The wind picked up and he saw the ships at anchor begin to rock slightly as the ocean chop increased. Ah, how to get there?
He looked down again. He was slightly over six feet in height, so a dead hang drop from the ledge meant twenty-four feet or 1 3 7
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so to the sand. Still sufficient to break enough bones to prevent him getting to the ship. If he could just shave two yards off the distance . . .
He stripped off his boots and threw them to the sand below.
Then off came his belt and trousers, then his shirt. He rapidly worked so as to get this over with before he reconsidered. He tied the belt around the tree closest to the edge of the ledge, a scant thing looking barely able to support its own weight, let alone his. Still, it only had to hold for a moment or two. He then tied one leg of his trousers to the belt, making the best knot he could, then his shirt arm to the other leg. He threw the rest of the shirt over the edge and looked down. The makeshift rope of clothing had given him the six feet he needed.
Never one to hesitate, he rolled over on his belly, ignoring the scrapes on the rock and the pain from the cuts he had already suffered from falling into the tree branches. He wiggled backward, hoping no one from the ship was watching, given the state he was in. Then he pushed himself off and quickly went hand under hand down the fabric of his trousers and shirt. He felt a slight jerk and realized the tree was starting to fall. He went as quickly down as he could, holding at the bottom. As his momentum was halted, he heard the crack of wood above.
With a single shout he let go, flexing his knees to take the shock of hitting the ground. He hit the sand and struck the side of his head against a rock, which caused his eyes to lose focus for a moment. Then he rolled up and over and, looking up, he saw that the tree was about to fall on him. Jim Dasher just continued to roll, striking more rocks as he tried to avoid being crushed by the small tree he had uprooted from the ledge above. He heard the tree fall with a crash.
Lying on the sand, aching and his head ringing from the blow, he realized suddenly—he was on the beach! He struggled to get up, and finally managed to stand despite his head throbbing and his vision being unclear. He stood motionless for a full minute trying not to fall over. His stomach knotted and he felt sick for a few moments, then he took a long, deep breath. He knew his head blow was going to make him less than fit. He 1 3 8
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needed to start a fire to signal the captain of the Queen of the Soldanas to send a boat to pick him up as soon as possible.
Jim Dasher found his clothes firmly buried under the bole of the tree that had almost crushed him. He cleared away sand and discovered his trousers were firmly pinned between the tree and rocks. His shirt tore as he pulled it out, and he could find nothing of his belt. He looked about and found his boots not too far away, so he went over and put them on. He stood feeling ridiculous in his torn shirt, underlinen, and boots but sighed in resignation. He needed his belt: it contained a small pouch in which was hidden a piece of flint. The buckle had a steel tongue, and together they could be used to start a fire. He could probably find a piece of flint nearby, but he knew he’d never find a piece of steel.
He looked at the three ships and suddenly they were twice as far as he had thought when he first saw them. That was because he knew he would now have to swim to them.
At least the wind would keep the surface roiling and hide him from the sight of enemies, he thought as he took off his boots. Regretfully he tossed them aside—he really liked them and it took a lot of work to make really fine new boots look old and worthless. Observing the wind and the spindrift coming off the choppy water, he wondered if that might keep the sharks away. Considering how many cuts he sported, he hoped so. Well, he thought as he waded into the surf, he’d soon find out.
Jim almost got his head removed by a belaying pin for his troubles as he clambered up the anchor rope. The sailor whom he had surprised had been warned, along with the rest of the crew, to be vigilant and wary of surprise attack.
“You never should have got that close, fella-me-lad,” he said as he helped the sailor off the deck, where he had knocked him down. “I’ve a bump on my head and it’s taken me off a bit.”
The sailor recognized Jim as one of the party sent ashore with General Kaspar, but he still looked ready to fight. “Where’s the Captain?” asked Jim, heading off further disputes.
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“Coming,” said another sailor as the entire deck crew came to gawk at the sopping wet man wearing only a shirt and drawers.
“What’s this then?” asked the first mate. “A deserter?”
“Hardly,” said Jim, slowly adding “sir,” as he retreated to his role of common thief. “I have news for the Captain.”
“Tell me and I’ll relay it,” said the First Mate.
“That won’t be necessary,” said the Captain as he forced his way though the press of sailors. “Get back to your duties!” he commanded, and the sailors moved off. “I’ll take this man with me, Yost,” the Captain instructed the First Mate.
Mr. Yost looked unconvinced, but he nodded and just said,
“Yes, sir.”
“Follow me,” said the Captain, a very experienced and loyal member of the Royal Navy of Roldem by the name of William Gregson. He, like every other sailor in this little flotilla, wore no uniform and to the casual eye appeared to be merely a commer-cial captain, but like every other man aboard the three ships, he was navy to the bone.
Once inside the privacy of his cabin, Gregson said, “What news, Lord James?”
“My head is pounding,” said Jim, sitting down without waiting for leave. “I hit a rock coming down off that cliff over there. Do you have something?”
The Captain went to his private sea chest and removed a stoppered bottle. He pulled out two small glasses and filled them both. “Medicinal brandy,” he said, offering up a glass to Jim. “Now, what’s happened? You wouldn’t be swimming with sharks if there wasn’t a problem.”
“Aye,” said Jim. “Kaspar and the rest are prisoners.”
“Who’s taken them?”
“Elves, but none like any I’ve seen. I’ve got a lot to report, but as I must be on my way as soon as possible, you’ll have to wait for the official word to be passed back to you.”
The Captain, his face a leathery map from years on the quarterdeck, said, “So it’s mind my own business, is it?”
“Something like that, Captain.”
“How fast is fast? The Lady Jessie is our fastest.”
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“Not ship-fast. I need that device I asked you to keep for me.”
The Captain returned to his chest, opened it, and took out a small golden sphere. “I’ve been wondering what it was.”
“Something that will get me where I need to go faster than the swiftest ship in the fleet can bear me. One thing, though, before I use it.”
“What?”
“I need a pair of trousers.”
The Captain could barely keep from laughing. He went to his clothing locker and produced a pair of trousers which were slightly too large but would do. “Boots?” he offered.
“I think yours won’t fit.”
The Captain fetched another pair but they were too small.
“I’ll find something along the way,” said Jim. He held up the orb and said, “Well, goodbye, Captain,” and depressed a switch on the side of the device.
Before the Captain could reply, he was gone. Only a slight inward surge of air marked his disappearance. Into the empty room, the Captain said, “What do I tell the men?”
It was the dead of night on Sorcerer’s Isle when Jim appeared. It was his first visit to the home of the legendary Black Sorcerer, Pug. Jim was aware that he had some sort of distant kinship with the magician, as Pug’s adopted daughter Gamina had been the wife of Lord James, but Jim suspected he was hardly the first member of “
that side of the family” not to know his forebear.
He had arrived in a small room set aside for visitors, and a student had been detailed there to keep an eye on it. Even so, the student leaped a mile as Jim materialized. At last he regained his composure and said, “Wait here. I will fetch someone.”
Jim knew better than to argue for he had been given clear instructions by his great-uncle and Lord Erik that if he were ever to use the device he must do whatever he was told once he reached the island.
Jim didn’t have long to wait. A regal-looking woman obviously just awakened arrived with the student. She gave him a searching look. “Who are you?”
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With an only slightly mocking courtly bow, he said, “I’m James Jamison, grandson of the Duke of Rillanon. And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
“I’m Miranda,” answered the woman. “Come along. You wouldn’t be here if the situation didn’t warrant it. I’ve heard of you, Jim Dasher, and what I’ve heard is good: we need sneaky bastards on our side at a time like this.”
Jim wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not, but he decided to take it as one. Miranda led him down a long series of halls.
“Most of the faculty and students are asleep, as you’d expect. I’ll warn you though, when sunrise comes, you may see some . . .
people, unlike any you’ve encountered. Try not to gawk.”
“After what I’ve seen in the last two days, lady, I don’t think anything will surprise me anymore.”
She entered a room that was clearly an office of some sort and motioned for him to sit down in a chair opposite a desk.
“Why don’t you tell me about your last two days, then?”
Jim delivered a concise and exact narrative, after which Miranda said, “We are dealing with an enemy who is mad.” She drummed her fingers on the desktop in frustration. “Now this.”
Jim said nothing, waiting for her to tell him what must be done next. After a moment, she said, “What do you think we should do next, Jim Dasher?”
Jim paused, then said, “First, I need a pair of boots and trousers that fit. Then you should do what you must with those . . .
creatures, but we also need to get Kaspar and the men free of those elves. There’s a certain madness to them, as well, or at least a sense of desperation. Kaspar says they’re dying out, and I agree. There were perhaps only half a dozen children and only a few more women there. In total, less than a hundred in all. That fortification was home to four or five times that many at one time.”
“If my husband were here—” Miranda began. She sighed,
“But he’s not.” She studied Jim and said finally, “We’re a little thin on the ground right now. My husband and two others who might easily deal with some of this are absent and I have no idea when they might return. There are other magicians here 1 4 2
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who have talent and might help to assess those creatures you saw in the mountains. But I’m not sure what to do about the elves who’ve captured Kaspar.”
“Can you get me to Elvandar?” Jim asked.
“I can get you close. No one enters Elvandar unbidden unless they have been given leave.”
“I have been there before.”
“Really?” she said, surprised. “When?”
“A few years ago, at the behest of Lord Erik, right about the time I began to be told the truth about the Conclave.”
“I see,” said Miranda. “Then we shall get you to the border of Elvandar.” She narrowed her gaze. “You look as if you could use a meal.”
He nodded. “That would be welcome. It’s been a day or more since I’ve had anything to eat or drink.”
Miranda rose. “I’ll walk you to the kitchen.”
He followed her down the hall, into a garden, and then into another hall. He realized that these buildings were constructed like many of the villas on Queg, in large squares with a garden at the center.
Miranda asked, “Is this your first visit here, then?”
“Yes,” answered Jim. “I believe you’re familiar with how new recruits to the Conclave are given information.”
“In dribs and drabs as needed,” she supplied.
“On a need-to-know basis, Lord Erik called it.” He chuckled. “I’ll admit when I first learned of the Conclave I was astonished, yet now so many things make more sense to me.”
“Then you’re a rare one, James Jamison—or is it Jim Dasher? For the more I know the less I understand.”
“It’s Jim Dasher when I’m not in the palaces at Krondor, Rillanon, or Roldem, lady. I’ll grant you the advantage of wisdom, then, for it’s my vanity that I can apprehend a great deal from a little information.”
“A useful trait and one of the reasons why you were recruited.”
“Ah, I thought it might be because of family.”
“Your family?” said Miranda. “Let me tell you something of your family.”
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She led him into a large kitchen where a pair of young men were preparing to bake the day’s bread. Miranda motioned for Jim to go to the pantry and make use of whatever he found there.
He fetched out a half-finished loaf of bread from the day before, some hard cheese, a pair of apples, and a jug of some sort of ale.
Then he grabbed a ladle from the side of the water bucket and drank deeply. After three such drippings, Miranda said, “If you were so thirsty, why didn’t you ask for water?”
“I’ve developed a knack of ignoring such things as thirst and hunger for a while, and it seemed more important to tell you what I knew.”
“Gods,” said Miranda with a laugh. “You match your reputation, Jim Dasher. I hardly think the time to sip a cup of water would prove the end of us all. Now, eat, and let me tell you about your family.”
Jim cut bread and cheese and took a bite from both, then attacked the first apple.
“As you may know you are counted as distant kin to my husband—and no, you’d better not call me grandmother unless you have no regard for your life!” she said before he could make a comment. “Your great-great-grandfather James of Krondor died before the creation of the Conclave. Your grandfather and your father are members of a family who are steadfast in their loyalty to the Crown of the Isles, and while the Conclave’s interests and the Kingdom’s often overlap, sometimes they do not.
“We have an . . . accommodation with your father and grandfather, but make no mistake in this, the schism between the . . .
two sides of your family is deep. It goes back to the end of the Serpentwar, when my husband refused to intercede on behalf of the Prince of Krondor when a Keshian army stood at the city’s gates, and because of that the Prince, later to be King Patrick, held a deep and abiding grudge against my husband. The Conclave is dedicated to preserving this world, including its foolish rulers, but we put no one nation’s needs above another.”
Jim listened while he ate. As he swallowed the last piece of apple, he said, “Am I to believe that my loyalties are assumed else I wouldn’t be here?”
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“More likely you wouldn’t be alive, or at the very least, you never would have been recruited.”
“Kings come and go,” said Jim. “My grandfather has served four, and the latest is a promising young man, but that doesn’t mean that when the chips are down and the last card played, he’s going to make the right choices.”
“He has your grandfather at his right hand.”
“Grandfather is known to be a very wise, very shrewd, and very old man. I say this with affection, for I will miss him when he dies, but unless you can muster another miracle like the one you provided for Lord Erik, it’s only a matter of months, perhaps a year at most, before he’ll need to be replaced.”
“Your father?”
“No,” said Jim. “He’s a gifted administrator, taking after his own grandfath
er, Arutha Jameson, Lord Vencar, by all reports, but he’s not the political animal my grandfather is . . .” Jim sighed. “Once again we face a situation that can only be called dangerous. There has been no continuity in the Western Realm since Prince Arutha died. He was the last true Western lord to rule and since then there’s been a series of caretaker rulers, heirs biding their time until they could return to Rillanon and take the throne, and at no time was the interest of the West seen as paramount. The Western lords are fractious and I’ve even heard rumors of establishing a separate nation.”
“Those rumors are not widespread,” said Miranda, “or we would have heard.”
“Whispers,” said Jim. “Nothing more or I would have reported it. Trust me when I say had I an inkling of any such movement being real, I would have reported it to my father, and he most certainly would have shared that information with Lord Erik.”
“Who would in turn have reported it to my husband.”
“But we have more immediate concerns than the politics of the Kingdom,” said Jim. “Elvandar?”
Miranda nodded. “I can take you to the river’s edge, for I have yet to be granted leave to enter at will.” She said this as if it annoyed her, but Jim let the remark pass without comment.
“Stand next to me . . .”
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“Ah, the boots?”
“Oh, yes,” said Miranda. She looked at his feet and added,
“And trousers that fit. I remember.”
She sent one of the students who had been baking out to fetch the desired items and the boy quickly returned with two pairs of boots, the first of which fit well, and a pair of sturdy trousers that were an improvement over what the Captain had given him.
He changed and went to stand next to Miranda. She put her hand on his shoulder, and suddenly they were in a dark forest, next to a river of some size. “This ford is swift running, but shallow,” she told him as he tried to get his bearings. This magic travel took some getting used to, he thought.
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