a rolling scaffolding that allowed them to raise the casket high atop the bier. Slowly, almost reverently, they hoisted the Prince of Krondor up onto the black-shrouded structure.

  Jimmy and Locklear looked down into the casket and, for the first time, could clearly see the Prince. Tradition held the procession should move out with the casket open so the populace could behold their ruler a last time. It would be closed outside the city gates, never to be opened again, save once more in the privacy of the family vault below the King’s palace in Rillanon, where Arutha’s family would bid him a final farewell.

  Jimmy felt his throat tightening. He swallowed hard, moving the stubborn lump. He saw Arutha had been laid out in his favorite garb, his brown velvet tunic, his russet leggings. A green jerkin had been added, though he had rarely worn such. His favorite rapier was clasped between his hands, and his head remained uncovered. He seemed asleep. As he was moved out of view, Jimmy noticed the fine satin lounging slippers on the Prince’s feet.